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  I watched Big Tom and Hettie go, noting the anxious tones of their hushed conversation. “I’d say that’s the majority opinion here.”

  “I’m Abel Atchley. I’d offer to shake, but…” He lifted a hand, sticky with blood and Lord knew what else.

  I accepted the challenge, gripping his hand tight and pumping it three times for good measure. “Verity Pruitt. Pleased to meet you.” A smile touched his lips.

  My skirt puffed out as I sank down next to him. The calf gave a pitiful little bleat and sprawled back onto the hay, knobby knees jutting at odd angles.

  “Don’t worry about helping out here,” Abel said. “You can head on back to the house.”

  I thought I caught a playfulness in his eyes, a look I’d seen in everyone who smirked at my intentions of becoming a physician. “Would you say that if I were the boy you’d been expecting?” I asked sharply. “I’ll be just as helpful as you, given time and practice.”

  “I was just trying to be considerate because you’re new, not because you’re a girl.” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, wiping his hands as he stood. Abel took in my ragged appearance and fidgety hands. “If you get this worked up over every little thing, you’re going to run yourself crazy.”

  The remark was acid on a wound. I pulled myself to my full height, annoyed to still have to look up at him. He couldn’t know my father was a madman, but my voice still came out low and dangerous, a snake hidden in the grass. “It’s anything but considerate to poke fun at a person’s sanity,” I said.

  “Are all Yankees this touchy?” Abel tilted his head, appraising me. “I meant it for a joke, that’s all. Look, I stand by my offer, whether you like it or not. I’ll get the mama and her little one situated by myself.”

  “I don’t want your pity. And please don’t talk down to me.” My voice shook, like it always did when I was angry. Blowing out a hot sigh, I looked around the barn, suddenly furious that this was my new life. I set my face in stone. “I’m here to work, not to be coddled.”

  Abel’s expression darkened. “Fine. I apologize for being friendly. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  I nodded. “I’ll earn my keep as long as I’m stuck in this place.”

  “‘This place’?” Under a day’s growth of blond stubble, Abel’s cheeks reddened. “I see now. You think you’re too good to live here.”

  “I most certainly don’t think that,” I retorted. Abel snorted in reply. “And don’t make that noise like … like … some disgruntled horse.”

  “I can read your opinion of Wheeler all over your face, Miss Pruitt.” He paused, frowning. “And yes, I can read. We’re not all illiterate.”

  “If you’re feeling inferior, that’s not my doing. I certainly don’t consider myself better than you, or anyone else.” A half-truth, at best. My stomach twisted with shame, but I held my ground. I’d had bigger plans for myself than life as an indentured orphan, working on a farm, and I’d not apologize for that.

  We faced each other, arms crossed and scowling, until the bawling of the calf diverted Abel’s attention. He stooped to rub behind its ear again, then pointed to an empty bucket. “All right then. Haul some water in for the cow and calf while I get them into a stall.”

  I returned with my dress splashed from the knees down. My arm had gone rubbery with fatigue, and the bucket’s metal handle left a bloody scrape across my tender palm. I set the water down with a slosh. Abel doffed an imaginary hat, sweeping into a facetious bow. “Much obliged.” I gave a curt nod and marched out of the barn.

  Sunrise broke over the tops of the distant trees, spreading a soft blush up and out from the horizon. A bank of low clouds trapped the glow and cast it back over the fields. I wondered if Lilah was awake to see this first dawn in our unexpected new lives. I turned a slow circle, taking in my surroundings for the first time.

  The yard around the house was patchy, more dust than grass, with barns and sheds of all sizes cropping up like mushrooms across the property. To the east, a ring of spindly apple trees made a scant orchard near a rutted gravel road. Beyond, a barren field of wildflower-dotted grass divided the Weatherington land from the woods I’d noticed last night.

  There were no other houses in sight. If I wanted to, I could easily pretend the farm was the only inhabited place on earth. Apart from the watchful inspection of a few goats in a nearby pen, I was alone.

  I found I didn’t like it in the least.

  4

  After a quick wash at the outdoor pump, I crossed the back porch into the kitchen.

