Whisper Falls (30 page)

Susanna nodded.

Mrs. Eton's gaze traveled from her face to her neck to her hands. “You have more scars, do you not? Some that I cannot see?”

“Yes, ma'am.” The response was so soft, it was almost inaudible.

The lady looked at all three of us in turn, taking her own sweet time. Wagons rattled past. When her gaze reached me, it felt odd, but not in a bad way. It was intensely nice and sympathetic.

The front door creaked open. A tall man in a somber suit cleared his throat. “Mrs. Eton?”

“I shall be there shortly, Fisk,” she said, and gestured for Phoebe to approach. “Come here, little one. Tell me, what is your finest skill?”

“I embroider quite well.” Phoebe bobbed her head, a shy smile lighting her face. “I am frightfully good at stitching bees. Would you like to see?”

“Indeed, I would.”

Phoebe reached into her cloth bag and pulled something out. Mrs. Eton took the square of white cloth, bordered with hundreds of tiny bees, and smiled widely. “It is truly remarkable work. I am attending the Independence Day ball on Monday. I should very much like to carry a handkerchief embroidered with such skill.”

“You may have this one.”

“How very kind.” Mrs. Eton transferred her gaze first to me, then Susanna. “What is the hurry?”

“My mother remarries this month.”

“Her husband will bind your sister to your master?”

“He will.”

“Then we must act quickly,” she said, her voice brisk. “There
is
a new housemaid, but I believe the girl would suit as well in the kitchen. Therefore, I shall take Phoebe in and provide for her education, room and board. She will accept a position in the house, embroider linens or garments when asked, and perform any other duties as required until her eighteenth year.”

Beside me, Susanna swayed and clutched at me for support. I slid an arm around her waist to steady her.

“May we leave her now?” she whispered.

Mrs. Eton nodded. “It would be best to have a contract. Are you prepared to sign the papers?”

“Our mother waits at Union Square.”

“I shall ask Fisk to fetch your mother and my husband. They can complete the indenture here.” Mrs. Eton mounted the steps. “Phoebe, you may come with me. We shall find the housekeeper. She'll show you to your cot.”

The sisters stared at each other with big, round, wet eyes.

“Now, Susie?” Phoebe's voice shook. “This very moment?”

“Indeed.” Susanna pasted on a decent imitation of a smile. “I can only let you go because you will be so happy here.”

“I believe you are right, but I shall miss you and Mama.”

“We shall come to see you sometimes.”

“Will you write me? I would love to read your letters.”

“I promise.”

They hugged tightly, as if they never wanted to let go. Susanna kissed her little sister on the cheek and said, “When you say your prayers at night, remember me.”

“Oh, I shall.” Tears flowed down her cheeks. Phoebe dashed them away with the heels of her hands. “Mr. Lewis, I enjoyed our conversation today.”

I smiled. “Me, too.”

She hugged her older sister again. “This will be a good place for me, Susie. Truly. Thank you for finding it.”

Susanna bit her lip and nodded.

Phoebe followed Mrs. Eton into the house. The door clicked firmly behind them.

Susanna turned away from the house and bowed her head, shoulders shaking, both hands clamped over her mouth. Sadness hummed around her body like a dark fog. I didn't know how to get through it. I wanted to pull her into a hug or do something to help her feel better, but it would probably cause a scandal and make her feel worse. So I stood beside her and waited until her shaking stopped.

After a couple of minutes, I began to worry if I was wrong to do nothing. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I am not.”

“Do you want me to hold you?”

“No.”

My best idea had been shot down. How much longer should I wait to try something else? I hated to see her so upset. “Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head, sniffing.

Maybe I should get her talking. “This turned out well. Your lie became the truth.”

“Yes.”

Better. It was only one syllable, but it had been clear. Maybe we had a trend going.

“I hope your mother gets to meet Mrs. Eton. She'll be glad to know such a nice lady will be Phoebe's mistress.”

Susanna nodded emphatically, staring down the street toward Union Square, as if she could see her mother now. “I suspect they will speak as the papers are signed.”

