Fire Along the Sky (10 page)

Nathaniel watched his daughter gather her courage together. “I'm leaving tomorrow too. If I can't go to New-York City, then I'll go to Montreal, with Luke. If he'll take me.”

It wasn't a question, and nobody mistook it for one. Elizabeth looked almost stunned, but she held her peace for the moment. Sometimes dealing with Lily was like finding a bear rummaging around in the larder. It could end in laughter or bloodshed, and it usually wasn't the bear who made the decision on how it would go.

Luke looked his half sister right in the eye, his expression doubtful. “What is it you want to do in Montreal?”

“She wants to study painting,” Gabriel offered. He was looking uncertainly between Lily and Luke.

Nathaniel smiled at the boy and then leaned over to him. “Let your sister speak for herself, son.”

“What she wants,” Daniel said, matching his sister's tone, “is to get away from Paradise.”

Lily's whole body jerked with that, but before she could turn on her twin Elizabeth spoke up. She was angry now, but not at Lily.

“Daniel,” she said calmly. “Do not put words in your sister's mouth.”

Lily's throat and face were flecked with bright color, as if a sudden fever had come over her. “That's exactly right. The decision is mine and mine alone.”

“There's a war on,” Nathaniel said. He said it because if he didn't, Daniel would, and that would be the start of another kind of battle, where words would cut as true as any knife.

“I'm aware of that,” Lily said. “My brother is going to join the fighting, after all.”

With a voice that wavered only slightly Elizabeth said, “If we are unwilling to send you to New-York City in time of war, daughter, what makes you think that we would let you go to Canada, of all places?”

Hannah made a sound, not quite a laugh or a cry but a little of both. “She's not asking for permission, Elizabeth.”

“That's right,” Lily said. She gripped the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles went the color of milk. “I'm not asking for permission, just as you didn't ask for permission when you left England. Just as Jennet didn't ask for permission when she left Scotland, or Hannah when she went west. I will go to Montreal and live under my brother's roof, and I will study art there, and someday when I am ready, I may come home again.”

It might have ended just there, for the moment at least, but Luke wasn't happy and he wouldn't keep it to himself, no matter what warning looks Nathaniel sent his way.

Luke said, “Maybe you ain't asking Da for permission, but what about me?”

“Ah,” said Lily. Her face had gone very still. “I see. You'll take their side in this. In that case I will find a way to go on my own.”

From anybody else this would have been an empty threat, but Nathaniel knew his daughter. Daniel was going and she would go too, unless they tied her down. She had the money she had inherited from Elizabeth's aunt Merriweather, after all, and she would use it to get what she wanted.

Daniel sat perfectly still and said nothing at all, though his gaze was fixed on Lily. He knew her better than anybody, and he was too clever by far to jump into a fight he knew he couldn't win.

Luke, on the other hand, hadn't spent enough time with Lily to read the signs. He reached for the bowl of beans and made a sound deep in his throat. “This is between you and your folks,” he said. “I won't go against them.”

“I will,” said Simon Ballentyne.

Ballentyne was the kind of man who never spoke up unless he had something to say, and Nathaniel had almost forgot that he was sitting at the table until he heard his voice.

Everyone was looking at Simon. Luke irritated, Daniel uneasy, Jennet intrigued. Nathaniel couldn't read Hannah's expression, but he saw that Elizabeth was ill at ease and confused, both.

“Mr. Ballentyne,” Elizabeth began in her most polite tone, “I'm sure you mean well—”

Lily held up a palm to interrupt her mother. “You will what, Mr. Ballentyne?”

“I'll see you to Montreal, and make sure that you're settled there.”

For the most part Nathaniel liked Ballentyne, a competent man, hardworking and quick, a little dour in the Scots way but not without a sense of humor when it was called for; he could laugh at a joke at his own expense. But this conversation was taking an unexpected turn, and Nathaniel wasn't easy with it. Neither was Elizabeth, who had gone very pale.

For her part Lily looked just as surprised as Nathaniel felt, which was some kind of relief: at least she hadn't planned this.

“Ballentyne,” Luke said. “This is none of your business, man.”

