Into the Wilderness
Page 268
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Elizabeth was immediately caught up in a discussion of Kitty's change in circumstance. She threw Nathaniel a weak smile; he shrugged one shoulder and turned to the window. The judge was headed up the stairs with Mr. Witherspoon close behind. Galileo and Benjamin were unloading the wagon.
A couple was walking up the hill toward the house. The woman was small and finely built, pretty but pale in her mourning clothes. Her hands fluttered as she spoke. There was something whispery about Elizabeth's cousin Amanda, even at this distance.
There was not much more to see about William Spencer, whose attention and mind were not with whatever tale his wife had to tell. He was of medium height, with the shoulders of a man who sat over books all day. He stood looking down over the lake and the village, his expression easy and even and empty, somehow. His wife stood at his side, talking on, her hands moving in the air in front of her as if she could call his attention to her with magic. Nathaniel wondered if cousin Amanda had brought the Green Man with her all the way from England, and if he would feel at home with the stone men of the endless forests.
* * *
Elizabeth found that aunt Merriweather was best approached like an unavoidable march through a boggy field. Once in the middle and up to the ankles in muck, there was nothing to do but persevere for the other side.
When there was opportunity, she answered questions in the order they seemed to her most important. To answer them all would not be possible; Aunt would come back to those which most interested her, anyway. One such question had already surfaced in three slightly different forms. Nathaniel would have been a help in this conversation, but he had excused himself to lend Galileo a hand.
"If we do rebuild the schoolhouse, it will not be until the spring. There is too much work at this time of year to think of it, in any case."
Her aunt said: "But I am more than willing to finance the rebuilding—”
“I understand, and I am most thankful for your generosity. It is not the funds for rebuilding which are at issue, but simply the men. This winter we will make do with Father's first homestead. It served us well before, and will serve again, will it not, Hannah?"
Hannah's instincts were very good; she simply nodded, and resisted the pull into the conversation.
"Cannot you hire one of the men in the village, or several of them, to take on this job?" asked her aunt.
Kitty surprised Elizabeth by speaking up. "The hunting season is upon us, ma'am," she said. "And many of the men here go into the bush to trap."
"I see," aunt Merriweather said. Which meant, of course, that she did not; she was not resigned. Elizabeth anticipated other conversations on this topic, but for the moment she was rescued by the arrival of her cousin Amanda, who dropped down beside her in a great rush of silk and taffeta, and took both her hands in her own pale, cold ones.
"We have been a very long time in finding you," Amanda said in her breathy, sweet way. "I did wonder if perhaps we should never get here at all."
"But here you are," her mother noted. "And here is your tea. I do not like your color, Amanda. Do drink it while it is warm."
Hidden from her mother's view by Kitty, Amanda rolled her eyes at Elizabeth, even as she took the cup that Daisy offered her.
"You are looking very well," Elizabeth said, squeezing Amanda's hand. "And I am so pleased to see you here. I only wish circumstances were happier—"
The judge had been sitting quietly nearby, listening with a smile on his face. But he stood and left the room quite suddenly, mumbling some small excuse. Mr. Witherspoon trailed out after him, casting apologies liberally as he went. Aunt watched them go with a closed expression and her mouth drawn down in worry.
"I fear we do not have much to offer in the way of diversion, given recent losses," Elizabeth concluded.
"Oh, but there is the child," Amanda said. "We must be thankful for the child."
Curiosity appeared at the door as if she had been summoned. The bundle in her arms was squirming and humming in anticipation. "Kitty, this boy of yours is empty again."
Kitty rose. "I must go and see after him," she said. "If you will excuse me."
Amanda jumped up, Elizabeth forgotten, to follow Kitty on her errand.
"My poor dear," aunt Merriweather said under her breath. "My poor lamb, so long without a child of her own. She holds up so bravely, does she not? Although we were most surprised, pleasantly surprised, by the good tidings we had of you, my dear. I must say at least your sense of decorum and timing is better than was that of your poor brother—not that such a thing as reputation seems to matter here. Ah, William."
Will Spencer was at the door. He bowed from the waist, and came forward.
It was almost two years since Elizabeth had last seen him: the hair on his temples had grown sparser, and there were the first fine lines around his eyes. But the same kindness and intelligence were there, too, and when she looked at him she did not see a man of great wealth and education, but the boy she had grown up with. She smiled at him, and at herself: all her worries, and here was just Will, who had hid with her in the apple orchard, taught her how to make a slingshot out of old garters, and told her stories of the Amazon. Whatever else she had once felt for him seemed all very dim and unimportant, compared to what she felt for the boy he had been and the place that boy held in her heart. Perhaps he could see all this on her face, as well, for his strained expression was replaced by a genuine smile, and he leaned over to take her hand and kiss her cheek. He smelled, as always, of his pipe.
