The Endless Forest
Page 42
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She raised her head suddenly, and their eyes met.
As a boy learning to hunt in the endless forests with his father and uncle, Daniel had come to understand the importance of holding himself contained, absolutely still and calm. It hadn’t been hard. He was swift and quiet, and he could trail a doe all morning and then drop her before she ever got a hint of danger.
And why had that thought come to him?
Two seconds passed, and then three and four, and neither of them looked away.
Finally Martha raised a brow. “Do I offend you?”
Daniel could make no sense of the question. “What?”
“Do my bare feet offend your sensibilities?” Her tone was cool and impertinent, and the urge to laugh out loud came to him as unexpectedly as a hiccup.
“I’ve seen bare feet before. I’ve seen your bare feet before, Martha Kirby. As girls you and Callie were always running in and out, uphill and downhill both.”
He did have clear memories of those days when Callie and Martha had been inseparable. Sisters in spirit, at least, though no one would mistake them for blood kin. Martha was a head taller, with shoulders a little broader than might be expected. As a girl—he was surprised how quickly this memory came to him—she had been the fastest runner, long-legged and lithe. Callie was strongly built, in the way of a muscular small pony; she could work all day without ever sitting down or even thinking about it. She had her father’s dark complexion, an intelligent expression, and a generous spirit. If those things didn’t get her the husband she deserved, he had heard his mother say, then the farm and orchard would.
Daniel tried to clear his head of memories. He said, “You were always barefoot back then.”
“But not by choice,” she said. “The winter I was eight I outgrew my old pattens and Ma said I’d have to stay home. She said there was nothing being taught in the schoolroom that she couldn’t teach me herself. But the real reason was, she didn’t care to spend what little cash she had on shoes I’d outgrow in a few months. I do believe she would have bought them if she could have, because she didn’t like having me in the house and school kept me away for a good part of the day.”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, telling this story into the fire.
“But you did go to school that winter, if I remember right.”
Martha nodded. “One morning there was a basket on the doorstep when I went to fetch wood. With boots and wool stockings and a hat and gloves. Jemima was angry, but we didn’t know who had left them. In the end she gave up and let me go to school. I always thought it was Callie who did it, but then I asked her and she said it wasn’t, and I should have known better. They didn’t have the money for that kind of thing either.”
In that moment Daniel wished she would look at him. There was little he could do for her but listen, but he could do that without reservation or judgment. If she would look at him again, he would smile at her. Because she struck him as someone in need of a smile, someone who was coming up from a long sleep fraught with terrible dreams.
All the money and land she had inherited from the father she had never met—that didn’t matter. Those things couldn’t make her childhood memories sweet. Nothing could undo the damage her mother had done. Jemima Southern had torn apart more than one family, but first she had cut her teeth on her own.
He was surprised to hear himself asking a question that could only be called impolite. “So what happened with this Teddy you were set to marry?”
“My mother,” she said. “Jemima happened. But when people ask I’ll only say that we both had a change of heart.”
She had told him the truth without hesitation, and for some reason he couldn’t put a finger on, that pleased him. Daniel wanted to say so, but before he could put the words together the door opened. Martha turned her back and finished pulling on her stockings and boots while Baldy O’Brien waddled into the room.
“What’s this?” he bellowed in a voice that was meant to shake the glass in the windows. “What’s this? Young aristocrats wasting away the hours in front of a fire while the rest of us work to put roofs over our heads.”
O’Brien meant to look menacing but he always put Daniel in mind of a dumpy little teapot. He was as bothersome as a wasp; his voice was loud and his tone harsh, and he could make a nuisance of himself faster than anyone else between Paradise and Philadelphia. Worst of all, if you had a conversation with him, Baldy insisted on pushing his face as close as he could, and his breath stank. In fact Hannah’s professional opinion was that he didn’t have a sound tooth in his head and that if they all came out his temperament would improve. No one mentioned this to O’Brien, as he would have scoffed at the idea of taking advice from a half-breed Indian, and a woman at that. The only person he seemed to dislike more than Hannah was Curiosity.
“Baldy O’Brien.” Daniel kept his voice as neutral as possible. “Good morning to you.”
Martha was so tense he could feel her humming with it.
Baldy came closer. His whole face was in motion, squinting and twitching, his jaw working as he chewed his usual plug of tobacco, the evidence dripping down his chin. “Who is that with you hiding her face? She got a guilty conscience?”
“Mind your own business,” Daniel said, still in the same neutral tone.
“Oh, it’s little Martha Kuick. I was wondering if you’d have the gall to show yourself. Come running home from the city to sit on your money like a broody hen on her nest.”
