Small Favors

by Erin A. Craig

  “They were curious about what game to expect in the forests.”

  “There are more things out in those woods than any of us could ever dare imagine,” Charlotte said, tying off her line of stitches.

  “Amen,” Letitia said, and we all settled into a moment of reflection.

  “Did you hear about Judd Abrams?” Cora Schäfer asked, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper.

  I leaned in closer. “No.”

  “Maybe I ought not say anything. It’s terribly gruesome.”

  “Just tell the story, Cora. It’s clear you want to,” Prudence said.

  The Elder’s wife shrugged. “Three of his horses dropped foals last week.”

  Prudence raised a delicate eyebrow, unimpressed. “That story is hardly worth telling once, let alone repeating.”

  Cora continued on, unperturbed. “Judd said none of the mares had shown signs of being pregnant before the births, and they’d not been around any of the stallions this season. He’d penned them up in the north field, all the mares and fillies together, see? But stranger yet…” Her voice dipped even lower. “The foals were…wrong.”

  A light of interest sparked across Alice’s face. “Wrong how?”

  “One of them had eyelids fused shut—”

  Charlotte frowned. “That’s a common birth defect. Matthias’s mare had a stillborn like that just last year.”

  “It wasn’t stillborn,” Cora said, clearly vexed by the interruptions. “And the eyelids were strange—translucent, Judd said. He could see the foal’s eyes moving around, staring right at him. He said they followed his every movement, absolutely aware he was there.”

  I paused, my needle stabbed halfway through the quilt’s batting, as a shudder ran through me.

  “What about the other foals?” Prudence asked.

  Cora tsked, tying off a knot. “Just terrible.” She took her time searching the sewing basket for another spool of thread, allowing the suspense to build. “The spine on the second one was outside the body, all the vertebrae poking through like quills on a porcupine. When it tried to stand, the bones fractured, shattering into splinters, and it keeled over dead, thank God. And the third was even worse! Judd said—”

  Beside me, Bonnie Maddin dropped her section of the quilt and scurried away from the group, pressing fingers over her mouth.

  “Perhaps we ought to change the topic, ladies,” Mama suggested with practiced tact. Even she looked slightly green, and I wondered if the topic upset her. I said a swift prayer for the baby within her, that it would grow healthy and strong. “Surely there must be something more pleasant that will pass the time. Letitia, we spotted your zinnias coming in. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen bigger blooms before.”

  The conversation shifted, and Mama caught my eye. She nodded toward the door, indicating I should check on Bonnie. Excusing myself, I left the circle and slipped into the kitchen, where the queasy girl had raced.

  Rebecca was there, washing teacups at the large basin sink. Her eyes were fixed out the window, watching with amusement as Bonnie threw up all over Letitia Briard’s prized flower beds.

  “The parson will have a fit when he sees that,” Rebecca guessed, as Bonnie’s friends raced over to pull her toward the outhouse. When Rebecca turned to see who it was, her face fell. “Ellerie.”

  “Rebecca,” I said, echoing her flat tone. An uneasy beat passed between us. “Do…do you need help?”

  Her mouth twisted. “I suppose you could dry if you like.”

  Minutes passed as we worked alongside one another, the clinks of cups and saucers saying more than we did. Words piled in my throat, half-thought-out sentences and discarded statements cramming in on top of each other until I couldn’t hold them back any longer.

  “I’m sorry,” I started, just as Rebecca broke her silence too.

  “Forgive me, Ellerie, please.”

  There was a pause, hope knitting a tentative bridge between us as we both laughed.

  “I never wanted to keep this secret from you,” she said, placing her hand on my forearm.

  “It doesn’t matter, Rebecca. I shouldn’t have been upset. It just took me by such surprise. I never—”

  “I never—” she agreed, and our words ran out. She returned her attention to the sink, fingers dancing over the soapy bubbles.

  “He makes you happy?” I asked, taking a dripping saucer from her and toweling it off.

