A Mischief in the Snow (8 page)

Q
UITE A GATHERING!”
the lawyer exclaimed as they left the main road and walked onto a white expanse of field, along a track increasingly muddied and marked by horses.

“The ice harvest has become a favorite day for us,” Charlotte agreed.

“Please tell me something of the village. I rarely have time to visit, and it's been too long since I saw many of my acquaintance. Hannah mentioned unmarried daughters at home. What of her sons? Are they married?”

“One of three lives in Concord now—he's expected to wed soon. The eldest brother is in Lexington, learning a trade with a cousin. Martha seems to have made her choice, but the others are still waiting.”

“Mr. Rowe tells me you've taken one of Cyrus Wainwright's children into your own home.”

“Lem is a great help—especially in the work of the dairy.”

“A promising boy, is he?”

“Interested in scientific studies, as well as husbandry.”

“Your brother's farm seems well cared for, while he's abroad.”

“I hope so.”

“Where is Jeremy now?”

“In Geneva. He's become secretary to a banker. He managed to visit us this spring, and said he approved of what we've done—but with only two mouths to feed, it's not difficult.”

“No?” Moses Reed replied with a squint. “A good many I come upon these days seem to find it hard to survive. But let me see… what has become of my old neighbors, the Bigelows?”

“Jonah suffers from a permanent congestion of the lungs, as you'll probably remember. But it hasn't yet proven to be consumptive.”

“He lost a fine wife some years ago. Nabby Bigelow would often give a good boy a ginger snap,” he smiled. “But then, Jonah was left alone with a young child in his care.”

“Ned is eighteen now, and takes care of his grandfather.”

“The way of the world. Born to a young sister of Mrs. Bigelow who lived to the west, I recall, and died in childbirth.”

“You know more of the family's history than I.”

“Possibly. We realize we're growing old when we discover we're founts of information, much of it unimportant, most unasked for,” he replied with a chuckle. “Tell me, what kind of employment supports them? Even before I left Bracebridge, Jonah could do little more than sit in the sun.”

“It's said Ned follows in Jonah's footsteps. I've even heard some remark that he resembles the grasshopper in
the fable, while he should emulate the ant. But he pleases us with his violin,” she added, now that they had begun to hear the fiddle's strains. “And he's read a great deal. They say, too, the stories he often tells at the Blue Boar are well received.”

“It sounds as if he might come to Boston, and take up the law.”

“By staying here with his grandfather, I think he may well have added years to Jonah's life. I sometimes suppose we give too little praise to those who make joyful noises.”

“Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise,”
the lawyer quoted in ringing tones. “Yet for pleasure, I doubt I would choose to watch an ant for any length of time, myself. A fiddle brings us all far better amusement.”

They began to encounter a number of villagers, and as they neared the ice, Charlotte was glad to see Diana among the crowd. Greetings were exchanged between the lawyer and Richard Longfellow, who'd earlier become acquainted in Boston; Mr. Reed bowed to Mrs. Montagu, who had heard of him. As soon as her brief smile faded, Longfellow led Reed into a discussion of town matters, which somewhat excluded the ladies.

Charlotte held out the basket she'd brought and encouraged Diana to take a maple roll, noting that she appeared wan when compared to those around them. Diana nibbled, giving only a small indication of her approval.

Moses Reed went to speak with his old friend Jonah Bigelow who sat by the fire, warming himself inside and out. Then Longfellow turned to give his attention back to his sister, but saw that she'd moved off to stand alone. In spite of his determined efforts to enjoy the day, he found himself glowering.

A year ago, Diana would have found words to describe any situation in which she found herself. Now, it seemed, she cared little for what others around her said or did. Was that the fault of her marriage? More and more, it was a thing he considered to have been ill-advised. Yet how could anyone have stopped her from accepting the captain, the year before? A brother, surely, could hope to do no more than guide a determined young heiress of nearly twenty, especially when her own mother, his stepmother, was pleased with Diana's choice. And what further trouble might Diana have found for herself, had she
not
married? Edmund Montagu did have much to recommend him, Longfellow had to admit. And they had been quite happy together, all in all, until this tragic business with the child. But he would like to know where the devil the man was now, when his wife had need of him!

“Richard?” Charlotte asked quietly.

“Hmm? Oh, thank you, Carlotta. I could use something sweet.”

“Your thoughts have soured you?”

“Once again,” he sighed.

“I'd hoped to speak with Rachel Dudley. Is she about, do you know?”

“I suppose she is. John is sitting there by the fire, next to his jug.”

Charlotte's plan was further delayed, for she'd been seen by someone else.

“Mrs. Willett! I'm pleased to find you at last,” crowed Christian Rowe, slipping beside her. “I myself have been here for hours, to make sure the day's festivities do not become
too
merry. We all know men tend to exceed propriety when they gather together, especially when they are without ecclesiastic guidance. In fact, I've
heard your young charge became involved in some form of violence earlier in the day… but what have you there?”

“Maple rolls.”

“Oh, quite wholesome! There is reason to suspect the motives of those who prepare more elegant fare—trifles, French jelly tarts, or rum balls. Those should never, I think, be served in public. I much prefer the plain delights born of our own countryside to the contrivances of more fashionable society.”

