Susannah Morrow by Megan Chance Page A

catching my breath and then nearly
     falling to my knees to praise God for making it all so easy. ’Twas as if He were pointing my direction. “Charity!” Mary called
     out, raising her hand in greeting, and I hurried the few yards to where she stood. I was breathless when I reached her.
    There must have been something in my expression, for her smile faded, and her hazel eyes darkened. “Why, what is it?”
    “I’ve been looking for you,” I said in a low voice.
    “I’ve been up at the sergeant’s. You knew that.”
    “’Tis hard for me to get there.”
    “And hard for me to leave.” She glanced toward her stepmother, who was straightening and wiping her dirty hands on her apron.
     “Mother asked me over today to help with the preserving.”
    There was an edge in her voice when she said this, a slight resentment, and I knew it was because Mary disliked her stepmother.
     I don’t think she had ever forgiven the woman for sending her out to the Putnams’, though ’twas a natural choice, because
     Mary’s own mother was long dead and her stepfather had no reason to want the child of his first wife around. Mistress Walcott’s
     brother was Thomas Putnam, who had many children and a sickly wife. He needed the help, while Mistress Walcott did not—she
     had Mary’s four half siblings there to help with her own infants.
    Mistress Walcott called out, “Thank goodness you’re here already, Charity. I’ve needed that pail for days now.”
    “Father just finished it this morning,” I called back. Then I nudged Jude and told her, “Don’t just stand there. Take it over
     to her.”
    I waited until Jude had gone out of earshot, and then I turned to Mary. “Can you talk a moment?”
    She sent a glance to her stepmother, then nodded. “Come inside. I’ve jelly ready to boil.” She called out, “Mother! Charity’s
     asked for some cider!”
    “She’s come a long way. Set some out for this little one too!” Mistress Walcott called back.
    I followed Mary into the house. The hall was sweaty and warm, with the tang of cranberries and sugar making my mouth water
     as I stepped inside. The kettle was hissing over the fire, and Mary hurried over to it with a sound of distress, and then
     calmed when she saw it was not boiling. She took a long-handled spoon and stirred it, and the steam rose into her face and
     sent the fine hairs peeking from beneath her cap twining into little curls. I had the small, envious thought that she was
     so pretty that even the damp flush on her face was sweet.
    Sweetness was a word that did not keep when it came to Mary. My thought vanished the moment she turned to me with her assessing,
     slanty eyes and her thin-lipped frown. “All right, then, we’ve only a few minutes. What do you want? This isn’t about the
     other day, is it? What have you done, Charity? Gone and told someone?”
    “No. No, of course not. I gave my word.”
    “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve broken it.”
    I was stung by her scorn. “Not this time.”
    “Then what?”
    “It—it’s about my aunt.”
    “Your aunt?” She looked surprised. “What have I to do with her?”
    “You were right about her,” I said breathlessly, glancing toward the door to make sure no one came in. “I think she is an
     actress.”
    “Really?” Mary drew herself up with a smug, triumphant little smile. “I knew it. Does your father know too, then?”
    “I don’t think so. ’Tis what worries me.”
    “Why, I’m amazed. I wouldn’t have thought he would miss such a thing.” She paused, and then she laughed in great amusement.
     “But then, he didn’t even know his own daughter was playing the trull with his apprentice—”
    “Mary!” Mary was rarely so coarse.
    “I’m only complimenting you, Charity. When you feel like keeping a secret, ’tis true you keep it well.”
    “It…I never meant for that to be a secret.”
    “No, of course not. Did you not wonder, Charity, why Sammy wanted you to keep