Heartfire: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume V (13 page)

“You still have not told me what the French word meant. ‘Cheek,’ however, I understand—it is a characteristic that your whole company here seems to have.”

The barrister chuckled. “I would say that it’s yourself that takes a cheeky tone with strangers, if it were not such an improper thing to say to a young lady to whom I have not been introduced. I pray you, tell me the name of your father and where he lives so I can inquire after your health.”

“My father is dead,” she said, and then added, despite her own sense of panic as she did so, “He was hanged as a witch in Netticut.”

They fell silent, all of them, and it made her uneasy, for they had nothing like the reaction she expected. Not revulsion at her confession of such indecent family connections; rather they all simply closed off and looked another way.

“Well, I’m sorry to remind you of such a tragic event,” said the Englishman.

“Please don’t be. I never knew him. I only just realized what his fate must have been. You don’t imagine that anyone at the orphanage would tell me such a thing outright!”

“But you are a lady, aren’t you?” asked the Englishman. “There’s nothing of the schoolgirl about you.”

“Being an orphan does not stop when you come of age,” said Purity. “But I will serve myself as father and mother, and give you my consent to introduce yourself to me.”

The Englishman bowed deeply. “My name is Verily Cooper,” he said. “And my company at the moment consists of Mike Fink, who has been in the waterborne transportation business but is on a leave-of-absence, and my dear friend John-James Audubon, who is mute.”

“No he’s not,” said Purity. For she saw in both Cooper
and Audubon himself that the statement was a lie. “You really mustn’t lie to strangers. It starts things off in such an unfortunate way.”

“I assure you, madam,” said Cooper, “that in New England, he is and shall remain completely mute.”

And with that slight change, she could see in both of them that the statement was now true. “So you choose to be mute here in New England. Let me puzzle this out. You dare not open your mouth; therefore your very speech must put you in a bad light. No, in outright danger, for I think none of you cares much about public opinion. And what could endanger a man, just by speaking? The accent of a forbidden nation. A papist nation, I daresay. And the name being Audubon, and your manners toward a woman being tinged with unspeakable presumptions, I would guess that you are French.”

Audubon turned red under his suntan and faced away from her. “I do not know how you know this, but you also must be seeing that I did not act improper to you.”

“What she’s telling us,” said Verily Cooper, “is that she’s got her a knack.”

“Please keep such crudity for times when you are alone with the ill-mannered,” said Purity. “I observe people keenly, that is all. And from his accent I am confident that my reasoning was correct.”

The rough fellow, Mike Fink, spoke up. “When you hear a bunch of squealing and snorting, you can bet you’re somewhere near a pig.”

Purity turned toward him. “I have no idea what you meant by that.”

“I’m just saying a knack’s a knack.”

“Enough,” said Cooper. “Less than a week in New England and we’ve already forgotten all caution? Knacks are illegal here. Therefore decent people don’t have them.”

“Oh yeah,” said Mike Fink. “Except she
does
.”

“But then, perhaps she is not decent,” said Audubon.

It was Purity’s turn to blush. “You forget yourself, sir,” she said.

“Never mind him,” said Cooper. “He’s just miffed because you made that remark about unspeakable presumptions.”

“You’re travelers,” she said.

“John-James paints North American birds with an eye toward publishing a book of his pictures for the use of scientists in Europe.”

“And for this he needs a troop along? What do you do, hold his brushes?”

“We’re not all on the same errand,” said Cooper.

At that moment the two she had seen in the river came out of the bushes, still damp-haired but fully clothed.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry you had to see so much horseflesh without no horses,” said the White one.

The Black one said not a thing, but never took his eyes from her.

“This is Alvin Smith,” said Cooper. “He’s a man of inestimable abilities, but only because nobody has cared enough to estimate them. The short one is Arthur Stuart, no kin to the King, who travels with Alvin as his adopted nephew-in-law, or some such relationship.”

“And you,” said Purity, “have been long enough out of England to pick up some American brag.”

“But surrounded by Americans as I am,” said Cooper, “my brag is like a farthing in a sack of guineas.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at the way he spoke. “So you travel in New England with a Frenchman, who is only able to avoid being expelled or, worse, arrested as a spy, by pretending to be a mute. You are a barrister, this fellow is a boatman, as I assume, and the two bathers are ...” Her voice trailed off.

“Are what?” asked Alvin Smith.

“Clean,” she said. Then she smiled.

“What were you going to say?” asked Smith.

“Don’t press her,” said Cooper. “If someone decides to leave something unsaid, my experience is that everyone
is happier if they don’t insist on his saying it.”

“That’s OK,” said Arthur Stuart. “I don’t think she knows herself what was on her lips to say.”

She laughed in embarrassment. “It’s true,” she said. “I think I was hoping that a jest would come to mind, and it didn’t.”

Alvin smiled at her. “Or else the jest that did come to mind was of a sort that you couldn’t imagine yourself making, and so it went away.”

She didn’t like the way he looked at her as if he thought he knew all about her. Never mind that she must be looking at him the same way—she
did
know about him. He was so full of confidence it made her want to throw mud on him just to show him he wasn’t carried along by angels. It was as if he feared nothing and imagined himself capable of achieving anything. And it wasn’t an illusion he was trying to create, either. He really
was
conceited; his attitude reeked of it. His only fear was that, when push came to shove, he might turn out to be even better than he thought himself to be.

“I don’t know what I done to rub you the wrong way, ma’am,” said Smith, “other than bathing nekkid, but that’s how my mama taught me it ought to be done, so my clothes don’t shrink.”

The others laughed. Purity didn’t.

“Want something to eat?” Arthur Stuart asked her.

“I don’t know, what do you have?” she said.

