“We’re fine, but who knows for how long. The Whigs won’t stand for it. There’ll be more killin’ before it’s done. I’m goin’ to warn Mr. Bolzius before trouble starts in town. Folks bound to find out soon.” Bartimaeus hurried out the door.
“Phinea, are you all right, child?” said Carmaline as she hurried over and inspected Fin physically from head to toe. “My Lord, my Lord.”
“I’m all right,” said Fin.
“Thank the Lord, child,” said Carmaline, hugging her.
Sister Hilde stood at a distance and appraised Fin as she might a sick horse. “Get some food before it’s cold,” she ordered, making no mention of Fin’s change of clothing.
The next day the entire town was abuzz. There were many comings and goings on the road outside the orphanage, and townsfolk often hurried into the courtyard to speak with the sisters only to hurry out again moments later. The air was filled with tension, and all the children felt it.
Fin couldn’t stand having the story bottled up inside her and was determined to see Peter and tell him all about it. He would be around to call on her after dinner, but she wasn’t satisfied to wait. When lunch was over, she cleaned up as fast as she could and told Bartimaeus she’d be down at the river practicing fiddle. After a quick look to make sure Sister Hilde wasn’t watching, she slipped out the gate and ran down the street to the edge of the town looking for Mr. Hickory’s house. She only knew its whereabouts from Peter but found it easily enough by the sawhorses and carpenter’s tools lying about.
She snuck around to the back to see if she could spot Peter. He was eating lunch at a picnic table with Mr. Hickory and his wife. Fin hid in the bushes and waited for him to look her way. Each time he looked up between bites, she waved to catch his attention. Fin had nearly decided he must be blind before he saw her at last. He nodded her way and she dove out of sight behind the bushes. A few minutes later, Peter casually walked into the tree line.
“What are you doing, Fin?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“It’s dangerous to be out like this. Who knows if the British might be coming here next?” He sounded worried.
“I was there, Peter. I saw the whole thing.”
“You were there?”
“Me and Bartimaeus were in Savannah, and we went to see what the protest was about. They just started shooting! It was awful. Someone needs to show those damned redcoats that Georgia doesn’t take to folks just up and shooting people. I think Bartimaeus might do something—he was really angry.”
“What do you mean, ‘do something’? What would he do?”
“I don’t know. When they started shooting it was like he wanted to jump out of the wagon and go—hurt someone. He didn’t, but—” She didn’t finish, didn’t want to. “What if there’s a war, Peter. Will you go?”
Peter looked startled; he’d never considered the idea. “What are you talking about? Go fight? I don’t know,” he said.
“I would,” said Fin. “There needs to be a war. The English have no right pushing us around. The colonies should go independent. I’d go fight,” she said half to Peter and half to herself.
“You’re not going anywhere, Fin.”
She glared at him. “And who are you to tell me where I’ll go? British don’t tell me what to do, and neither do you, Peter LaMee!”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean we’ve got plans here. I’m not going to mess that up by getting killed in some war, and I’m not going to let you either.” She softened a bit. He wasn’t trying to control her, just protect her.
“What if we did something together, Pete? If there’s a war, I mean. We could be like a team. I could dress like a boy, and we could join the militia!”
Peter looked at her askance and gave an uneasy chuckle. “You’re mad, you know that?” She wasn’t kidding and Fin sensed it was unsettling him. She let it drop.
“Head back to the orphanage, Fin. It’s not safe out here. Half the families in Ebenezer are moving out to the country. There could be trouble in town. There’s lots of folks loyal to England. Mr. Hickory says independent is the way to go, but war ain’t the way to do it. Says it’ll come if we just settle down and let the Good Lord do his work. I don’t know. I do know I’d feel better if I knew you were safe back at the orphanage, where Sister Hilde can keep an eye on you.” He said the last part with a teasing smile that brought him an insulted look from Fin. “Don’t worry, I’ll come by tonight after dinner.”
“All right, see you then,” she said and sprinted off toward the orphanage. Peter stared after her until she was out of sight.
