Schuyler Davis said, “Eunice speaks for herself, Lancey. And Tappen would jest at a funeral. Wouldn’t you, Tappen?”
“Have,” said Tappen Platt cheerfully.
“We waste time,” said the girl in the chaise. “I would like to buy your shad, my dear. It is so much nicer to deal with a person one knows.”
“How many?” Lancey gazed blandly at the other girl. You know me all right, she thought, and I know you.
“Why, the whole basket, my dear.” Eunice fumbled in a purse, clinked coins in her hand. She leaned sideways from the chaise, arm extended. “I do hope this will be enough money.”
“Shad are selling,” said Tappen Platt, “at about—”
“Tappen,” interrupted Schuyler Davis, “hush up.” He was watching Lancey and Justin.
Lancey couldn’t move. She wasn’t sure whether Eunice wanted her to refuse the sale, or would get more pleasure out of tossing alms to the beggar girl. Justin moved from beside her, reached out his palm.
Eunice, frowning, said, “Is this_gentlema your partner, my dear? A swain, perhaps?”
“You may give him the money,” Lancey said.
“Of course. You know best.”
Justin took the coins, glanced at them, returned to Lancey. He showed his palm. The girl saw the glint of gold and silver, dark coppers. Her anger blurred the sizes of coins, and she couldn’t figure.
“Justin?”
“Roughly,” he whispered, “five dollars.”
All right, Lancey decided, if she wants to throw her money away! She was suddenly reckless, intoxicated with the thought of more than double price for her shad. She walked toward the chaise with slow, dragging steps. Her shoulders were slumped, and she gazed at the ground.
“It’s very generous, ma’am,” she said humbly, stressing the title as she stopped beside the vehicle’s dashboard. Her anger had changed to grim purpose.
“Thank you,” Eunice said, “but charity should be. I’m sure my little pittance is well deserved.” The rich girl was enjoying herself. “Now, if you’ll just place the basket here beside my feet—”
“The basket, ma’am?” Lancey raised her head. The hazel eyes flashed as she laughed in Eunice’s face. “But I never sell the basket. You only bought the shad, Mistress Wynbridge, and here they are!”
She tilted the basket, shook it empty. Fish and weeds tumbled, in slimy cascade, into the bottom of the chaise. Shad slithered across Eunice’s shoes, bounced against her skirt. One fat silverback, as if sporting, seemed to try a leap for the lady’s lap.
“You—!” Eunice Wynbridge squealed as she recoiled.
Lancey whirled, slapping the empty basket across the black colt’s rump. The horse whinnied, reared in fright. Before his front hoofs returned to the roadbed, Lancey was running. She darted up the bank, legs flashing, raced for the trees.
She heard the quick rattle of sound as the colt bolted: hoof-beats, the whir of wheels, a cry from Eunice. Tappen Platt’s bellow was choked with laughter. Lancey glanced over her shoulder, saw him spur the gray cob in pursuit. The chaise, swaying, was already yards down the road, dragging a cloak of dust behind it.
Runaway, thought Lancey, and stopped. She wasn’t sorry, but she was suddenly ashamed. Her only answer to Eunice Wynbridge’s barbed patronizing had been a gamin trick, a guilty child’s flight. If the rich girl were injured, Lancey would be to blame.
Justin, poised for battle, was watching Schuyler Davis control his startled chestnut. The tall man quieted his horse, sat, laughing, in the saddle. He spoke to Justin, turned to gaze at Lancey.
She felt she’d forfeited his good opinion. Her action, however provoked, now seemed a crude jape. But Schuyler Davis raised his tricorne in salute, heeled the chestnut, and cantered after his companion.
Lancey leaned against a tree, and waited for Justin. She stared, unseeing, at the ground in gloomy disgust. Eunice Wynbridge had treated her like a gypsy peddler, and she herself had proved the treatment correct. How Dirck van Zandt would laugh when he heard! She winced at the thought, hearing amused contempt.
Folding her fingers over the coins, Justin spoke with bitter sympathy.
“Feller on the chestnut says not to worry. That wench can handle the colt, Lancey. Too bad.”
“I—I don’t want her hurt, Justin.”
