Whisper Falls (29 page)

“Mark knows where your new master and mistress live.”

“Mama told me you found a job.” She scowled. “It is too soon. I am still learning to spin.”

“It's the best time. There are many families in Raleigh who need your skills now.”

“They would like it if I could spin, too.”

I stared at Phoebe in surprise. She had never challenged me before. Did this bode ill for the rest of the morning?

My mother came out onto the porch. She wore a new green jacket over her best gown, and a straw bonnet trimmed with blue ribbons. The pink of excitement glowed in her cheeks. She took a few steps forward but stopped as she caught sight of Mark.

“Susanna?”

I forced a calm smile to my lips. “Mr. Lewis, this is my mother, Mrs. Anne Crawford. Mama, Mr. Lewis. He'll accompany you and Phoebe.”

“Why?”

“Mr. Lewis is a friend of mine.” I smiled confidently. “He's familiar with Raleigh. I think it's wise to have a man for protection on the journey.”

Mark coughed.

“I suppose you are right.” My mother nodded curtly. “Are we taking the wagon?”

“Certainly. It would be too miserable to walk.”

“Will he drive or will you?”

“He will.”

“No, I won't,” Mark said from beside me. “I've never driven a wagon.”

Unease whispered down my spine. They used bikes and horseless wagons in his century. It was a foolish oversight on my part not to have considered this information earlier. I nibbled my knuckle, pondering what to do.

My mother dismissed the problem with a wave of her hand. “You may drive, then.”

I took a deep breath and braced for the argument that was about to ensue.

“Naturally, I cannot come. I have chores to return to.”

Phoebe's chin thrust forward stubbornly. “I shall not go without you. Mr. Lewis might be your friend, but he is a stranger to me.”

“I agree with Phoebe. You must come,” my mother said, her voice uncharacteristically firm.

I pressed my lips together, biting back words of anger. It wouldn't be wise to lose my patience with them.

“I cannot leave Worthville without the Pratts's permission.”

“Very well,” Mama said, “we shall seek permission. We can stop at their house first. I shall make it right with Drusilla Pratt.”

I directed a despairing glance at Mark. It was a perfectly logical suggestion and one which I must avoid no matter what. The trip would be abandoned if Mrs. Pratt knew, and my only chance to save Phoebe would be lost forever.

Fear lodged like a hard knot in my chest. I would accompany them, and the consequences would be grave.

“If we are gone a brief time, perhaps it will be acceptable.”

“Are you sure…?” my mother began.

“Indeed, Mama.” I gave her a determined nod. “We are wasting the daylight. I shall hitch the horse.”

Mark fell into step beside me as I walked to the barn. “What will happen to you?”

“I don't know.” My fears could be dealt with later. For the next few hours, it was my sister's future that concerned me most.

The wagon ride did nothing to improve my spirits.

I was weary of staring at a horse's rump. The hard ruts of the Raleigh Road rocked our small wagon from side to side, rattling my teeth until they ached. In the back, Phoebe talked to Mark. I couldn't make out their words, annoying me greatly. Whatever reluctance Phoebe had experienced before the trip, she had certainly lost her concerns quickly.

My mother slept, her head bumping against my shoulder.

Agitation ruined my pleasure in the journey. Here I was, in a lovely forest under a clear sky, traveling with my mother, sister, and dearest friend, as if on a summer outing. My first trip to Raleigh should have been a treat, yet foreboding wrapped around me like a stifling woolen cloak. My mistress would be outraged when I didn't return for dinner. If I didn't reappear by the time my master arrived, the Pratts might sound the alarm. I had no reasonable explanation for my long absence.

The road crested a hill. Raleigh spread out below us.

I halted the horse. “Mama, wake up.”

Phoebe stood in the wagon's back, her hands gripping my shoulder as she cooed with delight. “I've never seen a town so big.”

“Nor have I,” my mother said.

I couldn't speak, overcome with awe.

