“Is it?” Stiles rocked on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. “Why, yes, now that you mention it. I believe that's true.”
At that Nathaniel laughed. “You had just about everybody fooled, I'll give you that.”
“Gentlemen,” said Stiles slowly, looking hard at Nathaniel and then at Simon. “I see you are not interested in the transaction I propose. If you'll pardon me, I must finish my notes on tomorrow's sermon.”
With a little bow he turned away from them and disappeared back into the shadows.
“Well, goddamn the man,” said Nathaniel, mostly to himself.
Ballentyne grunted. “That's a job we'll have to handle on our own.”
While she did her chores and did them well and without complaint, Lily had always disliked housework. To her surprise she found that it wasn't quite so boring now that it was her own place she was looking after. There was a certain satisfaction in the progress she made, day by day.
My own home, she said sometimes when something particularly nasty had to be scraped off the floor. Mine and Simon's. All the things she had been sure she did not want: a husband, a cabin in Paradise, and now she could hardly keep from smiling.
And as soon as the war was over, they would go away. She would hold him to that promise, and herself too. But for now there were two rooms she would set to rights, and when they were weary of traveling, weary of Canada, they would have this place to come back to.
The first task Simon had taken on was the repair of the roof, and then he had cleaned the chimney and hearth, so that the storm that had come on so quick and fierce did not stop Lily from her afternoon's task, scrubbing down the cupboards that stood to either side of the hearth. Which meant she must first empty them out, no small thing at all, for it seemed that Jack MacGregor had been the kind of man who was loath to throw away even the smallest, most inconsequential bit of string.
Lily found muslin bags full of curled bits of stiffened fur and scraps of deer hide, a great tin of arrowheads that would please Gabriel, dusty piles of newspaper clippings that crumbled at a touch, a bundle of letters tied with string that she put aside to ask her mother about, bits of crockery, and tucked behind a bundle of rags, three perfect teacups and saucers of such translucent delicacy that she was almost afraid to touch them.
For a good while Lily studied a cup, holding it in her hands as she would an egg. The firelight played on the rich glazing and made the pattern of flowers and vines seem to glow, and for the life of her she could not imagine why Jack MacGregor, who had been a dour old trapper with no family and no friends, had kept such a treasure for himself. There was a story here, certainly. Curiosity was coming by this afternoon with linen, maybe she would know what to make of it.
Behind Lily the door opened with a squeak—the hinges still needed oiling, she kept forgetting to mention it to Simon—and she turned to show Curiosity the cup she held in her hands.
Justus Rising closed the door behind himself before Lily could quite collect her thoughts. He was dripping wet and his face was charged with high color. His eyes shone in the light of the candles she had lit against the darkening of the storm. They were red rimmed and Lily was reminded of a possum, a slow animal that could lash out quite unexpectedly when cornered.
She said, “Go away, Justus,” but the sound of her voice was lost in a lazy roll of thunder. Lily stood and put the cup down carefully on the table on its saucer. When the thunder had stopped she cleared her throat.
“Justus, leave here immediately. You are not welcome.”
The boy said nothing at all; he was all burning blue eyes and a gaping mouth. He came forward slowly then he held out a fist and uncurled his fingers. A half-dozen small coins rattled onto the table.
“Is that enough?”
Lily stepped backward and bumped into the cupboard. She might have asked him, Enough for what, or What do you mean, but she saw exactly what he wanted.
It was odd, how her mind could do so many things at once. One part of her was so shocked that she might have just let her knees fold beneath her. To be propositioned thus by a boy, by the preacher's nephew, it was beyond her mind's ability to cope. She wasn't angry, not quite yet, but it sat there like a stone in her belly, ready to be vomited up.
He's calling you a whore. Simon's voice came to her then, and she realized that she should have taken what he had to say more seriously. And where was Simon? She glanced at the window and saw only rain.
“He won't bother us just now,” said Justus Rising. “He's at the trading post talking to Jed McGarrity.”
