Whisper Falls (10 page)

“All right.” I squeezed her hand briefly. Too much contact would draw the attention of others, which neither Polly nor I wanted. I would, however, be certain we spoke in more detail after the service.

There was a commotion at the meetinghouse door. The Widow Drake swept in, tall and straight, dressed from neck to toe in rustling black. A girl of about my age trailed after her, neatly clad in a moss-green gown with white linen apron and cap.

Did Mrs. Drake have a new apprentice? Was that why she had no time to teach Phoebe?

Mrs. Drake murmured into the girl's ear and then continued alone to her pew near the front. The girl moved to Polly's other side and looked about her with interest.

I caught the new servant's glance and exchanged nods of greeting. No one would call her a beauty, but the sweetness of her smile and the black silk of her hair were pleasing.

The service had just reached the sermon when the stillness was shattered by a low moan, quickly muffled, from Polly. I looked at her and bit back an exclamation. Her lips glowed gray against a pasty complexion. A red stain spread down her petticoat.

“Polly,” I said in a whisper, even as she slumped against me, “we shall leave.”

The congregation rippled and shifted, but no one turned to see what had caused the disturbance. I clamped my arm about her waist. The new girl did the same from the other side. We ushered her from the building.

The privy was our first stop, but the stench in the noontime heat overwhelmed Polly. We encouraged her closer to Rocky Creek. She doubled over and retched into the reeds at the stream's edge. With stumbling steps, she plunged into the water and squatted in the shallows, splashing her sweating face.

I spoke in a soft undertone to Mrs. Drake's companion. “I am Susanna Marsh, and she is Polly Young.”

“Mary Whitfield.”… “I fear she is…”

“Indeed.” I had witnessed enough miscarriages with my mistress to recognize the signs. “Mrs. Drake's home is not far. Can you fetch a clean petticoat and some cloths?”

Mary retraced her steps and quickly disappeared from sight. I knelt on a rock near the distraught girl and pondered what to do.

The water about her knees swirled in crimson waves. She cried out and clutched at her belly, her shoulders heaving.

“Polly, did Mr. Butler force this on you?”

She nodded.

“How far along?”

“I missed two monthlies.” She panted in pain. “I am ruined.”

“You are fifteen,” I said, smoothing damp wisps of hair from her brow. “You had no choice. He's your master.”

She closed her eyes. Tears made dirty trails down each cheek.

I soothed with a patter of sympathetic words, even as outrage roared through me like a white-hot flash of lightning. There had been rumors, quickly hushed, of a similar outcome with the Butlers's previous servant. Did Mr. Butler have no honor? Did Mrs. Butler have no sight?

The new girl soon returned. We washed Polly's face and legs. While Mary changed her into a fresh petticoat, I scrubbed the soiled one.

Footsteps drew near. “What's going on?” Mrs. Butler had arrived.

“Polly has taken ill,” I said, meeting her gaze boldly.

She eyed me, then Polly, then me again. Her lips pinched. “Is it over?”

No need to explain. Mrs. Butler knew.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said.

Her expression gentled as she approached her servant. “How do you feel?”

“Poorly,” Polly whispered on a sob.

I moved closer to my friend, chin lifted. She linked her hot, shaking fingers with mine.

“I am…” Mrs. Butler's voice trailed away.

What had she been about to say? Sorry? Perhaps she was, but not sorry enough to protect the girls who worked in her household.

The older woman extended her hand. “Will you be able to walk to the wagon?”

Polly drew in a shuddering breath and released my hand to take her mistress's. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Very well.” The two joined hands and trudged up the slight incline of the creek bank. When they reached the top, Mrs. Butler turned to me briskly. “Please find my son Martin and send him to me. Tell my husband to hitch the wagon. We shall be leaving shortly.”

Church had let out for the day. Townsfolk clustered in small groups in the shade of the trees. They grew silent when I approached.

The townsfolk knew, too.

After completing Mrs. Butler's bidding, I scanned the crowd and found the Pratts standing by themselves in the shade of an old oak.