  A long table circled by three chairs sat elbow to elbow alongside a large porcelain sink and a hulking cookstove. Ducking under the cast-iron skillets hanging from a rack overhead, I made my way past the table, noting a mismatched stool drawn up next to one of the three straight-backed chairs. That would be mine, I supposed.

  Hettie pushed through the screen door, a basket of eggs in the crook of her elbow. She stopped when she saw me, and I realized we were both unsure of what to say.

  “I’m sorry for not being much use this morning,” I began. “Anyone who wants to be a doctor can handle a little blood, but I’m afraid my muscles aren’t as stout as my nerves.”

  Hettie took in the doctor remark with a cocked eyebrow, then considered for a moment. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she said at last, in what I was learning was her usual brisk manner. “You’ll do better next time.”

  I mustered a smile. “I hope so.”

  Hettie finished cooking while I set the table. Abel strode in, a pail full of frothy milk in hand. He set it by the icebox without so much as a glance in my direction, then moved to the stove, swooping in for a piece of bacon. “Quit!” Hettie said, giving his hand a sharp swat. Abel dropped into his chair with a smirk. As Hettie pulled back, I noticed a cord of thin leather tied around her wrist. It ran through two stones, one a smooth, pale blue-gray, the other brown and knobby. Neither looked like my idea of a pretty accessory, but I asked about them in the spirit of making conversation.

  “Where did you get your bracelet?”

  “My charms?” Hettie’s rough fingers strayed to the little stones. “Had them since I was a girl. Blue river rock for luck, and a bladder stone from a deer, to fend off sickness.”

  Hettie seemed like such a levelheaded person. I hadn’t expected her to fall prey to superstition. “Do they work?” I asked, knowing full well they did not.

  Hettie shrugged a scrawny shoulder. “Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. But they can’t harm nothing, the way I see it.” Deciding that flights of fancy were true could indeed cause harm, as I well knew from my father’s experience.

  I pulled up my wobbly stool just as Big Tom lumbered in to settle at the head of the table. Hettie took her place at the far end. When they bowed their heads, I followed suit. There was an unexpected mix of folklore and faith in this place.

  Big Tom’s prayer was brief. “Lord, bless this meal to the nourishment of our bodies and our bodies to your service. And if you see fit, send some rain. Amen.”

  Hettie and Abel echoed his “amen.” By the time mine followed, a beat too late, Hettie was already handing around a plate of fluffy biscuits. I grabbed one and reached for a second to pass to Lilah. My hand hung in the air for an awkward moment as I remembered that, for the first time in years, I didn’t have another mouth to feed.

  “My sister, Lilah, was taken in by Miss Maeve Donovan. Do you think she’ll be good to her?” I asked, surprising myself with the question.

  Big Tom looked up from his plate, nodding slowly. “If anybody was ever born to be a mama, I reckon it’s Miss Maeve.”

  Relief seeped through my sadness. At least Lilah would have someone competent to care for her until I could reclaim her.

  “I about dropped dead from shock when I heard old Lybrand was letting her take in a little one,” Hettie went on. “Nicest thing he ever did, to be sure.”

  “They got a fine place to raise a child,” Big Tom noted. “They l
ive on the edge of the woods, about two miles from here. Nice, big house. Old Lybrand’s got plenty of money.”

  Hettie’s lips thinned. “I reckon we’d all live high on the hog if we were crooked as Mr. Lybrand. And Heaven knows he treats Miss Maeve bad.”

  “What do you mean by that?” My fingers tightened around my napkin, my momentary relief dissipating. “Is Lilah in danger?”

  “Nothing like that. I only meant how old Lybrand keeps Miss Maeve on a short leash. And he holds the mortgages on three-quarters of the county, but he makes that poor girl work for a living,” Hettie said, indignant.

  I set my coffee cup in its saucer with a clink. “Miss Maeve may enjoy teaching. Perhaps she chooses to work because she finds it fulfilling?”

  “Maybe,” Hettie conceded, “but the point of the matter is he won’t let her get married. She’s had plenty of suitors, make no mistake, and he’s run them all off. Every blessed one.”