Lily turned on her eldest brother furiously. “This is none of
your
business,” she snapped. “And I'll thank you to stay out of it.”

“Lily!” Elizabeth could barely contain her embarrassment or horror.

“I'm sorry, Ma,” Lily said in a calmer voice. “But this is between Mr. Ballentyne and me.”

“As is any marriage proposal,” Jennet volunteered. And then, in response to the shocked silence around the table: “What did you think he was offering? The use of a horse?”

Daniel was on his feet suddenly, all his pretense at calm gone. “Are you offering for my sister's hand, Ballentyne?”

Lily picked up her plate and banged it down on the table so hard that the cutlery jumped. “And if he is, what business is it of yours, Daniel Bonner!”

“Da!” Daniel turned to Nathaniel. “Stop this nonsense!”

They were all looking to him now. Elizabeth and Daniel demanding that he take charge and put an end to the discussion, Hannah and Jennet and Many-Doves suspended between surprise and curiosity, the children hopping with excitement. Runs-from-Bears and Blue-Jay were amused, and Lily was plain mad. Only Simon Ballentyne was oddly calm. A man not easily riled, then; something in his favor.

Nathaniel said, “I'd like to hear what Many-Doves has to say about this.”

Many-Doves had once been his sister-in-law, but over the years Nathaniel found himself turning to her more often as he would have turned to a clan mother, for her insight and good sense. She had been listening to the whole conversation with interest, but her expression gave away nothing. Now that she had been asked, though, she stood and looked around the table.

“A brother may hunt for a sister who has no husband to bring her meat,” she said. “But he does not make decisions for her. This is a matter for the women to settle among themselves.”

“But Mr. Ballentyne never even asked for her to marry him.” Annie's voice trembled with energy. “Maybe he
was
just offering her the use of a horse.” She sent Jennet an apologetic look, and ducked her head.

Lily, still standing, turned to the man who sat across from her. “Are you asking for my hand, Mr. Ballentyne?”

Runs-from-Bears grunted softly. “He is now if he wasn't before.”

It took everything Nathaniel had in him to hold back a smile, but Jennet wouldn't be silenced. “Will you no speak up, man?”

Ballentyne hadn't taken his eyes off Lily. Now he said, “It's no how I meant to go about it, but aye, I'm offering for your hand, Lily Bonner. Should you care to have me.” He glanced at Nathaniel and then at Elizabeth. “I would have come to you first, had there been time.”

Luke pushed back his chair so abruptly that it squealed. For Nathaniel to see him standing over the table, his temper barely in check, was to see himself at seventeen, the year he had left home against his mother's wishes and his father's advice. The winter Nathaniel had gone to Montreal and met Giselle Somerville; the winter Luke had been conceived.

He might never know this son the way he knew the ones he had raised himself, but at times flashes of understanding came to Nathaniel as pure as rain. Luke did not want the responsibility that would come with taking his sister north, just as he was anxious about taking a wife. Because he was afraid he couldn't keep them safe; because he knew what it would mean, that double yoke, given the life he must lead.

Luke's gaze was fixed on Jennet, who had her chin pushed out at an angle that could bode no good.

“I want to speak to you right now,” he said. “Outside.”

Then he strode to the door, opened it, and waited there. For the first time, Nathaniel saw indecision and something like guilt on Jennet's face. Finally she got up gracefully.

“If you'll pardon me,” she said. “I apologize for the rude interruption. My lady mother and his took pains to teach him manners, truly they did.” She walked to the door without hurry, nodded to Luke as a queen might nod to a lesser being, and went out onto the porch.

Luke said, “I'll be back. Don't make any decisions without me.” And he shut the door behind him.

Jennet walked fast, but she couldn't say exactly why. It wasn't as if she had anything to fear from Luke Bonner; she was no longer a schoolgirl to be scolded, after all. He was just a few steps behind her when she rounded on him suddenly to say just that, but he took her elbow and kept her moving.

“Wait,” he said.

“For what?” she asked sharply. “If you're planning to beat me, Luke Bonner, I assure you they'll hear my screams on the Solway Firth.”

