Small Favors

by Erin A. Craig

  “They were out chopping wood,” Rebecca added.

  I said nothing, waiting for them to come to their point.

  “Well?” Simon asked as the moment ran long. “Are they?”

  “Are they…chopping wood?”

  “Living here,” Rebecca hissed.

  “Their wagon was vandalized on Christmas night,” I said. “Their oxen killed and—”

  “We’ve heard,” Simon interrupted.

  “We invited them to stay with us. At least until the worst of winter passes.”

  His face fell, growing grave. “And you didn’t think to warn us?”

  “Warn you? Of what?”

  “Their presence. Near my—our property.”

  The corner of Rebecca’s mouth tightened at his mistake, but she said nothing.

  “Simon, you sound ridiculous. They’re my family. It’s not as though I’m harboring criminals.”

  “I told you,” Rebecca muttered, tugging at his sleeve. “We ought to leave.”

  “Well, actually,” he began. “There’s another reason for our visit. We weren’t sure if you’d heard the news yet.”

  “What news?” Alarm knit in my throat. Parson Briard kept a falcon to send and deliver messages to and from the bishop in the city. Had Papa been able to send word? I braced for the worst.

  “There was a fire. A few nights ago.”

  “Oh.” Misplaced relief rose over me like a swell at sea. “What burned?”

  “The schoolhouse.”

  I inhaled sharply, certain I’d misheard. “The school?”

  Simon nodded. “It’s completely destroyed, burnt to cinders.”

  “I…that’s terrible.”

  “It is.”

  “What…what happened?” I asked carefully, uncertain if my interest might be perceived as a guilty conscience.

  It was a coincidence. It had to be.

  “No one knows for sure. It happened late in the evening. No one noticed until it was too late to save anything.”

  I frowned, trying to look sympathetic. “When did it happen? There was that strange thunderstorm two nights back. Could it…could it have been lightning?”

  Simon shook his head. “It burned the night before. On Wednesday.”

  I thought hard, counting back my evenings. The schoolhouse had burned down the night I’d dreamed I’d set fire to it.

  Coincidence.

  A strange one, admittedly.

  But a coincidence.

  Nothing more.

  “We thought you should know….There are rumors going around about who set it,” Rebecca said, arching one eyebrow at me.

  Bile slushed about in my stomach, hot and acidic. It didn’t matter how deserted the town had appeared. Someone had seen me. Someone had watched me strike that damned match.

  My mind raced. What would the penalty be for such a crime? They’d hung Cyrus for burning down our shed, but Mama had been seriously hurt. If no one had been injured, would my sentencing be more merciful?

  Pull yourself together.

  It had been a dream.

  A terrible, nightmarish coincidence of a dream, but a dream all the same.

  It had been warm. I’d been barefoot.

  In reality, there were feet of snow outside on the ground.

  Impossible.

  There was a long moment of silence, and I realized I’d missed hearing something Simon had said.

  “What?”

  “It just…The timing feels awfully suspicious, don’t you think?”

  “Timing?” I repeated.

  “I mean…it happened shortly after their wagon was vandalized.”

  The missing piece clinked into place for me. “You think my uncle burned down the schoolhouse? That’s preposterous!”

  “Is it? After his oxen were slaughtered?”

  “What does that have to do with the school?” I felt as though I was in a hazy nightmare. I could understand individual words, but when they were strung together, nothing seemed to make sense.

  “Alice Fowler teaches there.” Rebecca let out an exasperated sigh, taking in my blank face. “The Fowlers wanted revenge for their chickens.”

  I blinked, struggling to put together the logic. “So you think Ezra and Thomas were responsible for the chicken massacre and burning the school? They don’t even know the Fowlers. None of this adds up.”

  Rebecca and Simon glanced at one another, considering my statement.

  “I know who killed all those chickens,” Sadie said. I’d nearly forgotten she was standing beside me. “Abigail told me.”

  “Abigail?” Rebecca repeated. “Abigail who?”

  “Not now, Sadie,” I hissed through my teeth.

  “Who’s Abigail?” Rebecca pressed.

  “My friend—”

  “Her imaginary friend,” I corrected Sadie, overriding her. “She’s not real.”

  “She is too!” Sadie screeched. “She’s just as real as you or me. Stop saying she’s not real!” And with that, she tore out of the room.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I tried, knowing I needed to fill the silence. “It’s a phase she’s going through and—”

  “You know what the good Lord says about false idols,” Simon said, falling into a poor imitation of his father.

  “No, Simon, I don’t,” I said testily. “Remind me.”

  “He said…he said you shouldn’t have any,” he sputtered, quickly losing the steam of his conviction.

  Rebecca’s eyes fluttered shut, and she took a deep steadying breath before daring to look at me. “Are you going to send them away?”

  “Of course not.”

  “They’re arsonists.”

  “There’s no proof against them. I would have thought that you of all people would need proof of guilt.”

  Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. “You’re being stubborn, Ellerie. You’ve always been stubborn.”

