The Endless Forest
Page 36
“Unless the cold rain get the better of all of us,” Curiosity sniffed.
Lily caught Jennet’s half smile. Curiosity often got into a temper about the weather. She held long lectures that seemed to be directed to a minor god directly responsible for the trouble that came along with a cold wind.
Jennet said, “Martha picked an unpleasant day tae go intae the village for the first time.”
Lily drew her knees up and turned toward Curiosity. “The first time? But it’s been weeks—”
Curiosity thumped the table piled high with baskets of thread and yarn so that they leaped. “Leave Martha be. She got enough on her shoulders; she don’t need you talking mean behind her back.”
That brought them up short. Jennet was the first one to find her voice. “But Curiosity, we like the girl. If we talk about her it’s no different from talking among ourselves about Mariah’s cough or Eliza’s nightmares—”
“Now see,” Curiosity interrupted her. “That’s the problem, right there. You think about Martha like she was a child. Maybe you ain’t noticed,” she said directly to Lily. “But some see her for what she is, a woman grown. Some have taken note, yes, Lord.”
Jennet looked intrigued, but the idea that was churning in Lily’s gut was not pleasant.
“Who are you talking about?” And, after a pause: “Ethan? Is Ethan seeing Martha in a—a new light?”
Curiosity shook her head and turned back to her knitting. “I’ma hold my tongue. Said too much already.”
“Too much about what?”
Jennet caught her eye and gave a small shake of the head, but Lily knew she had misspoken before she saw the expression on Curiosity’s face.
“I got nothing more to say.”
For the rest of the visit Lily’s thoughts circled back again and again to Martha Kirby. If it was true that Ethan was really interested in Jemima Kuick’s daughter, then that was Lily’s business. He was her cousin, after all. And so good-hearted that he would be willing to put aside all the things he knew of Jemima. And maybe that was right and good, because she knew nothing but good of Martha.
She knew more about Martha than anyone in the whole village except her twin. She could close her eyes and remember a hot summer afternoon when she had learned firsthand what Jemima could do.
She would have liked to talk about this, but Curiosity had declared the subject closed, and she would not change her mind. It wasn’t until much later that it occurred to Lily that Ethan might not be the one they were talking about. There were others who could have taken an interest in Martha Kirby.
And oh, how terribly complicated that would be. She hoped her brother had more sense.
Chapter XIX
Ethan came up for supper and brought a note from Callie, just a sentence scrawled over a bit of newspaper: What is keeping you?
Martha read it aloud and Ethan smiled. “Not one to waste words, is she?”
“Is she angry with me, do you think?”
“Oh, no.” Ethan ran his hands through his hair. He was muddy from helping in the village and in spite of a severe scrubbing, his hands were stained. This was not the Ethan she had known in Manhattan, but the younger version of himself she had known growing up here in the village with Daniel and Blue-Jay as his companions. The boys had seemed to possess some kind of magic, something that protected them from harm. Or so it had seemed to Martha.
He said, “If Callie were mad at you, she’d come right to the door and tell you so. The simple fact is that she’s been too busy trying to put things back together to come up here. Now she’s asking you to come down.”
“Then I’ll go tomorrow morning,” Martha said. A difficult lesson, one she had learned imperfectly, was how to take criticisms—well deserved criticisms—with good grace.
At table the Bonners talked about affairs in the village, progress made or delayed, the difficulty of getting enough hardware, and the fact that in the next days the trappers would start coming out of the bush with the winter’s work. Luke would spend all his time in the Red Dog meeting with them and negotiating prices, and then the drinking would start. The worst of them would lose every penny made in trade at cards or dice.
Martha listened but she didn’t take part, and still she had the strong sense that someone was watching her. If she kept her eyes on her plate, the sensible thing to do, she never need know who.
In the morning Martha stopped in the parlor where Elizabeth was talking to Anje and Joan about the week’s dinners and what was left in the root cellar.
Elizabeth smiled at Martha as if the interruption were of no importance, but behind her back Joan scowled.
“I wondered if I could do any errands for you while I’m in the village. Is there anything you need?”
Anje said, “We are low on sugar, if there’s any to be had.”
“White or brown?”
The LeBlanc girls looked at each other and laughed, for which they got a very sharp look from Elizabeth. She explained, “It’s rare that we see white sugar here. When I go to Johnstown I bring some back, but mostly we use brown.”
“What do people eat in Manhattan, then?” Joan wanted to know. “Honey on your biscuits and white sugar in your tea?”
Martha felt her face flush warm.
“Joan,” Elizabeth began, but Martha put out a hand to stop her.
“I’ll hear worse, I’m sure, before the day is done. You can’t protect me from everything, though you are so good enough to try.”
