it so? I would have thought he would court you
openly instead of stealing your virtue in a barn.”
I wanted to sink through the floor at the loudness of her voice, at the things she was saying. I said in a hoarse whisper,
“Not so loud, Mary. What if someone should hear?”
She shrugged. “No one is near enough to hear us.”
“If they should come through the door—”
“Tell me, Charity—” Mary leaned as close to me as she could while still stirring the jelly. “Those things that Sammy wanted
you to do…Did you do them? Did he like it?” She lifted her fine brows suggestively.
I wanted to squirm away from her; I was sorry I’d come. The things she said brought memories so clearly into my head that
the sharpness of them hurt. I was sure she must be able to see in my eyes the things Sammy and I had done, the things she
knew he had urged me to do, because I had gone to her for counsel. Mary had gleefully encouraged me to give in to him.
If you love him, Charity, you’ll do whatever he asks. Do you want to lose him to someone who can satisfy him that way when
you will not?
I made myself turn away, and Mary laughed and said, “It’s just that I’m jealous, Charity. We all are. Why, except for Mercy,
you’re the only one of us who’s felt a man’s touch.”
“I would not have done it had you not advised me to,” I said. My voice was so thin it seemed to disappear into the hiss of
steam from the pot.
“But you were glad of it, weren’t you? You would do it again if you could.”
“No.” I shook my head violently. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“If Sammy came back into town—”
“He won’t be back.”
“He won’t?” She paused. I felt her looking at me with that thoughtful stare, though I did not dare look back to her. “How
do you know that?”
“I-I don’t…really,” I lied.
“You mean…one morning you woke up, and he was gone. He just…disappeared into the night. Is that the truth of it, then?”
“That’s the truth of it,” I told her.
I don’t know if Mary saw that lie too. I don’t know what she saw. All I know is that she left the long-handled wooden spoon
spinning in the jelly, and stepped over to me, putting her steam-hot hand on my arm so it nearly burned my cold skin. The
empathy in her face was such that I forgot the meanness of the other things she’d said to me.
“Oh, my poor Charity,” she said. “What sorrow his leaving must have brought you. No wonder you did not want anyone to know—why,
he used you and left you, and what else is there for you to do but wonder how you displeased him?”
“Aye,” I managed to choke out, because in a way that was true enough. It had not taken much to make Sammy go. Not nearly as
much as I’d hoped it would.
“Well, I won’t say a word,” she whispered. “It will be our little secret. But you must promise to do something for me.”
I drew back, wary again. “What?”
“That red paragon bodice your aunt was wearing at meeting. Can you get it for me?”
“What?”
“Can you get me the bodice?”
“You…you don’t mean…steal it?”
“No, you silly widgeon. I don’t want you to steal it. Just…Could you borrow it? For a night, ’tis all. There’s a man—”
“’Tis not mine to lend you, Mary.”
“Oh, don’t be so pious. It’s not as if you wouldn’t borrow it yourself if you had the chance. If Sammy were still here…why,
you’d take it in a minute. Think how pretty you would look in it.”
“I wouldn’t take it.”
Mary’s eyes flared. “You know, Charity, sometimes you make me forget why I even like you. Mercy would do this. Betty borrowed
a lace cap just last week. But you…You think you’re so much better than the rest of us—”
“I don’t,” I protested. “I don’t think that.”
“Then prove it.”
“Mary, this isn’t fair.”
“It’s not as if I’m asking you to do something so terrible. Just borrow it for a night. I’ll
openly instead of stealing your virtue in a barn.”
I wanted to sink through the floor at the loudness of her voice, at the things she was saying. I said in a hoarse whisper,
“Not so loud, Mary. What if someone should hear?”
She shrugged. “No one is near enough to hear us.”
“If they should come through the door—”
“Tell me, Charity—” Mary leaned as close to me as she could while still stirring the jelly. “Those things that Sammy wanted
you to do…Did you do them? Did he like it?” She lifted her fine brows suggestively.
I wanted to squirm away from her; I was sorry I’d come. The things she said brought memories so clearly into my head that
the sharpness of them hurt. I was sure she must be able to see in my eyes the things Sammy and I had done, the things she
knew he had urged me to do, because I had gone to her for counsel. Mary had gleefully encouraged me to give in to him.
If you love him, Charity, you’ll do whatever he asks. Do you want to lose him to someone who can satisfy him that way when
you will not?
I made myself turn away, and Mary laughed and said, “It’s just that I’m jealous, Charity. We all are. Why, except for Mercy,
you’re the only one of us who’s felt a man’s touch.”
“I would not have done it had you not advised me to,” I said. My voice was so thin it seemed to disappear into the hiss of
steam from the pot.
“But you were glad of it, weren’t you? You would do it again if you could.”
“No.” I shook my head violently. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“If Sammy came back into town—”
“He won’t be back.”
“He won’t?” She paused. I felt her looking at me with that thoughtful stare, though I did not dare look back to her. “How
do you know that?”
“I-I don’t…really,” I lied.
“You mean…one morning you woke up, and he was gone. He just…disappeared into the night. Is that the truth of it, then?”
“That’s the truth of it,” I told her.
I don’t know if Mary saw that lie too. I don’t know what she saw. All I know is that she left the long-handled wooden spoon
spinning in the jelly, and stepped over to me, putting her steam-hot hand on my arm so it nearly burned my cold skin. The
empathy in her face was such that I forgot the meanness of the other things she’d said to me.
“Oh, my poor Charity,” she said. “What sorrow his leaving must have brought you. No wonder you did not want anyone to know—why,
he used you and left you, and what else is there for you to do but wonder how you displeased him?”
“Aye,” I managed to choke out, because in a way that was true enough. It had not taken much to make Sammy go. Not nearly as
much as I’d hoped it would.
“Well, I won’t say a word,” she whispered. “It will be our little secret. But you must promise to do something for me.”
I drew back, wary again. “What?”
“That red paragon bodice your aunt was wearing at meeting. Can you get it for me?”
“What?”
“Can you get me the bodice?”
“You…you don’t mean…steal it?”
“No, you silly widgeon. I don’t want you to steal it. Just…Could you borrow it? For a night, ’tis all. There’s a man—”
“’Tis not mine to lend you, Mary.”
“Oh, don’t be so pious. It’s not as if you wouldn’t borrow it yourself if you had the chance. If Sammy were still here…why,
you’d take it in a minute. Think how pretty you would look in it.”
“I wouldn’t take it.”
Mary’s eyes flared. “You know, Charity, sometimes you make me forget why I even like you. Mercy would do this. Betty borrowed
a lace cap just last week. But you…You think you’re so much better than the rest of us—”
“I don’t,” I protested. “I don’t think that.”
“Then prove it.”
“Mary, this isn’t fair.”
“It’s not as if I’m asking you to do something so terrible. Just borrow it for a night. I’ll
Similar Books
