Lake in the Clouds (79 page)

Jemima wasn’t allowed in this room, not even to clean. Grime on the doorjamb; an inch of dust on the shelves; the stink of a dead mouse.

Letters, contracts, old John Glove’s signature, wavering across the bottom of a deed. Cut neatly from the Albany newspaper:

The rug on the floor had been pushed to one side. Beneath it was a square of floorboards cleverly made that had been lifted out and set aside to reveal a hole the size and shape of a strongbox. An empty hole.

Ambrose Dye had sat in the straight-backed chair next to the desk many times. Oh yes. Invited, welcomed at the door; the key turned in the lock to keep others out. The clink of coin, the rustle of folding money. Down in the village the men who drank in the tavern never tired of calculating the widow’s riches. How much money she had hid away, how much the mill brought in, the labor of the slaves she sent away over the winter. Was she as rich as old Judge Middleton had been? As rich as Dr. Todd? Was she as rich as the governor, the president, bloody King George? They couldn’t agree on any of it, but they never let it go. And the hottest argument: what to call a woman with so much money who didn’t believe in banks. Was it wisdom or foolery?

That question was answered now. The money was all gone, everything was gone. Everything except the house, the mill, and the land they stood on; a little lumber, some tarnishing silver, and the widow’s tapestry pillows and pockets and bell pulls in colors too bright for this darkening house.

And the slaves, of course.

“Thief,” the widow was muttering in her sleep in the next room.
“Viper.”

The widow had declared Dye guilty. She would accept no other explanation, and no one argued with her. Who else knew about the strongbox hidden under the floorboards, after all. But Jemima knew that it wasn’t Dye and so did Isaiah, who stumbled about white-faced, empty-eyed. He was out there on the mountain looking for a man not to hang him, but to bury him.

Isaiah knew as his mother could not that Ambrose Dye had no cause to steal from the widow: he had the best of her already, and would have the rest, in time. While Jemima stood aside he would carry the key to the strongbox around his neck. One day she would have found herself asking Ambrose Dye for pocket money.

She wondered if they had killed him straightaway, or marched him to some spot deep in the forests where they could take their time with him. The Indians knew how to get the most out of a man, and for once that idea was a pleasant one.

Liam’s image flashed in front of her throbbing eyes: Liam below the window. Liam shoulder to shoulder with the black Indian. Liam’s face white with fury as he emptied himself into her. Liam and Nathaniel Bonner, plotting together. Liam and Hannah.
The most beautiful thing Paradise has to offer.

Jemima blinked it all away in a rage of tears, drew a deep breath, and sat down at the desk. Took a piece of paper, opened the bottle of ink, and began to compose a letter.

The Bonner men were out with the search party and neither Strikes-the-Sky nor Strong-Words could show themselves in the village for fear that a jumpy trapper would shoot without looking. But Hannah refused to stay at home, and so Elizabeth went with her stepdaughter on her daily rounds. They left a
furious Lily behind, and warned the men that she would slip away to follow if they did not watch her.

When Elizabeth looked back from the edge of the clearing she saw Lily and Kateri leading Strikes-the-Sky up the mountain. The girls had been promising to show him the caves under the falls since he came. Elizabeth felt a rush of gratitude that she kept to herself; she would not praise Strikes-the-Sky to Hannah, not because she did not like the man—she liked him very much—but because she could see how close her stepdaughter was to making a decision that she did not want to influence. On the way to the village they spoke of unimportant things until an uneasy silence fell between them.

Finally Elizabeth said, “It is so long since I have spent any time with Manny. You know him much better than I do. Do you think him capable—” She paused to gather her thoughts.

Hannah said, “You’re wondering if he’s turned into a renegade, like that Marauder of the Swamps we read about in the city papers.”

“I was thinking more of Roberd Hude, the Earl of Huntington,” Elizabeth said. “If you remember the poem we read.”

“I do,” Hannah said. “So you can’t imagine him killing innocent people, but you can see him stealing from the rich. You think he took the widow’s strongbox to buy weapons and provisions for his band of outlaws?”