“Mrs. Pratt—” I said.

My master interrupted. “Where have you been?”

I looked his way with reluctance. “Mrs. Butler's servant fell ill. I helped the girl until the Butlers were able to depart.”

“It's a pity. We continued our education on the seven deadly sins. The sermon was most enlightening.” He made a ticking sound with his tongue. “You will wish to skip your meals today and learn the true meaning of hunger. Only then can you understand the aching sin of gluttony.”

No food for the rest of the day? My mind reeled at the thought. Did he truly believe I didn't understand how it felt to be hungry?

Perhaps I could sneak a quick bite in the pantry, although I knew from experience that, if I were caught, the punishment could be worse than a few missed meals.

I glanced at Mrs. Pratt in the bleak hope she would intervene, but she merely looked away.

* * *

I couldn't go to the cave on Sunday. The lack of food and the list of chores once handled by Hector overwhelmed my efforts.

On Monday evening I was ready in time, yet Mark didn't come. I had an hour of solitude to sit in the cave and watch night fall on the forest.

Although my body rested, my mind did not. So many thoughts demanded attention.

What would happen to Polly Young?

What difficulties prevented my master from paying his bills in a timely manner?

Why had Mrs. Drake chosen Mary Whitfield?

I wanted to share my questions. I wanted to talk with Mark. My secret friend. He had a lovely voice, deep and expressive. He didn't mind explaining things to me. I, who was more accustomed to impatience, enjoyed being the student of an eager teacher.

Friend
. Before Mark, I'd known its definition. Now I knew its meaning.

As I clambered down the rock wall on Tuesday, he waited on his side of the falls. I smiled, my gaze drawn to an object he cradled in his hands.

He extended it toward me. “Let's see if Whisper Falls will let this through.”

The object emerged on my side. It proved to be a red bowl, covered by waxy paper, and a silver spoon, its handle decorated with vines and roses. I accepted the gift and gasped, startled by its feel. The bowl was snow-cold and heavy. Within it lay a pool of soupy white pudding. Excitement beat inside me like a trapped bird.

“Have you brought ice cream?”

He nodded. “Go ahead and eat. It'll melt more if you don't.”

I lifted a spoonful to my lips, oddly hesitant. What if I didn't like it? Or worse, what if I liked it too much?

Cautiously, I sampled the treat and couldn't stifle the groan of pleasure at the taste of sweetened cream. Yet it was the texture against my tongue that was most remarkable. Thick, silky, and deliciously cold.

I closed my eyes, wavering on my feet, entirely focusing my senses on this delight. It was more heavenly than I could have imagined. When Mark chuckled, I opened my eyes.

My cheeks blushed at my own greed. I held the bowl out to him. “Shall we share?”

He shook his head. “I can have all I want anytime. This is yours.”

I needed no further prompting. Swiftly, the ice cream disappeared. Until the last bite I savored it, committing the treat to memory.

With a guilty laugh I stared into the empty dish. “Thank you. It was…” I felt the unexpected prick of tears.

“Susanna? About what I said Friday?”

I shook my head vigorously, not wishing to discuss my punishments again. “You have apologized once. It is enough.” I thrust the bowl through the falls to emphasize my point, and my feet slipped on the mossy rock. I clawed frantically at the air before plunging into the creek.

It was like a scene from a bad movie—the heroine, in her long gown, teetering on the side of the pool before falling in, all in slow motion.

Except Susanna didn't stand up. She thrashed on all fours in the stream below my rock, screaming like a terrified animal caught in a trap.

“Help me!” she shrieked.

I knelt and grabbed her shoulders. “I'm here.”

Her flailing fists knocked my hands away.

“Susanna, stop fighting me.”

She didn't appear to hear. As she struggled to her feet, she tripped on her skirt and went under again. I lay on the boulder and fished in the water for something to grasp. Cupping her face, I held it above the water.

She sputtered. “Help me, Mark.” Her thin fingers clutched my wrists.

“Calm down. I'll get you out.” It killed me to see her like this. I locked an arm around her waist and hauled her onto the boulder. “You're fine now. I have you.”