As a boy learning to hunt in the endless forests with his father and uncle, Daniel had come to understand the importance of holding himself contained, absolutely still and calm. It hadn’t been hard. He was swift and quiet, and he could trail a doe all morning and then drop her before she ever got a hint of danger.
And why had that thought come to him?
Two seconds passed, and then three and four, and neither of them looked away.
Finally Martha raised a brow. “Do I offend you?”
Daniel could make no sense of the question. “What?”
“Do my bare feet offend your sensibilities?” Her tone was cool and impertinent, and the urge to laugh out loud came to him as unexpectedly as a hiccup.
“I’ve seen bare feet before. I’ve seen your bare feet before, Martha Kirby. As girls you and Callie were always running in and out, uphill and downhill both.”
He did have clear memories of those days when Callie and Martha had been inseparable. Sisters in spirit, at least, though no one would mistake them for blood kin. Martha was a head taller, with shoulders a little broader than might be expected. As a girl—he was surprised how quickly this memory came to him—she had been the fastest runner, long-legged and lithe. Callie was strongly built, in the way of a muscular small pony; she could work all day without ever sitting down or even thinking about it. She had her father’s dark complexion, an intelligent expression, and a generous spirit. If those things didn’t get her the husband she deserved, he had heard his mother say, then the farm and orchard would.
Daniel tried to clear his head of memories. He said, “You were always barefoot back then.”
“But not by choice,” she said. “The winter I was eight I outgrew my old pattens and Ma said I’d have to stay home. She said there was nothing being taught in the schoolroom that she couldn’t teach me herself. But the real reason was, she didn’t care to spend what little cash she had on shoes I’d outgrow in a few months. I do believe she would have bought them if she could have, because she didn’t like having me in the house and school kept me away for a good part of the day.”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, telling this story into the fire.
“But you did go to school that winter, if I remember right.”
Martha nodded. “One morning there was a basket on the doorstep when I went to fetch wood. With boots and wool stockings and a hat and gloves. Jemima was angry, but we didn’t know who had left them. In the end she gave up and let me go to school. I always thought it was Callie who did it, but then I asked her and she said it wasn’t, and I should have known better. They didn’t have the money for that kind of thing either.”
In that moment Daniel wished she would look at him. There was little he could do for her but listen, but he could do that without reservation or judgment. If she would look at him again, he would smile at her. Because she struck him as someone in need of a smile, someone who was coming up from a long sleep fraught with terrible dreams.
All the money and land she had inherited from the father she had never met—that didn’t matter. Those things couldn’t make her childhood memories sweet. Nothing could undo the damage her mother had done. Jemima Southern had torn apart more than one family, but first she had cut her teeth on her own.
He was surprised to hear himself asking a question that could only be called impolite. “So what happened with this Teddy you were set to marry?”
“My mother,” she said. “Jemima happened. But when people ask I’ll only say that we both had a change of heart.”
She had told him the truth without hesitation, and for some reason he couldn’t put a finger on, that pleased him. Daniel wanted to say so, but before he could put the words together the door opened. Martha turned her back and finished pulling on her stockings and boots while Baldy O’Brien waddled into the room.
“What’s this?” he bellowed in a voice that was meant to shake the glass in the windows. “What’s this? Young aristocrats wasting away the hours in front of a fire while the rest of us work to put roofs over our heads.”
O’Brien meant to look menacing but he always put Daniel in mind of a dumpy little teapot. He was as bothersome as a wasp; his voice was loud and his tone harsh, and he could make a nuisance of himself faster than anyone else between Paradise and Philadelphia. Worst of all, if you had a conversation with him, Baldy insisted on pushing his face as close as he could, and his breath stank. In fact Hannah’s professional opinion was that he didn’t have a sound tooth in his head and that if they all came out his temperament would improve. No one mentioned this to O’Brien, as he would have scoffed at the idea of taking advice from a half-breed Indian, and a woman at that. The only person he seemed to dislike more than Hannah was Curiosity.
“Baldy O’Brien.” Daniel kept his voice as neutral as possible. “Good morning to you.”
Martha was so tense he could feel her humming with it.
Baldy came closer. His whole face was in motion, squinting and twitching, his jaw working as he chewed his usual plug of tobacco, the evidence dripping down his chin. “Who is that with you hiding her face? She got a guilty conscience?”
“Mind your own business,” Daniel said, still in the same neutral tone.
“Oh, it’s little Martha Kuick. I was wondering if you’d have the gall to show yourself. Come running home from the city to sit on your money like a broody hen on her nest.”
