butter and spoke of a different life—a civilized life—lived long ago. Their appearance seemed to unlock a storehouse of memories, and Lael saw a sudden wistfulness touch her mother’s face.
The shoes fit, but barely. Lael stood unsteadily, accustomed to being flat-footed. It was sheer work to keep from wincing. A few sets of Roger de Coverley in these and she might lose a leg too. Still, she’d manage if it would please her ma.
From the door, Ransom looked hard at her, then ran a grubby hand through hair as black as Ma’s own. “Do we have to stay for all the dancin’?”
Ma gave a slight shrug and resumed her cutting. “You’d best speak to your sister about that. I believe she’s as intent on the dancing as you are on the wedding supper.”
His eyes sparked and he looked at Lael. “Reckon you’ll get married next?”
She nearly smiled, but the sweet thought was snatched away when she looked at her mother.
Ma’s eyebrows arched. “Married? Well, I can’t imagine whom to.”
“I can,” he replied with a wide grin. “Everybody in the whole settlement knows she’s sweet on—”
“You’d best keep your tongue between your teeth, Son.” Pa’s chair, tipped back till now, came down with a decisive thud.
The rebuke settled harshly in the still cabin, and Lael watched as Ransom scampered up the loft ladder out of sight.
Looking after him, Ma’s voice wilted to a whisper. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Simon, Lael.”
Simon. They could never speak of Simon civilly, if at all. He was a Hayes and belonged to that segment of the settlement Pa had blacklisted long ago. She was glad the dim light hid her face. Glancing toward the hearth, she found Pa had resumed his reading. Privacy in a cramped cabin was hard to come by.
The snip of the scissors seemed to underscore Ma’s words. Her bent head nearly touched Lael’s own. “I don’t mind if you dance with him a time or two, but any more than that gives rise to gossip. The way he . . .” The cutting ceased as she groped for the right words. “The way he corners you for every single set is unseemly.”
Lael took a deep breath. “It means little, Ma, truly. Simon taught me the steps when I lived with them years ago. We’ve been dancin’ together since I was Ransom’s age.”
Ma’s mouth set in a firm line. “There’s no need to remind me of all that. Best leave the past alone.”
At once Lael realized her error. “But I didn’t mean—”
Ma began folding up the cut-up cloth, signaling an end to the conversation. Just as suddenly, Pa got up and unbarred the door, Nip and Tuck in tow. Lael fought the urge to follow him, to find some solace lest she spend another sleepless night. But he seemed in no more mood for conversation than her ma.
Reluctantly, Lael climbed the loft ladder to where the shadows hid her as she shed her dress. Too weary to free her hair from its tight braid, she lay down atop the worn coverlet and let her gaze linger on the fitful form of her brother. He rolled this way and that in the trundle bed, as if trying to escape a bad dream.
Bending low, she touched his dark hair, the ends curled with sweat. Tomorrow she’d teach him to make a fan from the old newspaper she’d seen spill out of the trunk when Ma was searching for the slippers. Perhaps they could sit on the porch come morning and fan themselves for a spell since Pa was allowing them to do little else. Being confined to the stifling cabin a second day couldn’t be borne.
She’d sooner face the Shawnee.
3
The next morning Lael sat imprisoned on the porch behind the screen of roses. Done with churning, she collected the ball of butter and salted it, setting it in a covered crock to carry to the springhouse. Pale yellow light framed the eastern forest, and the woods were a symphony of sound. She looked up as a joree bird called from a laurel bush. The sound was so pure it seemed to pierce her with its sweetness. She waited a few seconds
The shoes fit, but barely. Lael stood unsteadily, accustomed to being flat-footed. It was sheer work to keep from wincing. A few sets of Roger de Coverley in these and she might lose a leg too. Still, she’d manage if it would please her ma.
From the door, Ransom looked hard at her, then ran a grubby hand through hair as black as Ma’s own. “Do we have to stay for all the dancin’?”
Ma gave a slight shrug and resumed her cutting. “You’d best speak to your sister about that. I believe she’s as intent on the dancing as you are on the wedding supper.”
His eyes sparked and he looked at Lael. “Reckon you’ll get married next?”
She nearly smiled, but the sweet thought was snatched away when she looked at her mother.
Ma’s eyebrows arched. “Married? Well, I can’t imagine whom to.”
“I can,” he replied with a wide grin. “Everybody in the whole settlement knows she’s sweet on—”
“You’d best keep your tongue between your teeth, Son.” Pa’s chair, tipped back till now, came down with a decisive thud.
The rebuke settled harshly in the still cabin, and Lael watched as Ransom scampered up the loft ladder out of sight.
Looking after him, Ma’s voice wilted to a whisper. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Simon, Lael.”
Simon. They could never speak of Simon civilly, if at all. He was a Hayes and belonged to that segment of the settlement Pa had blacklisted long ago. She was glad the dim light hid her face. Glancing toward the hearth, she found Pa had resumed his reading. Privacy in a cramped cabin was hard to come by.
The snip of the scissors seemed to underscore Ma’s words. Her bent head nearly touched Lael’s own. “I don’t mind if you dance with him a time or two, but any more than that gives rise to gossip. The way he . . .” The cutting ceased as she groped for the right words. “The way he corners you for every single set is unseemly.”
Lael took a deep breath. “It means little, Ma, truly. Simon taught me the steps when I lived with them years ago. We’ve been dancin’ together since I was Ransom’s age.”
Ma’s mouth set in a firm line. “There’s no need to remind me of all that. Best leave the past alone.”
At once Lael realized her error. “But I didn’t mean—”
Ma began folding up the cut-up cloth, signaling an end to the conversation. Just as suddenly, Pa got up and unbarred the door, Nip and Tuck in tow. Lael fought the urge to follow him, to find some solace lest she spend another sleepless night. But he seemed in no more mood for conversation than her ma.
Reluctantly, Lael climbed the loft ladder to where the shadows hid her as she shed her dress. Too weary to free her hair from its tight braid, she lay down atop the worn coverlet and let her gaze linger on the fitful form of her brother. He rolled this way and that in the trundle bed, as if trying to escape a bad dream.
Bending low, she touched his dark hair, the ends curled with sweat. Tomorrow she’d teach him to make a fan from the old newspaper she’d seen spill out of the trunk when Ma was searching for the slippers. Perhaps they could sit on the porch come morning and fan themselves for a spell since Pa was allowing them to do little else. Being confined to the stifling cabin a second day couldn’t be borne.
She’d sooner face the Shawnee.
3
The next morning Lael sat imprisoned on the porch behind the screen of roses. Done with churning, she collected the ball of butter and salted it, setting it in a covered crock to carry to the springhouse. Pale yellow light framed the eastern forest, and the woods were a symphony of sound. She looked up as a joree bird called from a laurel bush. The sound was so pure it seemed to pierce her with its sweetness. She waited a few seconds