“This is why children ought not be in the Gathering House—ever,” the woman said.
“Children.” Cyrus spoke up, as if agreeing with Prudence. “Children are funny things, aren’t they?”
“This is all getting out of hand,” Leland murmured, touching Amos’s elbow. “Perhaps we ought to—”
“You spend their lives trying to keep them, you know? Keep them fed, keep them schooled, keep them safe. But then they’re not such children anymore, and suddenly…” Cyrus trailed off, listing heavily to the side.
“He needs the doctor,” I said, but no one heard me. “Where is Dr. Ambrose?” I tried raising my voice over the melee, but it still didn’t carry.
Cyrus tilted his head, staring into the distance. A gleam of light fell into his eyes, a bright circle of sunlight undoubtedly reflecting off something shiny in the room. There were too many people crushing about for me to see where it had come from.
“You!” Cyrus roared, spotting my brother. He swayed back and forth, trying to heave himself from the floor, but he was like a soufflé made too thick and sludgy to rise. “I thought it was you!”
Samuel’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. There was another shout from the middle of the room, and my brother took a step closer to hear.
“Last night, in the shed…,” Cyrus was saying. “Didn’t know it was Sarah in there….” His tongue licked at the corner of his mouth with a lazy swipe. “I thought…I thought it was you.”
Philemon grabbed at the ropes, yanking Cyrus toward him. “Say that again, Danforth.”
Cyrus let out a garbled growl. “I didn’t set fire to the fields. I swear that wasn’t me. But when I was watching them burn, I saw…I saw a figure moving about inside the shed. I thought it was this bastard, so I struck a match and prayed to God it would go up fast.”
My mouth fell open.
“Papa, stop!” Rebecca cried, her words as piercing as a barn owl’s call. “You don’t know what you’re saying!”
“It sounds like he knows exactly what he said, exactly what he did,” Philemon said, holding out an arm to keep her from Cyrus.
“You tried to kill me?” Samuel murmured, his eyes impossibly wide. “All because of…” His eyes fell to Rebecca, but he had the decency to stop speaking.
She turned, grabbing at Leland’s suspenders. Tears of pleading welled in her eyes. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Please—my father is not well. Let me take him home and nurse him. He didn’t do it; he couldn’t have!”
We were swept from the Gathering House in a crushing press of moving bodies. The crowd marched into the street, and I was like a piece of driftwood tossed about in a storm, utterly helpless in the face of such chaotic momentum.
“Stop!” I shouted as Cyrus Danforth was hauled past the church, past the stocks and hoisted up onto the Gallows. Angry voices cried out for rope. “This isn’t right! This isn’t how things are supposed to be handled!”
“Ellerie, stop!” Samuel hissed. “He tried to kill me—he admitted it himself.”
“Something’s wrong with him—can’t you see that? When he was punched—he must have a concussion, maybe something worse. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, doesn’t realize what he’s doing. He can’t be held accountable for that nonsense pouring out of him.”
Samuel grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward the outer ring of the mob, then yanked and twisted when I dug my feet down in protest.
“It’s not nonsense. Go home if you can’t stomach it.” His words were laced with sharp callousness. I’d never heard him sound so hardened. “But I’m staying to watch. I want to see the Danforths pay.”
“You can’t truly mean that,” I said, grasping at his shoulders, trying with all my might to waylay him. He brushed my hands aside with a look of bitter disappointment. There was a spark of rage and madness flickering in his eyes, burning so intensely, I barely recognized him.
It was not my brother who pushed his way to the Gallows, shoving people aside and demanding the best view. It was as though a stranger had taken his place and was doing a poor job imitating him. He looked almost like my brother—but Samuel had never worn such a fearsome expression of hate before. His voice nearly matched my twin—but the words from his lips were strange and twisted, broken and cruel.