Her cries morphed into hiccups. She hunched over and buried her face in her hands.

I cradled her. “You're fine,” I said. “Susanna, you're fine.”

Her trembling faded, bit by bit. When it had stopped, I asked, “Do you think you can stand?”

She nodded.

“Slowly.” I stood and drew her up with me, my arms still securely around her. She was rigid, fists balled against her cheeks.

Beneath my hands, her body was warm and wet. Her tunic gaped open to reveal a transparent shirt clinging to the tops of her breasts. I hugged her tightly against me, blocking the view.

She sucked in a sobbing breath.

“Better?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Okay. I don't know where that came from, but you really don't need to fear the creek. It's shallow enough to stand in.”

“My father drowned in Rocky Creek.”

Damn. No wonder. “I'm sorry, Susanna. How did it happen?”

A shudder racked her body. “There was a terrible storm one afternoon. It was raining hard. The creek was rising, threatening to spill over its banks. He came to see if it threatened our farm and fell in. The current bore him away.” Her voice was soft and childlike.

“How old were you?”

“Eight.” I could feel her smile against my chest. “My papa was a good man. Everyone admired him. He was the town tutor. He taught me everything he taught the boys.”

I could hardly believe what she'd told me. Her father had died in this creek, yet Susanna came down to the falls every free moment she could spare.

“Why do you spend so much time near the water if you fear it?”

“It's the last place Mr. Pratt would think to look for me.”

Damn. She hid in a place that reminded her of a huge tragedy, just to have some time alone.

“You're safe now. The creek barely comes up to your knees.”

“I know, but the falls are so strong.” Her voice squeaked.

“All you have to do is stand up and walk away.” I brushed wet hair from her face.

“Mark?”

“Yeah?”

Her brow creased anxiously. “The bowl smashed.”

“Not a problem.”

Her head tilted up. “Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I in your world?”

“Yeah.”

The curtain of water flowed behind us, glittery and crystal clear. The falls were about as hard to understand as she was. Why had they picked now to let one of us through? Not that I was complaining or anything. I was really glad that we could be this close. I just didn't understand what the gain was for the falls. We were already friends. What else did it want for us?

“You're in twenty-first century Raleigh.”

She released a deep sigh. “I want to go home.”

I wasn't going to encourage this decision. Holding her made me feel all sexy and heroic.

She wiggled free and turned her back to me.

I looked down at my empty arms. She'd needed me and I'd responded without thinking. It felt good. No, it felt great. Too bad it had ended so soon.

“Do you want me to see if the falls will let me jump over there and help you across?”

“Yes, thank you.” She stared at her toes.

I leapt to her rock and paused. It was quiet. No airplanes, traffic, or chainsaws. Just birds and insects and the rushing of water. It smelled weird. Earthy, like insane compost. And her world seemed absurdly bright for this late in the evening. How could they stand the daytime sunlight without wearing shades?

Damn, I was standing in 1796. The frickin' eighteenth century. I looked over my shoulder and gave her a smile. “Whisper Falls has some serious attitude. It finally gave in about us.”

She watched me silently. Susanna had withdrawn into statue mode.

I offered my hand. “Come on. I won't let you fall.”

She landed beside me on her rock and then shrank away—soaked, stiff, face averted.

What had I done?

Susanna confused me. How could a girl go from fine to ballistic to catatonic all in the space of five minutes?

“What just happened here?”

She started to walk past me. When I touched her arm, she hesitated.

“Susanna, say something. How did we go from friends to strangers so fast? I don't understand what went wrong.”

“Nobody ever sees me upset. I do not permit it.” As soon as she spoke, she clapped a hand over her mouth and met my gaze, wide-eyed.

“Then it's a good thing it happened in front of me.” How must it feel to never show emotions or voice opinions? To want peace so badly she fought her worst fear each day? It left me in awe.

She searched my face. I could almost hear her thinking, her brain clicking through all the angles. Then she smiled, slowly and sweetly.