  “And you’re letting gossip and speculation sway your reason, Rebecca. You say the fire took place Wednesday? When?”

  Her eyes darted to Simon. “Clemency said the commotion woke him around midnight….”

  “Then it couldn’t have been Ezra who set it,” I said triumphantly. “Both he and Thomas stayed up late that evening, to see in the New Year.”

  Relief flooded through me as the full understanding of my words hit home.

  I couldn’t have been sleepwalking into town, seeing strange women and setting fires at midnight. I’d been awake then too, wearing a silly paper crown Sadie had made.

  A coincidence.

  Nothing more.

  Her nostrils flared. “I don’t suppose anyone else could corroborate your story?”

  “Merry and Sadie, of course.”

  “Not Sam?”

  It slipped from her, softer than she’d intended, and her face quickly hardened into an unreadable mask.

  “Samuel Downing is at Abrams’s now, working at the ranch,” Simon supplied, blissfully unaware of his wife’s slip. “I thought I’d told you that.”

  Wordlessly she shook her head.

  Sam at Judd Abrams’s. I couldn’t imagine him as a ranch hand but stored away the information to deal with later.

  “All the more reason why I’m uncomfortable with those men staying here, Ellerie,” Simon continued, turning back to me. “You and your sisters are all alone. What if something…untoward should happen?”

  “I appreciate your concern, Simon. Both of your concerns,” I added, casting a look toward Rebecca. She didn’t meet my gaze. “But Ezra and Thomas are both fine men—they’ve been helping with quite a lot of work around the farm, and, as I’ve now clarified, they couldn’t have had anything to do with the fire. I’m terribly sorry it happened, it’s an awful trage
dy, but they didn’t set it.”

  “Well…” Simon seemed at a loss for how to continue. “I suppose we ought to be on our way, then. Good Blessings.”

  “Rebecca, would you like to stay for a bit?” I said, keeping my voice low with hope. “We dyed a few skeins of yarn from the Schäfers’ flock yesterday—I’d love to show it to you.”

  I could see exactly how it would play out. Simon would kiss her goodbye and promise to return with a sled so she wouldn’t face the cold walk home alone. There would be an awkward moment of silence before we both tripped over ourselves to apologize at the same time. I’d show her the yarn—it wasn’t just a ruse to get Simon to leave—and we’d spend the afternoon knitting tiny hats and blanket squares and laughing, our friendship solidified once more.

  But when her eyes met mine, they were as fierce as a rattlesnake before the strike. “No.” Simon glanced at her curiously, and she added, “Thank you.” She pulled her cloak about her, preparing to leave. She paused at the door, fingers tracing down the wood grain. “Actually, Simon, could you ready the horses and give us a moment? I won’t be long.”

  He nodded and ducked out. Rebecca kept her back to me, looking out the window.

  “I could make some tea if you’d like—”

  “Stop it, Ellerie. Just stop.”

  “I only—”

  She spun around, eyes flashing and cheeks heated. “You only what? What could you possibly want from me?”

  “Could…could we talk?” I asked, treading cautiously.

  “Talk? As though we’re friends?”

  Staring down her sudden rage made my insides squirm.

  “We are friends,” I said firmly.

  “We were,” she corrected me. “But that ended the second my father was strung up at the Gallows.”

  I dropped back, as if slapped. “I had nothing to do with that!”

  “Your brother did. If he didn’t—if he hadn’t—” Her eyes darted out toward the side yard, where Simon fussed with a harness. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done—with all of you.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  The line of her jaw was hard and unforgiving. “I do. I lament the day I ever befriended you. The Downings have brought nothing but misery to my family, and I only wish Papa’s fire had finished you all off.”

  The force of her words bit into me like a hatchet striking its mark. I wanted to believe she didn’t mean it, wanted to excuse it as nothing more than the fevered uprising of grief, but I couldn’t. Some things ought never to be said. Some words were too cruel to forgive.

  I turned away from her without a guilty conscience.

  She said she wanted me out of her life.

  I could happily oblige.

  She stepped out into the cold without another word.

  “Rule Number Six: When neighbors reach for helping hand, extend your own, as God commands.”

  “Lima beans,” I repeated, passing the larder again.

  It was my third time by.

  Merry tapped her chin as she examined our dwindling supplies.

  “It’s what we have the most of,” I added, turning for another loop of pacing.

  “It’s what everyone has the most of,” she said, a deep scowl marring her features. “Remember market last month? I’ve never seen so many beans in all my life. Green beans, butter beans, navy beans, kidney—”

  “Lots of beans,” I interrupted, hating that she was right.

  “I never want to see another bean again as long as I live,” she muttered, shifting the glass containers.

  I stopped pacing to watch her. “They’re keeping us fed.”

  Merry hummed in response and pulled out the second-to-last jar of onions. “We could get something good for these.”

  “Not if everyone else is bringing beans,” I pointed out.

  The corner of her lips twisted with reluctant agreement, but she made no motion to pick up the jar.

  “Merry?”

  She let out a sigh. “No. You’re right.” She grabbed the beans and brushed past me. “You’re always, always right.”