  “The word around town is her uncle threatened to disinherit her if she ever married,” Abel put in. In the clear, early light, his eyes were the same deep blue as the morning glory flowers tangling the fencerows around the farm. “Mr. Lybrand is what newspapers like to call a ‘robber baron.’ Makes it sound dramatic, almost piratical.” I felt my mouth quirk in spite of myself at his choice of words. “But he’s really just a sour old man from somewhere out east who made lots of money in the railroad business. And he owns a passel of banks. He travels some, but never takes Miss Maeve anywhere.”

  “Lybrand got the best deal of his life when Miss Maeve came to live with him after her folks died,” Hettie said. “She cooks and cleans and keeps him company. Nobody else in their right mind would spend more than five minutes around the man. Stands to reason he wouldn’t want her to leave.”

  “I’d like to go visit my sister.” I needed to see for myself that Mr. Lybrand wasn’t mistreating Lilah. “There’s no need to spare a horse for me. I’m used to walking everywhere I go.”

  Hettie’s face darkened, but I hurried on. “I’m not asking for time away from our work. If you lend me a lantern, I could walk over in the evening, after we’re done for the day. I’m not bothered by the dark.”

  Big Tom and Hettie exchanged a troubled looked. “Best to avoid the woods,” Big Tom rumbled.

  Hurriedly, Hettie added, “I was going to send Abel to fetch some things in town tomorrow, but if you want to go, that’ll be fine. You can stop by the schoolhouse and see your sister.” Her smile was rusty from disuse, but genuine. “But not all day long, mind,” she said, gathering the dishes. “We have too much to do for you to tarry overlong.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I agreed as I stood to help her wash up.

  Big Tom left, his huge boots thudding on the wooden floor. Abel followed him, casting one quick look over his shoulder to where I stood at the sink. I diligently pretended not to notice.

  As I dried the last plate, Hettie disappeared into a tiny closet and returned holding a wilted straw hat. “So you won’t blister,” she said.

  I put the thing on, the smell of sweat and hay drifting around my face. “Where are we going?”

  “Cornfield, and we best get moving,” Hettie said. “The men took the wagon on down to the fields already. They’ll be waiting for us.”

  Donning her own hat, she swept open the back door, only to stop in midstride and look downward. I moved closer to peer over her shoulder.

  Glossy green branches dotted with orange berries lay in a neat line across the porch, just outside the threshold. Hettie stepped carefully over them, frowning. When I followed, my hat brushed something hanging from the lintel. I looked up to find a bundle of dried flowers, tied with twine, dangling petals-down. Curious, I reached for one.

  “Leave them,” Hettie said quickly, eyes darting over the yard.

  “What are they?”

  “Summer’s bride and buckthorn,” she said, moving briskly across the porch and down the steps. “They’re for protection. From evil spirits, curses, things like that.”

  “Where did they come from?” I asked.

  “Big Tom left them, I’d venture.” A worried squint deepened the lines around her eyes. I doubted she believed her own words. “Best let them be.”

  I dropped the matter and surveyed the sweeping landscape. It wasn’t my longed-for home, but no one could deny the peacefulness of this remote place. Why did Hettie think dark forces would come to call here?

  I tromped after her in my borrowed boots. Hettie’s feet were bigger than mine, and the wad of newspapers stuffed into the toes made for uncomfortable going. We trudged in silence, our shadows marching beside us, thin black slivers on the dew-covered ground. So often, I’d wished Lilah would stop her relentless chatter. But in the company of the quiet Hettie, I missed my baby sister more than ever.

  We walked through a pasture along a sunbaked track to the edge of a cornfield. The once-vibrant stalks, now gone brittle in the sun, rasped in a faint breeze. The silks straggling out from the withered husks were brown and crumpled like the legs of a crushed spider. “The heat got to the crop before we could harvest it all for eating,” Hettie said. “But we can still use the dry ears. Big Tom will put some up to feed the stock this winter, and we’ll grind the rest into cornmeal for cooking.”