Good. She was forming complete sentences again. I had something I was curious about that demanded an answer longer than yes or no. “Mrs. Eton is switching the other housemaid to a kitchen job. Is it possible that would've been your job with the Etons?”

“Perhaps.” She blinked her eyes rapidly but didn't wipe them. Tears dripped onto the street, making tiny craters in the dust. “Don't ask any more questions, Mark. Indeed, don't mention this day's events to me ever again. I cannot bear to relive the anguish.”

My mother left the Etons's home an hour later and climbed onto the wagon seat beside me, but spoke not one word. I guided the horse onto the Worthville road.

It was a long, dreary ride—broken by the call of birds and the sobs of my mother. Mark, curled up in the back, appeared to be asleep.

Though I had forbidden Mark to speak about the day's events, my own heart pelted me with troublesome questions. Had I done the right thing? Might Phoebe be miserable with the Etons? Would they regret taking her in? How soon could I see my sister again?

And there was the matter of my future job. Although I had brushed the concern aside when Mark mentioned it, there would likely be no position for me with the Etons this fall. I should have to find something else. The possibility of my working in a tavern loomed larger.

Since Phoebe had taken nine lessons from Mrs. Pratt, I would have to work them off. But I should still be able to leave in October.

Much as I wanted to avoid thoughts of my punishments, they crowded in. Mr. Pratt would be home by now. If his visit with his brother had gone well, might his good feelings soften his response to my absence?

I liked this idea enough to think no more on that topic.

My mother had still not spoken by the time we reached the drive to the farm. After I handed her the reins, Mark and I walked the rest of the way.

It was late afternoon when we reached the falls. The pain of saying goodbye to my sister had saturated me with grief. I had no room left for anxiety.

Mark hesitated at the edge of the cliff, but instead of climbing down, he touched my arm. “What's going to happen to you?”

“I do not know.” I would learn within minutes. I would not speculate. “It is time for me to go.”

“Wait.” His hands dropped lightly on my shoulders. “No matter what happens next, remember, we won. Phoebe's safe.”

“She is. That is worth quite a lot.”

“It's worth everything. We won.” He smiled at me. “Say it.”

He looked so eager that I repeated it. “We won.”

“We won. Believe it. Your sister will be fine.”

“She will.” Truly, he was correct. My sister lived in a lovely home with a gracious woman for a mistress. Phoebe would use her talents and not be forced to ruin her skillful hands in drudgery. Most importantly, she was far from my master's reach. It was a victory for which we all owed Mark. Gratitude flared within me. “You saved her.”

“No, I pitched in. Phoebe owes everything to you.” He gathered me up into his embrace so that my feet no longer touched the ground and then swung me in a circle, laughing. “We won.”

I laughed, too, ready to celebrate with him. “We won.” My cap flew off, and my hair fell about me like a curtain, yet I didn't care. We were being silly to spin and laugh and enjoy this moment. But it felt good. Whatever the evening brought, my sister was safe.

Mark slowed the spin to a stop, the laughter dying, the foolish grin fading. “Susanna?” His arm remained steady at my waist as he lowered me to the ground. “You are beautiful. So amazingly beautiful.”

Me—beautiful?

Alexis was the beautiful one, with her fine, golden hair and silky clothes that exposed so much soft, golden skin. I had abundant scars, sun-darkened skin, and labor-hardened limbs. My garments had been patched together from my mistress's discarded petticoats. I had hair too thick and straight for any style but a heavy braid.

Mark must have lost his mind, yet my heart thumped wildly at his words, wanting to believe.

He cupped my cheek and waited for the space of a breath. Did he want to kiss me? I hoped so.

His head lowered slowly.

What should I do? Remain still? Rise on my toes to meet him?

He had done this before. He knew what to do. I closed my eyes and waited.

His mouth clung to mine. Once…

Twice…

We kissed so many times I lost count. Long, heated kisses. Brief, playful kisses. All achingly sweet. I thrilled at the feel of him, following wherever he led, hoping to give as much pleasure as I received.