  It was said under her breath, so low, I almost missed it.

  “What?”

  She turned to look at me, her face a placid mask, eyebrows arched. “What?”

  “What did you just say?”

  Merry cocked her head. “Nothing. Only, you’re right about the beans….Maybe we can trade these for green beans. Sadie loves them so.”

  I studied her closely. This wasn’t the first time I’d thought I heard her muttering little snide remarks, but I’d never been able to quite catch their full meaning. Merry was the one person I usually got along with—I never butted heads with her like I did with Sam, and she never bickered like Sadie.

  But now…

  She seemed quicker to anger and less prone to confide her thoughts.

  The winter had changed her.

  But it had also changed me, forcing me into a position I wasn’t quite ready for. I was trying to fit roles I couldn’t hope to properly fill. I felt far older than my eighteen years, and the weight of my new worries warped and stretched, leaving me too thin, saddled with too many burdens.

  Who would ever want to be around someone like that?

  “We should probably leave soon, if we want to get any good deals,” Merry called over her shoulder before leaving me in the hallway alone with my thoughts.

  * * *

  The Gathering House wasn’t as full as it usually was.

  A dozen families, maybe fewer, wandered about the hall, critically eyeing their neighbors’ wares, judging and determining how they could best profit. Dark circles lined hungry eyes. Dresses gaped too large. Belts were notched too many holes deep.

  The Elders had arranged for market days, spread out to once a month, as a way to help Amity Falls make it through the long, uncertain winter. People brought whatever items they had in surplus, to barter or trade with. Some people promised away their first bounties of spring. Others offered to help with farming or repairs.

  The markets had started out as a success—everyone smiling and eager to be of assistance—but as the snow piled higher and higher, anxiety lined the faces of those present. Worry hung so heavily, you could taste it in the air, a coppery bite, potent and bitter. The same goods seemed to be brought every month.

  Beans.

  Eggs.

  Never the flour or meat we all so desperately hoped for.

  But still we came.

  “Mama canned these just at the peak of summer,” Merry said, offering our jar to Cora Schäfer. “Would you want to trade?”

  The older woman had brought the prized item of today’s market—a large canister of cherry preserves—and everyone circled about her like vultures.

  “I’ve got all the limas I could ever want, Merry Downing.”

  We stepped back, allowing for other people to try their luck, but Cora grabbed Merry’s upper arm, detaining us.

  “I think you girls have done a kind deed, allowing your uncle and cousin to stay with you. Don’t let others tell you anything otherwise.”

  Merry frowned, unaware of the conversation I’d had with Rebecca and Simon. “What do you mean?”

  Cora’s eyes darted about the room. “There are some who think we ought to cut ties with them. That they ought to be shunned.”

  “Some?” Merry asked. “You mean Amos?”

  “Leland,” I added pointedly.

  Cora had the grace to redden as her husband’s name was mentioned. “They’re all becoming a bit unreasonable these days. All three of them. It’s the strain of the situation. They’re only trying to take care of the town, however they can. Trying to keep the balance of powers steady.”

  “Balance of powers?”

  “From Briard, of course. Haven�
�t you noticed he’s not here? That several of the more…fervent members of his congregation aren’t either?”

  I glanced about the room, noting the Lathetons’ and Fowlers’ absences. Simon and Rebecca weren’t present either. “Perhaps they didn’t have anything to trade.”

  “Perhaps they’re at the church now, plotting ways to seize control.” Her eyes shone with a glassy heat, and I noticed her hands were trembling.

  “Cora, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

  I’d begun skipping a meal here and there, trying to make our supplies stretch a little further. My head always swam on those days, feeling too light and easily befuddled. I wondered how much of her accusation was fueled by hunger pangs.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine,” she insisted. As her gaze fell to the cherry preserves, I heard her stomach rumble.

  Though I hoped Cora’s comments were all fevered conjecture, I couldn’t help but wonder why Briard’s biggest supporters were missing today.

  “Come on, Ellerie,” Merry said, tugging on my cloak as the Elder’s wife waved off my concern.

  “Good Blessings, Cora Schäfer,” I said.

  “What was that about?” Merry hissed once we were out of earshot. “She sounds crazed.”

  “I think she only—”

  “Ooh, lima beans!” Bonnie Maddin called out as we went by. She sat on a bench, drowning in a cloak now two sizes too big for her. Her hair, usually full of curls and luster, was pulled back in a limp braid, roots greasy. She raised her lips in a hopeful smile, revealing two missing teeth. “Mama would adore those!”

  Merry narrowed her eyes, searching for Bonnie’s contribution. “What have you got?”

  Her terseness surprised me. She’d not seen her friend since the last market day, nearly a month before. Too many storms had prevented the rebuilding of the schoolhouse, so classes had been suspended, forcing the children of Amity Falls to remain at home.

  Wordlessly Bonnie pulled out two lengths of ribbon. They were lovely shades of blue and purple, and I longed to run my fingers over their grosgrain edges.