Near the Bone Read online

  He had always told her that if she tried to run away they would return Mattie to him, for she was his property and they knew where she belonged.

  Besides, Mattie thought hopelessly, you can’t run away in just your nightgown and a blanket. You’ll freeze to death.

  The cry of the bear-creature came out of the woods again, distant but still close enough that she shrank from the window.

  And if you don’t freeze to death you’ll get eaten by that thing.

  It wasn’t a bear. It didn’t sound right, the way a bear sounded. But it almost didn’t matter what it was. Mattie didn’t need to see it to know it was a killer.

  She knew she should go back to bed, that sometimes William woke up in the night and reached for her. If she wasn’t present there would be hell to pay.

  Her feet wouldn’t move, though. She stayed there at the window until the first pink light of dawn showed above the treetops.

  CHAPTER TWO

  After breakfast William said, “I’m going out today to see if I can track that bear.”

  Mattie’s surprise must have shown on her face, for William did an uncharacteristic thing and explained himself.

  “I’m worried about it coming close to the cabin. We’ve got meat in the storehouse and if the bear depletes all the hunting around here it might just decide it’s easier to take our stores than go down the mountain in search of more. You know that bears have gotten into the storehouse before.”

  Mattie nodded. Two black bears—or maybe the same bear twice—had managed to break the door handle and push inside, gorging themselves on the stores.

  The first time this happened Mattie was alone in the cabin. William was out on one of his trips to town. She’d stood helplessly at the window, unable to do anything about the bear because William had refused to teach her how to fire a rifle. Mattie listened to it blundering around inside the storehouse for hours, until the bear finally trundled out the door again and wandered away.

  The only consolation on that occasion was that it was late spring and there hadn’t been much meat left in the storehouse. They’d used up much of it over the winter and the summer hunting hadn’t yet begun in earnest.

  The second consolation, at least for Mattie, was that William blamed himself and not her. That was a rare enough occasion that she never forgot the moment.

  “I ought to have put a different kind of handle on the door. I knew they could open doors. And I should cover the window, too.”

  Mattie didn’t ask how he’d come by the knowledge that bears could open doors but she believed it. She’d seen the animal that had gotten into the storehouse do that exact thing—press down on the handle with its paw until the mechanism unclicked and the door swung open.

  A bear returned a couple of days later, before William had an opportunity to fix up the storehouse. This time William was at home, and in short order that bear had been dispatched and was hanging up in the storehouse himself.

  After that William had boarded up the window and resealed any holes in the storehouse. “I’m sure it just looked in the window and saw the meat hanging there. Those bears are smart as anything.”

  He also changed the door handle to a knob that would be harder for the bear to turn and added another lock.

  There hadn’t been any other incidents since then, but now William was worried. A groove formed between his eyes, one that only appeared when he was particularly troubled.

  Mattie was hesitant to speak—when she criticized William (or even appeared to criticize him) he always got so upset. But since he seemed in an uncharacteristic mood today she dared.

  “I thought you said that rifle wouldn’t kill a bear that size,” she said.

  “It won’t,” he agreed.

  That’s when she knew he was really worried, because it wasn’t like William to let any comment of hers pass without censure.

  “I don’t necessarily want to kill it, at least not today. But I’d like to see it, maybe track it to its den. It’s getting colder, so it will have picked out a place for the winter even if it isn’t spending all its time there yet. We know it is big, so there are only a few places it can go. I’d like to get a better idea of just how big it really is. It’s eating up all the game around here, that’s for sure.”

  “Yes,” Mattie said, then added, “please be very careful,” because this was what wives were supposed to say when their husbands went out to do something that might be dangerous. She was still confused about how she ought to feel if something bad happened to William.

  Part of her longed for it (a wicked part, you know that’s a wicked thought, to wish your husband harm), but the other part was afraid of what would happen to her if he was gone. He’d kept so much knowledge from her that she wasn’t certain she could survive without him.

  “You’re going with me,” he said.

  “Me? Why?” She’d assumed she would stay home and perform her regular duties. That’s what she always did while William was out hunting.

  William gave her a long look, as if trying to decide if he should tell her the answer. Finally he said, “I could use an extra pair of eyes, and yours are the only ones available. If I had a son, now . . .”

  He trailed off meaningfully. Mattie flushed with shame, as she was meant to, and she felt the familiar pierce of grief under her ribs, grief that would sneak up on her and make her lungs seize.

  She’d tried and tried to do her duty as his wife, but none of her pregnancies would keep. Twice she’d bled out the baby. William had beaten her terribly after the second time, incandescent with rage and accusing her of using witch’s arts to rid herself of her children. Her left arm had never really healed properly. It ached most cold days, and when she held her hands in front of her she could see the knot in her left forearm, the not-quite-straightness of it.

  The third child had come too early, far too early, so that when he slipped from her body there seemed hardly anything to him at all. She’d held him in her arms even though he never cried, his body cold before she even had a chance to name him. That was the only time Mattie had ever seen William weep.

