The Endless Forest

  “Must be Lorena’s influence,” Missy said. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders, does Lorena.”

  There was another odd thing: Even people who were determined to dislike anything and everything having to do with Jemima took a liking to Lorena.

  “The boy a little slow,” Curiosity said of him. “But pure of heart. Most of all, they ain’t the littlest bit of self-pity in him. He just take things as they come. That he did learn from Lorena.”

  The only person who seemed to have any doubts was Levi. Levi could be standoffish, because, as Ma had told Birdie once, he had lost everybody he loved—his little brother to a terrible accident at the mill, his ma drowning, and Ezekiel gone too, and within two days of falling sick with the measles. He could be standoffish, but he loved the orchard and could be won over by anybody who showed any real interest. If Nicholas was going to make a friend out of Levi it would be by means of his help in the orchard.

  If you took the time to visit with him, Levi opened up. He knew hundreds of songs and stories and he was generous with all of them. Once in a while he would play the fiddle at a party, and then he looked like a different person altogether, happy with himself and the world.

  And Levi listened. He listened close, even when other grown-ups didn’t seem to take things seriously.

  Birdie asked her ma about Levi and Nicholas, and from the look on her face she knew she had hit on something that troubled her.

  “You know the stories about his mother’s death.”

  “Cookie?”

  “Yes. She died in a violent way, and some people believe Jemima was responsible.”

  “I know that, Ma,” Birdie said. “Everybody knows that. When Cookie and Levi and his brothers were still slaves Jemima treated them awful. And then they got their papers—”

  “Manumission papers,” Ma reminded her gently.

  It meant something when Ma interrupted. A new question occurred to Birdie.

  “Where did Cookie get the money to buy herself and her boys free?”

  “It’s a complicated story,” Ma said. “I think all you need to know right now is that the enmity between Jemima and the Fiddlers runs very deep.”

  Birdie took note of the word enmity, considered asking about it, and decided not to. Ma was looking for reasons to change the subject as it was.

  “But why would Levi blame Nicholas? He wasn’t even born yet.”

  “The deepest feelings are not always very rational,” Ma said. “That is especially true for the kind of wound Levi has been nursing all these years. He may believe that Nicholas is part of some scheme of Jemima’s.”

  “Nicholas?” The idea was so odd that Birdie had to smile. “There’s not a false bone in his whole body.”

  “I don’t know exactly what he suspects,” Ma said. “It may have to do with Nicholas or perhaps with Harper. But it certainly has something to do with the orchard. Jemima tried before to take the orchard away from Callie’s father. To Levi I think that was just as terrible a crime as what happened to his mother and little brother.”

  Birdie thought of asking again about Levi’s brother who had died in an accident at the mill, but she decided that it wasn’t the right time.

  “He loves the orchard,” Birdie had to agree.

  “He has put everything into it,” Ma said. “After his older brother died it was the orchard, the work in the orchard that kept him from losing his mind.”

  “But why would Jemima even want it anymore?” Birdie asked. “Half the trees got swept away in the flood. All they’ve got now are the Spitzenbergs and a lot of ‘maybe’ trees.”

  “I don’t know that Jemima does want the orchard,” her ma said. “But history has shown us that it’s dangerous to underestimate her.”

  “So you think Levi’s right to distrust Nicholas?” She had been wanting to ask this question, but it came up and out of her mouth before she could think of better wording.

  “No,” her ma said. “I don’t think there’s any reason to dislike Nicholas or to be suspicious of him. Callie has tried to convince Levi that the boy is no threat, but his distrust hasn’t given way yet.”

  “It’s sad,” Birdie said, and got one of her mother’s gentle smiles.

  “It is very sad,” Elizabeth agreed. “And for the moment at least there’s nothing you or I can do to help. Levi must work this out for himself.”

  That night Elizabeth told Nathaniel about this conversation after the lights had been put out, while they floated in the calm time before sleep. There was a light rain falling and the air was crisp and sweet, but it was also very dark.

  She raised a hand and couldn’t see it, even when she touched her nose to her palm. In all her years in the endless forests she had never been comfortable on nights like these. But that was the difference between a grand house with two dozen servants—including one who did nothing but care for candles and oil lamps, as had been the case in her girlhood at Oakmere—and this place. Her place.

  “You’re very quiet,” she said after a while.

  “I’m thinking it through, Boots. You want me to talk to Levi?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Things are complicated enough as it is.”

  “Not that you need to go looking for things to worry about,” Nathaniel said. “But I heard Callie and Martha arguing about the boy. Martha was coming out of the trading post and Callie was going in, and they were having one of those arguments where women whisper at each other and you can hear every word ten yards off.”

  There was a longer silence, and Elizabeth poked him.

  “Boots,” he said, catching her hand. “Hold on, I’m just trying to organize my thoughts. Callie wants to take the boy in, and Martha don’t like the idea. And before you ask, I can’t say what Martha was worried about, because she never came out with it. They caught sight of me and that was the end of the conversation.”

  “You just left it like that?”

