Big Tom took the water from my hand without drinking it and climbed into the wagon. “Time to head on back.” Hettie joined him on the bench seat. Abel perched on the edge of the tall side panels, staring darkly at the field, lips pressed tight.
I chose a lumpy seat on the corn in the wagon’s bed. I couldn’t help sliding a look at Abel. To my surprise, Hettie swiveled to squeeze his shoulder. “We’ll get through this rough patch,” she said quietly.
I scraped dirt from beneath my fingernails, trying to decide if it was admirable or not that family love allowed them to sympathize with Abel when he was so clearly in the wrong. The girl carrying his child, the one he refused to marry, would need that kindness as she faced an uncertain future. Blood was thicker than water, they said.
Perhaps I was a little jealous of Abel.
I knew it was no fault of their own, but the people I was meant to lean on in times of trouble were nowhere to be found.
She walked for hours, over fields and valleys gone blank with snow. A jagged wind sliced through her thin nightgown, whipping her auburn hair into a noose around her neck. Bare toes, corpse-pale with creeping frostbite, crunched through a brittle crust of snow. All day she saw nothing but glittering white, felt nothing but black and broken loss.
The snow had stopped at some point. She’d blinked crystalline flakes from her lashes, uncaring, and walked on to nowhere. Under a sky bruised purple with dusk, she sank to her knees, ready to sleep and wake no more. The relief was immeasurable.
Then the woods called her. She felt a tug behind her crippled heart, a marrow-deep summons that pulled her attention to the copse of dark trees. Certainty settled over her. Perfect oblivion waited in the woods.
She forced herself up, stumbling on until she crossed into the forest.
Bare branches crooked black fingers to the sky, calling the night down. She moved in a dreamlike trance through the silent trees, until at last she found what had beckoned her.
At the heart of the woods, a circle of stones crouched in a clearing, toad-gray and splotched with peeling moss.
She trailed her fingers along the cold rock and looked into its shining black eye. A feeling of rightness swept over her like a warm sigh.
Gripping the crumbling edge, she pulled herself up onto the knee-high lip of rock. Blood traced its way down her leg, dropping onto the stone in a shocking red reminder of what had sent her into the storm.
She closed her eyes and thought of the baby girl. And of him. Then she stepped out into the welcoming void.
5
After we left the cornfield, I spent the remains of the day hoeing the vegetable garden and digging potatoes. “She’s give plumb out,” Big Tom muttered to Hettie when I at last made my slow way upstairs to the stifling attic. I collapsed into bed, a wispy concern for Lilah drifting by as sleep dragged me under.
Sometime during the night, every muscle in my body joined a union to protest the unfair labor conditions foisted upon them. I hobbled down to breakfast the next morning, the sorest I’d ever been. Wincing my way onto my seat, I glanced at Abel’s empty chair.
“Abel had some family matters to attend to,” Hettie said, placing a skillet of sizzling fried potatoes before me.
I stuffed my mouth with a steaming forkful. They tasted like bacon grease, an ingredient in strong contention for the prize of the most wonderful thing on the planet. “I hope nothing too serious,” I said carefully.
“Time will tell, I suppose.” Hettie fiddled with her apron strings, then rallied to do what she did best: dole out work. “I’ve got your day’s chores lined out.” She reeled off a list that made my aching back want to riot in advance.
“After we’ve mended the east fence, you can run into town,” Hettie said. “There’s a shipment of flour and salt in at the dry-goods store. Get me ten pounds each. Then you can go to the schoolhouse and see your sister, long as it’s fine with Miss Maeve.”
I forgot my aches and pains in a split second. “Thank you, Hettie.” The emotion in my voice surprised me. I trailed off, closing my eyes for a moment to trap the welling tears.
Hettie gave a curt nod. I suspected she was as unused to accepting gratitude as I was to expressing it. “It’ll be faster if you ride Lady May. She’s real gentle and she knows the way.” She frowned, adding, “Just make sure you don’t leave the road, hear?”
I agreed, wondering why she’d felt the warning necessary.