“That kind are bound to get hurt someday.” He gazed down the road broodingly. His voice was low, but bitter. “I heard her. She and all her kind are going to get their carriages upset sure as Judgment. Upset and smashed to splinters.”
Lancey wasn’t sure what he meant, but knew he was on her side. She reached out and pressed his arm. Justin, after all, was worth a dozen Eunice Wynbridges!
CHAPTER 17
THE GREAT SINGLE TAKING OF SHAD THAT ASTOUNDED TOWN and riverfront happened on a balmy night in late May. That catch was as much a surprise to the netters as it was to the captured fish.
There were signs, omens that any good fisherman could read, but these promised only successful drifts, not opulence. A series of hot days had warmed the whole valley; a warmth retained after sunset. The moon was full, and the water, even at darkest floodtide, was temptingly mild. Lancey Quist, who bathed in it that evening, found it refreshing but without chill.
The girl swam, in the half-light of dusk, from her favorite beach, a little cove sheltered by trees and cliffs. Time and place were chosen with care; she wanted no one to catch her in the short, threadbare shift she wore while swimming.
When she came out she tossed aside the wet garment, and let the air dry her skin. Her strip of sacking-towel was used on the sodden mass of her hair. Lancey rubbed scalp and tresses briskly, enjoying the contrast between that exercise and the soft touch of evaporation on her flesh. She felt clean, very alive, almost weightless, as if she had washed away cares and pounds as well as the day’s dust.
“No bones,” she said, stretching. “No bones at all!”
It was, she noticed, a fine evening, hushed and expectant. The birds were still, and the insects fiddling. Beside her the quiet flowing river lapped gently at the beach, drawing attention to the fact that the faded color of its current made the hour visible. The water had lost the brilliance of daylight, but had not yet reached the shade worn at night. Overhead the early moon waited, pegged against the darkening sky like an unlit lamp.
Lancey dressed before she tried to comb her hair. She enjoyed the freedom of nakedness, but donning fresh clothes was almost as good. Hester had laundered shift and petticoats to a crispness that deserved the velvet gown instead of sprigged dimity.
She bit her lip as she raked the snarled tangles of her hair into a semblance of order. The russet velvet had disappeared long since, and her stepmother would answer no questions about it. Some dresses, she knew, were unlucky, and mayhap this one was forever ruined.
Returning home, through shadows that thickened between tree trunks, Lancey skipped more than she walked. The night, by all the signs, would prove perfect for fishing, but she was glad she wasn’t going out.
It gave her a festive, holiday feeling that not even the sharp tang of dead fish that clung to the Quist yard could dampen. Thanks to Justin, she thought, I won’t have to touch a shad this night.
She paused by the empty drying poles to wonder at herself. Never before had she missed a night’s drift when the roe were running heavy. Strangely, she hadn’t objected, but had grabbed at the chance with delight.
It’s Justin, Lancey decided with a shrug. She couldn’t very well refuse the chance he had created.
Hendrick had told them at the supper table. “Pardon’s asked me to partner him tonight. Share and share. Seems Justin has other plans. So, you can have a rest, Lancey.”
Lancey smiled in anticipation, convinced that Justin’s plans centered on herself. Since the encounter with Eunice Wynbridge they’d had few opportunities to be alone. That, she admitted, was the reason for the bath, the clean petticoats, and the sprigged dimity. If Justin intended to come acalling
, in the manner custom required, she wished to look her best.
She went into the house, sniffing at its warmth. Door and window were wide open, but the embers in the fireplace sent too much heat into the room. The candlelight didn’t show that they’d supped on fried shad, but her nose reminded her.
The two little girls were almost ready for bed. Hester, unruffled, was gravely listening to familiar objections.
“But, Ma, it’s still light outside!”
“That’s right, Rhoda,” said Hester, “and you’ll be asleep before it’s dark.”
“I won’t,” said Hannah, sleepily. “Rhoda’s bigger but she can’t stay awake like I can!”
“I can, too, can’t I, Lancey?”
“Why don’t you go to bed and see?” Lancey ignored Hester’s wink of approval. “It’s easy to stay awake down here by the candles.”
“That’s just what they’ll do,” said Hester, sending the smaller girl toward the ladder with a gentle spank. “Go on, now. Last one up is a rotten egg.”