“Go away,” Lily said mechanically. Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat again. “Go away immediately.”
“My money ain't good enough for you?” His high color had begun to fade but it came back in a rush. “How much did the nigger give you?”
No weapons within reach, none except her own mind. Lily forced her thoughts to order themselves, composed her face, and summoned up her mother's spirit.
“Justus Rising,” she said. “You have insulted me in the worst way possible. Take your money and leave here, and I will not tell my father about this.”
“Oh, like it's any surprise to him, that you spread your legs for coin.” The boy wiped his dripping nose with the back of his hand and spat into the corner. “I expect he was your first customer. Wouldn't that be the way, him half savage like he is? Don't play innocent with me, not with me, missy. I seen you in the woods, with that great Scot. He had you pinned to a tree with your legs wrapped around him, and he was riding you right rough, though I'll admit you looked to be enjoying it.”
And then the boy simply launched himself across the table, as if he were some kind of great cat dropping out of a tree. Lily moved fast, but not quite fast enough; he got her by the hair and yanked so hard that roaring pain wiped out everything else in the world.
The candles went out in the tumble and for a moment there was only the roiling dark of the storm. Then a flash of lightning filled the room in a tripling pulse, and in that bone-white light the boy's face looked like a skull.
He was grinning, a wide, panting grin, and he wrapped his hand and arm more firmly in her hair, pulled her head up to him and tried to press a wet kiss to her mouth. Still stunned, Lily managed to turn her head only a little, and felt his lips on her jaw like leeches.
He grunted at that, dissatisfied, and grunted again when she managed to use her elbow on him. While he wrapped her hair around his arm more firmly he used his free hand to sweep the table clear.
That sound roused her from her stupor. Lily used her arms and her legs as best she could; she twisted and bucked and screamed, once and then again, while he pinned her to the table with his body.
The lightning showed her his expression, resolute. Nothing much there, no anger, no lust: a workman thinking through a problem. That scared her most of all, and Lily screamed again.
Justus Rising made a shushing sound, as if she were a troublesome child and not a grown woman, about to be married. With a yank he pulled her down the table so that her legs hung off the far edge.
“I'll get a better hold on you like this,” he said. “Ride some of the rough off you.”
“Simon Ballentyne will kill you.” Her voice came in a harsh whisper.
He hummed agreement. “If he can catch me.” Then he hooked a dirty rag from the mess on the floor and stuffed it into her mouth.
“Rutting and talking don't go together,” he said. “Though I wouldn't mind a little moaning now and then, you want to urge me on.”
I am fighting for my life. The thought came to her, quick and clean, and with it anger roared up out of her and Lily rose up against him with every bit of strength she had.
The boy grunted once and then again and then frowned at her in the flickering lightning, pressed his arm across her throat.
“Stop,” he said. His tone a little breathless but utterly reasonable. “Stop fighting and maybe you'll like it. I'm not as big as your Scot but I'm no mean
portion either.”
She coughed around the dirty rag and began to choke, the taste of lye soap making her gorge rise. He watched her choking and then seemed to come to a decision. With his free hand he pulled out the rag.
“You see,” he said. “I'm no monster.”
She spat in his face and saw all the good humor run out of his expression. Had time to think, Oh, no, and then his fist had buried itself in her gut and the pain took her down. He lifted her head and slammed it down against the table so hard that she almost lost consciousness.
Don't let him get the best of you. She heard Daniel's voice now, and closed her eyes and wished for him, for her father, for anyone at all, but she was alone and so she did what she could; she arched her back and hoped to push the boy off her long enough to catch her breath.
But Justus Rising was well grown and strong and he shook her like a puppy.
Don't let him. Sister, don't.
Her brother's voice did something for Lily, spurred her flagging strength and she arched up and managed to dislodge the boy—he was distracted by his fumbling at his breech buttons—long enough to slam her fist into his ear.