I helped mend the barbed-wire fence and, looking like I’d just wrestled a wildcat and lost, followed Big Tom and Hettie to the barn.
I rubbed at my scratched arms and warily eyed the palomino mare Big Tom saddled for me.
At home, I’d walked almost everywhere. The last time I’d been this close to a horse was at a friend’s sixth-birthday party, when a pony repaid my attempt to pat its nose by sneezing in my face. The experience had been both damp and startling, and I’d distrusted the entire equine species ever since. With a boost from Big Tom, I managed a shaky sidesaddle position. My perch atop Lady May’s broad back seemed a shocking distance from the ground. I shouted a goodbye, too afraid to release my death grip on the reins for a farewell wave as I left the farm behind.
After a mile or so, I started to relax. Lady May kept her gentle, steady pace. A soft breeze stirred the sea of grass beside our path, bowing the blades like ocean waves. Birdsong floated across the open fields in high, happy trills. Even the warm, musky scent of the horse wasn’t exactly unpleasant as we clopped along the gravel road that ran around the woods.
My gaze skimmed over the dense trees. The trunks, straight and close together, were very nearly black. I thought of the bars that lined the windows of my father’s room at the asylum, and despite the growing heat, I felt a chill crawl down my spine. I was almost thankful for the belligerent sun.
Once in Wheeler, I tied Lady May to a hitching post and followed the directions Hettie had given to the Dry Goods and General Mercantile.
A bell above the door jingled as I entered. I stepped around a large barrel sprouting a bundle of brooms for sale, bristles up. Shiny brass cookware hung from the ceilings in neat rows, and the biting aroma of snuff mixed with the sweet, savory smell of gingersnaps. Signs on the rough plank walls advertised coal oil and Navy Star plug tobacco. Rows of tonics and bitters perched on a shelf under a poster proclaiming the virtues of quinine for curing the chills.
“Oh, hello.” The clear, sweet voice drifted from the back of the store. I spotted a young woman dusting the glass-topped counter and recognized her as the girl who’d waved at me from the sheriff’s buggy. Seeing her now without a hat, I realized she had astonishing hair. Shiny and black, it rose from her forehead toward high Heaven before sweeping back in a carefully rounded pouf. I schooled my face to neutral blankness a split second too late.
Her hand went to her coiffure. “Do you like it? Mama said rats are all the rage now. But I expect you know all about that, being from a big city.”
I’d known my fair share of rats in New York. For a short time, Lilah and I had stayed in a tiny apartment on Mulberry Street that had an entire colony living in the walls. I had to keep the cutlery closed tight in a tobacco tin if I didn’t want to find droppings on the forks each morning. “Um … I…”
“I don’t know why they’re called rats either,” the girl said with a laugh, misinterpreting my hesitation. “I think ‘hairpiece’ would do just fine, but I suppose that sounds like a man’s toupee.” She wrinkled her nose. “Still better than calling it a rat, if you ask me.”
“Yes!” I half shouted the word, relieved to be at grips with the conversation. “Yes, I’d say so. And you look very nice,” I added. It was true, in spite of the over-the-top hair. Her brown eyes sparkled and the apples of her cheeks shone pink, but not in the blotchy way mine surely did after a ride in the heat.
“I can show you how to make one, if you want. All it takes is old hair from your brush rolled into a little bundle.” While I didn’t fancy a style that made low doorways potential hazards, h
er offer was kind.
“It probably wouldn’t work for me. My hair has a stubborn, hateful mind of its own,” I said.
She tilted her head to one side, then quickly leaned over the counter and removed my hat. I blinked in surprise as she studied my tight, wiry brown waves like an architect eyeing a building slated for demolition. “It’s not so bad as all that,” she said after some consideration. “But I hate to tell you, this humidity isn’t going to help a thing.” She set the hat back on my head, smoothing my braid as though we were old friends. “Goodness! Where are my manners? I’m Della Loftis.” She came around the counter and extended a delicate hand.
I shook it carefully, feeling my own was suddenly big and awkward.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the way my daddy acted when y’all first got into Wheeler,” Della said. “You had every right to get upset, being taken away from your sister like that.”
