A Mischief in the Snow (7 page)

Martha Sloan hurried forward, her cardinal cloak flying, her displeasure apparent. Fearing what might come next, Charlotte interrupted the young men herself.

“Good day, Mr. Godwin!” she called out loudly. They stopped, exchanged a few more words in threatening undertones, and took several steps apart. Lem stooped to retrieve his hair ribbon, while Alex turned to pant and glower.

“I've been hoping we'd find a chance to speak,” Charlotte said more gently.

“Then I'm sorry, madam! For I am off to write something down, as I should have done
before.”

Why, she asked herself, did she suddenly think the same? Wasn't there something she, too, had meant to write down, and remember?

“Could we talk later?” she asked. “When you have a moment to spare? You'll return this afternoon?”

“I most certainly will,” Godwin assured her with a fresh sneer. “And then, I will have something for Mr. Longfellow! Good day to you, madam,” he said, touching his hat to her, giving no sign to Lem or to Martha Sloan as he stalked away.

Mattie stood at Lem's shoulder, her pale blue eyes snapping, though she somehow managed to hold her tongue.

“I see,” said Charlotte, breaking the charged silence,
“that you've given Henry his chance on the ice—and this year, he's learned to stop himself before charging into others. An accomplishment to be proud of.”

“Agreed,” Lem answered, addressing her thoughts rather than her exact words. “Yet sometimes, a
man
has no choice.”

“Lem Wainwright,” Martha exploded, “what could be lost in one turn with him, out on the ice?” He looked at her in some confusion.

“Nothing, I suppose,” he finally answered. “Was it what you wanted, Mattie?”

“No—but just how should I have refused? You'd already gone off to prove you skate better than I do. Didn't you?
Didn't you?”

“What if I did?”

The girl turned her face to the sky, her lips pressed tightly together.

“Well,” said Lem at last, “there's nothing to be done about any of it now, I suppose. And all that skating has made me hungry.”

“Go on, then, and try my suet cakes. My sisters may say I made them for you, but we all know how fond of them
my father is.”

Imagining they must have further words meant only for one another, Charlotte turned away to examine ideas of her own. The exchange she'd heard earlier had been a curious one; she wondered just what Alex Godwin had suggested. She also asked herself if Lem would one day come to real blows with his apparent rival, or with any other. She hoped not, though lately she'd seen his capacity for anger grow with the rest of him. So, too, did his pride.

They would
both
be sorry, Alex had said. Did he also
threaten to make Mattie suffer? For what? And what good would it do to write his thoughts down for Richard Longfellow, instead of telling her father, or even Hannah? Was Alex about to make a bid to court Mattie himself? Or did he feel, perhaps, that she had led him on, only to make Lem burn with jealousy? If that had been the case, she'd apparently succeeded! Hardly an official matter, but such were the games, Charlotte recalled uneasily, that often occupied young men and women whose lives were still unsettled.

She wished she'd been able to ask Alex about the spoon she'd found beneath the dock, below the house he often visited. Later, she would also ask what the two women needed most, before she chose something to repay their kindness. He might tell her more about their strange companionship, and how he'd become a part of their lives. Yet to ask would intrude on things that were no concern of hers—even if he wanted to give her answers, which she doubted.

Deciding the island would remain a mystery on many fronts, Charlotte heaved a sigh and went to join Richard Longfellow. She found him still with Jonathan, discussing the state of the roads from Worcester and Concord, and the highway that led to Boston. But she soon discovered an even better reason to go back up the hill. Along the well-trampled track came a man she preferred to avoid.

In dark woolen leggings and a black great coat, Christian Rowe sidled toward the ice pond in his usual disjointed manner, watching for anything amiss. Charlotte feared he might resume his peculiar attempts to please her with unctuous praise, unnecessary advice, and comfort, the last aimed at her lengthening term of widowhood. These
things she found even more unpleasant than his previous disapproval, which had been bad enough.

She made a sign to Longfellow. In a moment, he and Jonathan saw what she did. Then the little party dissolved, as each hurried off in a different direction, seeking some distant occupation.

W
ITH A LONG
wooden paddle, Hannah Sloan finished pulling a row of brown loaves from the deep oven next to the hearth. Her face was damp and red, her linen sleeves pulled up to reveal the strength of her broad arms. She turned with the loaves, and slid them off onto a cooling board. This accomplished, she set the paddle down and went to re-latch the oven door.

“How warm it is!” said Charlotte happily, closing the door to the outside.

“It is, indeed!” said Hannah, with quite a different perspective on the matter. She wiped her brow and considered the state of her younger friend. Charlotte suspected Hannah had come to think of her as almost a part of her own family—it was not surprising, since they'd worked together for many seasons, taking care of the Howard farm. “You must be nearly frozen,” Hannah scolded. “And those boots will only hold the cold.”