CHAPTER X
That evening at dinner, Sister Carmaline declared that, due to the civil unrest, orphans would no longer be allowed outside the gates. It didn’t escape Fin’s attention that Sister Carmaline was looking right at her during most of the announcement. After the others were dismissed, Sister Hilde stayed behind and cornered Fin.
“Miss Button, do not think we are so blind as to have missed your frequent excursions outside the walls. While we have had some measure of tolerance of late, you can expect that to now cease. It is far too dangerous for a young girl, even one such as yourself, to be out without proper supervision. Do not disappoint me, Miss Button,” she ordered, and left.
Fin was half-shocked and half-infuriated. Sister Hilde had known she was sneaking out. She had known and not said anything. That was most unlike Sister Hilde—or Carmaline for that matter. Was she hoarding up evidence to prosecute all her crimes at once? Maybe she was bluffing and only suspected Fin’s ventures beyond the walls. Certainly if she knew, she would have come down like a hammer the instant she found out. But found out or not, they weren’t about to stop her from seeing Peter tonight, or any other time she wanted to. The nerve of that woman to try to keep her cooped up in here like one of her precious chickens. The sisters were terrified of everything in the world outside of the orphanage, it seemed, and the latest news had done nothing to ease their paranoia. This might make life a little more difficult, but it wasn’t going to bring it to a stop.
Fin finished her chores and headed out the door. Bartimaeus stopped her.
“I’d be careful, missy,” he said
“Careful about what? I can’t leave the walls, in case you missed it.”
“I won’t go stoppin’ you. You’re old enough now to make your own decisions. Just remember, you’ll have to abide the consequence if Hilde catches on.” Then he turned and left, leaving Fin to her choices.
Fin considered it for a moment—a small moment. The notion of ceding defeat to Sister Hilde was more than she could stand. She walked out to the gate to wait for Peter.
As she reached the gate and saw Peter coming up the road, a voice spoke from behind her.
“Mr. LaMee, may I help you?” Sister Hilde said, walking up from behind.
“I come to walk with Fin a bit, if that’s all right,” said Peter. Fin began opening the gate and Sister Hilde’s hand came down on the latch.
“I’m sorry, Peter, but Miss Button is restricted to the grounds for the near future.”
“He can come inside then, Sister Hilde. We just want to talk,” said Fin.
“I think not. It’s far too late for visitors. It is nice to see you again, Peter, perhaps some other time. Come along, Miss Button.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Fin incredulously.
“Indeed?”
“Fin, don’t make a fuss,” Peter said.
“You’ve got no right to tell me I can’t talk to Peter. He’s lived here all his life and has every bit as much right to come inside as you do.”
“Miss Button, I suggest you leave off this nonsense before I become irritated,” said Sister Hilde as her nose began to rise.
“Go on, Fin. We’ll catch up later,” said Peter. He eyed Sister Hilde with a worried look, but there was no stopping Fin now.
“This is ridiculous! Go to bed, you wicked old bat, before I get damned well irritated. I’m s
ick and tired of listening to your constant threats of extra chores and switchings and God only cares what else. Haven’t you got anything better to do than follow me around? Haven’t you got any children of your own to nag? But, oh, of course you don’t, and you’re not my mother either, so you can take your bonnets and your rules and your nose and carry them right out of my life!”
Fin’s mind was full of a hundred other insults and thoughts she’d like to voice, but she stopped. She’d gone too far and she knew it. Fin had hurt her. Hilde turned away and walked back toward the headmistress’s chambers.
“She didn’t deserve that,” said Peter flatly.
“I’d better go,” muttered Fin.
“Things will be back to normal before long; don’t worry about it. I’ll see you.”
Fin smiled at him as best she could and watched him turn to leave. He paused a moment and turned as if to say something more.
“Go on,” she whispered and waved him off. He nodded and walked away.
Fin went to bed and lay awake a long time wondering what Sister Hilde’s vengeance would be.