He broke away first, his mouth trailing along my jaw, my neck. When his lips reached the edges of my shift, he groaned.

“We have to stop.”

“What?” I murmured, eyes shut, drowning in want.

“If we go any further, you'll be missed another hour.”

The words feathered along my fevered skin with the cold of dread. The evening stretched ahead of me—my punishment unknown but certain. And if anyone caught me with Mark, here in the open, his mouth on me…

“Merciful heavens.” I shuddered and dropped my head to his shoulder.

“Susanna?” His hands caressed my back restlessly. “Don't return to your master. Come with me.”

My eyelids fluttered open, as if from a dream. A bold dream. An improbable one. “You're mad,” I said, leaning back to savor his handsome face.

He smiled, glowing with eagerness. “No, I'm not. Move to my century.”

Move? For a fleeting second, I considered his offer. Freedom awaited me on the other side of the falls.
Freedom
.

I had often tried to imagine what a perfectly free day would be like, and always my mind thought of autumn. Freedom would be like an autumn morning—warm, but not too warm. There would be trees of gold and red. The scent of wood fires and baking apples. Freshly washed clothes, drying in the sun. I would sleep until I was rested. Eat until I was sated. Do only the chores that pleased me. Laugh a little. Smile often.

Is that what I would find in Mark's world?

No, indeed. His world had too much. There were noises everywhere. Banging, barking, wailing. Hot, acrid odors. Rules that made no sense. Movement, fast and purposeful. Danger for the newly arrived. Bare skin.

The only thing I yearned for in his century was Mark. Could he be enough for me? Would my simple love be enough for him? In a world where machines performed magic and girls were the equal of boys, how soon would he grow weary of me?

And what of the life I would be leaving behind? I had people I loved and skills I could sell. No matter how bad it could be, this was a world I understood.

“I cannot move.”

“Why not?”

“My contract doesn't end until the middle of October.”

He shrugged away my statement as if it didn't matter. “Why do you care?”

“I have given my word. It wouldn't be honorable.”

“Your master isn't honorable. Screw him.”

I wished Mark hadn't asked. For all that I must turn him down—and I must—it did raise longings within me. The longing for security. The longing to have the misery end.

But running away wasn't the answer. Once my contract ended, I should have no need for Mark's suggestion. I could live wherever I wanted, the past left behind in Worthville.

“I like my century quite well.”

“You'd like mine better.”

He was so earnest. It was charming and misguided.

“I can't see how that's possible.” I stepped away from him.

He held on to one of my hands and leaned toward me. Our lips clung. The kiss was delicious—speaking without words.

He dropped my hands and backed up. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Perhaps not tomorrow, but soon.”

“Soon, then.” He scrambled down the cliff and leapt through the falls. They flashed.

Mark was gone.

“Susanna!”

I spun around, horrified. Jedidiah, the incompetent spy, stood at the edge of the woods, lips curved in triumph, his gaze fixed on me like a cat stalking a mouse.

* * *

After shoving me into the kitchen, Jedidiah ran to the mill to notify his father of my return. I restored my appearance to order, tied on an apron, and bent over the hearth. My mistress had put a chicken on to stew. I tasted a sliver and winced in dismay. It demanded flavor. It gave me something to do rather than think about what was to come.

I checked the pantry, relieved to see the trip to George Pratt's home meant we would eat well again. We had new portions of bacon, oats, sugar, and spices. There were bags of apples, yams, onions, potatoes, and a new barrel of smoked ham.

I selected seasonings for the chicken and repaired the dish. It was only then I heard the hiccupping snuffles. I hurried to the rear door. Dorcas sat on the stump, her eyes red-rimmed and watery.

“Have you been crying, little one?”

She nodded, lower lip trembling. “I had to wait here until you came. Now I must find Papa. He is very angry.” She slid off the stump and buried her head in my petticoat. “Where have you been?”

“At my mother's,” I said, the half-truth coming easily.