It was not a good sign that he had nothing to say to that, and in fact Jennet had rarely seen Luke so angry. His whole body trembled with it, but while the look he gave her would have made most men reach for a weapon, Jennet found herself oddly at peace. How many weeks now had she been waiting for him to show his feelings? If it must come out in a temper, so be it.

She let herself be propelled across the clearing to a corner of the fallow cornfield that smelled vaguely of fish. There they were out of sight of the cabins, and there he let her go, abruptly.

“What in God's name were you thinking?” he thundered, thrusting his face toward her. “Putting Ballentyne up to such foolishness!”

At that she had no choice but to laugh. “First of all, there's no need to shout at me like a banshee. And second, I put Simon up to nothing at all. Do you think I cast a spell and made him fall in love with your sister?”

Luke ran a hand through his hair, turned away in frustration and back again. “You read his fortune in those damn cards of yours,” he said in a voice that was only a little calmer. “You said he was lonely!”

“And so he is!” Jennet said, drawing herself up. “Something you could see for yourself, if ever you thought to look. And if I did, what then?” She poked him in the chest so that he took a step backward. “You said yourself that the cards are naught but foolishness.”

“You put the idea in his head,” Luke said, but some of his bluster had gone.

“Ach, ye great gomerel. Did you not tell me yourself Simon was in love with your sister? And had you not said a word it would make no difference. Anybody with eyes can see for himself the way Simon looks at Lily. Much in the same way you look at me, Luke Bonner, try as you like to deny it.”

He went very still then, his jaw working hard. There was a faint buzzing in her ears because she saw something new in his expression: reluctant agreement.

Finally he said, “You have to talk her out of it.”

Jennet shook her head to clear it. “Talk Lily out of what? Out of going away from here? A fine bit of hypocrisy that would be, and should it be possible.”

“Talk her out of marrying Simon Ballentyne,” Luke said, his voice dropping to a whisper, one that was meant to intimidate and in fact would intimidate almost anyone else.

Jennet met his gaze directly and matched his tone. “And why shouldn't she marry him? He's a good man, is he no?”

“Jennet Scott,” Luke said slowly. “You of all people know what it means to marry where there's no love.”

She slapped him then, in her surprise and anger and frustration. Before her hand had left his face he had grabbed her by the wrist to keep her from running away, and though she might twist and yank she would be going nowhere until Luke decided to let her go. Neither would he bring her close enough to really touch.

“How dare you.” Her voice was trembling but she couldn't help it. “How dare you throw that up to me.”

“In battle a man uses the weapons to hand,” he said. “And in this case the truth is all I've got. You can talk her out of this foolishness, Jennet. She doesn't know Simon Ballentyne.”

“Is he a murderer then, a thief, an abuser of women?” She looked pointedly at her wrist caught up in the manacle he made of his hand.

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“Then she must make up her own mind.”

He pulled her closer. “Christ, girl, do you have any idea what you're asking?”

She stilled and for a moment there was just the heated silence while they struggled, each of them, to calm their breathing.

“If you don't want her to marry, then you must agree to take her to Montreal,” Jennet said finally. “It's only because you took it upon yourself to make that decision for her that she's in there, right this very moment, considering taking Simon as husband.”

He let her go suddenly but he didn't step back. “You did plan this.”

“You're just angry because you can't have your way. Admit it, man, and be done with it. You can't force your sister to do your will, and you can't control me, and no more can you wish away the way you feel about me.”

And because he was so close, and because she was so angry, Jennet slung her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the fury in her. For a moment his hands were on her waist and he was holding her and he kissed her back, really kissed her and she tasted it on his mouth, the rightness of it.

“Jennet,” he said wearily.

She pressed her face to his chest and then raised her head to look at him. “Why do you fight it so?”

There was a tenderness in his expression that she had only seen once before, on the day he left Scotland. It made everything inside her clench with hope and fear at once. Jennet touched his face lightly, traced the high sweep of his brow and the curve of his cheekbone and the hard line of his jaw, rough with beard. She touched him as she would touch a half-tame cat, for the pleasure of it and because there was the chance that this time he might allow it.

He caught her hand in his own and turned it, kissed her palm and let it go. “What I want doesn't matter, not right now,” he said. “What matters is your safety.”