Fire Along the Sky (61 page)

Luke was silent for a moment. “And he still can't use the arm.” Asking her to say the words that he didn't want to hear.

“He can move it, but the pain is enough to make him swoon, if you can imagine that of Daniel Bonner. Hannah won't even let him walk about, she's that worried about keeping the arm still. Though he does, of course, when she's gone.”

“And the wound?”

“Healing,” Jennet said, and then: “More slowly than Hannah hoped it would.”

“It's the pain distracting him,” said Luke.

“The worst of it is, he's lost all hope,” Jennet said. “He barely talks to anyone except to Blue-Jay and Hannah, and there's a bitterness in him that breaks my heart, Luke. He's convinced himself he's going to lose the arm, though Hannah tells him that it's no the case.”

She watched Luke thinking, his expression blank but his eyes bright and a thousand thoughts moving behind them, weighing and calculating and weighing again. He wouldn't let himself feel his brother's pain because he couldn't afford that distraction. It was what she expected of him, but she admired it nonetheless.

He said, “We can wait another four or five weeks at the most. Jennet, listen.” He leaned closer. “My leaning is to tell you as little as possible of our plans, so you'll be as surprised as the next person when the time comes—”

“You'll get no argument from me on that count,” Jennet said.

“—but there is something I need to ask you. If things go wrong, it could be that I'll have to stay out of Canada.”

She looked at him then and saw no real worry in his face. “For how long?”

Luke shrugged, the muscles in his shoulder rolling. “For good, most likely. If things go wrong.”

“But what of the business? What of Forbes and Sons and the rest of it?”

“I've already hired another manager, and I can sell out my shares on short notice—”

“If things go wrong,” she finished for him. “You're willing to risk everything you've built up for yourself in Montreal?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, some of the old humor there in him, the fearlessness of the younger man she had known in Scotland. “For my brother? Of course. The question I'm putting to you is, whether you're willing to settle down someplace else. Boston or Manhattan or Albany.”

He was watching her closely, as if he weren't quite sure of what she would say but meant to hide his worry.

“Madame del Giglio said I would be traveling farther than Montreal,” Jennet said, suddenly remembering.

“Well, then,” Luke said with a sour grin. “That settles it. We might as well pack up right now and get ourselves on the road.”

“Tease me if you must,” Jennet said, fighting back the irritation that pushed its way up. “But here's your answer: I came this far for you, Luke Bonner, and I'm not about to give up now. I'll follow you to the ends of the earth if I must.”

“Let's hope that won't be necessary,” he said, reaching for her with a tender expression. She caught his hand in her own and held it, feeling the energy there and the heat of him, the nature of his purpose.

“There's something else,” Jennet said, and she wondered at herself that her body should be roused by nothing more than the way he was looking at her. Such sad, terrible, important things still needed to be said and here she was, covered with gooseflesh at the touch of him.

She said, “I fear Hannah won't leave when the time comes.”

Luke raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, and Jennet went on.

“You may spirit Blue-Jay and Daniel away without a peep, but in the end I think she'll stay for the sake of the others. She won't be able to turn her back on them.”

Luke raised a hand to push a curl out of Jennet's face and then his fingers moved down and flicked open the buttons on her chemise she had finally managed to do up. “Of course she wouldn't leave the prisoners,” he said. “We knew that all along.”

Jennet caught his wrist and held it. “Oh, you did. Then pray tell me, how did you plan to get her away from here? Are you going to knock her senseless and carry her off in a sack?”

“Don't be silly.” He pressed a knuckle to her breastbone and then ran it down to her belly so that she gasped and tried to turn away.

“What then?” Jennet said, fumbling to contain his hands; too late.

“We'll take them all,” Luke said. “So there's no one for her to stay behind for.”

“Wait.” Jennet twisted with all her strength to stop him, pushed with both hands against his shoulders. “You intend to empty the whole stockade? A hundred prisoners or more, they'll just walk away with the blessing of the commander?”

“More or less,” Luke said, taking her hands and pinning them to the pallet to either side of her head. “Any more questions?”

“Not just now,” Jennet said, and pulled him to her.