Small Hannah scampered aloft willingly enough, but her sister followed more slowly. Rhoda scowled back as she climbed with the puzzled expression of a buyer sold an unwanted article by unfathomable means.
Laughing, Lancey shoved her bundle of discarded clothes into the settle chest, hung her towel before the fireplace. “Pa gone so early?” she asked.
“Yes,” Hester said, “he wanted to take his net down to Pardon’s. You know Hendrick. He’s afraid Pardon’s net ain’t stained dark enough for moonlight.”
“They’ll get along. They know each other’s ways.”
“Fishermen!” Hester’s face, pink in the glow from the embers, sagged wearily. She raised a hand as if to shield her forehead.
“What’s the matter, Hester?”
“Nothing, girl. Not really. But, God, am I tired of fish! Cooking them, smelling them, eating them!” She sensed Lancey’s stunned gaping, looked up to grin, lowering her voice. “Don’t fret, girl. I get this way every year.”
“I—I never heard you say—”
“And you won’t, in front of Hendrick, or the children. Up till now I did my spouting only when alone. But, this year, you’re different, Lancey. I can talk to you now.”
So, Lancey thought, Hester has noticed a difference, too. She perched herself on the edge of the table. She said, “You mean I’ve grown up!”
“Partly. You ain’t much older, but you’ve changed. Couple of months ago you wouldn’t have dreamed of sitting here, looking pretty enough to nibble, and to hell with fishing!”
“Well,” said Lancey, aware she was turning rosy, “if Pa needed me—”
“I know.” Hester leaned back in her chair, sighed. “You’re pulling oar for Ten Bush. But every drift now brings in more shad than we can sell, smoke or eat. The run doesn’t even show a sign of slackening.”
“It won’t last much longer.” Lancey felt disloyal, but she understood her stepmother’s attitude. Hester, after all, had the cleaning and the cooking, but none of the fun of fishing. It was true, too, that a moonlight night had other uses.
Hester rubbed her face with her palm, and seemed to erase all haggardness. She said, cheerily: “You needn’t pity me, Lancey. I made my bed, and Hendrick’s the man I want sharing it. A butcher’s wife must hate the reek of meat, and a brewer’s gets tired of beer. I just wanted to speak my piece, and now I feel better.”
“I’ll confess,” said Lancey, “that you can get your fill of smelling fish.” She realized as she spoke that she was voicing a long suppressed complaint.
“Don’t worry, girl. He’ll never notice.”
“Who won’t?”
“Whoever it is you’re expecting. You didn’t get all decked out like that just for me.”
“Decked out!” Lancey’s indignation was spoiled by her chuckle. She thrust her bare feet toward Hester, wriggled her toes. “Why, I haven’t even donned shoes and stockings.” She cocked her head, considered. “Do you think I should, Hester?”
“This a may-I-pay or a stop-by?”
“What?”
“Did the feller ask you, ‘may I pay my respects’? Or do you just figure he’ll stop-by?”
“Oh.” Lancey threw back her head, and chortled. “Well, since it’s Justin, I think I’d call it a guess-maybe.”
“In that case,” said Hester, practically, “no shoes and stockings. You’re at home, and it ain’t Sunday.”
Lancey wasn’t sure her stepmother was right, but it didn’t really matter. Justin knew she normally went barefoot and a change might give his visit undue importance. She was gazing, dreamily, at the shimmering orange-red mound of embers when Hester spoke again.
“What makes you think Justin’s coming, Lancey?”
“Well,” said Lancey, startled by the questioning of a certainty, “why else would he ask Pardon to fish without him?”
“Hendrick thinks he had business down to Jaycock’s.”
“Even so. That shouldn’t take all evening.”
“You never can tell,” Hester said, “about a man. There’s some make a business of tippling and spend whole days over it. Others get in a tavern, and the liquor oils their tongues, and they talk the hours away. They don’t say much of anything, but they forget how to tell time.”
“You think Justin’s like that?”
“They all are when they get to arguing. You know Justin. Mention that Constitution and he’s off and running like a gun shy hound.”
There was an undercurrent of seriousness in Hester’s banter. Frowning, Lancey said, “You don’t sound overfond of Justin.”