The mob grew louder, cheering as Winthrop Mullins raced into the square with a length of rope held triumphantly above his head. My stomach lurched as I took in the leering faces, the bloodthirsty grins. These were our friends and neighbors, people we lived alongside, who were always ready with helping, open arms. They were good people, kind people, not…
Not this.
There was no way to stop this, I realized with a sudden clarity, and it propelled me into action. I could not save Cyrus Danforth, but I could spare my little sisters from seeing his murder play out. I had to find Merry and Sadie and get them out of here.
“Ellerie!” Merry sobbed in relief as I pushed my way toward them.
“Come on, we’ve got to go, we’ve got to leave,” I said, wincing as I heard the sound of the rope smacking over the crossbeam.
“But Mr. Danforth,” Sadie said, just on the verge of protest.
“We can’t do anything for him now,” I said, grabbing her hand and holding on tight.
We took off at a run, racing to get away from the crowd’s madness, and didn’t stop until we reached the outskirts of the village. Even still, we heard the moment when the dreadful deed took place, as the wind carried with it the roar of cheers and, above all else, the sound of Rebecca wailing.
A week went by.
Then two.
As the third dragged on—days lingering far longer than they had any right to—we kept a watchful eye out for the wagon’s return.
We jumped at every sound, certain it would be Papa striding across the yard, carrying Mama in his arms—still recovering but safe and whole, her stomach bumped out in a proud curve.
But it was never them.
At first, our path was a veritable game trail, buggies and wagons riding up at all hours of the day, bringing condolences and baskets of food. Men helped Samuel tear down the ruins of the supply shed and make plans for its replacement. They even scheduled a day to build it, and we knew the work would go much faster with so many helping hands.
Once the crazed madness of Cyrus’s death had passed, I suspected that everyone felt uncomfortably remorseful about the role they’d played in it, and sought to assuage their guilt with penitent baking and stalwart neighborly kindness.
But cherry pies and apple preserves couldn’t erase the memories I had of that day, the jeers and cheers, the cries for a man’s blood. Guilty or not, no one deserved to have their death so loudly celebrated.
I tried to visit Rebecca once, bringing over a poor imitation of Mama’s honey cake, a tiny pair of booties I knit, and a fervent wish that we might somehow heal the horrible riff between us.
Once she opened the door, her pale face seemed to float in a sea of dark shadows and even darker mourning garb. She squinted against the bright afternoon light as though it physically pained her. Upon spotting me, she slammed the door shut so hard, I dropped the cake, and spent an agonizing hour cleaning up the broken platter and toppled layers of cake without the aid of a bucket or rags.
Merry’s face soured when she saw me return, my skirts encrusted with smears of dried cream and crumbs.
“She could at least have had the decency to smash it in your face first,” she said with a scowl, throwing the mess into the laundry basket she’d just hauled from the creek. “All that sugar wasted.”
Then, late one afternoon as I was taking bedsheets off the lines, I heard a horse whinny, and looked up to see Whitaker galloping from town. He was riding Luna, and my heart thunked painfully in my chest. No one but Papa ever rode that mare.
Dropping my sheet midfold, I ran out
to meet him, nearly losing my shawl in the process. A cold spell had settled over the Falls days before, forcing everyone to bring out sweaters and wraps from attic trunks. Samuel had been chopping cords of wood from sunup till sundown for the past two days, filling our woodshed for the winter to come. We girls picked the garden clean, and the kitchen grew unbearable with steam as we filled and sealed dozens of jars.
“Where are they?” I asked without preamble. “Is Mama okay? Where’s Papa? And the wagon? Where’s—”
“Whoa there,” Whitaker said, raising his gloved hands. Luna assumed the command was for her and came to a prompt halt, breaking some of the tension spreading through my chest as Whitaker cracked a grin.
“They’re back! They’re back!” I heard Merry exclaim, followed by the slamming of the screen door. She and Sadie came tumbling down the steps. Samuel ran out from the side yard, close at their heels.