His eyes were still focused on her, slightly widened, his jaw just a bit slack. Oh, it was love all right, the swooning moon-in-juning kind.

“Berries,” said the boy. He held out his hat, which had several dozen blackberries down in it. She reached in, took one, tasted it.

“Oh no,” said Cooper mildly. “You’ve eaten a berry, so you must spend one month of every year in Hades.”

“But these berries are from New England, not hell,” she said.

“That’s a relief,” said Smith. “I wasn’t sure where the border was.”

Purity didn’t know how to take this Smith fellow. She didn’t like looking at him. His boldness bothered her. He didn’t even seem ashamed that she had seen him naked.

Instead she looked at Cooper. The barrister was a pleasant sight indeed. His manner, his dress, his voice, all belonged to a man that Purity thought existed only in a dream. Why was he different from other men who dressed in such a way?

“You aren’t an ordinary lawyer,” she said to him.

Cooper looked at her in surprise. And then his surprise turned to dread.

“I’m not,” he said.

What was he afraid of?

“Yes he is,” said Smith.

“No,” said Cooper. “Ordinary lawyers make a lot of money. I haven’t made a shilling in the past year.”

“Is that it?” asked Purity. It could be. Barristers did seem a prosperous lot. But no, it was something else. “I think what makes you different is you don’t think you’re better than these others.”

Cooper looked around at his companions—the smith, the riverman, the French artist, the Black boy—and grinned. “You’re mistaken,” he said. “I’m definitely the better man.”

The others laughed. “Better at what?” asked Mike Fink. “Whining like a mosquito whenever you see a bee?”

“I don’t like bees,” said Cooper.

“They like
you
.” said Arthur Stuart.

“Because I’m sweet.” He was joking, but Purity could see that his fear was growing greater. She glanced around, looking for the source of the danger.

Smith noticed the way she looked around and took it as a sign, or perhaps just a reminder. “Come on now,” said Smith. “Time for us to move on.”

“No,” said Cooper. Purity could see his resolve harden. He wasn’t just afraid—he was going to act on his fear.

“What’s wrong?” asked Smith.

“The girl,” said Cooper.

“What about her?” demanded Arthur Stuart. He spoke so truculently that Purity expected one of the men to rebuke him. But no, he was treated as if his voice had equal weight in the company.

“She’s going to get us killed.”

Now she understood. He was afraid of
her
. “I’m not,” she said. “I won’t tell anybody he’s a papist.”

“When they put your hand on the Bible and swear you to tell the truth?” asked Cooper. “You’d send yourself to hell and deny that you know that he’s Catholic?”

“I am not a
good
Catholic,” said Audubon modestly.

“Then you go to hell no matter who’s right,” said Smith. It was a joke, but nobody laughed.

Cooper still held Purity in gaze, and now it was her turn to be afraid. She had never seen such intensity in a man, except a preacher in his pulpit, during the most fiery part of the sermon. “Why are you afraid of me?” asked Purity.

“That’s why,” said Cooper.

“
What’s
why?”

“You know that I’m afraid of you. You know too much about what we’re thinking.”

“I already told you, I don’t know what anybody’s thinking.”

“What
we’re feeling
, then.” Cooper grinned mirthlessly. “It’s your knack.”

“We already said that,” said Fink.

“What if it is?” Purity said defiantly. “Who’s to say that knacks aren’t gifts from God?”

“The courts of Massachusetts,” said Cooper. “The gallows.”

“So she’s got a knack,” said Smith. “Who doesn’t?”

The others nodded.

Except Cooper. “Have you lost your minds? Look at you! Talking knowledgeably of knacks! Admitting that Jean-Jacques here is French and Catholic to boot.”

“But she already knew,” said Audubon.

“And that didn’t bother you?” said Cooper. “That she knew what she could not possibly know?”

“We all know things we shouldn’t know,” said Smith.

“But until she came along, we were doing a pretty good job of keeping it to ourselves!” Cooper rounded on Purity, loomed over her. “In Puritan country, people hide their knacks or they die. It’s a secret they all keep, that they have some special talent, and as soon as they realize what it is they also learn to hide it, to avoid letting anyone know what it is that they do so much better than other people. They call it ‘humility.’ But this girl has been flaunting her knack.”

Only then did Purity realize what she had been doing. Cooper was right—she had never let anyone see how easily she understood their feelings. She had held it back, remaining humble.

“By this time tomorrow I expect this girl will be in jail, and in a month she’ll be hanged. The trouble is, when they put her to the question of other witches she’s consorted with, whom do you imagine that she’ll name? A friend? A beloved teacher? She seems to be a decent person, so it won’t be an enemy. No, it’ll be strangers. A papist. A journeyman blacksmith. A barrister who seems to be living in the woods. An American riverman.”

“I’d never accuse you,” she said.

“Oh, well, since you say so,” said Cooper.

Suddenly she was aware of Mike Fink standing directly behind her. She could hear his breathing. Long, slow breaths. He wasn’t even worried. But she knew that he was capable of killing.

Smith sighed. “Well, Very, you’re a quick thinker and
you’re right. We can’t just go on with our journey as if it were safe.”

“Yes, you can,” she said. “I don’t normally act like this. I
was
careless. In the surprise of meeting you here.”

“No,” said Cooper, “it wasn’t meeting us. You were out here walking alone. Oblivious. Blind and deaf. You didn’t hear Al and Arthur splashing like babies in the water. You didn’t hear Mike howling miserable river ballads in his high-pitched hound-dog voice.”

“I wasn’t singing,” said Mike.

“I never said you were,” said Cooper. “Miss—what’s your name again?”

“She never said,” Fink answered.

“Purity,” she said. “My parents named me.”