Into the Wilderness
Page 222

Elizabeth took the swaddled child into the crook of her arm and looked down at the face, rumpled now in a thoughtful way.
"He looks very serious," she said, testing the solid weight of him, warm and slightly damp and definitely thrumming with life.
"I'm afraid he takes after his pa," Martha said, and then bit her lip, nervously. She cleared her throat. "You never held one before?"
"Not one this small," Elizabeth said. "He's very compact."
"Unwind him and he'll start working those arms and legs, like one of them craw lies with a hundred feet. When he starts to walking, I'm the one who'll need all that get—up—and—go."
The child opened his mouth to burble at Elizabeth. She made a similar sound back at him, and she was rewarded with a toothless smile.
"There!" said Martha. "He don't do that for everybody. Jemima is the only one he'll smile for regular, like."
When the baby's smile was replaced with a rumbling frown, Elizabeth handed him back to Martha, who looked out over the water again, scanning it warily. Then she settled the child back in the sling and opened her bodice to his seeking mouth.
"How is Jemima?" Elizabeth asked, watching closely.
"Fractious as ever," Martha said easily, casting her a sideways look.
The baby made mewling sounds, gulping noisily and waving a suddenly freed fist in the air.
"I wished I could've sent her to school again," Martha said softly. "You did her good, although I guess it didn't feel that way at the time."
"Maybe in the fall," Elizabeth said.
Martha sighed, patting the curve of the child's hip. "You don't care for this party much, do you?"
In the twilight Elizabeth looked over the beach. Everywhere there were bloody piles of half—dismembered fledglings, feathers ruffling in the breeze. Down the shore, another good—sized hill of carcasses had been abandoned, untouched.
"I don't understand, I suppose—why is it necessary to take them all?" Elizabeth immediately regretted this question, fearing that she would not be understood, or that if she were, that she would give offense.
But Martha was looking over the lake with a thoughtful expression. "I grew up in Fish Creek, did you know that? There were fourteen of us, and I was the second youngest, the only girl." She glanced at Elizabeth to see if this story was welcome, and then she murmured a soft word of encouragement to the child. "There was never enough on the table. We didn't starve, you understand, but you could never be sure of the next meal, either. You learned to be quick and to take what you could before anybody else caught you at it. Now, Moses is a harsh man at times, but there's always plenty on our table, and I know as long as he's alive I won't have to worry about how to feed my children. But Miz Elizabeth, you know, I still have this urge sometimes when I take the corn bread out of the oven, hungry or not, I could eat the half pan standing there, and hide the rest under my pillow."
"Martha," Elizabeth said. "You could, but you do not. You have learned not to. When I look at this—" She lifted her chin toward the littered shoreline. "It seems so wasteful. Next year there will be no more wood ducks, and how sad that is."
"But of course there'll be wood ducks next year," Martha said, surprised. "There's always wood ducks. They come up in the spring, they always have and they always will. If that weren't the case, the judge would make a law and put an end to the ducking, ain't that so?"
There was a harsh sound just behind them. "What in hellfire do you think you are doing, woman?" Moses Southern bellowed.
Martha launched herself to her feet. Elizabeth caught sight of one white breast dripping milk and the outraged face of little Jeremiah, suddenly deprived of his meal. Before she could rise, Moses had pushed past her, advancing on Martha.
"You got no more brains than a mud puppy Get on home, now, and wait for me. I'll deal with you later."
Nathaniel had appeared at Elizabeth's side. He helped her to her feet just as Southern whirled around. With his eyes narrowed and his great nose red and swollen in irritation, he looked almost comical. If it weren't for the fact that he would take out his anger on Martha, Elizabeth would have laughed at him.
"You leave my wife alone!" he shouted.
"Lower your voice, man," Nathaniel barked. "You're making a fool of yourself."
Elizabeth was aware of Hawkeye coming up behind her.
"I know what she's up to, and I won't have it!"
"We were just talking, Mr. Southern," Elizabeth said calmly. "Nothing more.
"Tell her, Bonner. Tell her to stay away.
"I hear you myself Mr. Southern. I think everyone in a ten—mile radius hears you." In fact every man, woman, and child on the lake had put aside their work to watch. At the very edge of the crowd Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Martha, pulling her two reluctant children away.
There was a soft clearing of a throat, and Elizabeth realized that her father had come closer. Moses turned to him, his expression suddenly gleeful at the unexpected appearance of an ally. But the judge only looked at him with a small frown.
"Moses," he said finally. "I suggest you go now, before you get yourself into more trouble than you can handle."
New outrage spread over the trapper's already florid face. "So you're taking her side, are you? She run off, stole you blind—”