Fire Along the Sky (36 page)

On the porch she stood for a moment with Nicholas. There were things to say, but she couldn't think, just for this moment, where to begin, or how; all she could see before her was her sister Lily as a young girl, running down the orchard on a summer day, her wild hair trailing behind her like a banner and the air full of her laughter. How she loved this place.

“I wanted to say—” he began.

“Wait,” Hannah said. “You've got a bump on your head the size of a turkey egg. A snow compress will help a bit. If she starts to run a fever, you must come fetch me.”

Snow had begun to fall in gentle waves of large, wet flakes, and Hannah turned her face up to the sky, glad of the clean cold air on her skin.

Nicholas said, “Two things I want to say. First, thank you for the kindnesses you've shown my Callie. She's better off with you just now. Nobody should have to live like this.”

He swallowed hard, his voice catching. Hannah waited, her gaze focused on the orchard.

“The other thing is, I never touched Jemima. Not once. It's what she wants, but I won't be pushed to that. She did fall down the steps, but it wasn't my doing.”

“Good,” Hannah said, picking up her bag. She hesitated, and looked at him over her shoulder. “You could leave here,” she said. “Take your daughter and start new somewhere else.”

She saw the color spread up his neck, the fury and embarrassment and sorrow at work in the clenching of his jaw. He said, “I can't leave my orchard.”

“Is that it?” Hannah asked. “Is that really what you can't leave?”

He said, “The child she's carrying is mine. I won't pretend otherwise.”

For that much at least Hannah must respect this man, who had caused himself and others so much pain. “And Lily?” Hannah asked, although she had meant to keep her thoughts to herself. “What of Lily?”

He blinked at her. “Lily is lost to me,” he said. “I know that.”

“Good,” Hannah said again, and left him there on his porch.

It was Elizabeth's experience that the middle of winter was the time when she was most likely to make real progress with her students, especially when the cold was deep and dry and unforgiving, as it was now. Even the most difficult of her charges—boys who hated anything that kept them indoors—would settle, twitching but resigned, with their primers and slates, glad of the hearth a little too large for this small cabin.

Of course, there was a price to be paid. In the good heat, with shutters and doors closed tight, it became clear, as it did every year, that many of Elizabeth's students would not bathe until ice-out. Some, it seemed, were sewn into their underclothes, a custom Elizabeth had heard about but could never quite explain to herself; the mechanics of it baffled and revolted her in equal measures. The end result was, the schoolhouse stank and would continue to stink, every day a little worse.

She thought idly of the new schoolhouse she was to build, and the possibility of a closet where students might wash, stocked with soap and towels and a tin hip bath. They would laugh her out of the village, of course, but she had been laughed at before. If she was to have a schoolhouse built—if she was to be compelled to do such a thing by Richard Todd, of all people—she would see it done to her own vision, exactly.

With some effort Elizabeth forced her attention back to her youngest students, who were in the middle of a recitation of the times tables. Maggie Cameron was mumbling and studying her shoes; later, Elizabeth would have to take her aside and see what was keeping Maggie from her studies. Leo Hench belched softly and the smell of pickled cabbage wafted through the little room.

Elizabeth pressed her handkerchief to her face, both to blunt the smell and to hide her grimace. There was no other way to cope with the thick miasma of wet wool permeated with body sweat, among other things.

Every year she set herself the task of solving the problem of the winter stink, as the children called it, and every year she failed. It had become a joke in the village. Her schoolboys, frontier raised and not easily offended, wagered on the day she could no longer keep her handkerchief in her sleeve. This year it had come out much earlier than usual.

“Teacher,” called out Jem Ratz from the last bench that he shared with his two younger brothers. “Can we have a turn near the hearth next?”

If Elizabeth really were to give up teaching—something she was not sure that she wanted to do, just yet—it might well be the Ratz boys behind that decision. But the three of them were the youngest of their tribe and with any luck, she consoled herself, they would be the last.

Jem was looking at her with that particular blank stare of his that was meant to hide some new scheme coming laboriously to life behind dun-brown eyes. At almost thirteen Jem Ratz was as big as most full-grown men, broad of hulking shoulder, with a heavy, square head topped by a spiking of blond hair. A rash of pimples covered his forehead and cheeks and bracketed a full mouth filled with a jumble of strong white teeth.