  “He…” Her face brightened with pleasure. “He truly does, Ellerie. I never knew it was possible to feel like this.”

  A flicker of envy flared in me, pulsing just behind my sternum, and I did my best to push it back. I didn’t want to begrudge my friend her happiness, but I also didn’t want to imagine her locked in a tender embrace with my brother either. It made me feel…

  Alone.

  Just weeks before, Rebecca had stayed overnight and we’d whispered secrets and stories up in the hayloft until the wee hours of the morning. I’d been worrying over the autumn to come—it was the first we wouldn’t go off to school with the other children of the Falls. We both had turned eighteen earlier that year and were now considered adults, but the reality of it had yet to sink in. With no suitors of my own and the summer lingering sweetly on, it had seemed as if nothing had truly changed. Rebecca had predicted that once the harvest came in, and the young men in the Falls knew exactly how much they’d have to offer, we’d have beaus lined up for miles.

  Her words had been such a comfort then. But how easy it had been for her to say them. She already had a suitor.

  There were plenty of boys in town, young men my age whom I’d known all my life, but I’d never once wondered what it would feel like to have their eyes meet mine, heated with happiness, crackling with desire. I’d never pictured walking together down a moonlit lane, stealing kisses behind the schoolhouse. I couldn’t imagine being offered a flower, a ring, a heart.

  I’d always thought Rebecca and I would experience this together. Finding suitors, giggling over first kisses, celebrating betrothals. Knowing she’d gone ahead with this new stage of life without me hurt in unexpected ways, a knife dug in deep beneath my ribs, twisting with every breath.

  “That’s…wonderful,” I heard myself say, back in the moment at hand, here in the kitchen with my best friend, who I was in no way jealous of.

  “It is,” Rebecca said, all but beaming. “And…there’s something else. Something…I don’t even know quite how to say. I haven’t told Samuel yet….I wanted you to know first. You’re more than my friend, Ellerie. I’ve always thought of us as sisters, you know?”

  “Of course.” I squeezed her hand. She was shaking.

  “I…” She bit her lips even as she grinned. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Pregnant,” I echoed, mindful even through my shock to lower my voice. “With a baby?”

  She giggled. “I certainly hope so. It’s…it’s not that I ever planned for such things to happen this way. I always knew I was going to wait, but Sam…he just…he’s so—”

  Her cheeks stained bright pink, and I held up my hand, derailing her train of words before they could smash into me. “I don’t need to know all of those details,” I assured her.

  Rebecca laughed again. “Of course.”

  “But…you’re going to tell him, though? Soon?”

  She nodded. “I actually was hoping you might be able to help with that….I’m just so nervous.”

  “Nervous? He loves you.”

  Rebecca met my eyes and smiled. “I know. It’s just…this is such a big moment. We haven’t really talked about…big moments. I always assumed he’d propose once the harvest was over, but now…” Her fingers twisted together anxiously. “I just want him to be happy about it, is all. It’s a lot to spring on a person.”

  “But if—you’ve already…” My sentence stam
mered to an embarrassed end. “Surely he must be thinking about that next step.”

  I felt nauseous, speaking so lightly of it. It wasn’t just a step, a small pacing of footprints. Sam and Rebecca were so far ahead of me in their life’s course, it felt like miles separated us. They were off together in some mysterious great unknown, while I was stuck where we’d always been, all on my own now.

  I glanced toward her stomach. Her apron bib covered her front, and I wasn’t sure if she wore it loose to keep her clothes neat or if she was already trying to conceal a bump. “How far along are you?”

  She shrugged. “Not at all. I only noticed a day or two ago. I thought my monthlies were just late, but I feel different, you know?”

  I didn’t. And a small part of me worried I never would.

  “You won’t say anything, will you, Ellerie? Of course you won’t. I know you wouldn’t,” she continued on, her sentences tripping over each other in their haste to spring free.

  “I’d never,” I promised. “But you need to say something to Sam, and soon. Aprons won’t cover that secret forever.”

