Authors: Katherine Ayres
I ignored the scolding and hitched the team to the porch railing. “The spots have faded. But she has a touch of lung congestion and fever. Every time she breathes this cold air, she gets a fit of coughing, so I do the outside chores.”
“Poor Aurelia,” Mrs. Cummings said with a shake of her head. She climbed down from her seat and hefted a large basket. “With one thing and another, the woman’s been visited with more plagues than the Egyptians. And I doubt she’s been as wicked as they were.”
She paused, and I lifted her basket to the porch. “You know, Lucinda, my husband preached on that very text this week. Pity you and Aurelia missed such a good sermon.”
Pity? I’d say not. Missing the Reverend’s tedious sermons has been a treat for me. But I’ll never tell his wife. “Have a lovely visit. Nice of you to come.” I turned toward the barn.
“Surely you’ll visit with us,” Mrs. Clark said. She smiled, but I didn’t like the way she ordered me around.
“I’m sorry. I have to see to the animals. Snow makes them restless.”
“Surely they can wait an hour,” she said. Her thin nose rose in the air and she frowned.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. I waved to them and bit my
lip to keep a fool’s smile off my face until I reached the barn.
Once inside, I drew the doors shut before huge laughs burst out of me. The cows mooed and the horses whinnied in reply. Dear Lord—if those biddies only knew what we were up to, or if they suspected the wild things I knew about Miss Aurelia! Mrs. Cummings would bust out of her corset and Mrs. Clark’s nose would grow an inch.
I shed my coat and set to work on the first cow’s stall, humming as I worked. “Thank you, cows, for making such a mess,” I said aloud, then bent into another fit of laughter. I wondered how long the ladies would stay and plague Miss Aurelia.
I’d mucked out four stalls and given my favorite mare a good brushing before I heard the noise of harness and chatter. I replaced the pitchfork and tidied the barn, hoping they’d leave right away.
But Mrs. Clark didn’t let me escape. She shoved open the barn door and studied the stalls. “A girl of many talents. Industrious. I like that. Here, Lucinda. My son sent you a letter.”
I stood by the barn and watched them drive off.
Miss Aurelia met me at the front door. She wore a smile as big as the moon. “Lucinda, you’ve got straw in your hair.”
“Mucky boots, too. I’ll wash up and check on Cass. Then you must tell me everything.”
She chuckled. “For that we’ll need a fresh pot of tea.”
I left: my boots on the back porch and hurried upstairs
to wash. Cass was glad to hear that the visitors were gone. She looked tired out, so I didn’t stay long.
Miss Aurelia had a steaming pot of tea and a plate of apple cake waiting when I returned, clean, to the kitchen.
“They’re good cooks,” she said. “We’ll take two days off.” She cut a wide slice of apple cake for me and set it next to my teacup.
“What happened? They stayed forever.” I sat to eat.
“Well, they sympathized with my illness. Once they’d started, though, the stories flew like the snow. If I’d really felt ill, I think the tales of old lady Watkins’s boils might have set my recovery back a good month.”
I laughed. “Old lady Watkins has boils?” I stirred my tea.
Miss Aurelia blinked and stuck her nose in the air. “I won’t tell you where. But I can say she doesn’t sit comfortably these days.” Her voice and manner imitated Mrs. Clark perfectly.
“How about the Reverend’s wife?”
“Mary Martha behaved well. The Lord gave her a load of common sense. She was kind—cool water on a sunburned arm. As opposed to the other one.”
“You don’t like Mrs. Clark, do you?”
Miss Aurelia’s forehead wrinkled like she needed to think out her opinion. “I had the strangest feeling that she came here for a reason entirely unrelated to my illness.
I dropped my fork. “Not Cass?”
Miss Aurelia frowned again and added fresh tea to our cups. “No. It was the oddest thing, Lucy. She wandered.
Said she was putting away the food. But I watched her run her finger across the parlor table, checking for crumbs. And she asked questions about you. How was your cooking? Had you kept the house tidy? Had you scorched anything when you ironed? She was investigating
you
.”
I groaned.
“What?” A smile teased at the corner of Miss Aurelia’s mouth.
“She nosed all around the barn, too.”
“Investigating you for a daughter-in-law?” Miss Aurelia asked.
I scowled.