Harry, a year younger, was almost as big and it was generally believed in the village that he would outstrip Jem by the end of the year. Henry, Harry's twin, was the smallest of the three, a boy as stout as a plug with hands and feet like great battered shovels.

Without Jem to lead them, Elizabeth knew, the twins would be mostly harmless. Studying them now, she wondered what kind of men they would grow into. Harry, called slow by his indulgent mother and witless by his impatient father, was picking his nose with great concentration while Henry studied the freckles on his hand.

“Teacher?” Jem said.

“In due time. When the recitation is over.” She made herself turn back to the youngest students, who were watching her with that combination of awe and fear that she worked so hard to dispel. Frightened children could not attend to their work, she had always believed. Looking at the Ratz boys, she wondered if she had perhaps gone too far with this particular policy.

At the end of the next schoolday, Elizabeth called Callie Wilde and Martha Kuick to her and asked them to help her carry some baskets: she would walk them home, today, as she had business at the doctor's place.

From the corner of her eye she saw Jem Ratz freeze at this news, his brow coming down low and hard in displeasure. Once again the teacher was interfering with his plans, and he did not like it.

She smiled at him pleasantly. “Is something wrong, Jem? Harry? Henry?” And got in response only mumbled goodbyes and dark glances.

Later Martha said, “You can't walk us home every day, Miz Elizabeth.”

Callie pressed a little closer to Elizabeth's other side so that their snowshoes touched. “But it would be nice if you could.”

This was new. Until now the girls had denied any trouble; all the reports about the games the Ratz boys had been playing with these two came from the other children or from Curiosity. Elizabeth saw Callie and Martha exchanging glances and she held her tongue. It was the right thing to do, for after a few minutes that were filled only with the sound of their snowshoes and breathing, Callie hiccupped.

She said, “Is it true that witches are born with a mark on their bodies?”

Oh, for a whip when I next see those boys,
Elizabeth thought, and:
Nathaniel was right, I cannot manage this on my own.

She took a deep breath and forced her voice to its normal tone. “I have never read or heard of or seen any evidence that leads me to believe that there is any such thing as a witch. I think ‘witch' is a label people use when they are frightened, and nothing more than that.”

“But if there were witches?” Callie went on. “How would you know? Would there be a marking?”

At that Elizabeth stopped and looked first Callie and then Martha directly in the face. “Let me say this clearly. There are no witches in Paradise, or anywhere else, as far as I know. As there are no witches, talk of marks upon the body is without merit or sense.”

There was a moment's silence, and then Martha said, “But I have one. I have a mark on my shoulder. A red moon, on my shoulder.”

“Do you?” Elizabeth said, flushed with sudden anger. “A red moon on your shoulder? Well then, if we are to talk of marks on the body, what about this?”

And just like that she began to pull at her cloak, her fingers working fast at buttons and ties until she had bared a bit of her chest just below her throat. “You have a moon and I have a star. Does that make us witches together, or perhaps astronomers?”

It was madness, of course, in this weather, but the look on the girls' faces made it worthwhile. First wide-eyed with horror, then melting quickly toward surprise, and finally wobbling, fast and faster, into laughter.

Martha started it, a low, reluctant giggle that blossomed into something larger. Then Callie joined her, her mittens clamped to her mouth so that all that came out was a muffled squeaking. Then they were all laughing, great raucous laughter that echoed through the snowy woods and sent small animals scuttling. They laughed and laughed while Elizabeth righted her clothes, and then they went down to the village together, giggling softly to themselves all the way.

Of course, Elizabeth thought to herself when she was calm again, the Ratz boys could easily undo all the good work of that laughter, and they would, at their first chance. She was thinking about this and what could be done when they came over the bridge into the village and she saw Nathaniel standing outside the trading post, deep in conversation with Jed McGarrity and Martin Ratz. There was a heap of bloody carcasses on the ground before them. A sheep, Elizabeth saw as they came closer, and a wolf too. The deep snow had driven the pack from the mountain down to the village, where pickings were easier. They were hungry enough to take the risk, but this one had run out of luck.