As Fin walked to the dining hall the next morning, the weight of what she’d said to Hilde pressed down on her. Very rarely had she ever directly defied Hilde and never so plainly as she had last night. She was convinced Hilde had deserved the tongue-lashing, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t convince herself to stop feeling guilty. Why she should regret speaking rudely to Hilde was beyond her reckoning. Certainly Hilde had been rude to her often enough, so why now such remorse when she only gave her a taste of her own venom? Thinking about it irritated her.
When she arrived at the dining hall, Bartimaeus was in the kitchen stirring up breakfast. She retrieved the beeswax from the cupboard and went to work polishing the table without speaking to him. There seemed to be more nicks and blemishes on the surface than she’d ever seen before. No matter how hard she scrubbed at some of them, they refused to disappear. She expected Sister Hilde to stride into the room and descend upon her at any moment. She couldn’t think of anything Hilde could do that would be worse than punishments she’d served a thousand times before, but she couldn’t escape the look on Hilde’s face as she’d yelled at her. What horrible fate would Hilde devise for such offense? Fin didn’t dare imagine it, and she became furious at a particular scuff on the table that refused to buff clean. She scrubbed it so hard her fingers hurt, and then she began to beat on it.
Bartimaeus yelled from the other room. “Too late to get it clean now, missy. Best get them dishes set out.”
Just as Fin finished setting the table, Sister Hilde entered the dining hall. Hilde said nothing. She simply sat and waited for the meal to commence. Fin tried to erase any trace of guilt or worry from her face and scurried to the other room to find something to do.
Throughout the meal, Sister Hilde was silent and avoided any eye contact with Fin. Fin tried her best to act as she would any other morning. She did not intend to let Hilde detect an inkling of the guilt she felt.
When the meal had finished, Sister Carmaline dismissed the children. “Excuse yourselves please, and ready yourselves for morning prayers. Miss Button, will you please join me in my chambers once your work here is tended to?”
That was it, the hammer stroke, the knell of doom. Fin quivered. Sister Hilde exited the room without acknowledging Fin’s presence.
Fin took to her cleanup with the slow, heavy steps of a man led to the gallows.
“Cheer up, missy. She can’t kill you.” Bartimaeus said and smiled at her. She hadn’t mentioned the confrontation to Bartimaeus. She was ashamed of what she’d done and was afraid he’d think less of her for the knowing. But clearly he had heard, probably from Hilde herself. He was right. She couldn’t kill her, but death might be an easier doom than whatever Hilde had in mind.
Finally, she could put off the meeting no longer. She trudged to the headmistress’s chambers and rapped on the door.
“Come in, Miss Button,” called Sister Carmaline through the door. Fin pushed it open and stepped inside. Carmaline was sitting in her rocking chair next to the fireplace patiently considering her knitting. Sister Hilde stood quietly, her back to the door, looking down into the black-sooted hearth.
“Shut the door behind you please,” said Carmaline in her usual cheerful voice, without looking up. Fin did as she asked, shut the door, then stood before her and waited. She stared intently at Sister Carmaline, hoping that by some miracle Hilde would continue looking into the fireplace. She didn’t want to have to endure her gaze.
“Miss Button, how old are you now?” asked Carmaline, though she knew perfectly well.
“Nineteen.”
“Nineteen years old.” Carmaline paused to look up and appraise Fin before continuing. “Nineteen years, and it seems the extent of what we have managed to teach you has been to dress like a vagrant, disregard our rules, and speak vulgarities and insults to your elders.”
Fin risked a glance at Hilde; she was cold, unmoving, her back to the room, staring into the fireplace.
“Sister Hilde and I have spent nearly twenty years of our lives attempting to train you to survive in this world, attempting to raise you up to become a proper woman, capable of making a home and marrying a suitable man. But it seems we are failures.” She paused again but didn’t look up.
“I am at somewhat of a loss as to what to do, Miss Button. My sister feels that we would do well to turn you out to reap the benefits of your meager skills and graces. What do you think, Miss Button?”