  She could almost hear him smiling. “You wanted me to run after Martha and demand more information?”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “All right, maybe I do mean something like that. It would have been—”

  “Nosy?”

  She pinched this time, and hard enough to make him hiss. “Ow. Boots, play fair.”

  “Fair play,” Elizabeth echoed, “is very hard when you don’t even know what game it is you’re caught up in.”

  The bed creaked as he rolled to look up toward the ceiling. He said, “I wish you could just put down that worry basket you carry around with you, for a while at least. You got Daniel married off—”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with that!”

  “—and he’s going to let Hannah stick him full of pins to see if that might help him some. Ethan is settled too and it looks like things are coming along right well for him and Callie. Hannah and Curiosity both say Lily is healthy and there’s no sign of trouble—”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Even Birdie is calmed down for right now, at least. Can’t you do the same? Just put it all aside and enjoy what we’ve got. All the children nearby, everybody healthy, a couple new grandchildren on the way, crops in the ground, and a willing husband in your bed.”

  Elizabeth let her breath go in a long sigh. “What was that last part again? I didn’t quite catch it.”

  “Come on over here, Boots,” he said, “and I’ll spell it out for you.”

  49

  Martha had many things to be thankful for, and one of them was that Daniel didn’t expect her to rise when he did. He left their bed at dawn or even earlier, and went about his business while she slept on. At first it had seemed a kindness, but then she realized she didn’t like waking alone.

  This Saturday morning she woke slowly, stretching in the puddle of sunlight that poured over the bed. Her first thought was of Daniel, and where he might be.

  There was a way to keep him in bed, but it didn’t have anyth
ing to do with sleeping, and moreover, Martha could not imagine herself suggesting such a thing. The closest she ever came was to touch his face, a small gesture that captured his attention completely, to her continual surprise and satisfaction both. Maybe she would have worked up the courage to be more direct with him if her courses hadn’t interrupted the natural progression of things and kept them apart for—she counted—five days now.

  She forced herself to tell him plainly, and then was a little put out when he took the news without the slightest hint of discomfort. He had nodded and kissed her briefly, changed the subject to something else entirely, and then simply stopped approaching her. Everything stopped; he didn’t catch her up against the wall to kiss her or pull her to him when she walked by. In bed he kissed her good night as if she were a sister.

  With her rational mind Martha understood that this was another bit of kindness and generosity, or at least, that he meant it to be taken that way. In fact, it hurt her feelings. There was no logic to it, nor could it be reasoned away.

  Now her courses were finally over, but Martha found it was far harder to share that bit of news. Every way she could think to say what should be said made her nervous to the point of jumping. She was being childish and silly, and she had no idea how to stop.

  Martha lectured herself at length. Sooner or later Daniel would turn to her, and in the meantime there was a lot of work to do. There was teaching, and the issue of young Nicholas Wilde which seemed to get more complicated every day; most afternoons when they came up the mountain they found that two or three of the Bonner men had come to work on the house. Even with help from Betty Ratz it was hard to keep up with the sawdust and dirt.

  Betty took care of the washing and cleaning, and Martha the meals. She had once been a serviceable cook, and now it came back to her. She put egg pies and fried trout, thick soups and cornbread on the table for whoever was around that day. Whatever she produced Daniel ate with enthusiasm, and Betty made sure to praise her efforts.

  Betty was a sweet girl of fifteen, nothing like her older and very difficult brothers who had gone to school with Martha. To Betty’s way of seeing things she had the best work in Paradise, looking after the little house in the strawberry fields. She was delighted with everything, and always eager to go home when her work was done so she could report the news to her family: Lily’s Simon had finished another chair for the table he made; there was a new cabinet for dishes, and a dozen new shelves, empty still, for the many books in the house all stacked in piles she dare not even touch for fear of putting things out of order.

  When Gabriel had finished turning the new garden plot Betty began to collect seeds from neighbors and friends, and together Betty and Martha planted beets, carrots, peas, parsnip, cucumber, and three kinds of lettuce. Betty turned her hand to whatever work there was without complaint, but she was happiest in the house cleaning and arranging. The cushions Curiosity had sent up for the new settles put her in raptures, each of them embroidered with flowers in colored thread and smelling of lavender.

  There were new bedsheets and pillows and pillow slips, and even a new bed, bigger than any bed Betty had ever seen before and so high that she needed a footstool to smooth the covers.

  Martha had taken pleasure in all the improvements and gifts, but it was the new bed that gave her real pause. One day when she came up from the village after school let out it was already in place with a coverlet spread over it, one she had never seen before that was almost certainly a gift from Elizabeth.

  The shock of the bed kept her right there, red-faced, until Daniel came to find her. She was perched on the edge, her feet dangling a good foot above the floorboards.

  “What?” he said when he saw her expression. “Don’t you like it?”

  “Tell me,” she said in a low whisper. “Please tell me you didn’t tell your father or brothers that we needed a bed this high for any particular purpose.”

  She made him laugh, even when she didn’t mean to. There was nothing cruel about it, and still sometimes it itched.