  “I’m sorry,” Mattie said, for she knew the fault was with her, with her defective body, and also because if she apologized it always put him in a better mood.

  Though even if our son had lived he’d hardly be old enough to go hunting. He’d still be small enough to hold on to my apron strings, and then where would you be, William? You wouldn’t have an extra pair of eyes at all, because I would be home with the child.

  Mattie stood and quickly cleared the table, because that was a very rebellious thought and William could always see those in her eyes, could sense when the spirit he’d tried to grind out of her reasserted itself.

  “When you’re done with the breakfast dishes put on your trousers,” he said. “Your skirts aren’t good for running, and anyway they make so much noise.”

  Mattie only had one pair of trousers, which she wore very rarely because William said they were not decent. Despite this, he had conceded the occasional necessity of them, particularly when he needed her help with some strenuous chore.

  It was much easier for Mattie to move without the weight of a skirt and two petticoats. Her legs felt lighter, freer when she wore her trousers. She felt light enough to fly.

  (or run away)

  Mattie hunched over the water basin and scrubbed the dishes, not looking at William. He’d definitely see “run away” on her face, even if it was only a passing thought. Even if she didn’t really mean it.

  (although you sort of meant it you really did)

  She had to quash these rebellious thoughts. They weren’t becoming of a good wife, and William reminded her constantly that her purpose was to be a good wife to him.

  A short time later they were back in the woods. They moved up the mountain this time instead of down. William said there was a small meadow
at a slightly higher elevation than their cabin, and at the edge of the meadow was a cliff face with several caves.

  “I’ve seen big grizzlies go in and out of there sometimes,” he said. “And a bear as big as this one we’re after—there’s not a chance it’s going to dig out a den. It’s going to look for something ready-made. But you keep your eyes open just the same, Mattie girl. We might find he’s gone to ground somewhere else.”

  Mattie didn’t understand why William was fixated on the creature, not really. He said it was because of their meat stores but that didn’t seem to be the actual reason. She didn’t think the vague way he wanted to go about finding it was very useful, either. Why didn’t they go back to the place where they found the tracks yesterday and start from there? It was so unlike William, who was normally very ordered and logical.

  He’s afraid of something, she thought as she trudged along behind him. He’s afraid of something, but it isn’t this creature getting inside the storehouse or eating all the game.

  Mattie stared at the back of his neck, trying to think on what it might be. She felt there was a clue in something he’d said the day before, but she couldn’t quite grasp it.

  She was supposed to be his extra pair of eyes, in any case, and if she spent all her time looking at William’s back and thinking about yesterday then she wasn’t doing what he’d told her to do.

  The woods were more pleasant today, less close, less silent and watchful. The sun emerged from the cloud cover and made the snow glitter a fierce and brilliant white. Birds darted between the trees, chittering and chattering their many thoughts to one another. Squirrels and chipmunks watched them pass from branches or from beneath bits of brush, tolerant of the bumbling humans in their midst.

  Mattie didn’t think the creature (she didn’t know when she’d stopped thinking of it as a bear, but she was somehow sure that it wasn’t quite a bear, whatever William said) was anywhere nearby. The forest felt different than it had the day before. Now that she thought about it, the woods had felt that way from the moment she’d gone out to check the traps. It hadn’t been because of the fox, either. She’d been uneasy from the start, though she hadn’t recognized the feeling.

  William walked without speaking, pausing only to inspect markings that meant nothing to Mattie—broken bits of twig, a disrupted bit of snow, a piece of cracked bark. None of these things appeared to be the work of the creature. The signs they’d seen the day before had been much more obvious.

  Mattie sensed William’s increasing frustration and wished he hadn’t insisted that she accompany him. It would be her fault, somehow, if he didn’t find any sign of the animal.

  After an hour or so they reached the meadow. It was about four times the size of the clearing in which they lived. Mattie imagined that in the summer it would be filled with the colorful bobbing heads of mountain flowers—aspen daisies and harebells and blanket flowers and golden banners. William had taught her the names of the flowers, and how to find edible herbs and berries.

  She had a sudden memory of William leaning down to point out some columbine. She’d been very small when he did that. In her mind’s eye she could see her hand reaching out to stroke the petals, a little girl’s hand.

  The field was brown now, all the flower petals blown away or dried up. Above the meadow was a sloped rock face, several openings dotting the cliff.

  “That’s where it will be if it’s anywhere up here,” William said.

  Mattie eyed the slope. It was very steep, and there was a great deal of loose scree. It looked dangerous—unnecessarily dangerous, since there was no sign this meadow had been crossed recently by anything larger than a rodent. And if there were bears bedding down for the winter up there, then it would be foolish, even treacherous, to go poking around. What was William thinking?

  “If there are bears asleep up there—” Mattie began, but William cut her off.

