Laurie Alice Eakes - [Midwives 03]

by Choices of the Heart

  “I make it clear there’s nothing—”

  Esther closed her eyes. What she said and what she did didn’t always match up. She only took Zach’s arm as they walked, but he’d seen her sitting side by side with Griff during lessons and once just talking without the dulcimer between them, and perhaps Zach thought—

  “I didn’t think.” She rubbed her eyes. “Is he angry with his cousin or me?”

  “Zach is always angry with somebody.”

  “What?” Esther’s hands dropped. Her jaw dropped. “He never says an unkind word about anyone. When he’s with me, he’s the most cheerful person I know.”

  “He pretends good.” Hannah jabbed the stick into the ground. “If a girl who looks like you ain’t the marrying kind, there’s something wrong with you, and maybe we made a mistake bringing you, ’specially if you make Zach and Griff stop being friends.”

  “I see.” Esther leaned toward Hannah, trying to see more. “Hannah, did you leave that note on my door my first day here?”

  “Note? Me?” Hannah opened her eyes too wide. “No, ma’am, I can’t write.”

  But when Esther had gone to the mine with Griff, she had seen Hannah making notes in a ledger.

  “Why do you want me to go?” Esther asked.

  “Strangers always cause trouble here,” Hannah said, then snapped her stick in two and walked away.

  Esther gazed after her, certain Hannah had left the note because she had heard something in Seabourne. Worse, Hannah seemed to know something she wouldn’t say.

  Like perhaps she knew Bethann was right and Zach had been the one to throw the knife at Griff.

  When Esther said she would go to the Independence Day celebration with the children, she never considered that Griff would come along. The entire family came to the worship service at noon. Along with perhaps two hundred other people, they squeezed onto backless benches set up on the hillside sloping down to the river at Brooks Ferry.

  “What do you do in the winter?” Esther asked as she attempted to maneuver herself into the center of the children.

  “We don’t usually have any preaching in the winter,” Jack explained. “Too hard for folk to get here.”

  Esther raised her brows. “Too difficult? Why?”

  “Ice mostly,” Jack said.

  “And snow.” Ned bounced on his bench. “Snow, snow, snow. And we go sliding down the hills and Momma gives us hot cider. Do you like to sled, Miss Esther?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never gone. I’ve never seen more than a few flakes of snow.”

  The whole Tolliver clan and a number of others stared at her. Never having seen snow appeared to be some kind of peculiarity no one comprehended.

  “Easterners,” a bearded old man muttered. “Who needs ’em ’cept my uppity nieces.”

  “That’s Great-Uncle Neff,” Liza whispered. “He doesn’t like nobody who ain’t—isn’t from here.” She gave Esther an anxious glance. “Did I say that right?”

  “Almost.” Esther smiled at the girl who was trying so hard and doing well at speaking proper English. “He doesn’t like anybody.”

  “Oh. I’ll never get this right.”

  “Of course you will. You—” Esther realized a hush had fallen over the congregation and everyone was staring at her. Her cheeks heated, and she wanted to crawl under her bench.

  Griff rose. “The new schoolma’am,” he announced, standing at the end of the bench. “Miss Esther Cherrett. Esther, stand yourself up.”

  “I, um, would rather not.” Esther kept her head down.

  “They want a look at you,” Brenna said too loudly. “You’re like some new kind of bird to them.”

  A bright child.

  “Come.” Griff edged his way to stand before her and took her hand to draw her to her feet.

  She tried to keep her head down so as not to meet the hundreds of eyes she felt boring their way into her back, her head, her soul, trying to learn what they could from simply looking. But not to raise her head was rude, and she didn’t want to shame the Tollivers.

  She lifted her chin and smiled at the gathering. A murmur rippled through the crowd, rising like the wind before a storm.

  “That’s right,” Griff murmured. “Stun ’em.”

  Esther bowed her head again. “I don’t want to stun anyone.”

  She wanted to run down the aisle between the benches and hop onto the ferry and escape across the river. But the preacher had emerged onto the ferry’s deck and raised his arms for silence.