While speaking, the minister had removed a pair of dog-skin gloves. He then gave a thin smile, and blew on his exposed fingers. Taking a chance, he patted Charlotte's cheek. She stood stoically while he took his time choosing from her offered basket.

“I believe,” Rowe went on, once he held his selection between crooked digits, “that Lemuel would behave with more decorum, if he saw daily the example of an older and wiser man. Someone close by, who could instruct him in the responsibilities of manhood.”

“Closer than I, sir?” Longfellow asked sharply. It was known in the village that he'd taken Lem under his protection, if not his roof. And his situation as Mrs. Willett's nearest neighbor did give him a natural interest in the boy's welfare, as well as her own. His irritation caused him to shove his hands into his pockets; in one, he felt the shilling he'd picked up earlier. Peevishly, he decided against handing it over to the cleric.

“Yes, even closer than you, Mr. Longfellow,” Rowe returned solemnly, while he continued to watch the selectman. His stained teeth bit into the roll he held, and came up sporting small pieces of walnut.

“Have you
another
suggestion, sir?” asked Longfellow.

“I believe a husband would be more efficacious than a
neighbor, for a number of reasons. If only this lady would put her mind to accepting one, I am quite sure—”

“That is something she must decide for herself, when she is ready.”

“There's another thing I wish to accomplish at the moment, gentlemen,” Charlotte interrupted. “I will go and speak with Mrs. Dudley, as I was about to do when you first joined us, sir. Though I am honored at having my future discussed by such notable persons, at tea time. Please feel free to continue, once I've gone.”

Laughing silently, Longfellow admired her determined eyes. He also knew they had trouble with distances, so he assisted her by pointing.

“Rachel is over there with young Anne.”

“Then you'll excuse me,” she said as she walked away.

“Will I see you later?” Longfellow called, causing her to turn around.

“Whenever you wish,” she answered firmly.

“Good,” he said, giving the minister a triumphant smile.

CHARLOTTE MADE HER
way through the crowd. At the edge of the pond, she touched a bending woman on the shoulder. Rachel Dudley looked up in surprise. Then she, too, beamed to see a friendly face.

“Mrs. Willett! I'm freeing my daughter from what she likes to call her new set of pattens. She assures me she longs to be a lady now, though you see she's made a large hole in the knee of one of her stockings this afternoon.”

Rachel took a frozen strap from its buckle. Showing new front teeth, Anne smiled with relief as the heavy blade dropped off. The two women watched as the blonde-headed girl chased after her older brother. Charlotte could
not help remembering that there were once three children in the family. She was careful, however, to give no sign to remind Rachel.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Mrs. Dudley asked, while she stood and slipped her mittens back onto her hands. Each year, she seemed a little more absent, a little more tired. It was an effect less of age than of care, and perhaps too frequent quilting, Charlotte supposed; that was how the family made ends meet, beyond consuming or trading what her husband scratched from poor farmland.

“I hope you can tell me something of this.” Charlotte reached into her basket, and pulled out the spoon.

“Well, however did you—! Where
was
it?” Rachel asked, nearly overcome with amazement.

“I happened to find it… while skating on the marsh.”

“On the marsh! But—”

“Hannah told me you lost several spoons, and I thought this could be one of them. I'm sorry I can't tell you anything about the rest.” Again Charlotte hesitated, hoping she would not be asked to explain further. Rachel's pleading look forced her to add something more. “It wasn't far from your home. It was—on Boar Island.”

At this news, Rachel was speechless, and it was several moments before she nodded. She took the spoon and slipped it into her pocket.

“Thank you—very much, indeed! I feared they would all be in the hands of someone in Boston by now,” she added, her tone lowered. “At least I have one back, to help me remember. As if I could forget! You've so often been a help to us, Mrs. Willett.”

Charlotte now noticed several knots of people preparing
to leave, in conveyances that had arrived to take them home. “Will you visit me, Rachel, one morning or afternoon? When you can steal an hour or two from your house and children?”

“My husband may soon be doing the housework—at least until my temper cools,” Rachel Dudley replied, gazing toward the bonfire.

“The sun is setting…”

“Yes. In January, it often comes as a surprise. Many things do, it seems. We will have to walk a few miles if I don't urge John to find us a ride. Good-bye, and oh— thank you!” Rachel stepped forward and gave her friend an impulsive embrace. She then hurried off, calling for her children.

Charlotte was glad she did not depend on any one man for her survival—especially a man like John Dudley. For bread and shelter, many women made similar bargains. For them, pity was hardly enough.

She noticed half a dozen lanterns had been lit to combat the coming darkness. The remaining haulers would need some illumination while they finished loading. Though the cutters had already gone off to enjoy their suppers, much ice lay on a long bed of straw, awaiting a final wagon. It would be a while before the last man would leave.

She saw Longfellow take a lantern to his sister, who sat on a makeshift seat at the edge of the pond, gently rocking. Was Diana weeping? Richard helped her to her feet, giving her his arm as she walked forward, awkward as a goose. In an amazing transformation, she seemed to become a weightless sprite, drifting about the gloom.

“I thought she might like to try a pair of skates,”

Longfellow commented at Charlotte's approach. “Nothing else I do seems to improve her spirits.” They walked slowly along the bank while they waited, gaining a little warmth.

“It takes time, as you know. But a kind of peace should come before long.”