A couple was walking up the hill toward the house. The woman was small and finely built, pretty but pale in her mourning clothes. Her hands fluttered as she spoke. There was something whispery about Elizabeth's cousin Amanda, even at this distance.
There was not much more to see about William Spencer, whose attention and mind were not with whatever tale his wife had to tell. He was of medium height, with the shoulders of a man who sat over books all day. He stood looking down over the lake and the village, his expression easy and even and empty, somehow. His wife stood at his side, talking on, her hands moving in the air in front of her as if she could call his attention to her with magic. Nathaniel wondered if cousin Amanda had brought the Green Man with her all the way from England, and if he would feel at home with the stone men of the endless forests.
* * *
Elizabeth found that aunt Merriweather was best approached like an unavoidable march through a boggy field. Once in the middle and up to the ankles in muck, there was nothing to do but persevere for the other side.
When there was opportunity, she answered questions in the order they seemed to her most important. To answer them all would not be possible; Aunt would come back to those which most interested her, anyway. One such question had already surfaced in three slightly different forms. Nathaniel would have been a help in this conversation, but he had excused himself to lend Galileo a hand.
"If we do rebuild the schoolhouse, it will not be until the spring. There is too much work at this time of year to think of it, in any case."
Her aunt said: "But I am more than willing to finance the rebuilding—”
“I understand, and I am most thankful for your generosity. It is not the funds for rebuilding which are at issue, but simply the men. This winter we will make do with Father's first homestead. It served us well before, and will serve again, will it not, Hannah?"
Hannah's instincts were very good; she simply nodded, and resisted the pull into the conversation.
"Cannot you hire one of the men in the village, or several of them, to take on this job?" asked her aunt.
Kitty surprised Elizabeth by speaking up. "The hunting season is upon us, ma'am," she said. "And many of the men here go into the bush to trap."
"I see," aunt Merriweather said. Which meant, of course, that she did not; she was not resigned. Elizabeth anticipated other conversations on this topic, but for the moment she was rescued by the arrival of her cousin Amanda, who dropped down beside her in a great rush of silk and taffeta, and took both her hands in her own pale, cold ones.
"We have been a very long time in finding you," Amanda said in her breathy, sweet way. "I did wonder if perhaps we should never get here at all."
"But here you are," her mother noted. "And here is your tea. I do not like your color, Amanda. Do drink it while it is warm."
Hidden from her mother's view by Kitty, Amanda rolled her eyes at Elizabeth, even as she took the cup that Daisy offered her.
"You are looking very well," Elizabeth said, squeezing Amanda's hand. "And I am so pleased to see you here. I only wish circumstances were happier—"
The judge had been sitting quietly nearby, listening with a smile on his face. But he stood and left the room quite suddenly, mumbling some small excuse. Mr. Witherspoon trailed out after him, casting apologies liberally as he went. Aunt watched them go with a closed expression and her mouth drawn down in worry.
"I fear we do not have much to offer in the way of diversion, given recent losses," Elizabeth concluded.
"Oh, but there is the child," Amanda said. "We must be thankful for the child."
Curiosity appeared at the door as if she had been summoned. The bundle in her arms was squirming and humming in anticipation. "Kitty, this boy of yours is empty again."
Kitty rose. "I must go and see after him," she said. "If you will excuse me."
Amanda jumped up, Elizabeth forgotten, to follow Kitty on her errand.
"My poor dear," aunt Merriweather said under her breath. "My poor lamb, so long without a child of her own. She holds up so bravely, does she not? Although we were most surprised, pleasantly surprised, by the good tidings we had of you, my dear. I must say at least your sense of decorum and timing is better than was that of your poor brother—not that such a thing as reputation seems to matter here. Ah, William."
Will Spencer was at the door. He bowed from the waist, and came forward.
It was almost two years since Elizabeth had last seen him: the hair on his temples had grown sparser, and there were the first fine lines around his eyes. But the same kindness and intelligence were there, too, and when she looked at him she did not see a man of great wealth and education, but the boy she had grown up with. She smiled at him, and at herself: all her worries, and here was just Will, who had hid with her in the apple orchard, taught her how to make a slingshot out of old garters, and told her stories of the Amazon. Whatever else she had once felt for him seemed all very dim and unimportant, compared to what she felt for the boy he had been and the place that boy held in her heart. Perhaps he could see all this on her face, as well, for his strained expression was replaced by a genuine smile, and he leaned over to take her hand and kiss her cheek. He smelled, as always, of his pipe.