Knowing it was true, Charlotte sat and removed them, and put on softer house shoes.

“Is anything worth hearing about going on down there?” Hannah asked.

“The usual.” Charlotte had already decided to keep to herself Lem's heated words with Alex Godwin, and Mattie's part in the fracas. No doubt the girl's mother would learn of it soon enough.

“The first loaves were good; these, I think, are better. Now the oven feels nearly right for rolls.”

Charlotte looked to the pan she'd filled earlier—bread dough smoothed thin, covered with a generous layer of butter, maple sugar, nuts, and cinnamon. She'd rolled it up, cut the soft log into small pieces, and placed these into a pan. They'd doubled in size.

“They'll be gobbled up in no time,” Hannah predicted.

“But what
is
it I've forgotten?” Charlotte murmured to herself. “I can't help feeling there's something.”

“Didn't you mean to start a stew?”

“Oh, yes. But still—” She went toward the cellar door. Another question from Hannah stopped her.

“That reminds me—the spoon there, on the table. That isn't one you've bought for yourself recently?”

“No. I'll tell you an interesting story—”

“I've been asking myself if it might be one of those gone missing.”

“Missing?…”

“Stolen, it's said, from Rachel Dudley. Though it's hard to believe, when you consider her husband's constable this year. Why
he
was ever elected—”

“Stolen! When, Hannah?”

“Rachel couldn't say. They've always been kept in a cupboard, locked up tight—her one small security, too valuable to use. You know the Dudleys are often in straits. But it would take some persuading to get Rachel to sell
them. That set of spoons was the one fine thing given to her by her mother on her wedding day.”

“What does her husband say?”

“John Dudley claims to know nothing, and says there's little he can do about it! Given the fact that he's often in his cups—my Samuel sees him drinking often enough at the Blue Boar—it's hard to say
what
could have happened.”

“But you do think this is one of Rachel's spoons?” Charlotte picked it up.

“Emily Bowers told me yesterday each had a flower etched onto its bowl. There was also said to be a guild mark, and that of a London maker, like what you see there.”

“Locked in a cupboard, but loved… which might explain why it was recently polished. That surprised me, when I found it.”

“Where?”

“Beneath a landing. On Boar Island.”

“What on earth were you doing
there?”

“I went skating yesterday afternoon,” Charlotte returned mildly. Her heart, however, began to beat quickly.

“Ah, my joints ache just to think of it… did you decide you'd climb up and have a chat with the two old women?” Hannah asked with growing disbelief.

“Magdalene is several years younger than you.”

“Thank you for that bit of information. If you found the spoon on the ice there, why did you not take it up to them?”

“I found it when I was about to leave, at sunset.”

Hannah considered the travels of the young woman before her, as well as those of the missing spoon, now found. “I've long told you,” she said at last, “eerie things happen near that accursed place—probably in the great house, as well. Though no worse than the high times
once had there, I'm sure. Another Merry Mount, they used to say it was. Lately, Samuel says, men have seen the strange lights again.”

“Lights and colors,” Charlotte murmured, recalling the rose mirror she'd seen over the hearth.

“Colors? I don't know about that—but I wonder what Samuel would say to hear of this?” Hannah contemplated the spoon Charlotte had just set down.

“I hope he doesn't hear of it. I'll take it to Rachel when I go back to the pond, to see if it's hers after all.”

Still pondering, Charlotte went down the cellar steps, candle in hand. Below, she bent over a barrel of sand and removed a layer of carrots, then chose two papery spheres from a nearby nest of onions, each held from touching the next by wood shavings. She took up a pan of dried cod set to soak the night before, and a small bowl of salt pork she'd cut from a hanging leg. Balancing carefully, she took these things upstairs.

On a further trip to one of the cold bedrooms above, she picked out the most shriveled potatoes in store. Soon after, the kitchen began to fill with the smell of crisping pork and fresh-cut onions. Then, she heard a knock on the back door.

Wiping her hands and face, Charlotte went to see, expecting to find women from the ice coming to visit and warm themselves. Instead, to her embarrassment, she found the answer to her earlier question. There
had
been something important, and she'd forgotten all about it— an appointment with the man who had acted as Aaron's attorney. Moses Reed had written earlier in the month from Boston, saying he wished to bring her papers to transfer a small legacy from her late husband's family.

“Mr. Reed!” she exclaimed.

The pleasant-looking man stepped inside, allowing
the door to be swiftly shut behind him. He was a few years past forty, but still quite fit; his upper face showed he'd taken the smallpox. His jaw was of greater interest, for it was covered with an amusing beard—soft curls of dark brown hairs a few inches long. Both women stared at this sight, for it was something rarely seen on the face of a gentleman, at least in New England. If beards were the fashion in other lands, here they marked men who had no fear of taunting children, or of more subtle disapproval from their peers.

