The Endless Forest
Page 4
“Bring me that plate of ham while you at it, would you?”
She was tying up a napkin of biscuits, which meant somebody couldn’t wait for breakfast but would have to eat when time permitted, someplace out in the weather. Most likely it would be Birdie’s oldest sister.
“Hannah?”
Curiosity nodded. “Missus Rountree in travail.”
“Who brought word?”
“Why, your brother Daniel. The teacher his very own self.”
This idea was so odd that for a moment Birdie couldn’t make sense of it. Right now Daniel should be on his way from his little house on Hidden Wolf to the school, where he always arrived by quarter past seven at the very latest. But Daniel was running errands and bringing messages.
Curiosity was saying, “Missus Rountree got a good set of hips on her, I doubt she’ll have much trouble though it is her first.”
Birdie found herself staring out the window at the rain, and feeling suddenly sleepy again. The kitchen smelled of brewing tea and ham and fresh bread and it was warm, as familiar and comfortable as Birdie’s mother’s own kitchen. As she buttered biscuits and stacked them, she let herself be lulled by the familiar noises: Anje humming under her breath, the crackle of the fire, the soft creak that the cradle made as Curiosity rocked it with her foot. Birdie glanced down at the round face of her youngest nephew and saw that he was watching her too, content for the moment with the sound of their voices. Simon’s eyes were the startling green-blue of spring lichen, a gift Ben Savard had settled on all three boys but neither of his daughters, whose eyes were hazel.
Nature ain’t got no interest in playing fair. Another of Curiosity’s many sayings that were true but shouldn’t be.
Outsiders saw the household as odd, and in fact it had a reputation that reached to Albany and down the Hudson in one direction and to Quebec in the other. Once in a while a stranger came through and knocked on the door out of pure nosiness and bad manners, wanting to see the old black woman who had started her life as a slave and ended up with land and property of her own. And was it true she had a half-Mohawk woman who claimed to be a trained doctor living with her in the house, and a dozen children with skin the color of deep red clay? The rumor said that the only white faces in the household belonged to the maidservants. And if that wasn’t a backwards picture, Birdie had heard a tinker say to his horse, then what was?
It was an unusual household in some ways, but to Birdie it was a second home. Noisier than her own maybe, when her nieces and nephews—known in the family as the little people—were all in the same room.
Rain was rattling against the shutters so loudly that at first Birdie didn’t realize Hannah had come into the kitchen. She sat down at the table, tucked a stray dark hair into the scarf she had wrapped around her head, and then scooped up her youngest child and sat him, a solid six-month-old brick of boy, on her lap. He immediately began to bounce softly and sing to himself, thumping her breast with one little fist, as if demanding admission.
“You had your fill not an hour ago,” Hannah said to him. “You just want to noodle.”
“The sweetest child yet,” Curiosity said in approval.
A soft rumble of thunder made the baby blink in surprise. Hannah nuzzled him, but she spoke to Birdie. She said, “Little sister, can you look after the children for me while I’m gone?” Birdie straightened in her surprise.
“But there’s school.”
“No school today,” Curiosity said. “That’s the other thing your brother come to tell us.”
No school. A day here—a rainy day here—with the Savard nephews and nieces, the oldest not three years younger than Birdie herself, but twice as much trouble.
Birdie drew in a deep breath. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong? Where’s Daniel now?”
“Out the barn with Ben and Runs-from-Bears and my Joshua and all the rest of the menfolk,” said Curiosity. “Talking about the weather.”
Birdie’s eyes moved to Joan, who was opening the window in order to pull the shutters closed. The rain was falling in sheets, and Joan’s face and arms got wet. She looked purely disgusted, but that was nothing new. Joan was always sour and her sister Anje was always sunny. Today Joan was especially sour because she didn’t like coming to help out at Downhill House; and she was even more eager than Birdie to get back uphill.
To Hannah Curiosity said: “Thaw woke me up in the middle of the night. But then I suppose I was half listening for it anyway. The signs all there.”
It occurred to Birdie finally that there was a connection between the weather and how long Ma and Da were in coming. They had traveled by sleigh as far as Johnstown and then booked passage down the river to the city. They would come back up the Hudson by steamboat—another adventure she was missing—and in Johnstown they’d get the horses and sleighs from the livery. The trip between Johnstown and Paradise flew by in a sleigh.
But the snow was going fast, and in its place there would be mud, and there wasn’t a sleigh known to man that ran over mud. It would be a much longer and more difficult journey. All because of the early thaw, and the rain.
Birdie felt Hannah’s eyes on her, the warm weight of her regard. “I wish Throws-Far had stayed up in Canada,” Birdie said. “If he had to come back here, why couldn’t he keep his old weather predictions to himself? It’s not fair.” She stopped herself because from the corner of her eye she saw Anje taking in every word and storing it away. Birdie glanced down at her feet and said, “I shouldn’t talk like that. Da says Throws-Far is a good man.”
