The Endless Forest
Page 32
“What?” Martha said. “What could she want from me? Money? I’d give her everything if it meant being shut of her.”
“Don’t matter,” Curiosity said. “’Cause even if you give her every penny, she ain’t gonna be satisfied. It ain’t in her nature. So now, we know something’s coming, but there’s nothing to be gained by sitting around and worrying about it. I want you to go on about your life and settle down here in Paradise. Try to put Jemima out of your head and remember, we look after our own.”
Just as Curiosity got to her feet with the intention of going on to talk to Elizabeth, Anje called over. Could Martha watch the fire while Anje went to see what was keeping her sister? She still hadn’t had her midday meal and there was the matter of the Necessary.
Martha had not tended to such chores for many years, but she could not turn down such a reasonable and polite request for help. She tucked away her mending and took Anje’s place, waving to Curiosity as she set off for the house.
It was immediately familiar, the heat and steam and the many strong smells.
“Just keep stirring,” Anje said. “One of us will be back before the fire needs tending.”
Within a few minutes Martha’s clothes were soaked with steam and sweat, and the stirring stick felt as heavy as a tree. She was concentrating so hard that she didn’t notice Birdie until she had walked right up to stand on the far side of the fire pit.
“You need to tie your skirts up higher and tighter. You could catch fire. That’s how Anna from the trading post died; she didn’t pay attention and her skirts caught and—she died.”
Without comment or argument Martha stepped back from the pot and pulled a handful of her skirt up through her belt. Anybody who came by would have a clear view of her stockinged legs from knee to shoe, but she never saw anyone here but the Bonner grandchildren and Curiosity or Hannah.
“That’s better,” Birdie said, still indignant. And: “Did you know that a person can die from a broken arm, even when it’s been set?”
Martha took her time answering. “I think I had heard that. Sometimes the marrow gets infected, or the blood.”
“I helped my sister set Friend Maria’s arm,” Birdie said. “My brother Daniel brought her to us, and Hannah told me how to help, and we set her arm. And I told her children that she would be well again soon.”
Martha had no idea what Birdie needed to hear, so she asked an obvious question.
“I’ve never seen it done. How do you set a broken bone?”
Birdie told her. It was a long and involved story because she stopped constantly to tell Martha where she had learned one fact or another and who had taught her. She had an astonishing memory for details, but Martha kept this observation to herself and said very little, unless it was to ask a question that would send Birdie off again.
“Friend Maria wasn’t even thirty years old,” Birdie said. “And her youngest just a year. What will they do?”
Now Martha understood why Birdie had come to her rather than her mother or one of her sisters, or even Curiosity.
Birdie was saying, “Missy O’Brien says they’ll have to go to an orphanage in Johnstown because a man can’t take care of so many little children unless he remarries right quick. And she said that she had faith that God would look after them. He never gives us more to bear than we can carry, that’s what she said.”
Her color was rising. “Do you believe that?”
“No,” Martha said. “It would be a happier world, if it were true. But people buckle and break every day under the weight they carry.” She thought of Callie’s father, who had simply walked away from home after Jemima cheated him out of everything he held dear.
Birdie turned suddenly, as if something had tapped her on the shoulder.
“I’m going to write an essay,” she said. “About burdens and happiness. Ma will help me, and Da and Lily and Hannah and—will you?”
“Of course,” Martha said, though she was not quite sure what she was agreeing to.
Birdie’s narrow back straightened as she walked toward the kitchen door. Which stood propped open, because Daniel Bonner was leaning against it, watching them. He caught Martha’s gaze and then he smiled, which was ever so rude. The polite thing to do would be to turn away and pretend he hadn’t seen her with her skirts hiked up and her legs visible. But he stood there still, grinning at her. Curiosity’s voice came from the kitchen, asking if he intended on holding the house up like that forever, and if not, he had best make a decision about in or out, and right now.
Martha closed her eyes and counted to ten, and then the smell of burning roused her. The fire.
She grabbed for the stirring stick but Daniel was there to take it out of her hand. She should object, but she was too flustered and in spite of Anje’s reassurances, the fire did need feeding. She ignored Daniel while she got an armful of wood from the stack up against the springhouse door. When she allowed herself to look again, he was stirring. His one arm moved the paddle effortlessly, where Martha had struggled with both.
Daniel said, “You’ve burned yourself.”
Martha didn’t know what he was talking about. She looked down and saw that there was a blister rising on her hand.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “But thank you for your concern. I can take over the stirring again.”