Then Elizabeth caught a glimpse of the Ratz boys slinking around the far corner of the porch, and wondered what new devilment they had in mind.

“Boots,” Nathaniel called to her when they were in earshot. “We were going to come look for you.”

“That is a coincidence,” Elizabeth said. She greeted the men and took a minute to send the girls into the trading post, where they could get warm by the hearth and be safely out of earshot.

“Mr. Ratz,” she said finally. “I'm glad to see you here as well. Would you be so kind as to call your youngest three to come here? I think they are listening from just over there.”

Martin Ratz was a tough little man, curt of manner but fair, for the most part; Hannah had done his family good service when the scarlet fever had come to Paradise, and saved all but one of his children. He would listen to her, at least, before disregarding what she had to say. Especially with Jed McGarrity and Nathaniel standing by.

For all their size the Ratz boys were clearly afraid of their smaller father, for they came when he called without hesitation or delay. All of them studied their feet while Elizabeth talked.

She said, “Apparently your sons have been busy studying up on witchcraft.”

Martin Ratz squinted at her so that his face folded into wrinkles from eyelid to mouth. “What about witchcraft?”

“Pa—” Jem began.

His father cuffed the back of the boy's head so smartly that his cap flew off. “Hold your trap. Nobody was talking to you.”

“They are convinced that you can tell a witch by a mark on her body,” Elizabeth continued.

Nathaniel's mouth twitched, but he kept quiet. Jed was looking less amused, his arms crossed hard on his chest.

Ratz said, “Well, ain't that true? I always heard it was. Lots of folks believe it, anyway.”

“People believe many things that are not true, Mr. Ratz. In any case, would you say that it is appropriate to ask little girls to disrobe in order to see if they have any such marks?”

“Disrobe?” Ratz scratched his chin, and then his eyes widened with understanding. “You mean, strip down?”

“I do.”

“Strip down,” he repeated thoughtfully, looking sideways at the three boys who were inching away from him.

“To the skin,” Elizabeth said. “In this weather.”

“Now, Marty,” began Jed, seeing the way things were moving.

“Strip down to the skin,” said Ratz, his voice rising and wobbling. “You three tried to get those girls to strip down to the skin.”

“Pa—” began Harry, who was cuffed in turn by Jem.

Ratz narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Well, then, what's good for the goose is good for the gander, ain't that the way it goes?”

Nathaniel sent Elizabeth a grim look, one that said this matter was already out of hand and would get worse, if she did not keep her peace.

“It is,” said Elizabeth. “But—”

“Well, then,” Ratz interrupted. “You boys go on then, peel.”

“Pa!” Jem began, stepping backward as his father advanced.

“Don't you
Pa
me,” said Ratz. “Get on with it. Strip.”

“We wouldn't have made those girls do anything,” wailed Harry. “We just wanted to see if they're really witches.”

“Strip down now,” said their father, his color and voice rising apace, “or I'll do it for you.”

Elizabeth would have appealed to Jed McGarrity to put a stop to such insanity, but he had retreated up the steps to the trading post porch where he stood with Callie and Martha. Martha looked alarmed and Callie satisfied at this turn of events.

“Those boys been looking for a beating for a good while now,” Jed called to her. “This won't hurt as much.”

The three boys were still backing away from their advancing father. Then they stopped, looked at each other, looked at him, and for a moment Elizabeth thought they had decided to get it over with.

At the last moment, Jem looked at the trading post porch, where a half-dozen of his classmates had appeared, all wearing wide grins.

Without a word the three boys broke and ran. Martin was after them in the same second, and on his heels a stream of children poured off the porch and out of the trading post. Only Callie and Martha stayed behind, blinking in the sunlight.

Elizabeth joined them on the porch where the view was better. They watched the chase through the village, the boys winding through frozen gardens and jumping woodpiles, dragging a long and bedraggled tail of children behind them. The noise was loud enough to rouse the rest of the village: old Missus Hindle came to her door with a baby on her hip and waved a spoon over her head to urge them all on.