She was tying up a napkin of biscuits, which meant somebody couldn’t wait for breakfast but would have to eat when time permitted, someplace out in the weather. Most likely it would be Birdie’s oldest sister.
“Hannah?”
Curiosity nodded. “Missus Rountree in travail.”
“Who brought word?”
“Why, your brother Daniel. The teacher his very own self.”
This idea was so odd that for a moment Birdie couldn’t make sense of it. Right now Daniel should be on his way from his little house on Hidden Wolf to the school, where he always arrived by quarter past seven at the very latest. But Daniel was running errands and bringing messages.
Curiosity was saying, “Missus Rountree got a good set of hips on her, I doubt she’ll have much trouble though it is her first.”
Birdie found herself staring out the window at the rain, and feeling suddenly sleepy again. The kitchen smelled of brewing tea and ham and fresh bread and it was warm, as familiar and comfortable as Birdie’s mother’s own kitchen. As she buttered biscuits and stacked them, she let herself be lulled by the familiar noises: Anje humming under her breath, the crackle of the fire, the soft creak that the cradle made as Curiosity rocked it with her foot. Birdie glanced down at the round face of her youngest nephew and saw that he was watching her too, content for the moment with the sound of their voices. Simon’s eyes were the startling green-blue of spring lichen, a gift Ben Savard had settled on all three boys but neither of his daughters, whose eyes were hazel.
Nature ain’t got no interest in playing fair. Another of Curiosity’s many sayings that were true but shouldn’t be.
Outsiders saw the household as odd, and in fact it had a reputation that reached to Albany and down the Hudson in one direction and to Quebec in the other. Once in a while a stranger came through and knocked on the door out of pure nosiness and bad manners, wanting to see the old black woman who had started her life as a slave and ended up with land and property of her own. And was it true she had a half-Mohawk woman who claimed to be a trained doctor living with her in the house, and a dozen children with skin the color of deep red clay? The rumor said that the only white faces in the household belonged to the maidservants. And if that wasn’t a backwards picture, Birdie had heard a tinker say to his horse, then what was?
It was an unusual household in some ways, but to Birdie it was a second home. Noisier than her own maybe, when her nieces and nephews—known in the family as the little people—were all in the same room.
Rain was rattling against the shutters so loudly that at first Birdie didn’t realize Hannah had come into the kitchen. She sat down at the table, tucked a stray dark hair into the scarf she had wrapped around her head, and then scooped up her youngest child and sat him, a solid six-month-old brick of boy, on her lap. He immediately began to bounce softly and sing to himself, thumping her breast with one little fist, as if demanding admission.
“You had your fill not an hour ago,” Hannah said to him. “You just want to noodle.”
“The sweetest child yet,” Curiosity said in approval.
A soft rumble of thunder made the baby blink in surprise. Hannah nuzzled him, but she spoke to Birdie. She said, “Little sister, can you look after the children for me while I’m gone?” Birdie straightened in her surprise.
“But there’s school.”
“No school today,” Curiosity said. “That’s the other thing your brother come to tell us.”
No school. A day here—a rainy day here—with the Savard nephews and nieces, the oldest not three years younger than Birdie herself, but twice as much trouble.
Birdie drew in a deep breath. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong? Where’s Daniel now?”
“Out the barn with Ben and Runs-from-Bears and my Joshua and all the rest of the menfolk,” said Curiosity. “Talking about the weather.”
Birdie’s eyes moved to Joan, who was opening the window in order to pull the shutters closed. The rain was falling in sheets, and Joan’s face and arms got wet. She looked purely disgusted, but that was nothing new. Joan was always sour and her sister Anje was always sunny. Today Joan was especially sour because she didn’t like coming to help out at Downhill House; and she was even more eager than Birdie to get back uphill.
To Hannah Curiosity said: “Thaw woke me up in the middle of the night. But then I suppose I was half listening for it anyway. The signs all there.”
It occurred to Birdie finally that there was a connection between the weather and how long Ma and Da were in coming. They had traveled by sleigh as far as Johnstown and then booked passage down the river to the city. They would come back up the Hudson by steamboat—another adventure she was missing—and in Johnstown they’d get the horses and sleighs from the livery. The trip between Johnstown and Paradise flew by in a sleigh.
But the snow was going fast, and in its place there would be mud, and there wasn’t a sleigh known to man that ran over mud. It would be a much longer and more difficult journey. All because of the early thaw, and the rain.
Birdie felt Hannah’s eyes on her, the warm weight of her regard. “I wish Throws-Far had stayed up in Canada,” Birdie said. “If he had to come back here, why couldn’t he keep his old weather predictions to himself? It’s not fair.” She stopped herself because from the corner of her eye she saw Anje taking in every word and storing it away. Birdie glanced down at her feet and said, “I shouldn’t talk like that. Da says Throws-Far is a good man.”