  “Think I don’t know there might be? We’re not going to wake them if there are. We’re only going to look around the entrance to see if any of the prints are like the one we saw yesterday.” His fist curled, but he didn’t raise it. “Don’t try telling me my business, Martha. Now stay close and keep quiet.”

  Stay close and keep quiet.

  Something twanged deep inside her brain—darkness, a rough hand over her mouth. A whisper. “Stay close and keep quiet.”

  William realized she wasn’t following and turned around, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Mattie hurried after him before he could speak again, or remind her in another way that he’d given her an order and she was supposed to obey it.

  He strode easily up the slope while Mattie struggled behind. She rarely had to do any kind of strenuous climbing since William insisted she stay so close to the cabin. He stopped by the first entrance to check the ground. Mattie rubbed at the stitch in her side, her breath coming in hard pants.

  “You’d better quiet yourself,” William warned. “You sound like a bellows.”

  Mattie nodded, trying to catch her breath. “Maybe I should stay here while you go on? It’s very difficult for me, William.”

  She tried not to sound like she was pleading, because that always irritated him.

  “You will stay with me,” William said between his teeth. “Now keep up.”

  He went on toward the next cave entrance without checking to see if she would follow. He knew she would.

  Why is he acting like this, insisting I stay with him? He would normally leave me behind in a second if I impeded his progress in any way. It’s not practical for me to try and keep up.

  When Mattie first came to live with William he’d been like this—insistent that she stay with him every moment—but it had been a long time since he’d behaved in this manner.

  Back then he was afraid I’d sneak off if he took his eyes off me for a moment. He’s afraid of that again, and it’s because of the creature.

  Mattie couldn’t piece together why she thought this, though. There was a step she was missing. She only knew that something had changed since yesterday, and that was the presence of a new animal near their home.

  But she shouldn’t think on it. She shouldn’t try to solve the puzzle of William’s mood, because she never seemed to solve it right, and anyway, William always told her she should let him do the thinking.

  The second cave entrance was much higher on the slope than the first, and by the time they reached it Mattie felt dizzy and a little sick to her stomach.

  William crouched down, peering closely at the patches of dirt interspersed between the rocks. Mattie breathed in deeply, trying to settle her racing heart.

  She caught a whiff of something rotting, the thick wet stench of decay, and felt the blood drain out of her face. Cold sweat poured down her temples as she covered her nose and turned her head away. Don’t get sick, don’t get sick, but there was nothing for it, she’d already felt nauseous and the smell undid her.

  Mattie stumbled away, trying to put a few feet between her and William. He was always deeply revolted when she vomited. He seemed to think that if only she had better control of her body then she wouldn’t get sick.

  “I told you to stay . . .” he started, but by then she was heaving out her breakfast behind a boulder. “Disgusting.”

  When she was finished, Mattie lay her cheek against the cool rock and wished for some water. Her throat felt scorched and her mouth was filled with a sour tang.

  Then William grabbed her by the back of her collar and yanked her up, dragging her back by her heels. Her coat was buttoned up high against the cold and it pressed against her throat, making her choke and gag as he pulled. He tossed her roughly to the ground on her back a few feet away.

  He climbed on top of her, kneeling, his knees holding her in place on either side. He grabbed the front of her coat with both fists and yanked her up halfway, shaking her.

  “Are you expecting, M
artha? Are you carrying my son and trying to keep it a secret?” William’s face was red, his mouth a curled snarl, spit flying from it onto her face. “Don’t think you can hide it from me! Don’t think you can use your witchcraft to bleed him from your body again.”

  “No,” Mattie said, her voice a thin little thread. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t make the words come out. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  His weight pressed down on her middle and all her organs rattled in her rib cage with each shake.

  “I didn’t—I wouldn’t—the smell—”

  “What smell?” William said, shaking her again and making her teeth rattle.

  “I can’t,” she said, clawing at his hands. “I can’t—”

  Catch my breath. I can’t breathe.

  He released the front of the coat abruptly and her head crashed back to the ground. Sharp rock bit into the back of her skull and warm liquid flowed into her hair. Stars shot across the vision of William looming over her.

  “Explain,” he said in that voice that made Mattie think of frozen rivers, of icicles with long sharp points.

  She tried to draw in a deep breath but the bottom of her ribs was trapped beneath William. If she didn’t explain soon his fury would crash over her, more terrible than before.

  “Wasn’t . . . feeling . . . well . . . the climb,” she panted. “Then . . . smell from the cave. Rotten.”

  His gaze sharpened. “I didn’t smell it.”

  “I . . . check again.”

  “You’re not hiding a pregnancy from me?”

  Mattie shook her head, but this made her vision go crazy again. “I . . . wouldn’t. Wouldn’t.”

  He leaned close, which took the pressure off her lungs, but his breath was hot on her face and made her stomach jerk again. She hoped to God that she wouldn’t be sick with him this close because he would really hurt her if she threw up on him.

  “You’d better not be lying. You know what happens to girls who lie.”

  Cold darkness. The sound of a door slamming closed. Fists swollen from beating desperately against the wood.