  She nodded fervently, and a titter of laughter burst from the other room as the older women continued with their sewing and gossip, unaware of the very real scandal that had just unfolded in the parson’s kitchen.

  “Just think,” Rebecca breathed happily. “The next quilting circle will be for me.” She kissed my cheek and headed back to the parlor, leaving me with a row of cups to put away.

  * * *

  A sign was posted on the door of the general store, hammered in place with two tacks. The unseasonable heat had made the edges curl in on themselves, obscuring the message. We trudged across the dusty road, Merry carrying our sewing box under one arm and Mama scanning her shopping list.

  We didn’t need much, she’d promised as we’d left the quilting bee. Mama always thought it better to kill two birds with one stone if you were able.

  Sadie was the first up the steps, standing on tiptoe to smooth the crinkled paper.

  “No credit accepted. Cash only,” she read aloud wonderingly. “What’s that mean, Mama?”

  Mama reached into her pocket and pulled out some coins. She never left the house without a bit of money—just in case—but her forehead furrowed as she counted it. “It means we’re not getting everything I wanted.” She tapped her finger on the list, weighing out the importance of each item. “Ellerie, why don’t you get the sugar? Merry, the tea.”

  “What about me?” Sadie asked, twisting back and forth. Her skirt twirled about in the manufactured breeze.

  “You can come with me to check on Molly McCleary,” Mama said. She took Sadie’s hand and led her toward the side of the building and up the stairs to the apartment Molly and Jebediah kept above the store.

  Had kept.

  It was only Molly now. I hadn’t stepped foot in the store since the supply run had left, and I wondered if the tragedy would somehow be marked there, imprinted on the shelves, a shadow of sadness and despair.

  But the little brass bell on the door chimed out our entrance as brightly as ever.

  The store clerk, a young man named Joseph, called a brief hello, clipped as the bell rang again. Rebecca ducked in, sidestepping into the nearest aisle. Papa and Samuel were meant to pick us up in the wagon, and I knew she hoped to see my brother.

  The door opened once more and several girls from Merry’s class at school entered. They stood in a tight circle, whispering with glee as they spotted Joseph at the counter.

  “Afternoon, ladies,” he said. They fell into giggles and his face flushed nearly as red as his hair.

  The door opened once more, and Prudence Latheton barged in with Cora Schäfer at her heels. “What’s this about McCleary not accepting credit?” she snipped, ignoring Joseph’s attempt at a greeting.

  His face fell a smidge. “Amos has taken over all the accounts since Jeb…well, you know. With no supplies coming in till spring…I think he just wants to feel a bit more secure. I’m sure it’ll go back to normal once the accounts are settled.”

  Prudence sighed. “That Elder. Well, I only need a spool of thread today. Linen, if you’ve got it.”

  I made a beeline for the dry goods, noting the diminished selection and sparsely filled shelves. There were only three bags of flour along the floor. Usually the aisle was so crowded, they fell into the walkway, catching people’s ankles and coating everything with a white dust.

  One lone sack of sugar remained on an upper shelf. It was only five pounds, smaller than what Mama had written out, but I grabbed it. I’d ask Joseph to bring another five pounds from the storeroom before we left, and let him know the shelves needed restocking.

  Prudence was still fussing through the crate of bobbins, holding the colors to the sunlight with a critical eye. Joseph flipped through the great ledger opened up before him.

  “This will do, I suppose,” she finally conceded, and fished out a dime from deep in her apron’s pocket. She slid it across the counter and nodded good day.

  “Actually, Mrs. Latheton,” the boy squeaked. “It’s a bit more than that.”

  Throughout the store, every woman stopped her browsing and shifted attention toward the counter.

  “More?” Prudence questioned, eyebrows arching.

  The clerk was visibly uncomfortable. “Well, because of…” He tapped at the ledger, finding the Latheton name.

  “I paid in cash just now; you all saw me.”

  “But there is debt on the account….I’m afraid that will need to be paid before you can purchase anything else.”