The boy grunted. “If that's the way you want it.” He was reaching under her skirts, and Lily lifted her head to snap at him, her teeth grazing the skin of his cheek, and saw what he looked like when a real anger came over him: like the devil himself.
“No!” she screamed into his face, her own anger roiling up out of her to match his. “No!”
Another crash of thunder, this one loud enough to wake the dead. The boy blinked, his expression shifting suddenly from determination to surprise, and then he collapsed forward, his whole weight on Lily until she bucked once more and he rolled off to crash to the floor.
Martha Kuick stood there, both hands wrapped around a length of firewood, her eyes wide and wild with fright and anger and a deep, abiding satisfaction. Behind her was Callie Wilde, a shovel in her hands, and then Curiosity appeared in the door. She pushed her way into the room, stepped over a broken chair, and put her arms around Lily, who had rolled herself from the table to stand, retching, at the hearth.
Over her shoulder she said, “Did you kill him, child?”
Martha was crouched on the floor next to the still form of the boy.
“No, ma'am, he's still breathing.”
“Too bad,” Curiosity said. She patted Lily's back while she retched.
“Callie, see if you can find the candles and get 'em lit. A fire would be a good thing just now too. And some water for Lily. I wish I had some of Axel's schnapps left over, I surely do.”
Lily wanted to talk, but breathing was taking all of her concentration and energy. Under Curiosity's stroking hands she felt her body begin to quiet, the rushing of her blood ebbing slowly. She began to shake.
“That's right,” Curiosity said. “You breathe deep, now. You safe, girl. I got you.”
“Should I fetch Jed McGarrity?” Martha asked.
“Simon,” Lily managed to say. “My father.”
“I know you'd like to have your menfolk just now, and your mama too,” Curiosity said evenly. “But let's think this thing through before we go running off half-cocked.”
A candle came to life, and then another. At their feet Justus Rising groaned and twitched. Curiosity looked down at him thoughtfully.
“First of all we got to get us some stout rope,” she said. “And then I want you girls to go fetch the Reverend Mr. Stiles. Invite him over here to do some preaching. I'm in the mood for a little fire and brimstone, myself.”
An hour later Callie and Martha, carefully instructed on exactly what to say, left the cabin. The storm had passed and the late summer afternoon was all shining green and damp gold, but even sitting in the sun Lily could not stop shaking.
She listened to Curiosity talking. Curiosity had an especially deep voice for a woman, and old age had added an edge to it, a crackling like walking through leaves in the fall. Everything about her voice was a comfort, but the words themselves made little sense to Lily. Something about Mr. Stiles and money and the orchard, and the things he had said when he had been confronted by Simon and Lily's father.
There was a cup of tea in her hands, sweetened with honey and milk. Lily took another sip and felt it settle in her belly, closed her eyes in the sunlight and saw Justus Rising's smile. She started and the cup sloshed in her hands, but Curiosity was there and she reached in quickly.
“No harm done,” she said firmly. Her hand settled on Lily's arm and pressed. “You listen to me, Lily. No harm done. He shook you up bad, but we got there in time.”
“Just in time,” Lily said.
“Listen to me,” Curiosity said, more firmly. “You got a choice now. You can let yourself get caught up in what might have happened or you can use this. You got the power now. If you get it in your head to waste the opportunity, why, you can say the word and your menfolk will teach that boy a lesson he won't never forget. But then he'll be here still, every day, for you to see. No, Lily, you got to pull yourself together and think. The boy was trying to take something from you, but what he did was, he gave you the power. You going to throw that away?”
Don't let him.
What? she wanted to ask her brother. More than anyone else, she wanted her brother just now. Don't let him do what? Control me? Hurt me? Take something away?
She lifted her face to the sunshine and listened. After a while she said, “Tell me then. Tell me what it is we have to do.”
They left the room as it was, though it bothered Lily greatly. While they waited, she looked for the shards of the china cups and saucers, putting every little bit she found into a careful pile. In a bucket full of water she found one of the cups, whole and unharmed. It seemed to her a miracle, and it loosed the tears that had been hovering just out of reach. Curiosity handed her a handkerchief and let her get on with it.