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Hannah was smiling and Elizabeth had to smile too.

“If you put it that way it does sound ridiculous. And I must admit your father was just as dismissive when I suggested the idea to him yesterday. But certainly they did not go to so much trouble only to make sure that the slaves could be vaccinated.”

“No, that was just a coincidence,” Hannah said. “A fortunate one, but still a coincidence. What happened last night was blood vengeance, but of a carefully planned and thoughtful kind. As you would expect of Manny.”

“The theft of the strongbox was just to divert people’s attention from their real purpose, is that what you’re saying?”

Hannah shrugged. “They will find some use for the money, I’m sure.”

After a long time Elizabeth said something she had not been able to say to Nathaniel, for simple fear of hearing the words spoken. “They will never find Dye’s body.”

“No,” Hannah said slowly. “Of that much you can be sure.”

“And the … others, with Manny?” She thought again of Jode, and again she pushed the idea away. Jode was safe in Canada; she would entertain no other possibility. For what else had they gone so far and lost so much?

Hannah stopped, and in her face Elizabeth saw many things: cautiousness, worry, resignation. Hannah said, “I don’t know all of it but I will tell you what Strikes-the-Sky told me. If you really want to know.”

Elizabeth had an image of Hannah sitting on the rocks under the falls in the heat of a summer night, deep in conversation with Strikes-the-Sky. Last night he had left the trading post first and when they came home he had been waiting for her. She had gone to him without a backward glance, without apology or explanation.

An hour later Elizabeth had come out on the porch and they were still there in exactly the same position, talking. They did not touch, or even look at each other, but still it was clear to see how strong the attachment between them had grown.

Then Hannah went to her bed alone and Strikes-the-Sky and Strong-Words had kept watch all night while Nathaniel and Hawkeye were away, tracking the men who had robbed the widow. That those men would never be found was something no one said aloud, but it was true nonetheless.

She shook her head. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t need to hear the details. At least not for the time being.”

When Hannah opened the kitchen door she found Richard waiting, something that happened so rarely that it must cause alarm.

He looked as if he hadn’t slept at all: his hair stood up in a wild halo around his head, and his eyes were rimmed red. It looked as though a dirty thumb had been pressed into the soft flesh under his eyes, as a child played with bread dough. He cradled a cup in his hands, and a bottle stood at his elbow.

“I was just going to send after you.”

Elizabeth was tense with surprise, but Hannah kept her own voice dispassionate. “How is Miss Wilde?”

He emptied his cup in one long swallow. “Not good. I’d take the rest of the arm off if I thought she’d live through the operation.”

“I’ll go straight to her.”

“No,” Richard said, more quietly. He ran a hand over his face and fought back a yawn. “I’ll go back there as soon as I’ve cleaned up. Come by at midday, that’ll be soon enough. There’s other calls to make. Gathercole was here an hour ago waking up the house looking for me to come tend to his wife’s sore throat … Elizabeth.”

His head turned suddenly, as if he had just noticed that Hannah was not alone. Like a dog getting wind of a cat, Hannah thought. The simple truth was that when these two came face-to-face, neither of them could control the way old animosities came surging to the surface. Richard, abrupt at the best of times, veered toward rude and stayed there; Elizabeth went as sharp and brittle as flint. Only when the children were present did they make any effort to hold back.

He said, “Kitty’s been asking for you. You might as well go see her now while I go over this call list with Hannah. You’re no use to me here.”

Elizabeth’s brow lowered ominously. “Dr. Todd. Once again I do not know whether to be affronted by your rude manner, or to submit to the inevitable and simply admire your consistency. It is your one virtue, after all. That must count for something.”

“Whatever suits you best, Elizabeth,” he said, and turned away. Sometimes Hannah had the feeling that he was holding back a laugh when he and Elizabeth were sparring, but not today.

Kitty was still in bed with a breakfast tray to one side and the baby Meg on the other. At the sight of Elizabeth she sat up against the pillows, her face breaking into a great smile.