Turn her out? Let her go? Suddenly Fin was confronted with the reality of it. It was what she’d wanted all her life, to get away, to be on her own, to make her own decisions. And now, faced with it, she was paralyzed. She wasn’t sure she was ready. What would Peter think? The timing was all wrong.
“I’ll go if you want me to,” she stammered, defiant, not meaning a word of it.
“And where would you go, Miss Button? To Peter? I think not. Peter is a good lad and well employed, but I very seriously doubt he is prepared to risk his job and his future for an ill-mannered girl with nowhere else to go. Do you know, Miss Button, that I have seen your like before? Girls like you, with their minds set to make their way in the world, invariably make their way no further than a harbor-town brothel. Is that what you think to do?” Carmaline looked up briefly. “No, I should think not. But no harlot ever went out searching for her end. The end finds the harlot when all other doors are shut.”
She looked up to appraise Fin once more, and then, thoughtfully, went back to her work before continuing.
“Well, Phinea, despite what my sister thinks, I have hope that you may yet be turned from your reckless nature and one day may be fit for a fine man and fruitful union. Therefore we will not turn you out.” Fin let out her breath. “However, there will be changes made.” Fin didn’t like where this was going. “From here on you will no longer be working with Brother Bartimaeus.” Fin opened her mouth in protest but Sister Carmaline pressed on. “We will afford him a new apprentice. Henceforth, you will be under the direct supervision of Sister Hilde.” Fin’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “You will assist her in the supervision of chores and the other daily workings of the orphan house. You will not be permitted out of her eyesight until such time as trust enough is built that Sister Hilde deems it appropriate.”
“Sister Carmaline—”
“Furthermore, all contact with Peter LaMee is forbidden.”
“You can’t do that,” Fin whispered.
Sister Hilde turned and glared at Fin. “I can indeed, Miss Button. Your relationship with Mr. LaMee has done nothing but lead you to mischief. Mischief which is, as of this moment, at an end,” Hilde hissed.
Ignoring Sister Hilde, Fin threw herself at Carmaline’s feet and begged. “Sister Carmaline, please! You don’t understand—” Carmaline ignored her, concentrated on her knitting.
“Silence, girl!” spat Hilde as she jerked Fin up by the arm. Fin ripped her arm away
and backed toward the door.
“You can’t do this . . . you can’t do this . . .”
“Miss Button, may I suggest that you calm down and collect your thoughts. We have nothing but your best interests at heart and you will do well to heed the decisions of your elders,” said Carmaline, perfectly calm.
“I can’t, Sister Carmaline please—” Fin cried.
“My dear, I’m afraid you have no choice.”
There it was. No choice. It echoed in Fin’s mind. This is what they wanted. All her life lived inside walls and defined by their choices, never hers. Her father chose a boy and cast her aside. The sisters wanted her to clean and cook and chose her for Bartimaeus. Only Peter had ever chosen her as she was and as she wanted to be, and now Hilde wanted to take him away as well. No choice, said Carmaline. All her life’s fears converged on those words and she backed away, flailing at them like a fire set to burn her. No Peter. No Bartimaeus. No fiddle. No choice.
She flung open the door and ran. Bartimaeus was in the courtyard and he tried to stop her, but she flew past him to the gate. She raised the latch and cast one look back. Sister Hilde was standing at the edge of the headmistress’s chambers staring at her with a look of perfect satisfaction on her face. Fin threw open the gate and ran headlong into the morning. No choice but to run.
She ran down the road—to Peter. Peter would convince Mr. Hickory to let her stay. They could be married today; she could be away from the sisters forever. Peter would know what to do. She could barely see the road through the tears in her eyes, but at last she found Mr. Hickory’s house. Peter was in front of the house sawing logs. The sight of him was like water on her parched tongue.
“Peter!” she sobbed. “Peter!”
Peter caught her as she was slipping to the ground exhausted. “Fin, what’s wrong?”
“Peter . . .” she couldn’t manage to say anything else.
He shook her, worried. “Fin, tell me what’s going on.”
The Fiddler's Gun Page 8