  Esther sat—hard, her ruffled skirt billowing around her like frothy ocean waves of blue sprig muslin edged with the white foam of lace. It was her favorite dress, and she couldn’t resist bringing it with her. It was far too fancy for the people. She never should have allowed Liza to talk her into wearing it. Or she should have modified it, removed the lace or a few ruffles and embroidered over the stitch marks—anything to make it less rustley, less fluffy, less ostentatious.

  “Is she a princess, Momma?” a child asked from the back of the makeshift sanctuary.

  “I’ll bet she thinks she is,” someone old enough to know better said across the benches.

  “Welcome to Brooks Ridge, Miss Cherrett,” the preacher shouted from the ferry deck. “I know Tamar and Lizbeth prayed a long time for you to come.” His voice echoed off the hills and tree-clad ridges, amplifying it. “Now let us lift our voices in worship through song.”

  The singing began, raucous and rhythmic, heartfelt and joyous. After a moment when she realized seating herself in the middle of the children made her stand out for being taller than they, Esther settled into the pleasure of the singing. An hour passed. Then the preaching began and another hour passed. The afternoon grew warm despite a pleasant breeze blowing down the river. Surely the children would begin to fidget. They certainly did in her classroom. But they remained motionless, engrossed by the rise and fall of the pastor’s piercing voice, his words of sin and redemption.

  They were words Esther tried not to hear. Papa said she hadn’t sinned. Momma and her brothers supported the same. No one else did. Others believed she had tried to destroy the reputation of a good man, a fair and generous man, simply because he married someone else. But she hadn’t. She needn’t repent of lying.

  But what of not telling all of the truth? Surely her earlier games, the coquetry she’d practiced before he met and married his wife, had caused the rest to happen, and she reminded no one of that—of how she’d once pursued out of pride, out of arrogance, out of confusion over looks rather than character.

  Pain drew her attention to the nails digging into her palms. Never before had her nails been long enough to do that. She turned her palms up on her lap and stared at the crescents of red. Her stomach roiled. In another minute, she would have to run from the service and find a quiet thicket in which to be sick.

  Heat, nothing more. She was simply hot and thirsty and missing home.

  “Now let us pray for this nation to repent, that we may keep it free for all men, as Jesus keeps us free.” The preacher’s voice rose in a prayer filled with such devotion and passion he surely talked directly to God, believed God stood right beside him on the boat deck.

  The congregation called out amens and other agreements as though they too experienced God’s nearness.

  A chill wrapped around Esther despite the July heat. She glanced up to see if clouds suddenly obscured the sky. No, the sun still shone as yellow as Zach’s hair, the sky as blue as Griff’s and Zach’s eyes, as warm as the looks the men gave her.

  She forgot to suppress her sigh of relief when the congregation rose to sing a closing hymn.

  “Didn’t you like it, Miss Esther?” Ned asked.

  “I liked it fine.” Esther ruffled the boy’s curly, dark hair. “I am simply a bit sleepy.”

  “We’ll see that changes.” Griff held out his arm. “Let me escort you out. You might be stopped too much or surrounded by children if you don’t go with me.”

  She hesit
ated. His arm, muscular and as solid as a tree trunk, appeared capable of sweeping any obstacle from her path. The children couldn’t hold back a tide of hens, let alone men, women, and children.

  She touched his forearm as lightly as possible with her fingertips. Griff grasped her hand and drew her closer to his side, close enough for her skirt to brush against him with each step. Too close. Too intimate. They looked like a pair, a couple.

  They came face to face with Zach, whose tight expression pronounced how he felt about her clinging to Griff’s arm. “Right kind of you to help her, Cousin.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

  Esther started to snatch her hand free.

  Griff caught her fingers in his and held them. “Did you think she could get through this crowd without it?”

  “You don’t need to be holding her hand.” Zach spoke in a low voice so it didn’t carry to others swirling around them, but they knew something wasn’t right. Many stopped to stare, leaned forward to listen.