“I was starting to wonder if you were angry with me, it’s been so long since you’ve come to call.”

Elizabeth drew up a chair to the side of the bed and took the hand that Kitty held out. “Are you unwell?”

“Oh no. Not in the least, but Richard insists that I stay abed until ten or until I finish my breakfast, whichever comes
first. I’m so glad you’re here; there’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask—”

“If you want to know when Runs-from-Bears will bring the boys home, I expect that you’ll see Ethan toward the end of the week.”

Kitty looked slightly confused, and then she laughed. “I’m not concerned about Ethan. I’m sure that Runs-from-Bears is looking after him, and after all, he’s never happier than when he can be running around in the forest with the other boys. What I wanted to ask you was this.”

She scooped the baby into her arms and held her up for inspection.

In the middle of a vast expanse of lace, dimity, and linen a small face peered out, as pink as a spring rose with great round eyes.

“Is she not the prettiest baby?”

“She is beautiful,” Elizabeth agreed. “And she has done miracles for you. You look so much better, Kitty, it does my heart good to see you.”

Kitty wrinkled her nose. “People were making such a fuss about me, I just don’t understand it. Dr. Ehrlich cured me, as I knew he would.”

Elizabeth had heard a great deal about Dr. Ehrlich from Hannah, but to open up that conversation with Kitty would bring nothing good at all. She searched for something to say while concern flitted across Kitty’s face.

In a conspiratorial whisper she said, “You needn’t say as much to Hannah. She was so kind and helpful and she brought my Meg to me.” She looked down at the baby in her arms and smiled. “I am thankful to Hannah, you know that I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world. Such a good creature. If it will do her good to take credit for my recovery, why then she shall have credit, here in Paradise at least.” Her tone lowered a little further.

“I will admit to you, Elizabeth, I do think Hannah is not quite rational about Dr. Ehrlich. Perhaps it is professional jealousy; that is often a problem between practioners of medicine.”

Elizabeth said, “And how is the nurse you brought with you from the city? Are you satisfied with her?”

Another wrinkle of the nose. “She’s not very friendly, but
she looks after Meg very well for the most part. Except of course she’s very quick to complain, as are most Germans as you no doubt have noticed yourself. Her English is never so good as when she’s got a pain or she thinks herself insulted. Such a thin-skinned people in spite of their gruff manners. She’s been complaining about a sore throat in spite of the fact that Richard treated her himself.” She paused.

“I do wish Curiosity would come back home, she deals with the nursemaid far better than I ever could. I wonder what can be keeping her so long in Albany.”

Ten minutes in Kitty’s company was usually enough to set Elizabeth’s teeth on edge, but today she had managed it in just five. She said, “It has been a long time since they’ve seen their Polly, after all. You mustn’t begrudge them a few days’ visit.”
And some time with their new grandson,
she added to herself.

But Kitty had already turned her mind to other things. “Look,” she said, holding the baby closer. “Look at how she clasps my finger so tightly. Such a strong little girl, so vigorous.”

A scratching at the door and it opened far enough for Daisy to peep in. “You just about done with that breakfast, Mrs. Todd? And Hannah’s waiting for you downstairs, Elizabeth. She says if you don’t mind it’s time she got started.”

Kitty straightened. “But I thought you would spend the morning here with me, Elizabeth. It is very boring here with Curiosity away and Richard so busy with the vaccinations and his research. Won’t you stay a while at least? You haven’t even seen the new gowns I brought back from the city, oh and the beautiful India shawl.”

“I promised Hannah my help,” Elizabeth said, rising. “You’ll have to spare me this morning at least.”

“Help Hannah? Why would Hannah need your help?” Kitty’s expression smoothed suddenly. “I suppose it’s that business about the Indians stealing the widow Kuick’s strongbox, isn’t it. You are compelled to put yourself in the middle of whatever trouble comes along. That is your one real failing.”

“Perhaps one day I will learn from your excellent example,” Elizabeth said, leaning over to press a kiss to Kitty’s forehead. “Don’t despair of me yet.”