Chapter 38

Up to her elbows in soapy water, sweat-soaked in the heat, Lily looked up from the floor she was scrubbing to Curiosity, who stood on a stool, her arms full of curtains.

“Hope you got some sweet talk ready,” Curiosity mumbled around the pins in her mouth. “Here come Simon, and he don't look pleased.”

Lily sat back on her heels and wiped the hair out of her face. There was a slight breeze coming up from the lake, and the idea came to her, odd but very appealing, of simply dashing down the path and jumping into the water. Along the way she could shed her clothes and loosen her hair, she thought. After all, if the villagers got such pleasure out of gossiping about her, she might as well give them something at least halfway true to talk about.

Then Simon was at the open door, blocking the light and the breeze.

“Is it so?” he asked shortly. “Have you put off the wedding again?”

“Just a week,” Lily said, gathering her skirts and hoisting herself up. He stepped forward to take her by the elbow and lifted her effortlessly.

“So that the cabin will be ready,” she finished, and found herself almost nose to nose with the man she was supposed to have married ten days ago.

“The cabin,” he said.

She pulled her arm away and blew a hair out of her eyes. “Yes, Simon, the cabin. This cabin. Our home. You don't want to move into a pigsty, do you?”

His mouth twitched, whether in preparation for laughter or shouting, Lily wasn't quite sure. He was frustrated, that much she could see.

At the window Curiosity said, “You two got a lifetime ahead of you for arguing and making up too. Right now I need help. Come on over here, Simon, and give me a hand with these ornery curtains.”

The cabin was two small rooms in a clearing, no space even for a decent kitchen garden, which was why nobody had showed any interest in it in the years since Jack MacGregor had died. But Lily liked the way it sat on a little hill looking over the lake. She liked the fact that the sun filled the larger room for most of the morning. And most of all she liked that it was only ten minutes' walk to the village and the meetinghouse; that was worth a great deal.

Simon had agreed that the cabin was well situated and would suit, and he helped cheerfully enough, cleaning out the well and carrying water and digging a trench for the necessary. With a little wheedling Lily had even got him to make her new shelves and a number of other small things that tried his patience but pleased her mightily.

Curiosity ordered him about too, but he didn't seem to mind. He did his best for her, but he talked while he worked and asked the questions Lily had answered before and must answer again: did it really take so long to get the bed linens in order, and why it was that pewter had to come from Johnstown, and was it sensible for Lily to be asking for a new stove when she didn't much like cooking, after all, and more than that, why were they going to so much trouble to furnish a cabin where they would live for less than a year?

Another woman might have been frustrated, but Simon's questions pleased Lily, just as it pleased her to look at him. There was sawdust in his hair and eyebrows and his beard shadow was dark though it was hardly midday, and when he looked at her there was a burning in his eyes, an impatience barely held in check. Once she had thought him rather plain, something that confused her and amused her, too, that she had been so willfully blind.

“What you really asking,” Curiosity said when Simon had run out of questions. “Is whether our Lily got cold feet. You worried about her running out on you.” Curiosity shook her head at both of them as though they were unruly children. Before Lily could say anything, Curiosity waved a hand to stop her.

“I'ma go home and see if those girls got dinner on the table yet. You stay here and tell the man what he want to hear, child. I don't know about young people these days, I truly do not.”

There was a short silence between them after Curiosity had disappeared down the steps with her basket over her arm, and then Simon cleared his throat.

“Well?”

Lily crossed the room to him in five quick steps. “Of course I'm not going to change my mind. Would I be spending all my time making this cabin into a home for us if I planned to run off?”

She put a hand on his arm and felt the pulse jumping there. It was a shameful thing, but she took considerable pleasure in the discomfort he didn't quite manage to hide.

“You're stuck with me now, Simon Ballentyne,” she said. “Like it or not.”

That earned her the smile she wanted, the one that flashed his dimples and made his face come alive. She pushed the dark hair away from his face and he caught her hand, turned its palm to his mouth and kissed it. They might have done more—a shiver ran up Lily's back at the things he suggested, his mouth against her ear—but it was dinnertime, and her stomach rumbled loud enough for him to hear it.

