North by Night (8 page)

“None of your business,” I said. My own cheeks flamed.

“Aw, Lucy, tell us,” Tom put in. “Will says you got that boy all harnessed and bridled. You don’t have to take the whip to him. Just give him a lump of sugar.” Tom grinned at me like a wicked, freckled elf.

“And what would you know about such lumps of sugar?”

“I can’t say.” He grinned again, and I mussed his hair.

“Did you write him back, Luce? If you send him a pile of kisses in your letter, he won’t be mad,” Will advised. He made loud kissing noises. Tom chimed in, and together they sounded like a wagon with squeaking wheels.

They stayed with Miss Aurelia and me for the midday meal. Later, though my letters burned in my pocket to be read, I felt a tug on my heart as Tom and Will drove away. I didn’t know just when I’d see them or the rest of my family again.

“Miss Aurelia, could I read my letters, please?”

“Certainly, Lucy dear. Take all the time you need.”

I retreated to my room and curled up on the featherbed. Before I opened a single letter I set them out in front
of me like a plate of sweets, choosing which to read first. My family’s, for my heart ached with missing them. Then Rebecca’s. Finally Jonathan Clark’s, for I wasn’t sure if his letter would be good news or bad.

19
January

Dear Lucinda
,

You must be chafing with this storm. I’ve never known you to sit happily indoors with untrodden snow out the window. And yet, as you tend to our neighbor, I’m sure you put other needs ahead of your own. I am proud, daughter, for your heart is large
.

Perhaps I might remind you of the good side of such a storm. Let yourself think of the natural world—how the brown bears curl deep in their winter dens and rest. All God’s creatures need such times of rest, as it girds them for the coming spring and for whatever journeys the warming weather will bring
.

So accept this respite as a gift for those birds and beasts whose travels are long and whose endurance might be nearing its end. For once the snow melts, the world will wake again with all its cares
.

Your brothers and I have used our time well. We mend harness and polish brasses by the fire. Your mother cooks and bakes, as if we need twice the feeding with the storm. But perhaps this is just as well, for she can send some of her cooking to you to lighten your burden of chores
.

You are in our thoughts daily, but never as much as in the evenings, when we gather around the hearth. Your mother and I take our turns reading aloud to the younger ones, but we miss
your voice and the dramatic way you bring the simple words to life
.

We are just now reading some poems of Sir Walter Scott, and young Thomas has determined to memorize “The Lady of the Lake.” I guess that means he shall become a gentleman as well as a farmer, for in spite of William’s teasing, he labors hard over the pages
.

Your mother and I are well pleased with you and with Thomas, our family scholars. I would not be surprised to find that he practices his stanzas out in the barn while he tends to the beasts, both wild and tame. What do you suppose the horses make of all this reciting?

Your loving
Father

22
January

My dearest Lucy
,

Your papa has stolen all my news. For when snow blankets the earth for days on end, news grows scarce indeed. Mostly we must find ways to entertain ourselves
.

I have been teaching Miranda to use the needle. She often pricks her finger, but I’ve started her on dark cloth, so no spots will show. Do you recall the first sampler you stitched? I brought it out to show your sister so she’d understand that you too were imperfect with your stitches when you were small. But with your sister I have hit upon a lovely idea. Instead of expecting her to make tiny stitches, I have given her small patches of cloth left from this or that project of mine. She is sewing on a crazy quilt for her doll and there is no exact pattern or line required
.

Will says I spoil her. Do you think I grow lax with my youngest? Or is this a good notion?

I also felt myself quite clever when I suggested that if Miranda truly wanted to help with hurt or wounded animals, she might someday have to stitch up a cut or gash, so it might be wise to practice first on cloth. Her work grew neater almost right away
.

Mostly, however, she trudges to the barn with Thomas, brushes the cat’s fur, tells stories to the doe, and tries to encourage the three birds to become friends. Imagine that, Lucy—a duck, a cardinal, and a lopsided hen. Your sister has a mind of her own. But then, as I recall, so did you at her age
.

