Wide is the Water Read Free

with terror in the thin white face. ‘You come in. Make him go away. I’ll tell
you.
    Mercy and the driver exchanged a quick glance. ‘I’ll wait in the sledge,’ he said. And then, elliptically: ‘Indians, maybe? But not here … not in New England.’
    â€˜No, but something. I’ll try to find out as quick as I can. If they need a doctor, maybe you could go?’
    â€˜Sure will. We all have to help each other these days. You just find out what’s up.’ He returned to the sledge, and the girl let out a great shuddering sigh of relief and reached out a hand to pull Mercy into the house.
    â€˜Who are you?’ she asked, and then paused at the soundof a faint voice from the back of the house. ‘Coming, Mother. This way.’ She pulled Mercy after her down a cold bare hall and in at the open door of what should have been the parlour. ‘Mother fell,’ she said as Mercy took in the hastily improvised bedroom and the frail old figure propped by pillows on a cot bed. Mrs. Paston? But Hart had described her as a formidable woman in the prime of life.
    â€˜I’ve done the best I could,’ the girl went on. ‘Couldn’t get her up the stairs, so Jed and I fixed the bed for her down here. But she’s hurt bad, I’m afraid. Jed’s gone for the doctor; on his snowshoes, across the fields. Quicker that way. I wish they’d come. How do you feel, Mother?’ She bent to take the old lady’s hand. ‘You’re so cold. We’re out of wood.’ She turned to explain to Mercy. ‘Jed went off at first light. I didn’t like to leave Mother. But the fire’s going out. I’ve done my best.’ She was crying like a child but must surely be in her early twenties.
    â€˜I’ll ask my driver to fetch the wood for you.’ A quick, anxious glance from the dying fire to the grey-faced, silent figure on the cot bed. ‘She looks bad. Have you sal volatile in the house, or spirits? Anything to warm her?’
    The girl shook her head. ‘Cousin Golding locked it all up before he left. Temptation out of Jed’s way, he called it, but I reckon it was just Cousin Golding’s meanness.’ She was sitting by the bed now, chafing the hands of the invalid, who seemed to have drifted off into something between sleep and unconsciousness.
    Something very odd about the girl, but no time to think about that now. Mercy hurried to the front door, found the driver waiting anxiously outside, and rapidly explained the situation.
    â€˜Sure I’ll fetch you some wood.’ He reached into a pocket. ‘And here’s something might do the old lady good. British navy rum. If that don’t warm her, there’s no hope for her. So the Goldings did cut and run?’ he asked.
    â€˜I think so. There’s just the two women and a boy. Wicked to leave them alone like that.’
    â€˜Yes.’ He spit reflectively into the snow. ‘Reckon I’d best stable the horse for the moment.’
    â€˜Oh, thank you, Mr.—’ So far he had just been the driver; now he was suddenly a friend.
    â€˜Barnes. Bill Barnes. I’ll fetch that wood in right away and get a fire going in the kitchen. You’d best warn the girl I’ll be in and out.’
    â€˜Yes. Thank you, Bill.’ She turned back into the house, her eyes filling with grateful tears at his instant, practical helpfulness.
    The door facing the invalid’s room led into a big cold kitchen. Resisting the sudden temptation to forage for food, Mercy dropped her coat on a bench, took down a mug from the big dresser, and poured a generous tot of rum. Back in the bedroom, she handed it to the girl. ‘Get her to drink this; it will do her good. Mr. Barnes will be in with wood for the fire directly.’
    â€˜In here?’ The girl seemed to shrink into herself.
    â€˜Of course.’ Mercy was still holding out the mug. ‘You