Whisper Falls (22 page)

Even the dough seemed too miserable to rise. “Double, you little fools,” I muttered at the bread pans. “Higher.”

There was a spate of giggles behind me. I crossed to the back door and found three young ladies squirming on the stump, hands clapped over their mouths.

“Phoebe,” I said, attempting to maintain a stern scowl, “what is the matter?”

She shook her head, smothering her laughter.

“And you, Delilah, did someone give you a dose of giggle medicine?”

“No, Susanna.” She slid from the stump and thumped up the stairs to my side. I sat on the top stair and pulled her onto my lap.

“Very well, young ladies. Tell me why you laugh.”

The two older girls exchanged glances, then giggled anew. Phoebe hopped to her feet. “You scolded the bread dough.”

Dorcas stood, too. “You called them little fools.”

My lips slid into a smile. “So I did. Do you think the loaves will obey me?”

Three heads wagged in unison.

“Nor do I. Now, I think the time has come for little girls to complete their chores.” I tugged Delilah's braid. “You must return to your sampler.”

“I don't like to sew.” Her lower lip rolled.

“It is an important lesson for a little girl to learn.” I rose, carried her down the stairs, and set her firmly on the ground. “You must go now. Dorcas will oversee.”

Dorcas and Delilah clasped hands and broke into a run.

With the little girls gone, I turned to Phoebe. “Did you have a lesson with Mrs. Pratt today?”

“I did. She says I learn quickly. Deborah was much displeased by the praise.”

I couldn't stop a smile. My sister's natural talent was gratifying. “If you're done, it's time to go home.”

“First, let me tell you the news.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Bad news?”

“Oh, no,” she beamed, “it's good.”

I gestured for her to follow me into the kitchen. “Come. We shall sit.”

Crossing to the bench, I picked up a bowl of butter beans that needed to be shelled. Phoebe perched beside me, kicking her legs.

“So, tell me your tale. I have to check the dough soon.”

She hopped off the bench and twirled, her arms outstretched. “There will be a wedding.”

“For whom?”

“Mama.”

This should not be news. We had known for several days that she had accepted Mr. Shaw's offer. Unless…

The news was the
date
. I sucked in a deep breath and said with more calm than I felt, “When is the wedding?”

She sighed with anticipation. “It's in three weeks. The Sunday after Independence Day. She says it will be small and quiet, but there will be a feast and cake.”

I crushed the beans and pods under clenched fists. We needed more time. It was too soon, for propriety and for me. Why could they not wait a respectable six months from his first wife's passing?

I bowed my head and avoided Phoebe's gaze. “Have they given a reason for that date?”

“Mr. Shaw's sister must leave the day after the wedding to return to her home in Virginia. And Mr. Shaw is most anxious to have a Baptist preacher perform the service. The Baptists have their turn in the meetinghouse on July tenth.”

July tenth. A disgracefully short period of mourning for the late Mrs. Shaw. I had hoped to have many more weeks before Mr. Shaw had control of my sister. But time had run out. Although I didn't like making decisions this quickly, they were giving me no choice.

“What does Mr. Shaw say about your spinning lessons?”

“If I don't learn well, he will find me an apprenticeship in some other trade.” My sister's brow crinkled with concern.

After seeing the indenture Mark had found, I had known this was the outcome. But somewhere, deep in my heart, I had hoped the document was wrong. Mr. Shaw had always struck me as the meek, dull sort—not interesting enough to earn the animosity I felt toward him now.

“Did Mama hear him say that?”

“Yes, but she believes that I shall do well with spinning and he will let me stay home. What do you think?”

“He will bind you out.” My mother was daft—willing to take on the care of another woman's children at the risk of losing her own. “I shall look for the perfect place for you. Would you like my help?”

“Oh, thank you, Susie.” She snuggled against me. “I shall not worry if you are involved. Shall we be together?”

“I hope so.”

“Shall we stay in Worthville?”

