Into the Wilderness
Page 173
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
"But Robbie," Elizabeth repeated, thinking of his strength and his experience and his love of Nathaniel. If anyone could save them from disaster, it must be Robbie. "Do you know where Robbie's gone?"
"There's no time to waste, waiting for him," Otter pointed out.
Elizabeth could not hide her disappointment, although she had no wish to insult Otter. But he was looking at her, for the moment, with a narrowed gaze and for the first time Elizabeth saw Falling—Day in him, her quiet determination.
"We got to get you cleaned up before we set out," said Otter, and he disappeared in the direction of the caves.
Questions were running together in her head, all of which she wanted immediate answers for. What Otter was doing here in the bush on his own, whether Hannah and Hawkeye and the others were whole and safe, how soon they could leave, how long it would take. If he believed Nathaniel could still be alive. She dared not let herself think about it, about the time lost, about what she had left behind under the wild cherry tree, about Nathaniel. She had not yet given up on him, and she would not, until she had seen him laid in the ground or had gone to her own grave.
Otter came back at a trot, his hands full of what he needed to tend her wounds.
Elizabeth got to her feet, and he helped her.
* * *
Back on the trail with her wounds cleaned and bound, and Otter's solid back always in sight, Elizabeth felt herself floating. She knew that she was near to collapsing, and that she must soon ask him to make camp. But they had only been under way for an hour, and she felt the press of time as surely as she felt the throbbing of the bruises that ranged up and down her ribs.
And also, there was the matter of the cherry tree. In less than an hour's walk they would come upon it, and there would be no choice but to explain. Elizabeth wanted that behind her, and so she took a mouthful of ho cake to chew slowly, and she focused her energies on putting one foot in front of the other.
She had been worried about Otter's youth, about his impulsive behavior: walking behind him, she thought at great length about the gunshot which had bolted the sleigh team, and what might have come of that. But he had been trained by men she trusted and loved, and he walked with their gait and posture and keen, sweeping gaze, his rifle forward and primed. For the moment she was content to follow him. This passivity would not last as long as her collection of bruises; this well she knew herself. But for the moment, she was thankful for Otter, who set a good pace and didn't coddle her.
Elizabeth convinced herself that she was capable of walking past that spot under the cherry tree. She had nothing to hide; could hide nothing, in fact. She would not let Jack Lingo reach out from the grave to make one last attempt to keep her from Nathaniel. Not that he had a grave, or ever would.
In the end when she recognized the turn of the trail, she could not go on. Otter went those few steps without noticing that she hung back, and she heard a soft exclamation. A long silence followed.
There was a dead oak which had fallen into a small pond. She had not noticed it on first passing. Out of the thick layer of pungent green scum that blanketed the water, a rack of branches bleached the color and glossiness of old bone pointed at the sky. On each sat a single grackle, dark feathers iridescent in the late sunlight. Elizabeth counted fourteen of them, motionless, their eyes turned to her. She could not remember ever seeing grackles in these forests before. Blinking hard, she wondered if she were imagining them, or if perhaps they were part of that other forest which seemed to always be there, right below the surface: the forest of red dogs and stone men, birds shimmering in rainbows and lovers who wandered the swamp murmuring their vows in Latin. Her ability to reason these things away had been worn thin, as thin as the wooden disk that lay still between her breasts. She touched a finger to Joe's bijou and watched as the birds flew away, one by one.
She started to find Otter standing in front of her. Elizabeth lifted her chin and met his gaze. His eyes were so dark, but they were like her own in at least one way: in them she could read what he was feeling. And what she saw she could not at first credit.
"Awiyo, aktsi'a," he said hoarsely. Well done, my sister.
Otter opened his palms. On the left, a large gold coin shimmered against the deep bronze of his skin; His Royal Highness King George II seemed to be winking at her, as if he approved of this change in his circumstances. In the other palm—Elizabeth blanched to see it—there was a tooth. Long and yellow and wickedly curved. It was still bloody.
Otter steadied her, his fingers and the coin pressing into her shoulder.
"The panther," he said softly. Then he held up the tooth to his own necklace of teeth and jaws, as if to demonstrate.
"Yes, please, you have it." Elizabeth felt nauseated and suddenly a little dizzy.
"No," said Otter forcefully. "You must wear it, it is your right." He touched his own necklace, and then hers: the bijou and the silver flower that had belonged to Nathaniel's mother.
She said: "I didn't kill the panther." Her voice had gone suddenly hoarse, and she began to shake.
"But he did, and you killed him." He paused. "It's Lingo, ain't it? I've heard tell, but I never saw the man before."
Otter was more than ten years her junior, but Elizabeth felt like a child under his gaze: vulnerable and uncertain and very afraid. It seemed that everything came back very simply to this truth, which could not be avoided. The evidence was around this turn in the path. She had killed a man. And why? Otter had not asked, but he was watching her patiently, and waiting.