“Are they okay?” I asked Whitaker. “Just tell me before the others get here—are they all right?”
He nodded, the wide brim of his leather hat obscuring his eyes. “We got there just fine. I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but first”—he stretched one leg over the saddle, dismounting with a groan—“I’ve been riding nonstop for the last three days. Mind if I rest a bit on your porch? Maybe get something to drink?”
“We’ve got water or tea. Cider too—Violet Buhrman sent over a bottle of their finest after the fire.”
I took Luna’s reins so Whitaker might walk unencumbered, and his knuckles brushed against mine. I couldn’t tell if it was anything more than an accident.
He was tired. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his face was lined with the grime of old sweat and trail dust. His shirt looked and—if I was to be completely honest—smelled like he’d worn it every day for the last three weeks. But none of that mattered. He’d raced up and over an entire mountain range to bring us word of Mama.
Merry reached us first. “Where are they? What happened?”
“Everything is fine,” he promised, raising his voice for Sam and Sadie.
“Where are they, then?” Samuel asked, out of breath as he jogged up last.
“Still in the city, at a hospital.”
Merry clutched her chest, releasing a sob of relief.
“I tucked the four-leaf clover you gave me into Mama’s pocket before she left,” Sadie confessed, patting Luna’s heaving side. “Think that will help her any?”
Whitaker nodded, ruffling her hair. “I’m certain of it.”
* * *
After Sam had taken Luna to the barn and given her a rubdown and water, we gathered on the porch, eager to hear everything that had happened. Whitaker sat in Papa’s chair, with Sam in Mama’s. Merry and Sadie and I clustered along the steps, our shoulders pressed against each other’s.
Whitaker downed half the mug of cider in two large swallows, then wiped off his mouth. “We reached the city in just five days.”
“And the creatures?” Samuel asked.
He scratched at his jawline. “We didn’t run into any trouble in the woods, though we did see quite a bit of bear scat. Your father thought it might be grizzly, but we never saw anything more than a few prints.”
“Did Mama ever wake during the journey?” Merry jumped in, showing no patience for talk of bears. We all had leaned in, but she was completely on the edge of the steps, looking as though she might launch herself across the porch if Whitaker didn’t pick up his pace.
“She woke up the day after we arrived at the hospital. She doesn’t remember much of that night. The burns are…not good, obviously, but the doctor cleaned them out and is letting the new skin grow. It will take some time but they’re hopeful—”
I hated to further interrupt, but I couldn’t wait any longer. “But how is she? Is the baby all right?”
He smiled at me. “The baby is just fine. Three different midwives looked in on her, and they all declared it an absolute miracle. But…”
“But?” I repeated, instantly alarmed.
“They warned that further travel could put both her and the little one at risk. That’s why only I returned. Your father wanted to stay with her. And with the snows coming…the pass will be sealed off with the first big storm of the season….They won’t be returning until spring.”
He fell silent, letting his words sink in.
Snows didn’t usually clear until April.
That meant…
“We’re on our own,” Samuel murmured, saying what we’d all feared.
My eyes shifted, glancing over the fields. The fire was long gone, but its destruction was still an open wound upon our farm. We’d raked through the ashes and debris, praying that, come spring, there would be flowers.
The bees would be fine. Once the air cooled, we wouldn’t open the boxes again until the snow melted away. Honeybees survived the winters by huddling together at the center of the hive and shivering. Their buzzing warmed the space, keeping the center—where the queen stayed—comfortable and safe. They worked all winter this way, so that the queen could survive and lay eggs, further populating the hive. It was a marvel to me, the way these little insects could see the bigger picture and strive for the greater good, forsaking their own needs to protect the hive.
“We’ll be all right.” I sounded far more confident than I felt, but my family needed that, Sadie and Merry especially. “We’ll need to be more cognizant of our chores around the house and help fill in the gaps.”
“And get ready for the baby,” Sadie added.