With a flick of the reins, we rumbled down the Raleigh side of the ridge and joined the people and wagons streaming along wide streets, heading toward the center of the city. Everywhere there were houses and stores under construction. The noise was fearsome: hammers pounding, carts creaking, horses snorting. Sawdust floated in the air. Shopkeepers bargained with ladies carrying baskets. Meat roasted on an open hearth.

Raleigh was busy and loud, and I loved it at first sight.

Eighteenth-century Raleigh looked about the same today as it had when I was there five days ago—except it had more people, more noise, and more stink.

I pointed toward the end of the street. “That patch of dirt is Union Square. Let's stop there.”

Susanna pulled the wagon to a stop under a large oak near the meetinghouse. While she was securing the horse, I jumped off the back and turned to Phoebe. “May I help you down?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Lewis.” She smiled brightly while I lifted her from the wagon. “Where are we?”

“We're in the center of Raleigh.” I gestured around us. “Most of the shops and houses circle around this square for several blocks.”

“Where do you live?”

I gestured vaguely toward the west. “My home is outside of town.”

“Where do the Etons live?”

Great. She seemed like a sweet kid, and I'd have to lie to her, too. I had no idea where the Etons lived—as if it mattered. “Not too far. We'll show you in a little while.”

She nodded happily, her eyes flicking to the people passing by.

Their mother climbed down, fanning herself. “I shall stay with the horse,” she said. “You make the arrangements.” She walked to Phoebe and gently kissed her on the cheek. “You are about to do a very grown-up thing. A job is an important part of life. I am proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mama,” the girl whispered.

After settling the horse in Mrs. Crawford's care, the three of us took off, heading south from the square, pausing at a busy intersection. We stood on a boulevard, long and straight, lined on each side by buildings like jagged teeth. In 2016, Fayetteville Street had hotels, banks, and a performing arts complex. But today we were looking at the newly built homes of some of Raleigh's best families.

Phoebe gasped at each new thing she saw. “Oh, Susie, do you see all of the beautiful carriages? Are they not grand?”

“Indeed, they are.”

I pointed straight in front of us and muttered into Susanna's ear, “There's the house we want. It belongs to Jonathan Palmer.”

The home was the largest on the block. In the back, there were several small wooden buildings and an outhouse. Susanna headed for a side entrance. We found ourselves in a yard with brick pathways crisscrossing it. There was no grass, just tilled up dirt and a small vegetable garden.

Susanna stopped before the largest of the buildings in the backyard and turned to me. “I shall talk. Please don't say anything.”

“Sure.”

Susanna climbed the few steps and entered the central hallway. Phoebe waited outside uncertainly, clutching a bulging cloth bag.

I followed Susanna, who had halted outside a small front room. An older woman sat at a delicate desk, writing in a journal.

“Hello,” Susanna said and waited.

The older woman continued to write.

After a minute passed with the woman ignoring us, I lost my patience. There was no reason to be so rude. “Are you Mrs. Palmer?”

The woman looked at me with arched eyebrows. Susanna glared at
me
.

“No, I am Mrs. Tinsley,” she said. “I'm the housekeeper. How may I help you?”

Susanna elbowed me aside. “We heard there might be an opening for a maid.”

Her eyes lit with interest. “Indeed, there is.” She lay down her quill, stood, and stepped from the little room. Craning her neck, she studied Susanna from head to toe. “Are you here for the position?”

“No, it's not for me. We're here for my sister, Phoebe.”

Her sister stepped into view and curtsied. “Please, ma'am.”

Mrs. Hensley's smile froze. “How old are you, Phoebe?”

“Twelve.”

The housekeeper shook her head. “We take maids no younger than fourteen.” Her gaze latched onto Susanna. “I suggest you take her home and let her play with her dolls a few years longer.”

Phoebe's chin lifted. “I don't play with dolls. I am an excellent needlewoman.”

Susanna's face had flushed bright red. She grabbed her sister's hand and hurried down the brick path and out the gate.

That had not gone well. I chased after them. “Where next?”

“We should visit Mr. Haywood's home. I prefer to find a housemaid position.”

Phoebe halted on the side of the street. “Was that Mrs. Eton's housekeeper? Why did she treat us so?”