"There's no time to waste, waiting for him," Otter pointed out.
Elizabeth could not hide her disappointment, although she had no wish to insult Otter. But he was looking at her, for the moment, with a narrowed gaze and for the first time Elizabeth saw Falling—Day in him, her quiet determination.
"We got to get you cleaned up before we set out," said Otter, and he disappeared in the direction of the caves.
Questions were running together in her head, all of which she wanted immediate answers for. What Otter was doing here in the bush on his own, whether Hannah and Hawkeye and the others were whole and safe, how soon they could leave, how long it would take. If he believed Nathaniel could still be alive. She dared not let herself think about it, about the time lost, about what she had left behind under the wild cherry tree, about Nathaniel. She had not yet given up on him, and she would not, until she had seen him laid in the ground or had gone to her own grave.
Otter came back at a trot, his hands full of what he needed to tend her wounds.
Elizabeth got to her feet, and he helped her.
* * *
Back on the trail with her wounds cleaned and bound, and Otter's solid back always in sight, Elizabeth felt herself floating. She knew that she was near to collapsing, and that she must soon ask him to make camp. But they had only been under way for an hour, and she felt the press of time as surely as she felt the throbbing of the bruises that ranged up and down her ribs.
And also, there was the matter of the cherry tree. In less than an hour's walk they would come upon it, and there would be no choice but to explain. Elizabeth wanted that behind her, and so she took a mouthful of ho cake to chew slowly, and she focused her energies on putting one foot in front of the other.
She had been worried about Otter's youth, about his impulsive behavior: walking behind him, she thought at great length about the gunshot which had bolted the sleigh team, and what might have come of that. But he had been trained by men she trusted and loved, and he walked with their gait and posture and keen, sweeping gaze, his rifle forward and primed. For the moment she was content to follow him. This passivity would not last as long as her collection of bruises; this well she knew herself. But for the moment, she was thankful for Otter, who set a good pace and didn't coddle her.
Elizabeth convinced herself that she was capable of walking past that spot under the cherry tree. She had nothing to hide; could hide nothing, in fact. She would not let Jack Lingo reach out from the grave to make one last attempt to keep her from Nathaniel. Not that he had a grave, or ever would.
In the end when she recognized the turn of the trail, she could not go on. Otter went those few steps without noticing that she hung back, and she heard a soft exclamation. A long silence followed.
There was a dead oak which had fallen into a small pond. She had not noticed it on first passing. Out of the thick layer of pungent green scum that blanketed the water, a rack of branches bleached the color and glossiness of old bone pointed at the sky. On each sat a single grackle, dark feathers iridescent in the late sunlight. Elizabeth counted fourteen of them, motionless, their eyes turned to her. She could not remember ever seeing grackles in these forests before. Blinking hard, she wondered if she were imagining them, or if perhaps they were part of that other forest which seemed to always be there, right below the surface: the forest of red dogs and stone men, birds shimmering in rainbows and lovers who wandered the swamp murmuring their vows in Latin. Her ability to reason these things away had been worn thin, as thin as the wooden disk that lay still between her breasts. She touched a finger to Joe's bijou and watched as the birds flew away, one by one.
She started to find Otter standing in front of her. Elizabeth lifted her chin and met his gaze. His eyes were so dark, but they were like her own in at least one way: in them she could read what he was feeling. And what she saw she could not at first credit.
"Awiyo, aktsi'a," he said hoarsely. Well done, my sister.
Otter opened his palms. On the left, a large gold coin shimmered against the deep bronze of his skin; His Royal Highness King George II seemed to be winking at her, as if he approved of this change in his circumstances. In the other palm—Elizabeth blanched to see it—there was a tooth. Long and yellow and wickedly curved. It was still bloody.
Otter steadied her, his fingers and the coin pressing into her shoulder.
"The panther," he said softly. Then he held up the tooth to his own necklace of teeth and jaws, as if to demonstrate.
"Yes, please, you have it." Elizabeth felt nauseated and suddenly a little dizzy.
"No," said Otter forcefully. "You must wear it, it is your right." He touched his own necklace, and then hers: the bijou and the silver flower that had belonged to Nathaniel's mother.
She said: "I didn't kill the panther." Her voice had gone suddenly hoarse, and she began to shake.
"But he did, and you killed him." He paused. "It's Lingo, ain't it? I've heard tell, but I never saw the man before."
Otter was more than ten years her junior, but Elizabeth felt like a child under his gaze: vulnerable and uncertain and very afraid. It seemed that everything came back very simply to this truth, which could not be avoided. The evidence was around this turn in the path. She had killed a man. And why? Otter had not asked, but he was watching her patiently, and waiting.