“We shall not.” I spat out the response as if it tasted foul.

My sister jumped at my vehemence. “Do you not like it here?”

“I should as soon be a tavern wench as work in this house.”

“A tavern wench?” she repeated, her mouth a perfect circle of horror. “Surely not.”

“Indeed, I would leave tomorrow if it were possible.” I sat on the bench and attacked the butter beans with vigor. They could not, fortunately, fight back. “It might be the very job I seek when I move to Raleigh.”

Her eyes grew large and round. “Mr. Shaw won't approve.”

For the first time since I had learned of their engagement, I tried to imagine my mother with her betrothed, but his image kept merging with my first stepfather. Both were short of body and long of face, with eternally disapproving expressions. Perhaps my mother had a fondness for sullen men.

“I am glad to remind you Mr. Shaw has no authority over me.”

“Mama will try to persuade you otherwise.”

“She won't succeed.” My jaw flexed at the thread of anger which had never completely faded. Mama had stood by as her second husband bound me out according to his own whims. Even now, she would allow her last natural child to live the same terrible fate as I, turning Phoebe's future over to a man who had clearly shown himself to be undeserving of respect. My mother would receive no further consideration from me.

“What are we to do?” Phoebe said with a catch in her throat.

I brushed empty pods from my apron with brisk hands. “I shall take care of you.” I held up a thoughtful finger.

“How are your stitches? Have you any pillowcases or napkins completed? There are plenty of jobs for a girl who is clever with a needle.”

“I am quite skilled with insects. I have nearly finished a handkerchief with bees. Would you like to see?”

“Of course. I shall come to visit soon enough. Now, shoo. It's time for me to check the bread and prepare dinner.”

She stumbled through the door and skipped from view, the tune she hummed floating in the air.

The rest of the day dragged. I had to talk to Mark. He must come.

Evening finally arrived. With the chores done, and Jedidiah at his lessons, I hurried to the cave without fear of detection. When Mark appeared at the top of his hill, I gestured for him to hurry.

“What's up?” he said, leaping through the narrow ribbon of the falls. “Is everything okay?'

I shook my head. “We must move my sister by Independence Day.”

It would've made me really happy if Susanna was joking, but the look on her face made it clear that she was dead serious.

I said with exceptional restraint, “Independence Day is barely a week away.”

She nodded grimly. “It is fast, I know.”

“Fast?” Okay, I was beginning to lose my restraint. “How about insane?”

“Difficult, perhaps, but hardly insane.”

“Why do we have to move her so quickly?”

“My mother plans to wed Mr. Shaw on July tenth.”

Damn. “Okay, that's a good reason.”

Her hands twisted in the folds of her apron, her only sign of agitation. “What have you learned so far?”

“Nothing much.” I must be as crazy as she, because I was already sifting through ways to ramp up the speed. “I thought we had months.”

“We must look for jobs in a dressmaker's shop, or we may find a large household which requires a skilled needlewoman.”

“Right. What, exactly, can a skilled needlewoman do?”

“Embroidery, hemming, and mending.”

I snorted. “How large does a household have to be to afford someone who does nothing but stitch all day?”

“Very large. And she would certainly be assigned other duties.”

“How many large households will Raleigh have?”

Her face scrunched in thought. “Three or four.”

I felt like one of those cartoon characters whose eyes were popping out of my head on threads. “Really? It ought to be easy when I have three to choose from.”

“Or four.” She ignored my sarcasm. “Phoebe's needlework is truly exquisite. A wealthy family will want her.”

Here was the first weird side effect of being with Susanna: the things she needed me to do. Alexis had only asked for trivial stuff. I'd done some of it to keep the peace and blown off the things I really, really didn't want to do. But in Susanna's case, she asked for crazy-important, scary-as-hell, life-and-death things, which I couldn't blow off.

“Let me make sure I understand. First, I'll find your one-talent sister a job with a rich family living near the state capital. And second, we'll move her there, all within the next week.”