  Griff thrust Esther’s hand toward Zach as though it weren’t attached to her arm. “Don’t make a scene and embarrass her.”

  Zach clasped Esther’s fingers, and Griff stalked away.

  Esther would have yanked herself free, voicing the words burning on the tip of her tongue—I don’t belong to either of you like a dog bone—but she didn’t want to make a scene.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Zach asked as though nothing discomfiting had occurred. “We special-ordered lemons just for today. Once a year we get ’em up here.”

  Lemons once a year when they weren’t much of a treat to her.

  “Thank you. I am thirsty.” Head high, Esther followed Zach from between the benches and into a clearing laid out with tables groaning under the weight of the food upon them. Simple fare but lots of it. The pastor asked a blessing, and lines formed around the tables.

  “Go sit with Mrs. Tolliver,” Zach said. “I’ll bring you food.”

  “But you don’t know what I like,” Esther began.

  “I’ll guess.” And Zach was gone.

  Gritting her teeth, Esther located Mrs. Tolliver—easy to do with her height—and helped her spread out quilts for sitting upon. She rounded up the boys from the game of tag they played with several other boys who looked like them. Cousins, most likely. Neffs, judging from the sky-blue eyes and dark hair. Tall, agile, energetic, they made her smile. Her annoyance with Griff and Zach manhandling her vanished. If she remained with the children, she would enjoy herself.

  And she did. After she consumed as much of the meal as she could manage, she joined the throng of young people swarming over one end of the clearing. For the sake of her dress, she didn’t participate in any games, but she directed and supervised several, organizing teams for races, helping judge athletic feats.

  “How d’you know so much ’bout them things?” one pretty young lady with honey-blonde hair asked Esther.

  “I have four brothers. I learned or got bored.” She held out her hand. “Esther Cherrett.”

  “Maimy Tolliver.” The young woman shook Esther’s hand with vigor. “I’m kin to your Tollivers. D’you wanta sit a spell? I’m fair worn out myself, and we’ve still got the dancing.”

  They found a bench someone had dragged up from the ferry landing and settled on it.

  “I’ve been wantin’ to come pay a call,” Maimy said. “But we don’t have no momma, and I’ve got six young’uns to see to.”

  Since she looked about eighteen, Esther asked, “Siblings?”

  “Huh?”

  “Brothers and sisters?”

  “Not my own young’uns.” Maimy laughed from her belly, then sobered. “Can’t marry ’til someone else gets old enough to see to things. Pa needs me at home.” She sighed. “Two years or more, and I’ll be too old by then.” She gazed across the clearing, her face a picture of longing.

  She was gazing at Zach engaged in conversation with a handful of men who looked a great deal like him.

  Esther’s stomach knotted. Her dinner landed in the pit of it like lead from a mining tower. “Were you two courting?” she dared ask.

  Maimy snorted. “With our families at one another’s throats half the time? No, ma’am. But he’s been right nice to me, and if this feudin’ ever stops . . .” She sighed, shrugged, and laughed. “But listen to me mournin’ on. Tell me why you came up here.”

  “To teach.”

  Maimy gave Esther a sidelong glance.

  “I wanted to see someplace besides Seabourne.”

  “You’re getting old. Lookin’ for a husband?” Maimy’s glance went to Zach again.

  “Not looking,” Esther assured her. “I’ll teach here as long as I’m needed or wanted, then move along.”

  “Then I guess we can be friends if you don’t want to take the man I want.”

  Blunt. Honest. Open. Enough to take aback a body used to subterfuge of most people, but Esther’s heart warmed toward the younger woman.

  “Yes, I’d like a friend here closer to my age. Do you want to send your brothers and sisters to my school? I’ll ask Mrs. Tolliver if it’s all right.”

  “I’d like that, but it’s a long walk and we need them to work.”

  “How long?”

  “An hour, maybe more. Maybe when the harvest and butchering are in.” Maimy looked wistful. “Someone in our family should read.”

  No one in their family read?

  Esther knew that some of the fishermen and their families on the coast had little education, but usually at least one person had made a way to get some knowledge of letters.