“I’m sure you could,” Daniel said. “But I’m not ready to stop.”
“Don’t matter,” Curiosity said. “’Cause even if you give her every penny, she ain’t gonna be satisfied. It ain’t in her nature. So now, we know something’s coming, but there’s nothing to be gained by sitting around and worrying about it. I want you to go on about your life and settle down here in Paradise. Try to put Jemima out of your head and remember, we look after our own.”
Just as Curiosity got to her feet with the intention of going on to talk to Elizabeth, Anje called over. Could Martha watch the fire while Anje went to see what was keeping her sister? She still hadn’t had her midday meal and there was the matter of the Necessary.
Martha had not tended to such chores for many years, but she could not turn down such a reasonable and polite request for help. She tucked away her mending and took Anje’s place, waving to Curiosity as she set off for the house.
It was immediately familiar, the heat and steam and the many strong smells.
“Just keep stirring,” Anje said. “One of us will be back before the fire needs tending.”
Within a few minutes Martha’s clothes were soaked with steam and sweat, and the stirring stick felt as heavy as a tree. She was concentrating so hard that she didn’t notice Birdie until she had walked right up to stand on the far side of the fire pit.
“You need to tie your skirts up higher and tighter. You could catch fire. That’s how Anna from the trading post died; she didn’t pay attention and her skirts caught and—she died.”
Without comment or argument Martha stepped back from the pot and pulled a handful of her skirt up through her belt. Anybody who came by would have a clear view of her stockinged legs from knee to shoe, but she never saw anyone here but the Bonner grandchildren and Curiosity or Hannah.
“That’s better,” Birdie said, still indignant. And: “Did you know that a person can die from a broken arm, even when it’s been set?”
Martha took her time answering. “I think I had heard that. Sometimes the marrow gets infected, or the blood.”
“I helped my sister set Friend Maria’s arm,” Birdie said. “My brother Daniel brought her to us, and Hannah told me how to help, and we set her arm. And I told her children that she would be well again soon.”
Martha had no idea what Birdie needed to hear, so she asked an obvious question.
“I’ve never seen it done. How do you set a broken bone?”
Birdie told her. It was a long and involved story because she stopped constantly to tell Martha where she had learned one fact or another and who had taught her. She had an astonishing memory for details, but Martha kept this observation to herself and said very little, unless it was to ask a question that would send Birdie off again.
“Friend Maria wasn’t even thirty years old,” Birdie said. “And her youngest just a year. What will they do?”
Now Martha understood why Birdie had come to her rather than her mother or one of her sisters, or even Curiosity.
Birdie was saying, “Missy O’Brien says they’ll have to go to an orphanage in Johnstown because a man can’t take care of so many little children unless he remarries right quick. And she said that she had faith that God would look after them. He never gives us more to bear than we can carry, that’s what she said.”
Her color was rising. “Do you believe that?”
“No,” Martha said. “It would be a happier world, if it were true. But people buckle and break every day under the weight they carry.” She thought of Callie’s father, who had simply walked away from home after Jemima cheated him out of everything he held dear.
Birdie turned suddenly, as if something had tapped her on the shoulder.
“I’m going to write an essay,” she said. “About burdens and happiness. Ma will help me, and Da and Lily and Hannah and—will you?”
“Of course,” Martha said, though she was not quite sure what she was agreeing to.
Birdie’s narrow back straightened as she walked toward the kitchen door. Which stood propped open, because Daniel Bonner was leaning against it, watching them. He caught Martha’s gaze and then he smiled, which was ever so rude. The polite thing to do would be to turn away and pretend he hadn’t seen her with her skirts hiked up and her legs visible. But he stood there still, grinning at her. Curiosity’s voice came from the kitchen, asking if he intended on holding the house up like that forever, and if not, he had best make a decision about in or out, and right now.
Martha closed her eyes and counted to ten, and then the smell of burning roused her. The fire.
She grabbed for the stirring stick but Daniel was there to take it out of her hand. She should object, but she was too flustered and in spite of Anje’s reassurances, the fire did need feeding. She ignored Daniel while she got an armful of wood from the stack up against the springhouse door. When she allowed herself to look again, he was stirring. His one arm moved the paddle effortlessly, where Martha had struggled with both.
Daniel said, “You’ve burned yourself.”
Martha didn’t know what he was talking about. She looked down and saw that there was a blister rising on her hand.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “But thank you for your concern. I can take over the stirring again.”
“I’m sure you could,” Daniel said. “But I’m not ready to stop.”