“No harm done,” I muttered, feeling my face redden. I hadn’t realized Della saw my outburst at the court square.
I cast around for any distraction, and noticed a family portrait on the wall. Sheriff Loftis frowned in sepia tones next to a blandly pretty woman holding a solemn toddler on her lap. At the woman’s shoulder was a younger Della, sporting a gap-toothed smile. “That’s a lovely picture. Does your family own this store?”
“Yep. Me and Mama run it, mostly, while Daddy’s off sheriffing.” She twirled the feather duster. “The grapevine said you ended up with the Weatheringtons. They’re good people. I bet Mrs. Hettie sent you to pick up something.”
“Ten pounds each, flour and salt.” I handed over the money Hettie had given me.
The cash register dinged as Della opened the drawer and counted my change. “Miss Maeve got your little sister, I heard,” she said cheerily. “I think it’s wonderful that y’all got to come here and start over.” She stepped into the back room and returned carrying two burlap bags filled with Hettie’s order. Della tied them with twine, her left cheek dimpling with a smile. “Anything I can do to make you feel welcome, you just holler, all right?”
“I appreciate that,” I said, awkwardly hoisting the bags. “I should be going. I’m supposed to visit my sister at the schoolhouse, then hurry back to the farm.”
“Hold on a second and I’ll get you something to carry those.” Della searched under the counter and handed me a worn leather satchel. “This is Abel’s. I’m sure y’all are acquainted by now.” She must not have noticed the stiffness in my nod, because she said without any hint of embarrassment, “Abel and me have been thick as thieves since we were little bitty.” The flush on her cheeks deepened slightly. I cast a quick glance at her slim waist. This wasn’t the mother-to-be then. It seemed Abel got around.
“Anyway, sometimes I’ll pick up his books when they come in at the post office, so he leaves the satchel here. He’s forever ordering something new to read. Always said he’d love to be a teacher, if his aunt and uncle didn’t need him on the farm.” She twisted a loose curl around her finger absently. “When you came in, I was about to go deliver some things to a widow lady who lives outside of town. Do you want me to show you where the schoolhouse is on my way?”
“Thank you, that would be nice.”
I shoved my purchases into Abel’s satchel while Della grabbed a basket laden with bread and fruit preserves. Then she flipped the store sign to CLOSED and steered me out into the searing sunshine. We stopped to secure the satchel to Lady May’s saddle, and I retrieved the pen and papers Lilah had left in our trunk from inside the saddle bag before we set out down the sidewalk.
Della greeted every person we met by name, and received replies that were just as familiar. I got polite nods and smiles until we encountered a lanky boy of about our age, who cut across the square from the direction of the courthouse, stuck out a hand, and shook mine like a one-man welcoming committee.
“I’m Jasper Ausbrooks,” he said. “I just wanted to say we’re all so glad to have you in Wheeler. You must be Verity.”
“I am. How’d you know?”
“My father’s the mayor.” He pointed back toward the courthouse. “I saw the list of everyone’s names and ages. Sorry to hear about your sister and you getting split up.” He withdrew his hand and pushed a shock of light brown hair from his forehead. His narrow shoulders rose in a shrug as he added, “And I’m also sorry that we’re all in everyone’s business around here. Small towns are like that, you know?”
“So I’m learning.” It was disconcerting, after being essentially anonymous in a city of millions, to find that strangers knew details of my life.
“You should come to the county fair tomorrow,” Jasper said.
Della was appalled when I said I’d never been to a fair before. “Bless your heart, you’ve been missing out,” she proclaimed. “There’ll be riding contests, a livestock show, probably a baseball game. One time we had a man from Texas come and wrangle rattlesnakes in a pen. It’s the biggest event of the year, next to the ice cream social.”
“I can show you around a little, if you want,” Jasper said. “It would be a good chance for you to meet some folks.”
I wasn’t long for Arkansas, and anyone I met here would soon be a part of my past, but I might as well enjoy what the small-town summer had to offer in the meantime. “All right, I’ll see if Big Tom and Hettie are planning to go.”
