“I’m Captain Thrupp,” the man announced to the congregation. “And I’ll tell you right off, I have bad news. The priest died during the passage from Southport.”
A stifled scream from the back, followed by sobbing. Jenn’s hand pinched mine, she held on so tight. I looked at Aunt Lize; she’d gone pale, but she held up a finger. The captain wasn’t done yet.
Captain Thrupp held up his hands. “I’m going to make a quick run down the coast to Port Providence.”
“That’s two days away!” Miss Minter shouted. “That’s not fast enough.”
“It’s close, but not impossible,” the captain said. “We’ll get him back in time.”
Da nudged him. Captain Thrupp looked abashed. “We can’t leave for another day, though. Weather’s against us and we’ve a spar needs repairing. But we can get the work done and be back in time. No worries; Stone Harbor is paying me well for the extra trips and the repairs, as well as a bonus if—when—I return with the priest.”
There was muttering in the church, and it took the lay deacon, Mr. Turner, a good five minutes to get everyone quiet and reciting a prayer.
I watched as Da and his friends hustled Captain Thrupp out of the church. Aunt Lize nudged me, hard, so I’d bend my head and pray.
We’d need something more than prayers, I thought.
That night, I finished collecting the bowls from dinner. The whiskey jug had gone around once again, and Da and them were getting raucous.
Aunt Lize hissed at me. “Get over here, girl!”
She grabbed my arm and yanked me to the other side of the kitchen’s curtain door. “What are you doing, loitering out there! It’s not safe, not with them in this state.” She relented, though, and took the bowls from me, scraping the scraps—scant as they were—into the bucket for our last remaining pig. “You were just doing as you ought, and a good little housekeeper you’ll make someday. But you don’t want to be in the way of them, when they’re like this. You look in on Jenn, and I’ll take these out to the sow.”
I nodded thanks; the wind was howling, whipping snow under the doors and piling it up against the windows. I shivered; I didn’t like to think what else might be out there, for the Minters had lost a horse just the night before. No one was sure if it was the demon or just the madness of people cooped up and living with fear and hunger.
If she was right about the men, Aunt Lize was wrong on another score; I was already a good housekeeper. It was no sin to say so if it was true. It was our secret conspiracy, me and Aunt Lize; she would have run to Stone Harbor and found a place there, if my mother hadn’t died. As I was so small, and Jenn just a baby, she put that thought aside and came to help Da, much as she hated him and Farmington. She couldn’t leave us, her sister’s children, not when she could do something about it.
So: her free life for mine. Whenever she made a coin or two extra, she put it aside without Da’s knowing. She and I weren’t overly fond of each other, but she knew my skills, and when she determined to do a thing, she did it right, spitting in the eye of the deal that kept the men tied to the land. I helped other women in the village, with cooking, with looking after their babies, with cleaning. Not out of the goodness of my heart, oh, no. I hated Missus Daggett’s nasty gossip, Missus Foyle’s mean cheapness, and the way that cowlike Miss Minter let her widower brother look on me in ways he shouldn’t, not when I was still a good year off from any thought of marrying. Their nastiness was another curse upon Farmington, demon or no. But Missus Daggett made the best bread, Missus Foyle knew a trick with laundry that took out any stain, and Miss Minter would give me a penny more than she should; it was those skills and coins I wanted, because as soon as Jenn was old enough to manage on her own, I would shake the thin dust of Farmington from my skirts forever. When I made more money, away in Stone Harbor, I’d send for Jenn, and maybe Aunt Lize, too, if she’d come.
Not long now.
I pushed the curtain aside and went to the back room, where Aunt Lize, Jenn, and I slept, barring the door behind me. Jenn sat up.
“It’s only me. Go back to sleep.”
“I can’t.” Her voice was small, no more than a mouse’s squeak. “Tell me about ‘Away.’ Please.”
“You don’t need to think about ‘Away,’ ” I said, even though I’d just been comforting myself with the very same thoughts. “You need to go to sleep.”