Lily caught Jennet’s half smile. Curiosity often got into a temper about the weather. She held long lectures that seemed to be directed to a minor god directly responsible for the trouble that came along with a cold wind.
Jennet said, “Martha picked an unpleasant day tae go intae the village for the first time.”
Lily drew her knees up and turned toward Curiosity. “The first time? But it’s been weeks—”
Curiosity thumped the table piled high with baskets of thread and yarn so that they leaped. “Leave Martha be. She got enough on her shoulders; she don’t need you talking mean behind her back.”
That brought them up short. Jennet was the first one to find her voice. “But Curiosity, we like the girl. If we talk about her it’s no different from talking among ourselves about Mariah’s cough or Eliza’s nightmares—”
“Now see,” Curiosity interrupted her. “That’s the problem, right there. You think about Martha like she was a child. Maybe you ain’t noticed,” she said directly to Lily. “But some see her for what she is, a woman grown. Some have taken note, yes, Lord.”
Jennet looked intrigued, but the idea that was churning in Lily’s gut was not pleasant.
“Who are you talking about?” And, after a pause: “Ethan? Is Ethan seeing Martha in a—a new light?”
Curiosity shook her head and turned back to her knitting. “I’ma hold my tongue. Said too much already.”
“Too much about what?”
Jennet caught her eye and gave a small shake of the head, but Lily knew she had misspoken before she saw the expression on Curiosity’s face.
“I got nothing more to say.”
For the rest of the visit Lily’s thoughts circled back again and again to Martha Kirby. If it was true that Ethan was really interested in Jemima Kuick’s daughter, then that was Lily’s business. He was her cousin, after all. And so good-hearted that he would be willing to put aside all the things he knew of Jemima. And maybe that was right and good, because she knew nothing but good of Martha.
She knew more about Martha than anyone in the whole village except her twin. She could close her eyes and remember a hot summer afternoon when she had learned firsthand what Jemima could do.
She would have liked to talk about this, but Curiosity had declared the subject closed, and she would not change her mind. It wasn’t until much later that it occurred to Lily that Ethan might not be the one they were talking about. There were others who could have taken an interest in Martha Kirby.
And oh, how terribly complicated that would be. She hoped her brother had more sense.
Chapter XIX
Ethan came up for supper and brought a note from Callie, just a sentence scrawled over a bit of newspaper: What is keeping you?
Martha read it aloud and Ethan smiled. “Not one to waste words, is she?”
“Is she angry with me, do you think?”
“Oh, no.” Ethan ran his hands through his hair. He was muddy from helping in the village and in spite of a severe scrubbing, his hands were stained. This was not the Ethan she had known in Manhattan, but the younger version of himself she had known growing up here in the village with Daniel and Blue-Jay as his companions. The boys had seemed to possess some kind of magic, something that protected them from harm. Or so it had seemed to Martha.
He said, “If Callie were mad at you, she’d come right to the door and tell you so. The simple fact is that she’s been too busy trying to put things back together to come up here. Now she’s asking you to come down.”
“Then I’ll go tomorrow morning,” Martha said. A difficult lesson, one she had learned imperfectly, was how to take criticisms—well deserved criticisms—with good grace.
At table the Bonners talked about affairs in the village, progress made or delayed, the difficulty of getting enough hardware, and the fact that in the next days the trappers would start coming out of the bush with the winter’s work. Luke would spend all his time in the Red Dog meeting with them and negotiating prices, and then the drinking would start. The worst of them would lose every penny made in trade at cards or dice.
Martha listened but she didn’t take part, and still she had the strong sense that someone was watching her. If she kept her eyes on her plate, the sensible thing to do, she never need know who.
In the morning Martha stopped in the parlor where Elizabeth was talking to Anje and Joan about the week’s dinners and what was left in the root cellar.
Elizabeth smiled at Martha as if the interruption were of no importance, but behind her back Joan scowled.
“I wondered if I could do any errands for you while I’m in the village. Is there anything you need?”
Anje said, “We are low on sugar, if there’s any to be had.”
“White or brown?”
The LeBlanc girls looked at each other and laughed, for which they got a very sharp look from Elizabeth. She explained, “It’s rare that we see white sugar here. When I go to Johnstown I bring some back, but mostly we use brown.”
“What do people eat in Manhattan, then?” Joan wanted to know. “Honey on your biscuits and white sugar in your tea?”
Martha felt her face flush warm.
“Joan,” Elizabeth began, but Martha put out a hand to stop her.
“I’ll hear worse, I’m sure, before the day is done. You can’t protect me from everything, though you are so good enough to try.”