Miss Aurelia laughed. “When Cass wakes, we’ll take a piece of this excellent apple cake up to her.”
“Perhaps I’ll drop crumbs on the way,” I said, mischief welling up inside. “Or jostle some of your lovely pictures. I’m afraid I’ll make a terrible housekeeper.”
M
ONDAY
, F
EBRUARY
17, 1851
E
VENING
Some trace of that mischief must have showed in my face, for Cass grinned when I entered the attic with her dinner and the cake.
“What you been doing, Lucy? You looking like that rascal Shad when he snitch peaches from the master’s trees.
“I’m laughing about the church ladies,” I began. I explained about Jonathan and his nosy mother. “We think she was inspecting me. To see if I’m good enough to marry her son.”
“You plenty good for anybody,” Cass said firmly. “I wonder, do this boy be good enough for you?”
Her eyes blazed, and I thought again how different our situations were.
“What else, Lucy? Something hide in your eyes. You gonna tell me or make me guess?”
I reached into my pocket for the newest letter from Jonathan. “Hold on. This won’t make sense unless I read you the first two he wrote. And I have to explain what happened. It could take a while.…”
“Get the letter, Lucy. I ain’t going noplace.”
I did. And when I returned, I told her about kissing Jeremiah by the fire. Then I read Jonathan’s first two letters aloud.
“He don’t got sense,” she said. “All that fussing for just a kiss.” She fluffed her pillow so she could sit up. “What happen next?”
“I wrote and said I’d been too busy to think. Said I was sorry.”
Cass laughed. “Men! They believe most anything. Well, let ’em. It don’t hurt you or me to have a little secret held back. You going to read that other letter or just wave it at me?”
I grinned and opened the envelope. “Listen to this.…”
Dear Lucinda
,
I received your letter and thought about it for a long time. I realize you are busy and you have been holding up well with the strain of caring for Widow Mercer
.
I suppose I shall forgive your flirtation with the Quaker if
you promise me it will never happen again. I think it will be best if we mend our affections when you are rested, for I find myself uncertain about meanings in letters. I wonder what you are thinking
.
“You think him a fool, that’s what,” Cass interrupted.
“Oh, Cass,” I protested. “I’m trying to be fair. I liked him for a long time. Let me read the rest.”
The difficult part was seeing you kiss him. I can’t block that vision from my mind. And Lucinda, if somehow the moon and the firelight led you astray once, might they not do so again? If you really liked me, how could you kiss him and enjoy it?
“He right about that, Lucy? You like kissing that Quaker man?”
My cheeks burned. “Yes. I liked it. A lot.”
“More than you like kissing the one who write the sour letter?”
“Lots more.”
“Kiss him again,” she said, smiling. “Kiss the Quaker man again.”
“Cass!”
“Ain’t that what you been wanting to do all these days?”
I looked at the floor, unable to meet her gaze.
“Well, ain’t it, Lucy? I remember what good kissing feel like, even if it happen a long time back. You listen to your heart, gal.”
“Right now I have to read this letter. It gets worse.”
Cass nodded as I returned to the page.
As I read this I realize I sound unforgiving. But I’m trying not to be. And I must admit I’m not entirely blameless. I will confess that after I saw you out by the fire, I grew angry and tried to push you from my mind. I spent most of the evening dancing with Eleanora Cummings. She’s a very pretty girl, you know. And so I kissed her, several times. Perhaps we’re on equal footing, Lucinda. But when I kissed Eleanora, I didn’t really enjoy it. Angry kisses aren’t sweet. I like sweet ones better. I hope you and I can forgive each other and heal this rift in our affections. Until I see you again, I am,
Your loving, if confused
Jonathan
The letter fell to my lap. “I feel so dumb. I don’t really like him anymore, but this letter still makes me mad.”
“We ain’t always smart,” Cass said gently.
“It isn’t fair, Cass,” I said. “Men seem to think they have different rules than women. It’s all right for him to kiss her, but not for me to kiss Jeremiah? Well, he won’t be kissing me anymore.”
“Good for you, Lucy.” She smiled; then her face took on a serious look. “Where I come from, men do what they want. Nobody can stop them. Old Roberts, he take a shine to me, so he have me. His wife don’t like it, but what can she do? What can I do?”
“You did what you could. You ran away. That’s about the bravest thing in the world. You risked your life for freedom.”