“Now, don’t go putting words in my mouth, girl. I’ve nothing against the man. Take away Hendrick and a score of years, and I might amble down the lane with him myself.” She twinkled at Lancey’s sudden impassiveness. “But I’d know where I was going, girl, and how far.”
“You talk as if I was a—a ninny!”
Hester leaned forward, placed two fingers on the girl’s knee. “No, Lancey. You’re old enough, and canny enough, to do your own choosing. Justin or anybody, it ain’t my place to pick faults. I do like him; did from the first. But he’s got a—a man hardness like a swinging sword. A flash to make the heart jump; a swish that’s almost a song.”
“Yes,” said Lancey. She was listening without thought, enthralled by her stepmother’s eloquence.
“And he was born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. Sparks cause fire, and fire burns. The female who wants Justin Pattison had better remember that.”
“It might be worth it, Hester.”
“That little thought,” said Hester, “is what hooks most of us.” She stood up, smoothed her skirt over her hips. “Why don’t you tell me I talk too much?”
Outside the door behind Lancey a toe scuffed a stone, rolled it. The girl whirled from the table at the sound. He did come, she thought. She beamed at Hester as knuckles tapped twice on the door jamb.
“Ahoy, inside. It’s me.”
“Oh, my,” said Hester.
Lancey’s jaw dropped as Jan Elmendorf filled the doorway. She was standing in front of both candle and fireplace, and the stocky sailor couldn’t see her obvious dismay. Jan hesitated on the threshold; his smile and voice were tentative.
“Evening, Hester. Lancey.”
“Hello, Jan,” Hester said, “come in.” She spoke quickly to distract the man from her stepdaughter’s silence. The big woman was feminine enough to be amused by the appearance of the wrong suitor. “You’ve been a stranger lately.”
Jan, stepping forward, paused. He shuffled his extended foot on the floor, took off his hat, turned it in his hands. “The—the Lydia has kept me jumping,” he said, at last. “Full hold every voyage.” He cleared his throat. “I’m mate now.”
“That’s nice,” Hester said.
“Congratulations,” said Lancey. He was, she noted, wearing a suit so new the breeches still showed the tailor’s folds. His tricorne, matching black, looked fresh from the hatter’
s. Only the knit stockings and sturdy shoes remained from the once familiar Jan. This, she thought, was a courting call all right, but not the one she’d expected.
Aware of her scrutiny, Jan straightened. He stopped fumbling with his hat, raised it against his chest. Stiffly posed, he asked: “Do you like the new clothes? I got everything down to New York.”
“Take you for a sloop captain at least,” Hester said. She glanced anxiously at Lancey.
“You look fine,” Lancey said. When he beamed, pleasure increasing the scrubbed-polish shine of his face, she saw that he bore no marks from the fight with Justin. She’d vowed to tongue lash him for that, but didn’t have the heart. Poor Jan, she thought, puffed as a pouter pigeon, and about as interesting.
“You look fine, too, Lancey.”
“Thank you, Jan.”
“Er—younguns well, Hester?”
“Sprightly.” Hester was trying not to smile. Jan’s manners, as modish and new as his suit, fitted him as badly.
“And Hendrick?”
“Same as ever.”
“That’s good.”
Lancey knew that the stiff conversation could drag on interminably. Someone, probably Captain Benjamin, had instructed Jan in courtship behavior, and he was doggedly following the drill. Hester, who had once checked his bloody nose, was to be addressed as a chaperone. Convention also demanded that Lancey, who had done the nose smiting, act like a flattered idiot. It was ridiculous!
“Jan,” she said, “it’s too hot in here. Let’s walk down to the pier.” She wanted him away from the house. If Justin was coming, he might arrive any minute, and there was bad blood between the two.
The suggestion brought a visible struggle to Jan’s countenance. He showed relief and uncertainty, glanced at Hester seeking reassurance.
“Go ahead,” Hester said, “before you start bowing and making a leg. My knees’re too old to curtsy.”
Jan reddened, almost dropped his hat when Lancey laughed. Touched by his confusion she put her hand on his wrist, drew him to the door. “No matter what anybody told you,” she said, gaily, “rules don’t hold among friends, Jan.”
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