Small Favors

by Erin A. Craig

  “You’re not wearing that, are you?” Merry asked, coming up behind me.

  “I’ll change before we leave.” From the corner of my eye, I caught a swish of her blue check skirt. It was her best dress and only came out for the most special of occasions. “Pretty.”

  “Does it look all right?” she asked. “I thought I’d done well, but Sadie said I look like a clown.”

  I turned. Bright circles of pink dotted her peach complexion. “Oh. What did you use?” I asked, drawing her over to the washbasin. After dampening a handkerchief with water, I removed half the offending color from her cheeks, leaving behind a more subtle blush.

  “There’s a cluster of thimbleberries down by the creek—they’re not ripe enough to eat yet,” she added quickly, seeing my hopes rise. “But I thought I could use one or two for today. I just remember how Papa would tell stories about when he fell in love with Mama….” She pushed back a ringlet of hair framing her face, uncomfortably self-conscious. I studied the new curls with pained understanding. She must have spent nearly an hour at the hearth, bullying her stick-straight hair into this softer style with Mama’s old curling rods.

  “The Schäfers’ wedding reception. He spotted her across the churchyard, through a haze of fabric banners.”

  “And even though he’d grown up alongside her his whole life,” Merry jumped in, taking on Papa’s familiar cadence.

  “He was still surprised to see the pretty girl with the pink cheeks and the sparkling eyes,” we finished together.

  She smiled shyly, toying with the curls again. “I miss them.”

  “Me too,” I admitted.

  “I thought they’d be home by now. It’s nearly summer.”

  I agreed but didn’t want to say it out loud. Each day that went by without their arrival soured my stomach. Where were they? Had something happened to Mama? Or to their wagon as they returned? I tried to not picture it, but as I lay in bed at night, just on the cusp of sleep, horrible images would fill my mind.

  Papa, wandering alone and bereft in a city too big and busy for his grief…Mama trapped beneath the heavy axle of a torn-apart wagon, unable to reach our little brother, his cries filling the surrounding woods, the pines red with sprays of blood.

  And now…knowing there were monsters—real, actual monsters—in the trees…

  Had the Dark Watchers gotten our parents?

  “Is there someone whose eye you’re hoping to catch today?” I asked, forcing away my gruesome reverie. I longed to return to a time when our biggest problem of the day was Sadie upsetting Merry’s tender feelings.

  “Of course not,” she lied, flustered. “There are far bigger things to worry about today than boys.”

  “Merry.”

  “Thomas,” she disclosed quickly, a flush rising to her cheeks, burning even more brightly than the thimbleberries. “I know—I know,” she protested, even as I said nothing. “He was our cousin up until yesterday. But…even before that, I’d catch him staring at me, and I wondered…There was just something not very cousin-like in those stares, you know? But it’s stupid to be thinking of that.” Her gaze flickered to outside, toward the pines, and I knew she was trying to spot a Dark Watcher. “I just thought…it would be nice to be ready…in case anyone decides to notice me.”

  “Oh, Merry,” I murmured, pulling her into a hug. I kissed the top of her blond head. “I’m certain there will be a whole lot of young men noticing you today. And if Thomas doesn’t see how special you are, he’s a fool.”

  “You should go get ready,” she said, flushed but pleased. “I’ll finish up in here…” She paused, studying the ingredients, then sighed. “Really? Deviled eggs?”

  * * *

  I ran my hand over the bodice of my dress, smoothing the pin tucks and adjusting the ruffled collar. It was my first time wearing the blush-colored voile Whitaker had brought back from the city. The dress had turned out even better than I’d dreamed it would. I took a practice spin. The long lengths of dotted Swiss swirled about my ankles in a delightful froth.

  I only wished Whitaker was here to see it. When I imagined dancing with a young man at the social, it was his arms I was in.

  No.

  I cast such foolish thoughts away as quickly as jerking a hand from a sizzling skillet. Memories of him burned just as hot but with far more destruction.

  Footsteps echoed up the stairwell.

  “Merry?” I called out. “I can’t get the last button clasped. Can you help me?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Sadie?” I tried. “It’s almost time to leave. Did you change into your calico?”

  The footsteps paused.

  “I can come back later if you…Oh, Ellerie Downing.”

  I froze, every hair on my arms rising to attention as I recognized that voice. I looked in the mirror, and there he was, standing behind me as though my thoughts had summoned him.

  “Whitaker?” It came out as soft as a breath.

  “You are so, so beautiful.”

  I turned.

  He looked…longer somehow. Weeks of traveling had worn him down. He was tired, leaner.

  He was still the most perfect boy I’d ever seen.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t miss seeing you in your new dress,” he said, a ghost of a smile lighting his face. “I was right. That is the perfect shade for you.”

  A charming deflection.

  Of course.

  He pressed his lips into a sober line, as if sensing my thoughts. “I…I realized I made a mistake.”

  I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest. “Really?”

  He nodded reluctantly. “I should have been more open with you. Should have told you…I should have told you so many things. I…I wanted to come back and set things right, Ellerie.”

  It was everything I’d wanted to hear. Everything I hoped for, in the dark of night when I found myself unable to sleep, remembering our last conversation and wishing I’d said so many things differently.