“Please, Marr.” There was an unevenness in the door’s planking that let a sliver of light through, glancing off Jenn’s dark hair and bright eyes. She took my hand. “Please.”
I sighed and told her the other story she knew by heart, the one where we heard the fine bells of the church in Stone Harbor, walked the five miles to the town, following them. We’d live in a large house, or get on a ship and sail far away.
She fell asleep a moment later. I heard Aunt Lize come back into the house, slamming the door shut against the weather behind her. We were as safe as we could be, for now. I curled up next to Jenn’s warm little body and fell asleep myself.
I was on my way back from a long morning’s work at Missus Foyle’s four days later, my knees worn out with scrubbing floors, but an old and much-begrudged coin in the pocket under my skirts. The sky was dull as wash water. The roads were clear of snow but rutted awful with the frozen mud that recorded the tracks of every person and horse and cart that came along this way. It was as bad clambering over those uneven ridges as it would be going through snow.
So my head was down, and I didn’t even see him until we bumped into each other. The sea captain, Thrupp.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— Is he here? Has the priest come?”
“No.”
I felt the blood rush from my face. “Then why—how are you here?”
“There was no luck at Providence Port, but I sent my ship’s boat up the river. There’s a man there can do the job, they say.”
I didn’t believe him, but I couldn’t afford not to.
Close up, I had a chance to examine the captain more thoroughly. Thrupp was only as tall as me, but broad enough, stout enough to stand against a gale, I thought. An ugly mug of a face, with one eye scarred and a little closed, the result of an accident or a fight. He had a canny, honest air about him, a bit of the hell-raiser, all ginger hair and whiskers and a voice suited for shouting orders over nature, if not quiet city life. Maybe his crew would save us after all.
“I’m only out to stretch my legs while they’re gone. It was a chance to get the smell of tar and salt and dirty men out of my nose, to stretch my legs a bit on ground that didn’t move beneath me.”
I raised an eyebrow, an unspoken query.
“And given the air of this village, I’m eager to be back among the dirty men and bilge water.” He laughed, a little nervously, I thought. “I have the notion that I shouldn’t stay in this place too long. There’s . . . so much bad feeling around here, and I don’t like superstition I ain’t been brought up in.”
I nodded dully and suddenly he realized he was speaking to a resident of this ill-favored place.
He had some manners, at least enough to be embarrassed by his gaffe. His honesty. “That’s not to say— I mean—”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I’d be away, too, if I could. I will, when I can,” I said, correcting myself a little too insistently. “Someday.”
His face cleared. “Why wait? Be at the ship no later than noontide tomorrow. We return to Southport, and my sister Bonne needs a smart girl to help in the house. You can do that, I suppose.”
I nodded, eager but still knowing that all life is a bargain, as Aunt Lize had said often enough. “How much? For the passage, I mean?”
“My sister will pay me, if I can bring her reliable help.” He laughed. “She’ll kiss my boot, if I make her life easy with the twins, those two hellion boys.”
I scowled at his so casually invoking hell, here, now.
“And she’ll pay you, too, every week. Labor’s scarce, ’round our parts. How’s that?”
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I nodded again, even more hastily, and felt the unfamiliar upturn of my lips into a smile. Suddenly ashamed, I remembered Jenn. “I have . . . I have a little sister. Just seven. I can’t leave her.”
“Bring her. Bonne’s just lost her girl; she’s pining for someone to dress in ribbons, and she’ll treat her decent, teach her the running of a house. You have my word; Bonne’s a good lass, and her husband knows I’ll beat the shit out of him, he does her—or me—wrong.”
Maybe there was a sister in Southport, I thought, or maybe there was just an auction block and the captain’s purse to be filled once I was got away from . . . well, not the safety of Farmington, but the constant prying eyes of it. It didn’t matter, I decided suddenly, it was time for us to get out of here. No more waiting. Tomorrow, early, I’d take Jenn, leave breakfast for Da and a note for Aunt Lize. Then we’d walk the five miles to Stone Harbor and the docks. Five miles to freedom, or at least a change of dread, which would be near enough. After that, we’d see.