On the way home for dinner Simon had his own news to share: Anna McGarrity had promised them a rooster and three hens as a wedding present, and he had come to an agreement with the Cunninghams: Simon would build them a new shed in return for his second-best milch cow.

“Your friends are doing their level best to keep us here,” he said finally. “Though I can't understand why.”

She poked him then, hard, in the ribs, and he yelped and jumped out of her reach.

“You ungrateful wretch,” he said in a conversational tone. “And here was I, planning to put in your new stove tomorrow.”

“How peculiar, that the idea of a new stove should give me gooseflesh,” Lily said. “Who would have thought I'd take to housekeeping?”

He came closer and nudged her with his hip. “If that's all it takes to give you goose bumps, girl—”

“Stop,” she said, swerving away. “Not ten minutes ago we agreed that we can't be late for dinner again. My mother's patience is not endless. Keep your hands to yourself, and tell me about the schoolhouse.”

She saw straightaway that it was the wrong subject to raise. It made Simon think of less pleasant things, and now that he had turned his mind in that direction she would have the devil's own time turning it back again.

“He was at it again today,” Simon said.

Lily needn't ask for details. The Reverend Stiles continued to preach every day in the very middle of the village, sometimes for more than an hour, and, it seemed to Lily, always on the same topic. Since she had stopped working at the meetinghouse in the mornings while she was busy at the cabin, she had only heard about these sermons.

“If it does not bother me, Simon . . .” she began, and then her voice trailed away at the look he shot her.

They walked in silence for a while through grass ripe for haying, alive with grasshoppers and small darting animals desperate to find new cover.

Finally Lily said, “I have lived all my life in this village. People here know me, Simon. He can say what he likes, they won't believe him.”

“He's calling you a whore.” Simon's voice went hoarse and broke.

At that Lily must pause. “By name? He called me a whore by name?”

“All but,” Simon muttered. “It's aye clear who he's talking about.”

“Promise me something,” Lily said suddenly, stopping to turn to him and put her hands on his upper arms. “Promise me you won't let Stiles get the best of you. Don't raise a hand to him, Simon. Promise me.”

His mouth was set hard, and lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, as if he were looking at something that did not please him. This was one of the times when Lily saw how much like her father Simon Ballentyne really was: he would not be led, not even by her, when what she wanted went against his best judgment.

“I could promise you the moon and stars if you ask me, Lily Bonner, and what would that mean? What's in my power to give, that you'll have.”

For the rest of the walk they said nothing at all. Now and then Lily sent him a sidelong glance and saw how lost he was in his thoughts. Just before they reached home, he turned to her.

He said, “The very least I must do is discuss it with your father.”

“Get on with it then,” Lily said. “He's standing at the door there waiting for you.”

Nathaniel saw straight off that Simon had things to talk about, but he knew that Elizabeth would not allow such a discussion at her dinner table.

He had been watching his wife closely for the last weeks and had finally convinced himself that Curiosity was right: she was healthier than any woman her age carrying for the seventh time had any right to be. So he settled in for the stormy months, battened down and rode out her moods.

Now they ate cold chicken and new beans and lettuce from the kitchen garden while they spoke of the things she approved, and nothing else. She asked some questions about Lily's morning and what there was left to do at the old MacGregor cabin.

“We've got to stop calling it that,” Lily said.

“What would you call it, then?” Simon asked her, one brow arching, which meant he was in a teasing mood and would wind her up if given half a chance.

Elizabeth put a stop to that, though a little reluctantly. She said, “In the village they call it the Ballentyne place.”

“Already?” Lily asked.

“You sound displeased, daughter,” Nathaniel observed. “Did you want it to be known by your name?”

“Well, no,” Lily said. “I suppose not.”

“It takes some getting used to, I suppose,” Nathaniel said. “Giving up one name for another.”

Simon was watching Lily closely, not with worry or displeasure, but as he might watch a deer he was tracking to learn more about her habits. Elizabeth saw this with some satisfaction. She had the idea that he was the kind of man who knew better than to try to herd Lily where she wasn't yet ready to go.