Charlotte took her visitor's hat and heavy coat, noticing a glint of appreciation for her own appearance in his darting eyes. At the same time she heard Hannah hurry through one of the doors that flanked the hearth.

“Am I too early, Mrs. Willett? I fear I've startled you. Perhaps I've been somewhat forward in coming to your back door,” Moses Reed apologized. “But I see your kitchen is warm and snug, as well as busy.” He continued to assess the industry around him with his eyes and nose.

“I'm glad to see you, sir, of course! But I'm afraid, well, the truth is—”

“You had forgotten me! Never mind. There was a good chance the weather would delay my arrival, but I'm glad to say I reached Bracebridge last evening, as planned. I've since been presuming on the kindness of your minister.”

“You chose to stay with Reverend Rowe?”

“Less of an expense than the Bracebridge Inn, and more comfortable than the Blue Boar. With a large house at his disposal, I felt sure Mr. Rowe would not object… after I told him I intend to leave a donation.”

Charlotte still had to wonder at his choice, and only hoped her expression didn't reveal this fact. Moses Reed smiled, and explained further.

“I thought I might also look over the village records
kept there. Lawyers, you know, take pleasure in poking into the past. And since this was my early home, I have decided to follow the example of our lieutenant governor, and write a small history—as he has so admirably done for the whole of Massachusetts. I'm sure my work will never be as fine, but it could be useful one day. And, I have time on my hands, since that same gentleman balks at re-opening Boston's courts.”

“How well I remember the day you left us, sir!” said Hannah, returning from the front room. “We were nearly young together,” she added with a silly smile.

“Yet most would swear, Mrs. Sloan, that you are no older than my daughter,” the lawyer countered, “if, indeed, I had one.”

Charlotte now smiled as well, noticing that Hannah's apron was straighter than it had been, and her hair tidier.

“Someone with bats’ eyes might be fooled,” Hannah returned. “I am a
few
years older than you, sir, I'll admit.” Following Charlotte's example, she lowered her substantial body onto a chair. “We were sorry when you left us to read the law; my husband and I have followed your successes lately in the
Gazette.
But do you recall one winter day twenty years ago, when you and Samuel went out into the west hills together, and came back with a bear? Didn't we grow heartily sick of it, long before the fat ran out!”

“We did. We've faced lean years together, it's true. But I've also heard your good husband has since prospered— and, that more than the family purse has grown!”

“I have seven children now, including unmarried daughters. I take it, sir, that you have not yet married?”

“That is so. Might I come and meet the family a little later, Mrs. Sloan?”

“You would be most welcome! But you once called me Hannah.”

“Then Hannah it shall be again.”

“And I must see to the baking,” Hannah reminded herself, rising. “Or would you like me to leave you here?” she asked Charlotte.

“I'd better take Mr. Reed to my study, where there's sunlight.”

With the matter settled, Charlotte and Moses Reed spent the next hour warming the blue room with a fire, while examining his papers. These concerned a profit lately realized from the sale of land, a portion of which, Aaron's family had decided, must go to his widow. Since they continued a warm correspondence, Charlotte had been pleased but hardly surprised by their generosity.

“Now,” she said, after he'd explained everything to her satisfaction, and she had signed the necessary papers, “have you seen what goes on in the village today?”

“Yes, on my way here…”

“Would you consider walking back with me, by way of Mr. Longfellow's ice pond?”

“I should like that!”

“If you'll enjoy our fire here a little longer, I'll see if the baking is done.”

Moses Reed got up to examine shelves full of volumes while Charlotte left the study. She passed through the front room, then re-entered the kitchen.

“I could hardly restrain myself,” Hannah confessed moments later, “after I'd mentioned that bear! I'm sure I thought of it after taking a good look at the stuff all over his face. Why ever did he grow such a thing, do you suppose?”

“I asked him that question myself.”

“You didn't!”

“Oh, I did.” Charlotte's eyes were bright with amusement. “After all, he sat there stroking it as if he wanted to explain.”

“He answered you, then?”

“He told me it's considered impressive by the juries he addresses, and he's found it a help when he attempts to worry witnesses. He also told me that while few have yet emulated him in Boston, he hopes to set a new style, to save importing razors.”

“Politics,” Hannah intoned darkly.

“I wonder if I should ask Richard if he'd consider joining Mr. Reed in a more natural state… to disappoint London's merchants?”

“Far too natural, if you ask me! Would it be any different, I wonder, from kissing a puppy?” Hannah covered a basket by now filled with rolls, each well drizzled with sugar frosting. “Here, take these off while they're hot. And tell my children, if you see any of them still out, they should be home doing their chores!”

“Of course,” Charlotte said, planning to do no such thing. “Oh—I nearly forgot the spoon!” She took up the shining object, and nestled it gently in a corner of the basket. Then, she went back to fetch Moses Reed.