I nodded. “Tomorrow, noon. What ship?”
He laughed. “She’s the only one there!” Then he saw that I knew nothing and said, “The Fraunces. She’s a fine lady for a bowsprit—that’s a kind of statue, on the, er, front of the ship. You won’t miss her.”
I returned home quickly, but less quickly than a rumor flies.
My da met me at the door, hot whiskey breath hanging sour on the cold air. “Been making a spectacle of yourself, have you? Not even the decency to sneak out in night, you have to go out in broad day.”
Broad day was too kind a description. There were six hours of daylight, these days, and it made falling snow look more like ash with the sun so hidden amid the clouds.
I knew better than to ask what? Mr. Minter had seen me talking to the captain and flew here across his field. Get me cheaper, if I was damaged goods. “No, sir, I wasn’t—”
“Liar.” A flash of gold, a crack-slap to my face, stinging like a switch. “I’ll just have a word with Thrupp myself. Teach him to—”
“Gar, she won’t have had time to get herself into trouble,” Aunt Lize said. “She’s just come from Jaine Minter’s now. Look at her clothes—there’s no mud, no straw in her hair, nothing of the roundheel about her. You.” She turned to me. “Get inside and fix the noon meal. Now!”
“Yes’m.”
I was able to slip past her, avoiding another crack. I felt a warm trickle of blood against my cold cheek; the ring had drawn blood again.
Arguing outside, muffled voices raising and lowering, my father shouting, spoiling for any fight, and my aunt trying to keep him from making more of a show for the neighbors.
I put the bowls out and stirred the pot; the door slammed open, the cold rushed in and made the flames dance unevenly.
Aunt Lize shut the door behind her, leaned against it. “Girl, you can’t afford scandal. Nobody can, especially now, when tempers are running high and people are looking for someone, something, to lash out at. Don’t give them a target. And you, yourself . . .” She sighed. “It’s a small village, and if you don’t get out of here, you have to marry as best you can. Make the best bargain, that’s the only way. You don’t want another woman in the house—there can only be one queen in a hive. That’s just one more reason you don’t want Mr. Minter, apart from his bad breath, loose hands, and goggle eyes—there’s also his sister. So better to hope she lives a long, long life, the better to have an excuse to avoid marrying him.”
A small chuckle. A lightening of the mood on our side of the smoke-and-gloom-filled room.
“Once winter’s done, we’ll see where we stand, but until then . . . mind yourself.”
She was thinking we’d survive winter. She was thinking we’d survive the week. I didn’t say anything; she was giving herself a worry over which she had some control.
Or so she thought. I was leaving, with Jenn, tomorrow just before dawn.
I kept my head down and myself out of the way the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. Dinner was thin that night, and would be worse tomorrow; we were down to the scrapings on the inside of the storage barrel. But tomorrow night, there’d be two fewer mouths to feed, so I didn’t feel guilty when I put the last of the bread in my pocket to take with us when we left, right next to my small stash of hoarded coins.
I washed the bowls, but between the thin commons and the hunger with which we scraped them, it was hardly necessary.
I put Jenn to bed, kissed her forehead. I ran my finger down the scratch on her arm, the result of a scuffle with our last chicken. “This is healing well,” I whispered. “Sleep tight.”
As soon as her eyes closed, I took her two shirts, coat, and skirt under one arm, and put her stockings and underthings in my pocket. Pitiful, how little there was to take with us, but it would make it easier to smuggle out.
I picked up my work basket and sat down on our side of the room, as close to the firelight as I could, but still in the shadows.
Aunt Lize unlocked the cupboard and brought out the jug and two cups.
“We need another one.” My father’s voice was gruff; he’d already started at Mr. Minter’s house, and now that neighbor was here and it was Da’s turn to supply the liquor.
“Who’s coming?”
“No one. It’s for my daughter. For Marr.”
I looked up, and then Aunt Lize and I looked at each other. “No, thank you, Da.”