  More and more, as the afternoon drifted into evening and people overcame their shyness enough to talk to Esther, she learned that in Maimy’s family, the fact that no one recognized the letters for anything more than what they were—the alphabet—was more common than not. Only the Neffs seemed to have some book learning because of a relation who had gone away to work and then had come back knowing all about letters making up words. Maybe if a few people asked, she could teach a little reading and writing to the adults too.

  Even without reading, though, they knew about song and poetry, storytelling and music. Right at sunset, someone brought out a fiddle, others produced more fiddles, and the true festivities began. From children to grandmothers many times over, people got up and danced. Liza, Brenna, and even Jack and Ned joined in for a while, then the younger ones went home with Mrs. Tolliver, and only Liza and Esther remained with the dancers. Griff was nowhere to be seen, but Liza looked so pretty and happy in a white dress she had stitched with pink flowers, she seemed to float on a glowing cloud.

  Zach presented himself to Esther and asked for a dance. “You promised me,” he reminded her.

  So she had—before her conversation with Hannah. Before she began to wonder if Zach were as gentle and kind as he seemed. Before she was certain Hannah wanted to be rid of her but didn’t know why.

  Zach proved an excellent dancer, guiding her through the steps that differed from the ones she knew already, but her old ease with him had gone. His touch made her uncomfortable, especially with the way he kept looking at her—too boldly, his gaze not on her face as though she wore some décolleté gown instead of one with a modestly rounded neckline and a ruffle adding to its modesty.

  “I want to sit down,” she said when the movement of the dance brought their hands together again.

  “You can’t. It’s the middle of the set. You’ll ruin it for everyone.”

  And so she would, so she continued, avoiding his gaze, looking for Liza or Griff and a way to leave.

  But no one was leaving. In between dances, to give everyone a rest, the assembly paused to sing ballads, some old, some Esther knew, some local. One young man with sunset-red hair that made Esther’s eyes narrow stood up and began to recite a poem about two families in strife. The rhyme and meter were imperfect, but Esther’s fingers itched for a pencil to write down the words, preserve them in the event the strife of the families exploded into full vio
lence once again. Without writing implements at hand, she leaned forward to ensure she caught every word in an attempt to commit them to memory.

  When the dancing recommenced, Zach appeared before her again and held out his hands. “You promised me another dance.”

  “I did?” She didn’t recall doing so. On the contrary, she was quite certain she had said no such thing.

  So why would he lie?

  She couldn’t get out of going onto the dancing area with him. It would have made a scene, which she didn’t want.

  He behaved himself this time, though, introducing her to several of his cousins. She danced with a few of them too. The night grew dark. More mothers took the younger children home. Old people either departed or nodded on benches and quilts. And the music continued to play. Esther continued to accept invitations, more and more of them from Zach, as many of the men went home, no doubt, as work recommenced the next day. Some returned, their faces flushed. She suspected why. When one approached her in the movement of a dance, she caught a hint of spirits and understood—someone was serving liquor in the woods. She braced herself for trouble.

  None came. The music slowed. The dances grew more focused on couples staying together throughout the piece, and Esther found herself with Zach for the fifth, perhaps sixth, time.

  “I’d rather not,” she began.

  But he gripped her hands and drew her onto the trampled flat grass and slipped his arm around her waist. It was a waltz, but he held her closer than the dance required, closer than she liked.

  “Let me go, Zach,” she said in a quiet voice.

  She tried to pull free but couldn’t draw too much attention to herself. She’d done enough of that already tonight. All the couples seemed to be dancing that close, including Liza with a young man who bore the golden hair of the Brookses. And there was Griff at last, his arm around Maimy’s waist. She laughed up at him, and his smile for her held pure affection.

  Esther’s middle twisted. He hadn’t come near her, hadn’t once offered to dance with her, but appeared to waltz with his cousin several times removed.

  Not that Esther cared with whom he danced. If he didn’t want to dance with her, he was free not to. But her teeth hurt from clenching them, so she tried to turn her attention back to Zach.