Cass shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder. It ain’t never really been my life. Not till we run. I always belong to
somebody else. I never get to choose nothing. Don’t call me brave, Lucy. I just try to take hold of my life before somebody use it all up.”
Cass looked tired. I straightened her quilt and squeezed her hand, then left so she could sleep again. But her words stick with me. Is that what girls and women have to do, the world over? Do we have to take hold of our lives before somebody else uses them all up?
T
UESDAY
, F
EBRUARY
18, 1851
Mama says trouble often comes in threes. But today didn’t bring trouble, it brought Mama herself! Hallelujah! If I weren’t taller than she is, I’d have climbed right into her lap and stayed there like a tiny child. I sure did hug her a lot, and cried, too.
Miss Aurelia left us alone, and Mama caught me up on family news. Well, there wasn’t really much news, but we talked away half the day. When I asked her about the ironing that she’d put off to visit, she said something so un-Mama-like, I nearly slid off my chair.
“I’d wear wrinkles for the rest of my life if it meant getting you home sooner, Lucy dear. I’ve missed you dreadfully.”
And I’ve missed her, but … This doesn’t make sense, but here is the place where I put the truth. So I will write, and maybe I’ll understand afterward.
Some odd part of me wishes Mama hadn’t come to visit. I miss my family a lot, bushelsful and bushelsful. But today, since she’s come and gone again, I miss her a hundred times worse.
Enough feeling sorry for myself I’ll read the letter Mama brought from Rebecca.
13
February
Dear Lucinda
,
First things first. Here is my prank—when it gets warm enough to sneak out at night, we’ll load a wagon with straw on a Saturday night and carry it to the church after dark
.
(I know for a fact the Reverend and his family go to sleep early on Saturday nights so that he’ll be rested for Sunday services. Perhaps it might improve his sermons if he were more sleepless. Who knows?)
We’ll climb the church tower with loads of straw and stuff it into the church bell. Then on Sunday morning, when Mr. Marshall pulls the rope—nothing
.
Now, we have two choices. We can do this ourselves, or we can invite our young men to help. Do Quakers pull pranks? I vote for an all-girls excursion, but you decide
.
Lucy! Your new romance is amazing. Jonathan Clark is a dear boy, but we
have
known him forever. And his mother is a terror
.
But Jeremiah Strong? Oh, Lucy, he’s very handsome in a stern sort of way. But a Quaker? How do they behave, anyway? My mother would never allow me to keep company with someone so different. Or so old. He’s nearly twenty, isn’t he?
I hope your parents will understand better than mine would. As for me, whomever you choose, I will approve and wish you well
.
Now you must do just that for me. Nathaniel has spoken to
Father! He has permission to come calling. Privately, of course, we talk of more than that, but I think it’s wise to break the news to parents a bit at a time and not worry them too much. So while we are not officially engaged, we have had talks about someday
.
Here is what someday looks like. (And no, Lucy, I’m not like you. I don’t crave surprises unless it’s a prank. I prefer plans.) Nathaniel has spoken with a Quaker man in Salem. His name is Eli Whitman—you’ve probably heard that he was caught aiding a runaway slave and that the magistrate found him guilty. Shocking, isn’t it, that someone we know is involved in such things?
Friend Whitman hasn’t been sent to jail, but he must sell his farm to pay his fines. His neighbors are so cruel, he plans to pick up and move to Indiana and start afresh
.
Nathaniel and his father are arranging to buy the farm from Friend Whitman. When Nathaniel has paid a good part of the purchase, the farm will be ours, Nathaniel’s and mine! We will turn twenty in four years, and that seems a good age to marry, doesn’t it? Please agree. And promise you’ll stand with me when we marry, for you are my sweetest and dearest friend
.
Part of me worries that I’ll benefit from someone’s distress, but I console my conscience by promising to take wonderful care of the house (it’s a beauty) and the farm. I hope the Whitmans feel they can leave their home in good hands with Nathaniel and me. And they have broken the law, so perhaps leaving is a good idea. The whole issue confuses me, but people can be unkind
.
Lucy, dear, what do you think? Write back and tell me right away, for I haven’t shared these someday plans with anyone else. I’m bursting to talk with you. I shall pray hard for
Widow Mercer to recover so that you can return to being my truest friend
.