“Pour it.” He took the mug from Aunt Lize and gave it to me.
“There’s a priest coming tomorrow. Turns out, Thrupp heard of someone farther north, up the coast, and sent his boat to make inquiries, despite the weather. They will bring him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Mr. Minter repeated, already drunk. “Tomorrow, it’s all done.”
“It’ll be nothing but a bad memory, after then.”
Aunt Lize whooped and clapped her hands. Da tried a smile, but he was worn out with worry and fear. We all were; there’s a fatigue that comes with them both. “Drink it up. You . . . you earned it, after all. It was your . . .”
Da paused so long, I wondered whether he’d say forwardness or sluttishness.
“. . . doing,” he said. “You’re the reason we’ll all be safe. Go ahead, before I change my mind.”
I took it and drank, making a face. It was far bitterer than I expected, and it burned my throat. I sputtered and coughed. No laughter, as I expected, just that sad smile.
“You’re getting so grown up,” Da said. “You’re slipping away from me.”
I frowned and opened my mouth to reply. The floor fell away beneath me; the rafters of the ceiling, draped in dried herbs, spun crazily.
“Church bell—” If the priest was really coming, why were there no bells? No celebration?
“Is it done?” It was Mr. Minter’s voice. “How long?”
“Another minute or two, before she’s all the way gone.”
“A pity. For the best, though. For everyone.”
I grabbed at the table leg, the closest thing to me, to try to pull myself up. I grabbed the wrong one of three wheeling around in front of me and felt my hand slam to the floor, leaden and disobedient.
Aunt Lize screamed, but the last thing I heard that made any sense was Da saying: “Get the needles and ink, then.”
I awoke, my head silted up with brick dust and coal clinkers and aching as if I’d been sleeping on the smith’s anvil while he was working. Movement brought dry heaves and the notion that the earthen floor was moving beneath me. I closed my eyes again, and slept.
When I woke the second time, it was light, and I felt much better. The unexpected quiet of the neighborhood was a blessing, and this time, I was able to push myself upright and onto a stool, my head resting against the table.
The quiet of the neighborhood . . . bright daylight, or what passed for it.
Not even the deepest snow on the darkest days could muffle every sound of Farmington.
I started, remembering what had happened the night befor
e. My clothing was intact. I shoved my sleeves up, hauled up my skirts above my knees—nothing but pale skin.
My hands flew to my face—I couldn’t feel the ache I should have, had the needle marks been made on me there, but I sought the cloudy and speckled glass on the mantel anyway.
Not a mark on me, save the bruise on my cheek.
Not sold in marriage to Mr. Minter, not marked with the glyphs, the invitation to the demon to depart. Then why the whiskey, that’d hit so hard?
The quiet of the neighborhood, the quiet of the house—
Jenn.
“No! Jenn! No, no, no, nooo!”
I ran to the bedchamber. Empty save for crumpled sheets and the same bitter smell of whatever had been in my whiskey.
A tiny drop of blood on the sheet. The needle and mallet, a small dish of ink and ash, almost empty.
I felt the world spin around me and clutched the door. “Jenn!”
No one was anywhere in the house. Back into the kitchen, all was empty, a chair knocked over, and the table askew, probably from my own collapse.
The door was not on the latch and hung ajar. It was the cold air that revived me.
I shoved it open, nearly tripped over Aunt Lize, lying just outside. The puddle of blood on the paver beneath her head expanded sluggishly, seeming to pause against a patch of grass before breaking around it.
I pinched her cheek; she mumbled incoherently, agitatedly, and did not recognize me.
The spreading red puddle slowed to a stop, warming the frozen mud just enough to begin to seep into the ground. Her eyelids fluttered open and then were still.
I leaned to her face but felt no warm breath on my cheek. There was blood on her lips and a swelling.
Had the demon come this close? No, she was too . . . intact.
I looked around for answers.
There.
Jenn’s blanket lay on the frozen mud. A few threads of its gray wool were snagged on Aunt Lize’s fingernails.
Seize the Night Page 20