Then talk turned to the schoolhouse, which was pretty much done; Nathaniel had to give Ballentyne credit for good work done fast and clean. There was some back-and-forth about the fieldstone for the chimneys and going to Johnstown for the window glass. For all her early misgivings, Elizabeth was pleased with the new building, and to Nathaniel's satisfaction, she had even regained some of her old spark when she talked about the next school year, and the hiring of a teacher.

The Wednesday post had brought three more application letters in response to the advertisement she had sent to the Albany and Manhattan papers.

“The long and short of it is,” Nathaniel finished up for her, “not one of the three suits your mother.” He gave Lily a little jab with his elbow, and winked at her. It was an old family joke, her mother's dissatisfaction with other teachers.

Elizabeth flushed a little but held up her chin. “Would you have less than the best possible teacher for the children of Paradise?”

“You know I wouldn't, Boots,” Nathaniel said. “But I got this feeling you're talking yourself clean out of hiring anybody at all.”

Elizabeth's mouth twitched, but she wouldn't rise to the teasing, not just now.

“That is not true. I will write again to Will and ask about graduates from the African Free School.”

“Cousin Will Spencer,” Lily said to Simon. “He's a trustee at the school, in Manhattan.”

Lily was in the habit of helping Simon through family discussions by throwing him bits of information. That more than anything else made it clear to Nathaniel that she meant to go ahead and marry the man.

Ballentyne knew how to listen and keep his thoughts to himself, but this time something passed over his face, a question that was easy enough to read. Elizabeth caught it as neatly as a tossed apple.

“You disapprove, Simon?”

Ballentyne met her gaze directly. “No,” he said shortly. “I don't disapprove. But I imagine it won't be easy, bringing in a black schoolteacher.”

Nathaniel watched his wife with equal parts wariness and curiosity. Elizabeth was studying Ballentyne from across the table, the small vertical line between her brows very pronounced. He knew what that meant, but Ballentyne might not understand, just yet, what he had let himself in for.

“Simon,” Elizabeth said on an indrawn breath. “I hope you are not the kind of man to run from a challenge.”

He gave her an easy grin. “I'm to marry your daughter, am I no?”

Nathaniel had to bite back a smile, and even Elizabeth could not help but nod in concession.

“You think the people of Paradise will not like such a person as a teacher?” Her tone had shifted a little.

“Of course they won't, Ma,” Lily said. “Why pretend otherwise? If you want to hire somebody from the Free School, you're going to have a fight on your hands. Why not just hire Manny, at least he'll have a chance.”

At the look on Elizabeth's face—surprise, revelation, and a good dose of irritation at her own witlessness—Nathaniel had to laugh. “There you go, Boots,” he said. “Problem solved, and cleverly.”

Elizabeth's mouth shut with a click. “I must admit, it certainly should have occurred to me. Manny graduated from the Free School, after all. I wonder that Curiosity never raised the topic.”

“Maybe Curiosity is more worried about the trouble it will cause than you are,” Lily suggested.

But Elizabeth either did not hear this very reasonable suggestion, or discounted it out of hand. She put fork down and rose from the table with a distracted air.

“Sit down, Boots,” Nathaniel said. “You can go talk to Curiosity and Manny after dinner. Another hour ain't going to make any difference, and there's another problem we got to put our minds to. With any luck we can solve it just as quick.”

Nathaniel saw Lily's back go very straight; she knew what it was, then, and so did Ballentyne, by the look on his face.

“What is it, Nathaniel?” Elizabeth asked, one hand on the swelling at her waist.

“It's the Reverend Stiles,” Ballentyne answered for him. “Isn't that so?”

“It is,” Nathaniel said. “Jed came to talk to me about it today. Stiles has got a nasty way with words, and he gets worse every day.”

“The Bill of Rights is very clear about free speech, Nathaniel,” Elizabeth said primly. It was her schoolmistress voice, and Nathaniel knew what was coming.

“The more attention you pay to the man, the happier he will be. Ignore him, and he will tire of his campaign soon enough.”