I nodded, pleased she’d fixated on the good, the hopeful. “We’ll have everything ready for them when they all come home.”
“If,” Samuel said darkly.
“When,” I repeated with a heavy firmness.
I blew out a long breath. We needed to stop stewing and picking at each other. We needed to get off the porch and stir into action.
I stood up, brushing off my skirts. “We might as well have an early supper tonight. Whitaker, you’ll join us?”
“Think I’ll have time for a quick dip in the creek?” Whitaker removed his hat, making a face as he caught his own scent. “I might have a clean shirt left in my pack—I know I’m not at my finest. Certainly not fit to sit in the presence of such pretty ladies,” he said with a wink toward Merry and Sadie.
They both reddened and scurried off toward the kitchen.
“Think I’ll check on Luna,” Sam said, wandering off before anyone could say otherwise.
“Let me get you some soap and a towel,” I volunteered, ushering him inside.
When I returned to the sitting room, Whitaker was nowhere to be found. A whoop of delight drew me to the window, and I caught a quick glimpse of him ducking under the water. Little eddies swirled about his bare shoulders.
“I…I’m just going to run this out to Whitaker,” I called to my sisters before slipping out the door.
My breath surrounded me in wispy puffs as I headed down to the rushing creek. He’d found a deeper channel and was almost completely submerged. Even so, what little I saw of his muscular back had my cheeks burning with embarrassed delight. “Aren’t you freezing?”
Whitaker turned with a smile. I tried to focus on it instead of the dark patch of hair covering his chest. “It’s invigorating! Fancy joining me?” My mouth fell open, and he laughed in wicked glee. “Oh, Ellerie Downing, I do enjoy seeing you blush. Have you missed me?”
“I brought soap,” I said, holding it and the towel up as if to explain my presence.
“You can leave them on the bank, unless you’d rather bring them in….I know which I’d prefer.” He raised one eyebrow with open suggestion. Scrunching my nose, I tossed him the bar of soap. He caught it deftly, his eyes remaining steadily on me. “Pity.”
I placed the towel on top of his rucksack, left out on a large rock. “I have, you
know.”
“What’s that?” he asked, lathering up the bar of soap. Without his shirt, his green tattoos stood in stark relief, and I found myself inching closer to the edge of the bank to see.
“Missed you.” I tucked back strands of hair with a self-consciousness I despised.
His eyes brightened. “Is that so?”
“I’m grateful you accompanied Papa out of the mountains—you’ve no idea how grateful—but…” I brushed off my skirts, using the movement as an excuse to break eye contact with him. A girl could drown in the depth of those eyes. “I’m awfully glad you’ve returned.”
“You should look in the pack,” he said, scrubbing the soap into his hair and scratching at his scalp.
“Right now?”
He dunked under the water to rinse off, and came up spraying droplets into the air like a wet dog shaking dry. “Go ahead. The two packages on top.”
Lifting the flap, I spied the parcels, each wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. I unwrapped one and saw a bundle of dark gray tweed.
“For you,” he said gallantly. “Your mother mentioned you were in need of a new dress. She asked me to bring fabric back. The shopgirl said something sturdy and practical would be best.”
I ran my finger over the soft wool. It would keep me wonderfully warm this winter and was more stylish than anything I owned. Tears sprang to my eyes at Mama’s thoughtfulness, her remembering my plight even as she convalesced.
“I picked out the second all on my own.” He’d stopped scrubbing to watch my reaction. “It reminded me of your clover crown.”
I couldn’t help my cry of delight as I opened the second parcel. A beautiful length of blush-pink voile, scattered with embroidered Swiss dots, lay nestled in the wrapping.
“Whitaker, it’s the most beautiful cloth I’ve ever seen—thank you!”
“It’s probably too thin for this cold weather, but when I saw it, I couldn’t imagine anyone else wearing it.” His eyes locked on mine, and I couldn’t look away, even as my cheeks heated once more.
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