  “Of course I didn’t,” Daniel had said. He was smiling at her in a way that meant he was thinking of crossing the room to sit down beside her—and maybe more. But then he remembered her courses—she could almost see the idea come into his mind—and instead he had gone back to work with Simon, who was making changes to the hearth.

  Now Martha rolled over and pressed her face into Daniel’s pillow to draw in his smells.

  Outside the puppy was yipping in the high, excited half howl he used to greet someone well known. Daniel spoke a few calm words and Hopper settled. Another creature totally in his power, and really, Martha asked herself, wasn’t it time to pull herself out of this mood?

  But she stayed just where she was and listened as the cart came closer and Daniel called out. His father, hauling hardware or wood or more furniture. She should get up and put the kettle on, but instead Martha almost fell asleep listening to the easy back and forth of their voices. Maybe she did fall asleep, because she started when Daniel opened the chamber door.

  “Martha.”

  She yawned and sat up. “I’m coming.”

  “Da brought up the last of your trunks, with your books.”

  She was suddenly very much awake.

  “I’ll make tea,” she said. “Has he eaten?”

  “Gone already,” Daniel said. “But I could eat.”

  She climbed out of bed thinking of books.

  The new shelves were of cherry wood, carefully sanded and rubbed, and Martha was pleased every time she looked at them. They weren’t as intricately carved as Ethan’s, but all she really wanted was a way to make the common room a little more her own, and her books would do that.

  When Daniel came in he took a minute to admire the filled shelves, and then he sat down to his late breakfast of tea and boiled eggs sprinkled with salt and pepper.

  Martha sat down opposite him. “Thank you,” she said. “I missed my books. But there’s still a lot of space. Shall I put your books on the shelves too?”

  Nothing unusual about her tone or the request, but she watched him anyway. If he grinned at her now, then he knew what she was about.

  Instead he said, “Good idea. It might take you a while to track them all down, though.”

  Daniel was very good at sniffing out mischief, no doubt a skill acquired in near ten years of teaching clever and often devious Yorker children, but it seemed he didn’t have any sense of what she was up to. Because she did have an ulterior motive and a plan. It had been in the making ever since they came home from Johnstown, when she had waited in vain for Daniel to produce the promised book by A French Lady of Leisure.

  Her choices were few: She could ask him about it directly, or she could go exploring and seek it out on her own. Neither option appealed to her overmuch. Married or not, Daniel had a right to his privacy, and she wouldn’t go through his things until and unless he gave her specific permission. And now he had. She had his leave to look through his books.

  He had a lot of them, many from his mother who passed them along when he took over the school. Some Martha recognized because Elizabeth had read them to her class. Gulliver’s Travels she remembered especially well, because Miss Elizabeth—as Martha had called her then—had been so delighted by the story herself.

  Martha began with the table that served as Daniel’s desk, piled high with stacks of books. Geography Made Easy: A Short but Comprehensive System. More Speedy Attainment of the Latin Tongue. A Rhetorical Grammar of the English Tongue. Practical New Grammar. The Schoolmaster’s Assistant, a Compendium of Arithmetic Both Practical and Theoretical. The Natural Sciences. The Art of Writing. Sketches of the Principles of Government.

  The books not related to teaching were more scattered and had been much more thoroughly read. Kant’s Anthropologie, The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, M’Fingal, Moll Flanders, Tom Jones. She was surprised to see that together they had enough novels to fill an entire shelf.

  There were di
ctionaries and grammars for Latin, German, and French. In general there were a lot of books in French; she found a dozen of them on the worktable, of all places, under a pile of shirts that needed mending. She sat down to look through them, her pulse picking up a notch.

  Descartes, Toussaint, Voltaire, Balzac, Rousseau, Diderot, and a French grammar and dictionary. Dry as dust, all of them. No sign of the Lady of Leisure.

  While she dusted and arranged all the books she had found, Martha considered. There were three possibilities, as she saw it. She could confront Daniel directly and insist that he either produce the book or confess he had made the entire story up out of whole cloth; she could continue to search; she could simply put it out of her mind.

  She tied up her skirts so they wouldn’t be in her way when she climbed the ladder into the attic to look through the boxes she had seen up there.

  Ethan had plans to open up the attic into a sleeping loft, but that was further down his long list of improvements. For now it was nothing more than a raw floor with slanting walls that needed diligent dusting and sweeping. Moreover, it was tremendously hot even in May despite the open vents at either end.

  The trunks were lined up in a row. Martha lifted the lid on the first box and dropped it as soon as she realized what she was seeing were packets of letters, all tied with serviceable string. She was curious, but the idea of reading someone else’s mail—even her husband’s—that she would never even consider. The letters were Daniel’s, and Daniel’s alone.

  The second box was full of clothing carefully folded. She made a note to herself to ask him about these things, and then she went to the third and last box.

  She hesitated, because a question had come to her, one she should have considered first. What was she going to do with the Lady of Leisure once she found her?

  Daniel, look what I found in the attic.

  Daniel, is this the book you were telling me about?

  Daniel, your French Lady of Leisure’s memoirs were very instructive. Would you care to join me in our room on our very broad, very high, very chaste bed so we can discuss them?