I think this heavy weather is hardest on William. He has grown accustomed to travel and seems to have difficulty staying about the house and farm. He paces and stares out the window. He goes out to fetch wood without our asking and stays out for a long time. At the first break in the weather we’ll send him to you with our letters and give him a chance to spread his wings. For, like Miranda’s charges and other wild birds, I believe your brother William is meant to fly. Papa says he will settle down and become a farmer, but I’m not so sure
.

Oh, Lucy. I rattle on like an old woman. I miss you severely. Having a grown daughter is such a wonder, for I can talk to you as a friend. When you’re gone, I feel the lack of women’s company. While you are much needed where you are, I do count the days until you are returned to us, and in particular to me
.

Your loving
Mother

Dear Lucy
,

Mama’s writing for me again. Doesn’t she write pretty? She makes me practice letters every day so that I’ll write pretty, too. I’m trying. I can write my name really pretty now. But it’s a lot of work
. Miranda
has seven letters
. Lucy
is easier and so is
Will
and so is
Tom.

My fingers get tired from writing and from sewing. When the needle pokes my finger it hurts. I try not to cry. Crying is for babies. I want to be big like you and the boys
.

Reddie does well. He likes to sing to Queen Victoria, our deer. She is almost healed. Tom says that when Reddie’s wing grows strong we’ll have to set him free. I don’t like that. We don’t have to send Hamlet or Ophelia away, so why Reddie? Tom says it’s because he’s wild
.

Fine. I’ll make him tame. I’ll make Queen Victoria tame, too. I want to send Brutus away. He’s a bad cat. He keeps bothering all the birds
.

Hamlet and Ophelia are big. They peck at Brutus’s nose if he gets close. Poor little Reddie can’t do that. I wish we had a harness small enough for a cat. I would tie Brutus to the hitching post. Maybe you can help me make one. Come home soon. I love you
.

Miranda

16
January

Dear Lucinda
,

What a storm! Good thing the Clarks had their party last week instead of this. With all this snow, nobody could have come
.

Lucy, what happened at the party? One minute you were spinning wild tales about the migrations of birds; the next time I looked over, you and Jeremiah Strong had disappeared. You were gone a long time, Lucy. Jonathan stomped out to find you and came back furious. Then you went off to Widow Mercer’s house
.

What an amazing night. Everybody gossiped and speculated—more than usual, if that’s possible. Mrs. Clark looked especially cross. When you and your brothers created all that excitement, she was suddenly reduced to fetching baskets. It did my heart good to see her put in her place for once. But beware—I suspect she holds grudges. She may try to come between you and her son. Although he created some ruckus of his own …

Jonathan danced every reel with that annoying flirt, Eleanora Cummings, but I bet he stepped on her toes more than once, he was so stirred up. Lucy, what’s going on? What happened out there? What did you say to get Jonathan so riled up? Are you in love with Jeremiah Strong now? Or Jonathan Clark? Or both?

You must
, must
write and tell me everything. Otherwise I’ll make up stories in my mind. Oh, and I’ve had another idea. Remember two Sundays ago in church? We wanted to do another prank. Well, I’ve thought of one. It’s wonderfully
wicked. But I won’t tell you until you share your news. So there
.

Give my best to Widow Mercer. I’ve written this and will pass it to Nathaniel later today when he comes to take me for a sleigh ride. He’ll give it to your brother for you. Wish me luck with Nathaniel, Lucy. The dancing at the party was wonderful, and I think he’s about to speak to my father. I hope the widow heals quickly, for her own sake, of course, but mostly so I can see you again soon
.

Your friend
,
Rebecca

18
January

Dear Lucinda
,

I have waited a full week for your reply but have received none. Does that mean you don’t care for me anymore?

I hope some other reason, such as this terrible snowstorm, keeps your letter from my hands. Pa and I have had to work hard to keep the stock fed and the logs hauled so Ma can keep the house warm and the meals cooked. I worry about you, caring for the widow all by yourself. First fine day, I’ll be coming by to visit you
.