  Big Tom guided a wagon pulled by a tall-eared mule several yards out into the corn while Hettie and I followed through strips of shadow. With care, Big Tom lowered his hefty form down between two rows of corn and began expertly breaking off the ears, tossing them over the high wooden sides of the wagon. I reached up to grasp one. My hands wrapped around the papery husk just as a long, dry leaf sliced the inside of my bare forearm. With a hiss of pain, I clamped a hand over the thin cut.

  “You all right?” Abel climbed down from the wagon. “Those leaves are called blades for a reason. They’re awfully sharp after they’ve dried out.”

  I jerked my sleeve down over the cut. “It’s nothing,” I said.

  Abel stooped to gather the corn felled by the passing of the wagon.

  “You can help me,” Hettie said, moving to the opposite side from where Big Tom had disappeared amid the towering corn. She bent one of the tall stalks and grabbed an ear. Her strong hands gave a quick twist, and it broke away from the stalk with a violent crack. “The down row’s awful hard on the back.” She gestured to where Abel bent over his work, breaking ears from stalks that had been crushed to the ground. “Especially when you ain’t used to it.”

  Abel straightened, his arms loaded with corn, to give me a pointed look as he strode by.

  “I’ll help with the down row,” I said.

  Abel dropped his harvest into the wagon, then turned to face me. “Your muscles will be screaming in ten minutes flat,” he said. “You sure you want to do this?” Boots crunching over the fallen stalks, he went back to his work.

  I slid in shoulder-to-shoulder next to him. “I’m sure.”

  Abel’s estimate had been generous. My back and shoulders tightened to furious, offended knots within five minutes, and stayed that way for the rest of our time in the field. The sun beat down, burning my back through the flimsy fabric of my dress as I worked. Sweat stung my eyes, slipping down my face to wet my cracked lips. I began to relish the short moments when the wagon moved to a new spot, because following it gave me an excuse to straighten up for a few minutes.

  When at last Big Tom surveyed the field and announced it picked clean, I nearly buckled with relief. “Not bad for your first time,” he said kindly. I felt sure that was a soothing lie. Abel’s deft hands had stripped three-quarters of the ears we’d gathered in the down rows. Big Tom slid a canteen from around his neck and handed it to me. “There’s a path to the spring just over that rise there,” he said, pointing. “Why don’t you fill this up?”

  I found the little creek and filled the container with clear water. The first swallow lifted my drooping spirits. By now, it was nearly time to help Hettie with dinner. This was all foreign and uncomfortable, but t
here was no denying that the grueling day had started with excellent food, and I had hopes all the farm fare would be as delicious. My steps quickened, as if I could hurry the day along by moving through it faster.

  I rounded a bend in the path, dried grass crunching under my boots. At the sound of Hettie’s angry voice, I paused.

  “That’s where you were this morning when I found your bed empty?”

  No, not angry. She was worried.

  I ducked behind a pink-flowered dogwood and took in the tense scene. Big Tom had turned a stormy expression on Abel, who leaned against the wagon, staring down at the brittle earth. Hettie paced before him. “For pity’s sake, Abel, why didn’t you tell us before? We’re family.”

  “I wanted to.” Abel’s voice cut over hers, high and strained. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “But this isn’t y’all’s burden to bear.”

  Big Tom spoke up. “I know you feel obligated to help, but there’s a better way to go about it.” He exhaled heavily, as if what he was about to say wearied him to the bone. “When’s the baby coming?”

  I felt my eyebrows climb. I swiped away a rivulet of sweat from my forehead.

  “Soon. She keeps talking about marriage, but that’s not going to happen.” The derision in Abel’s voice sent a streak of anger skittering through my stomach. “We need money, but I didn’t want you two to feel bound to pitch in, so we kept it quiet as long as we could.”

  “I bet your mama is fit to be tied,” Hettie said. “Guess this explains why she’s been scarce lately. Didn’t want me to suspicion something was wrong.” Even the mention of his mother’s distress didn’t soften Abel’s stony glare.

  I’d heard enough. I stepped back onto the trail and made my approach with loud, deliberate footfalls. When the three turned my way, I gave the canteen a little shake. “Anyone thirsty?” I tried to assume the guileless look of a person who had certainly not been eavesdropping a minute before.