“Precisely.” She gave me the kind of smile a teacher gives to an idiot who has finally said something smart.

“Okay.” Crazy or not, I felt engaged by the challenge. It would be a tough, non-stop push to succeed, but already I could feel the energy flowing. “What's the plan?”

“You should start by checking with your web for large households.”

“My web? Great idea. I'll give that a try.” I pulled out the print-out from the 1799
Raleigh Register
. “As it happens, I did find a family like that. The Etons sound rich. Do you know who they are?”

“Mr. Nathaniel Eton was a great hero in the war. He fought most bravely and will soon serve the people of North Carolina in our new government.”

“Sounds like they like to have fun. They throw parties and serve sonker.”

Susanna blinked. “Sonker? Are you sure?” She snatched the document and scanned quickly. Her lips moved as she read the article. “How can this be?”

“What's the problem?”

“Nobody in the county knows the recipe but my mother and I,” she said, the words so faint I leaned forward to hear.

“How can you know that?”

“The recipe is a secret.” She looked up, a smile brightening her face into something amazingly beautiful. “Do you know what this means? I may be the cook for the Etons.”

“So, this is good?”

“Indeed.” She read the article again.

The news disturbed me. It reminded me that our time together might end. The falls would stop, or we would stop. The fracture in time would heal.

I had to put it from my mind. It would drive me insane if I focused on Susanna's future instead of the search for Phoebe's job.

“I have a logistical question. How long will it take to get to Raleigh from here?”

“An hour or more by horse,” she murmured. “Hours by foot.”

“What about your mother? Won't she have to agree to Phoebe's job?”

“Indeed. I shall assume that task.” She folded the document and handed it back to me. “I am determined to persuade her. The larger problem is to keep the secret from Mr. Shaw. So I must wait until all of the details are worked out. The more time she has to consider my plan, the more likely she will talk with him. And that I cannot permit.” As her smile faded, her eyes narrowed with fear. “We must settle my sister's future by Independence Day. Please say you'll help us.”

The odds were against us. There were no known jobs. We had an immature girl with a doormat for a mother and a jerk for a stepdad-to-be. Susanna couldn't leave Worthville to run any negotiations, and I—who had no experience with eighteenth century behavior—would be her sole set of eyes and ears.

Just when I thought I understood how big the problem was, it got even bigger. My gut told me it was a total train wreck. But we had to win.

How was I going to pull this off?

The obstacles didn't matter. I couldn't refuse.

“I'm in.”

* * *

The hunt for a costume began as soon as my morning customers had been handled.

My first stop was the junk room—or guest bedroom, as my mother preferred to call it. I stared into the closet for so long, my eyes were starting to cross. Halloween costumes of all shapes and sizes were in there, but none that looked remotely colonial.

I was going to solve the costume problem today.

The stairs creaked. I hadn't really spoken to my mother since the wedding situation first exploded, but desperation was a great equalizer, especially since I needed information she was likely to have.

“Mom,” I called, “if you were going to a costume party, where would you look for a costume?”

“The junk closet in the guest bedroom.”

“Besides there?”

The brush of her bare feet on carpet came closer. Her head appeared in the doorway. “Are you going to a costume party?”

“Could be.”

“When?”

“Independence Day.” I faced the shelves. The back of my head had a way better poker face than the front.

“What are you going as?”

“George Washington.”

Oddly, she kissed me on the cheek.
“Guess Me!
on Hillsborough Street. If anyone has the father of our country, it would be that store.”

“Thanks.”

It took me fifteen minutes to bike there. My mom was wrong. They didn't, but they called around and sent me to another shop downtown.

Sash and Dash
was hidden between two chic boutiques. If I hadn't known exactly where to look, I wouldn't have found it. The shop smelled the way I would've expected—musty, sweaty, and thick—like the fabrics had released microscopic fibers into the air that I was breathing in. I would've brought a mask if I'd known.