Isaac always had been so noble and so foolish—and so taken with her as he was that he always did what he thought she wanted. But he had not understood her, and that had kept her isolated in a way that added a blue dimension to everything she did, all year round, an enveloping wrap that couldn’t be broken by comforts or reassurances.
She thought about the conundrum that comes when one has reached the thin boundary between love and hatred, and how impatience bridged the gap between those two very deep emotions. She thought to herself how swiftly a person moved from the blindness of love and admiration to the clouded emotions of contempt and hatred.
She had never crossed over into hatred for Isaac in the way she had with her first husband. She just had grown tired of reassuring Isaac constantly and picking up after his messes, quietly accepting the societal dictum that gave all credit to the male in the relationship.
They had created an unacknowledged partnership, but he had never really given her equality in it. His pride had been too great to acknowledge it, even in private with her, and that, in its finality, was what she resented most in him.
She had accepted that with equanimity but, by the time he had left to fight Indians east of the mountains, she had come to an uneasy conclusion about the fairness of their relationship.
And when she was given the opportunity to manage the estate, she embraced it with a hungry vengeance, and it all prospered as it never had before.
She had been disappointed, she realized, when Isaac had returned. And things were different ever after that.
She thought about cowards like Tom Iserson, who had jumped out of the window that night, naked, leaving everyone behind. Fitting it was, that naked state, for the imbecile he was. Then he had the gall to tell people that he had “held the door to keep the killers at bay” while everyone else escaped.
She felt herself getting hot, and then the cold breeze evaporated the fluster. So many men were cowards like that—pathetic partners to women who had even less backbone. Fortunately, most of those partnerships did not survive for long out here, unprotected by the well-meaning conventions of a civilized society that believed there was a place for everyone.
As she paddled quietly, Emmy thought about this foolish fix she had gotten herself and Sarah into.
She watched Jojo and hoped he was as smart and skillful as he seemed. He was earnest and wise, far beyond his years, and had a keen instinct that allowed him to assess every situation quickly and correctly, yet he also had the manners to allow her to retain a sense of control.
She had learned by watching him and how he approached each decision and crisis, saw how he anticipated problems and found alternatives that averted crisis in the first place. She knew she could enhance that skill in herself and, if she survived, carry it forward in whatever new life she would create for herself afterward. After she achieved her driven mission to find Jacob before he was destroyed—and if she survived.
She thought about the last time she had seen Jacob, running from the savages, the same ones she was hoping to meet up with somehow. To make a fair trade . . . if they understood that.
She was applying a very quaint interpretation to that concept, she realized, and the reality was that it would be defined in the end by something deep down that most did not understand, an instinct that ran through everything around her—survival, with all negotiations bound together by hope on both sides of the bargain.
Understanding what the other side needed was the real problem.
And in this situation, she had brought material goods and gold, but doubted that was what the aborigines really were after. Was it hope for something beyond material gain? What was it they really wanted?
She shook her head and realized that a very simple set of hopes was the only bright thing that Marté had brought—with word that Jacob really might be at Three Spirits. For that, at least, she was thankful.
For a brief night, it had allowed her to nod asleep in an exhausted heap, briefly, but deeply with dreams about finding her family, as perfectly imperfect as they were together, the way they were the day before it was destroyed.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Jojo knew she was worried.
“These two have not made a move, Missus Evers. Yet. But Marté is thinking about it.”
“Do you believe they will rob us?” Emmy asked.
“No. They don’t know what we carry. Marté thinks we are more valuable to them just as we are because he will try to become an adviser to the Northerners if they are there—to give them an advantage.”
“What type of advantage, Jojo?”
“He is thinking that when all offers have been put on the table, if an exchange does occur, if Jacob is there, he can find us for the Northerners and they can take Jacob back, kill me, and take you and Sarah.”
Emmy was quiet.
Jojo continued, “Marté is thinking he will get something from this and maybe it is safer to wait to see. Besides, he has whiskey to sell, and that will take up much of his time. It is after the exchange that will be the most dangerous. Getting you all back alive.”
They spoke no more for several hours.
Late that afternoon they were joined by a party in three other small cedar dugouts.
“Tsimshian,” said Jojo, who spoke to them briefly as they moved alongside and kept pace for a short distance before peeling off into a tributary.
Because he had wrapped Emmy and Sarah in blankets, covered their heads with reed knit hats, and darkened their faces with mud, they were not noticed, or at least the other canoeists paid no attention to them.
“They said Three Spirits is only a long half-day