Beside me, Della swung her basket, a subtle hint she wanted to get going. Jasper took note. “Guess I better head on back. I hired on with the revenue office after I finished school. It’s as dead dull as it sounds, by the way.” He grinned and stepped back off the sidewalk. “Who’re you delivering to today?” he asked as he turned to go.
“Granny Ardith,” Della answered. “Want me to get her to make you a potion or an amulet of some sort while I’m there?” To me, she added, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, “Granny Ardith will do a little charm work now and then, if you ask her nice.”
“She’s a strange one, but nice enough,” Jasper said. “We’ve got a stone she charmed to pull the heat out when I burned my hand on the stove last winter.” Then his sunny smile dimmed. “Della, I still don’t see how you stand going to her house, right up beside the woods like that. It makes my skin crawl.” Without elaborating, he waved and darted across the road, back toward the courthouse.
Before I could ask more about this old woman’s supposed abilities, or what Jasper had against the woods where she lived, Della pointed to a little red building tucked back several yards away from the street. “The Wheeler one-room schoolhouse,” she announced. “It will probably seem quaint to you, but it’s a good school. And Miss Maeve is real smart.”
“Thank you for your help,” I said, forgetting all about local superstitions or cabins by the woods as I stepped onto the dusty path that led to the schoolhouse.
“Happy to do it,” she replied. “Maybe I’ll see you at the fair.” Della wiggled her fingers in a farewell wave and set off in the opposite direction. “When you see him, tell Abel I said hello!”
6
I approached the open door of the schoolhouse just in time to hear the scrape of chairs being pushed back for dinner break. About twenty students of differing ages came bustling out, pails in hand. I watched them stream past, searching for the telltale hop-skip step that gave Lilah away in a crowd. But she wasn’t among any of the groups gathering in clusters to eat and holler and tease.
I stepped inside to find her at the teacher’s desk, having lunch with her new guardian.
When she noticed me, Lilah leapt up, the contents of her lunch pail scattering across the desktop. The force of her running hug sent me tottering backward, and I nearly dropped the pen and papers clutched in my hand. I felt dizzy from the gust of relief that swept over me. “I’m so happy you’re here, Very,” she said, squeezing my middle. “Miss Maeve heard you were living on a farm. You don’t know a thing about animals or farming! Has anything tried to bite you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine n
ow,” I said into her hair. “Goodness, you’re squeezing tighter than a corset.” She eased her hold a little, but neither of us let go. At last, I handed Lilah her fountain pen, along with the draft of the story she’d been working on. “You left these in the trunk,” I said. “Let me know when you finish. I want to read it, cotton-candy clouds and all.”
“Deal,” Lilah said, raising the top of a nearby desk and tucking the things inside.
“Hello again.” Miss Maeve’s pale eyes met mine. I couldn’t help but return the smile she offered. I was struck again by her flawless porcelain complexion, the fairest I’d seen in this sunbaked country. Her beauty was not like Della’s warm loveliness; it was cool and shimmery, like fine silver. Miss Maeve handed Lilah an apple. “I hope you’re settling in well with the Weatheringtons,” she said.
“I have a lot to learn,” I said, surprised at how easy it was to be candid with the schoolteacher. Something about her invited me to say more than I intended. “The Weatheringtons are doing their best to make me feel welcome, but I’m afraid I’m more of a hindrance than a help to them right now.” I looked at the well-swept floor, unsure of what to say next.
“I believe I know something of how you must be feeling, Verity. I was about your age when Uncle Reuben took me in. My parents and my dear sister, Aurelia, died in an influenza outbreak. I didn’t know a soul in this town, but they all welcomed me as one of their own. Give yourself time, and you’ll find your place here, too.”
Miss Maeve reached out a slim hand and touched my cheek. I stiffened under her cool fingers, the unexpected contact straining the ease of our conversation. “I know it’s hard to believe for a girl your age, but things have a way of working out, given enough time.” She couldn’t yet be thirty, but spoke like someone a good deal older. “Be easy on yourself,” she went on. “You’ve had a great deal of upheaval and change in the past few days.”
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