  Even still, I hesitated to believe him.

  “Then start with something simple,” I challenged. “What’s your name?”

  He sighed. “I don’t want to talk about my name right now.”

  “You don’t want to talk about anything ever,” I reminded him, irritation flaring in my throat. “If you thought coming back would be such a grand gesture that I’d forget everything else, you were mistaken.”

  My heart ached even as it knew I spoke the truth.

  “That…that wasn’t all. I wanted to tell you…”

  “What?” I snapped. I took a step forward, showing him—showing myself—I could be in his presence without running into his arms.

  Whitaker scratched his neck. “I…”

  “What, Whitaker? Tell me this one thing. No excuses. No tactics. Just answer me.”

  “I…” He jangled his fingers in a flurry of suppressed motion. “I realized…I care about you, Ellerie. Deeply. Maddeningly. And I…I don’t know what to do and I’m obviously getting it completely wrong, but I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you, of leaving you here, not knowing how much I love…”

  My heart stilled even as Whitaker trailed off with a sigh.

  “So I came back, and now I don’t…I don’t know what I’m doing.” He looked up to the ceiling. “I’ve made a giant mess of this all, but I know…I would rather be here, with you hating me, than anywhere else in the world.”

  His open confession stunned me. It wasn’t the truth I’d expected from him, but it was a start.

  It was a good start.

  “I don’t…I don’t hate you,” I murmured carefully.

  “You don’t?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  He frowned, fighting hope. “Why?”

  I wan
ted to bridge the distance between us, but my feet were planted to the floorboards, roots deep and unyielding. “I…I care about you too much to ever hate you.”

  He let out a breath. “You do?”

  “Deeply. Maddeningly, even.” His words tasted bittersweet on my tongue. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to forget everything.”

  “Oh.”

  I’d wounded him.

  “I…This is a lot to think over.”

  He lowered his eyes. “Of course.”

  “I’ll need some time.”

  And time was something I had very little of at present.

  “I…I don’t suppose you’ll have thought everything over by the social?” He swallowed uncomfortably as his attempt at lightheartedness fell flat.

  “You shouldn’t go to that.” I tried keeping my voice even but firm. It pained me to keep secrets from Whitaker, but it wasn’t as if he was ever entirely forthcoming with me. This leveled out the field a bit.

  After a beat, he nodded, amber eyes full of sorrow. “If that’s what you want.”

  It wasn’t. Not really. Inside my chest, my heart screamed out his name so loudly, he must have heard it. But I bobbed my head. “I think it best. For now.”

  “I should get going, then. Let you finish…” He gestured toward the mirror. “All that.”

  He turned to leave but then changed directions, striding across the room in the blink of an eye. Surprised, I stepped backward, catching my foot on the corner of the bedpost.

  He caught my elbow, steadying me, and for the longest second, we gazed into each other’s eyes.

  “I mean it, Ellerie. You look so terribly beautiful.”

  He reached out with tentative fingers, cupping my cheek, his touch lighter than a warm summer rain.

  I should have pushed him away, righting myself. Should have stormed off to sort out my confusion far, far away from the alluring glint of his eyes.

  But he was so warm.

  He was warm and solid and so impossibly strong. I grasped his shoulders, our faces close enough for me to feel the soft caress of his breath. His fingers curved at the nape of my neck, sinking into the curls, and a maddening need seized me, aching to forget the fight, forget my anger, forget everything that had gone wrong between us.

  Before I could do any of those things, Whitaker was off, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead and disappearing down the stairwell.

  The sun streamed down, bright and sparkling as we made our way to the town square. Soaring oak trees bordered its edge, providing ample shade, and colorful pennants hung swagged throughout their branches, forming a festive bower. Beneath their zenith, Thaddeus McComb and his sons tuned their fiddles, preparing for the dancing to come, and all around us, people were laughing and happy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen so many smiling faces in town.

  The star of the day turned slowly on a spit, and the mouthwatering scent of roasted pork made my stomach growl with anticipation.

  It couldn’t have been a more perfect day.

  The potluck was laid out across two tables dressed with Letitia Briard’s best tablecloths. I ran an appreciative finger across one of the floral batistes. Though I knew it was wicked of me, I envied her collection.

  Merry snuck our plate of deviled eggs between offerings of custards and quiches with an amused smirk.

  “God bless the fine hens of Amity Falls,” Parson Briard proclaimed, coming over to inspect the feast. His laughter boomed over the town square. It faded as he caught sight of the Fairhopes, hanging back from the tables and keenly aware of the many eyes upon them. “Ezra, Thomas. Good to see you both.” He shook their hands before turning to us. “And, ladies, how well you all look.”

  Pleased to have her new hand-me-down dress noticed, Sadie spun in a circle, showing off the full skirts with a giggle. Merry smiled up at the parson, taming back a strand of hair.

  “Is that a new frock I spy, Miss Ellerie?” he asked.

  “It is. I made it myself over the winter.”

  “What a unique color. Lovely, lovely,” he repeated, distracted as more families arrived. “Enjoy the social.”