“Wrong house, Phoebe,” I said. “We'll try another.”

Fortunately, I'd copied an old map, complete with names of prominent families and addresses. We doubled back toward Union Square. All around us, the sounds of pounding hammers made it clear that there was a building boom in the new state capital. Taverns obviously had come first, because they were everywhere.

I halted under a tree. “That's the Haywood House.”

We crossed the street and repeated the scene from the Palmers. The housekeeper here was even nastier than the last one. Yes, the position was in the house. And no, Phoebe was too young.

Not good. It was weird to be wishing someone would put a twelve-year-old to work, but I was. Better that than marry an abusive pervert in four years.

“Susie, who are the Haywoods? Why did we come to their house?”

Susanna looked at me with pleading eyes.

“Sorry about that. It's my fault. I'm a little lost. The Etons live nearby.” I leaned closer to Susanna and spoke directly in her ear. “The tavernkeeper had two more suggestions. One for kitchen maid and one for laundry maid. She wasn't too sure about the laundry maid's family.”

“Let me decide.” Anxiety seemed to radiate off of her like a fever.

“What if we can't find—?”

“Stop.” She shook her head. “I shall not take her back to Worthville.”

“You can't leave her here on the street.”

“Hush.” Her voice was rough.

That must be the 1796 version of
shut up
.

We continued down the block and paused at the corner. Opposite us sat a big—by 1796 standards—house. It was surrounded by a white picket fence. A carriage rolled to a stop before the front gate and a middle-aged woman got out, followed by two teens.

Susanna tapped me. “Is this the home of the Etons?”

I gave the map a quick look and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” I watched the woman curiously. She was smaller than Susanna and wore clothes that looked nice for around here. “She could be your mistress one day.”

“Indeed.” Susanna stared at the older woman intently. The road cleared, and we could've gone on, but she didn't move.

“Susie, is that lady Mrs. Eton?”

“Yes, I believe she is.”

“Then why are we standing here?”

“Hush, please. I'm pondering an idea.”

“Let's not wait.” Phoebe took off.

Susanna and I exchanged glances, then chased after her.

“Please, ma'am?” Phoebe called. “Are you Mrs. Eton?”

The woman turned and smiled. “I am. How may I help you?”

Susanna stepped in front of her sister. “We are here about a job.”

The lady's bright blue eyes had narrowed in confusion. “We have no open positions at present.”

“But you will, surely, in the coming months.”

“We anticipate needing a kitchen maid this fall.” The woman's gaze sharpened. “Have you served in a kitchen?”

“I am asking for my sister. Her talent with a needle is exceptional. Phoebe is a sweet girl. Eager to do your bidding. You won't be disappointed.”

“How old is she? Twelve? Thirteen?” At Susanna's nod, the lady's expression shifted into polite but firm refusal. “I am sorry. I don't hire servants so young.” She went up the brick steps to her front door.

Susanna stared after her, so stricken it hurt to see.

I leaned closer. “We can go to the Whitakers.”

“Phoebe would be better off here. I would have spent many years working for the Etons; this tells me they must be a good family.”

“Okay, if that's what you want.” The woman had nearly disappeared into the shadows of the home. “Mrs. Eton,” I said, “if we could have one more moment.”

“Yes?” The woman glanced over her shoulder, her face stern with annoyance.

“Please,” Susanna said, her voice squeaking with panic, “if you don't take her, my master will.”

Mrs. Eton gazed at Susanna thoughtfully for a long moment, then dismissed her children with a nod. Once the front door had closed behind her, she came back down the stairs and stopped before Susanna.

“Is your master cruel?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Susanna's breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling so hard I was afraid she might hyperventilate.

The lady clasped Susanna's hands and nodded slowly. “I sense your master injured you grievously,” Mrs. Eton said. “A wound on your arm. Am I correct?”

“You are.” Susanna gulped a sob.

“Let me see.” The lady eased the sleeve up and pushed the bandage away. The silence lengthened. Finally, she shook her head and met Susanna's gaze. “Your master gave you this burn with intention.”