  There was a gasp from the far corner of the room, and I turned to see Merry’s friend Jane set down the canister of coffee she’d been intending to buy.

  “That’s absurd!” Prudence snapped. “You can’t spring changes on people without giving them ample warning. I don’t carry that sort of money on me. No one does.”

  Joseph took the bobbin of thread from her. “I can set this aside for you until you do.”

  I think it was kindly meant, but Prudence’s face flared with embarrassment and rage. She opened her mouth to hurl out something undoubtedly pinched and icy, but nothing sputtered from her. After a tense moment, she turned on swift heel and left, letting the swing door slam shut behind her.

  The handful of coins Mama had pressed into my palm felt insubstantial as I stepped up to the counter. I sensed the eyes of everyone in the store watching us, waiting to see how this would play out.

  “I think you need to restock some of your shelves,” I said, trying to squelch down my nerves. I had no idea what the state of our account might be and didn’t want all of the busybodies behind us judging Mama or Papa. “We’ll need another five pounds of sugar, and my sister is getting tea….” Merry scurried up to the counter and set the metal tin down with a sharp click.

  Joseph scanned the ledger for our name. “You’re all paid up.” He jotted down our purchases and tallied the total. “That’ll be two dollars and twelve cents.”

  “And the other sack of sugar,” I prompted, my fist still tight around the money.

  “There isn’t any.”

  “What?” I glanced past his shoulder through the open storeroom door. Boxes and sacks were stacked on large shelves with orderly efficiency. Barrels of gunpowder sat alongside a crate clearly marked sugar. “There must be. There’s a crate right there.”

  The clerk leaned over the counter, keeping his voice lowered and his gaze fixed on a whorl in the wood grain. “It’s empty. Nearly all of them are. We were meant to get more in with the supply run, but…”

  “Oh.” I looked over the storeroom with fresh eyes. It had seemed stocked to overflowing just moments before. Now it looked sad and abandoned, empty crates waiting for a merchant who would never return.

  “Do you still want that sugar?” he prompted.

 
“Of course,” I said, my fingers digging into the sack’s burlap sides. I counted out Mama’s coins, and Merry and I took up our purchases.

  Little whispers filled the store as we left. Despite Joseph’s quiet divulgence, the women of Amity Falls had heard everything.

  “What does this mean?” Merry hissed as we hopped down the front steps. “Surely there must be more stock somewhere. The shelves were so empty!”

  I spotted our wagon several buildings down. Zenith and Luna were tied to a hitching post, but the cart was empty. I tucked the sack of sugar beneath the buckboard seat but paused before hoisting myself up. “Where do you think Papa and Sam got off to?”

  Merry scanned the road, still clinging on to the tea. Before she could guess, a commotion rose from Matthias Dodson’s livery. Horses whinnied and shouts rang out, calling for others to come and see.

  “Might as well,” Merry said, shrugging.

  A crowd of people gathered in the yard at the blacksmith’s stables. Most of the men were pressed together, circling about something I could not see. There were too many bodies jostling for space. Merry and I edged around the group, nearing Matthias’s forge. There were fewer people to contend with in the scorching heat, and I was able to make out a form lying in the dirt.

  I tilted my head, unable to make sense of the snippets I saw.

  It’s an elk, I thought. A stag.

  The McNally boys had gone on a hunting party this morning. Their sister Florence had mentioned it at the quilting circle.

  But it was the wrong size for an elk.

  It was the wrong everything.

  A fifth leg jutted from the carcass, painfully truncated and twisted. Rather than ending in a cloven hoof, five claws curved from the stump, like a set of talons on a bird of prey.

  The hide was too thick, the hair bristly and coarse, the body too small.

  And the head…

  I gasped as I glimpsed the antlers. They started at the stag’s forehead like clusters of toadstools, likely obscuring his vision as more and more sprouted down his muzzle. It was a wonder the poor creature had ever been able to lift his head under the weight of so many horns. I counted at least five dozen points, tangled round each other like tree limbs starved for sunlight.