  “You made that?” Thomas asked. “All those little…what are those called?” he asked, gesturing to my bodice.

  “Pin tucks.”

  “Pin tucks.” He pronounced it carefully, tasting the sound of it. “I like knowing the proper names for things. The world truly seems more ordered when you know what to call everything, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” I admitted.

  Sadie ran off, giggling and screeching with glee, the second she saw Trinity and Pardon. I helped Merry spread our quilt over a sun-dappled patch of grass. My heart twinged as I traced over the tiny lines of Mama’s stitches.

  “Oh, you’ve got something caught in your hair,” Merry said, gently tousling my locks as she worked to free the squirming intruder. “There.” A ladybug crawled over her hand, twining round and round her fingers.

  Thomas leaned in to see. “Coccinellidae. Seven spots too.” He smiled at me. “You’ve been touched by luck—feel any different?”

  “I’ll let you know if I do.”

  “You really can never have too much luck, you know,” Ephraim mentioned, settling into a comfortable spot. He took the ladybug from Merry. “I always keep a four-leaf clover on me—just to be safe.”

  “So, Ezra…Ephraim…” I still was uncertain what I was supposed to call him. “What exactly are we looking for today?”

  He raised his finger, letting the ladybug fly away, then squinted around the square. “We’re observing. Looking for things out of the ordinary. You know this town better than us. You’re more likely to see where things look different, look wrong.” He paused, waiting until Bonnie Maddin and her circle of friends crossed by. “And of course…if you happen to see that woman, you let me know.”

  Hushed murmurs rose around us, growing in strength as everyone turned to see Amos and Martha McCleary making their way up the hill to join the picnic.

  “He’s better,” someone whispered.

  “He’s…alive.” I turned to see Alice Fowler, her jaw slack with wonder.

  Amos nearly danced up the hill, smiling and waving and moving like a man twenty years his junior. He still relied on his cane, but his free arm assisted Martha with the climb. His skin had lost its sickly pallor and glowed with robust heartiness.

  “Amos, Martha,” Parson Briard greeted, crossing to the couple. “We’re so happy you could join us.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Preacherman.” Amos’s voice was strong and clear, without a trace of wheeziness. “You can smell that hog all the way across town!”

  “You’re looking much improved,” Briard started carefully.

  “I feel like a new man!” Amos said, giving the parson a cheerful smack on the back. He took a deep breath, boisterously filling his chest as if to prove he could.

  “Excellent, excellent.”

  “Martha brought a custard,” Amos continued. “Where should we put it?”

  The parson ushered them toward the buffet tables. We watched with interest until a shadow fell across our quilt.

  “Ellerie Downing. I can’t believe your gall.”

  Letitia Briard stood at the edge of our blanket, her hands pressed to her hips and a dangerous glint sparkling in her eyes. “I knew the thief would show themselves eventually, but I never would have dreamed it would be you!”

  “Thief?” I echoed in confusion. “What are you talk—”

  “That’s my dress!” she snapped. Her nostrils flared, making her narrow nose look even more pinched than before.

  “It’s not,” I protested, though her accusation caught me so off guard, I had to glance down to be certain. “I made this. This winter. My sisters saw me design and cut it myself.”

 
“With cloth you stole from me!”

  I shook my head, acutely aware of the attention her outburst was drawing. Prudence Latheton and her circle of friends stared with rapt attention. “You’re mistaken, Mrs. Briard. This voile came from the city.”

  “It did! It came back with Jeb McCleary’s spring run. Specially ordered. I was going to make curtains with it last summer, but when I went to bring it in off the wash lines, it was gone.” Her voice cracked. “Clemency said the wind must have carried it off. But I knew—I knew—it was stolen.”

  I raised my shoulders helplessly. “I don’t know what to tell you. It was a gift. Whitaker brought it back after he helped Mama and Papa get to town.”

  “Lies!”

  Ephraim held up his hand, trying to defuse her anger. “I’m sure there must be an explanation for all of this. Ellerie says she was given it, and I’ve never known her to lie. Perhaps we ought to be asking Whitaker where he acquired it?”

  The parson’s wife scoffed. “As if we’d get the truth from a trapper.”

  In a flash, Parson Briard was at her side, fingers circling her elbow. “Is everything quite all right here?”

  “I found her, Clemency!” she hissed, picking at the fullness of my skirt and swishing the fabric about. “I found the thief!”

  He glanced at my dress. “Can you prove with absolute certainty that it’s yours?” he asked his wife.

  Her mouth set into an unhappy line. “Well, no, but—”

  “Then let it alone, Letitia. We will deal with this later.”

  “But—”

  “Not now,” he hissed. “Have you forgotten there’s a social going on?”

  With a final glower toward me, she turned on her heel and marched past her husband, heading for the parsonage.

  “Perhaps I ought to make sure she’s all right,” Prudence volunteered. Her skirts kicked up a cloud of dust behind her.

  “I’m terribly sorry for that,” Parson Briard said, fixing his attention on me. “The strain of the winter has taken its toll on Letitia. I’m certain she meant no harm. It was a simple mistake.” He nodded, more for his benefit than mine. “Her fabric was a darker pink. Yes, I’m sure it was.”