I’ve got to see you, Lucinda. All this worry keeps me awake at night, and I can’t help but remember the sight of you and that Quaker kissing by the fire. You stuck a knife right into my heart that night, and every time I remember, the knife goes

Please, dear Lucy. Write back and say you still care for me. Say it was all a mistake and you’re sorry. I promise I’ll forgive
you. Or, if you don’t still care about me, at least let me know, for we’ve been friends a long time, and this is no way to treat an old friend
.

I wait for your letter!
Jonathan

F
RIDAY
, J
ANUARY
24, 1851
L
ATE

I can’t sleep. My feelings churn around inside me so hard that if I were a pail of cream, I’d have long ago turned to butter. First I get wonderful letters from Mama and Papa and even dear little Miranda. The home letters make me so lonesome I have to bite back the tears. Rebecca’s words cheer me, though, and I’ll hold on to her letter for strength, for surely I’ll need it to write to Jonathan.

What can I say to him? He promises to forgive me, but what if I don’t want to be forgiven? What if his forgiveness doesn’t even matter to me? What kind of girl does that make me? If I really loved him, I’d feel guilty.

Or else angry. Rebecca said he danced every single dance with Eleanora Cummings. If I loved him, that would make me furious, but it only tugs a little. If anything hurts, it’s just my pride.

Still, I wonder. So much is happening, and so quickly. I thought I loved Jonathan, but now my heart turns toward Jeremiah. Can I trust these treacherous emotions? And would I be a coward to tell Jonathan of my feelings in a letter instead of in person?

I must be cautious, but I don’t quite know how. Perhaps a good night’s sleep will clear my mind.

S
ATURDAY
, J
ANUARY
25, 1851

I stayed up all night, unable to sleep. I went downstairs and stared into the hearth, looking for answers in the flames.

Miss Aurelia caught me, worse luck.

“Lucinda? What’s the matter? You weren’t yourself all afternoon, and now you’ve not slept.”

“Oh, Miss Aurelia …” I didn’t really know her well enough to tell her, but I needed to tell somebody. “It’s so confusing.”

She looked out the window. “Morning’s not far off. Shall I brew some coffee?”

I nodded and watched her make the coffee. It smelled wonderful. She poured me a cup. I added lots of fresh cream and a little sugar and sipped, tasting warmth and comfort.

“Well?”

“I got a letter. Two letters, actually. From Jonathan Clark. Oh, Miss Aurelia, romance is so hard.”

“Yes. If my old mind can stretch back, I seem to recall stormy days and sunny ones. Are you sure you want to talk? I’m not one for intruding. Can’t stand when people mess about in my business, so I try to stay out of theirs.”

Did that mean she didn’t want to hear my troubles? Or just that she wouldn’t pry? “I don’t want to bother you, but …”

“But I’m here. I’m the best you’ll get just now.” She smiled.

“It all started at the Clarks’ party,” I began. I unrolled the whole thing, tangles and all, like so many lengths of ribbon. She just sat and listened.

“What do I do, Miss Aurelia? I like Jeremiah. But I used to like Jonathan. Maybe I still do. But I can’t tell him about the Railroad.”

“That’s the one clear spot in this muddle,” she said. “I’m not sure about the Clark family’s loyalties. Especially that mother of his.”

“So what will I do?”

“Let’s think for a moment.” She studied me this way and that, as if I were a horse she wanted to buy. “You have two feet, don’t you, Lucy?”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

“Stand up, then, girl.”

I did but wondered why.

“Just as I thought. You can stand all by yourself. Seems to me, until you make up your mind otherwise, you’ll do fine.”

“Do fine?” What did she mean?

“You can stand on your own feet, Lucy. You don’t need to lean on any man. You’re independent, from what I’ve seen. Like most women, you don’t know your own strength.”

Her words took me by surprise. “Miss Aurelia! Do you really think women are strong?”

“Not all, but most are. Look at the women you know, dear. Which of them hasn’t suffered pain or loss with great courage? Which hasn’t borne a handful of children,
lost one or two, been forced to make difficult choices? And yet they work as hard or harder than their men.”

I thought about it. Mama, my grandmothers, the women in the village—they worked from morning till night, every day of the week. They worked pregnant and sick in every season. And Emma and Cass, fleeing north in the dead of winter. If they weren’t strong, who was?