“Now look at this,” Curiosity said, turning the china cup in her long fingers. “I don't think I ever seen anything so pretty in my life. Look at the way it takes up the light. Do you suppose someplace there's folks who drink out of cups like this one, regular like?”
“I think there must be,” Lily agreed, her voice still shaking. “Though it's hard to imagine.”
Curiosity made a humming sound deep in her throat. “I expect you'll see all kind of strange things when you go traveling the world. And you'll put it all down on paper, won't you, and we'll sit here looking at your drawings and wonder at it all.”
Lily was shaking so that she could hardly speak. What she wanted to say was, No, no, no, I'm never going away from here, from you, from any of my people, from home. But some part of her mind knew that this was Justus Rising's poison still inside of her, trying to put down taproots.
It would please him to know that he could put such fear into her that she would simply roll herself into a ball and go to sleep for the rest of her life. And she would not allow him to have any such power over her.
She said, “Yes. I will, I promise.”
“I know you will,” Curiosity said softly. “You are the brightest light, Lily Bonner. You do shine on.”
Her long hand cupped the back of Lily's head and rocked it gently, and then Curiosity got up and went back to watching at the window.
Lily dried her face and was doing the same for the cup when she heard Callie's voice on the porch, and Mr. Stiles.
Curiosity straightened her back and gave her headwrap a tug to set it to rights. Then she looked hard at Lily and seemed to be satisfied with what she saw. She opened the door.
All Lily could see was Curiosity's long form, outlined by sunshine.
“Mr. Stiles,” she said. “Ain't it good of you to come so quick like. We got something of yours around back. And then Callie here got a business proposition for you. But first say hello to our Lily, would you?”
She stepped aside and the sunlight filled the cabin. Lily felt it on her swollen mouth and the bruise on her jaw; she saw it on Mr. Stiles's shoul
ders and the slope of his hat.
He stood there for a very long moment. She could make out nothing of his face or his expression, but his whole being seemed to shiver, just slightly.
Finally he cleared his throat. He said, “Where is my nephew?”
“Tied up out back, like I said,” said Curiosity. “Now let's us have a word about Miss Callie's proposition.”
It was a delicate business Curiosity had proposed, but Lily had no doubt that the old woman would manage it, and so it was. When the talking was done, Lily let herself be shuffled off and hid away, first with Curiosity's daughter Daisy and then in Uncle Todd's laboratory. She was vaguely aware that her father and Simon must be looking for her, that her mother would be worried, but she knew, too, that Curiosity would handle all that.
It was Callie and Martha who brought her word that she could come out. Callie put a piece of paper in Lily's hands—steady now, or steadier, at least—and waited for her to read it.
“This is a bill of sale,” Lily said. “You've bought the orchard and the farm . . . for forty dollars?”
Callie nodded. She was flushed with pleasure and trying not to show it. Thinking still of what had happened at the cabin, and what might have happened.
Martha said, “Curiosity lent her the money. She said Callie can pay it off after the harvest and first pressing.”
“I'm pleased for you, Callie.”
Callie sat down with all the thoughtless grace of a young girl. “Manny is going to run the farm. He says he didn't really want to teach school anyway. Your mama didn't seem to mind too much.”
Lily kept her thoughts to herself, but the girls were too excited to notice.
“Do you think maybe Levi will come back to work the orchards? Manny can't do it all on his own, and Curiosity says we have to keep going to school.” Callie said this with such seriousness that Lily found herself smiling for the first time in a long afternoon.
“I would guess he'd be pleased to come back to Paradise,” she said. “He and Manny together will make sure the orchards flourish.” As your father would have wished. This last she kept to herself, and neither did Callie raise the subject of Nicholas Wilde. Out of superstition or resignation, Lily wasn't sure. They had had no word from or of Nicholas since the day he handed over everything he owned to Stiles.