Addie raced home through the woods. As she did, she tried not to look at the houses that backed onto the forest, tried not to remember the children who’d lived there. She hadn’t known most of them very well. She’d not even gone to school until her parents passed and she came to live with Preacher and Sophia. Still, she had known the children, and there’d been many times she’d come this way and seen them. Sometimes, if Addie felt Sophia’s invisible hand prodding her, she’d even call a hullo.
When she reached the mayor’s house, she circled wide into the forest, so she wouldn’t need to see it at all. Not that it helped, because her path ended up taking her by the fallen oak tree where she’d last seen Charlie Browning, the mayor’s son. They’d been tramping around in the woods before her hunting trip, before the sickness came. Just tramping around and talking, as they usually did. Then they came to the fallen oak and sat and kept talking. It’d been night, and she’d leaned back to look at the stars, her hands braced against the log. Her hand had brushed his, and he’d laid his on hers, and when she’d looked over, he’d given her a smile that was shy and nervous and not like Charlie at all.
She’d seen that smile and she hadn’t pulled her hand away, even if she thought perhaps she ought to, and now . . . Now she wasn’t sure if she wished she had or not. She thought of that summer night, and she was glad he’d been happy that last time they’d been together, but . . . perhaps it would have been easier if he hadn’t been. If she hadn’t been. If they’d fought and now she could look back and say she hadn’t liked him very much, that they hadn’t been very good friends after all. It hurt too much otherwise.
They hadn’t even let her see him after he’d gotten sick. Preacher and Sophia said it was all right, if it was a short visit and she didn’t touch him. But Mayor Browning and his wife wouldn’t let her, not even when she heard Charlie in the sickroom, coughing and calling for her. Perhaps tomorrow, they said. When he was feeling better. Only there was no tomorrow. Not for Charlie.
Addie circled the mayor’s house and continued on until she reached the little clapboard cabin she shared with Preacher and Sophia. It was one of the smallest homes in town, only four rooms. Addie had her own bedroom, and it didn’t matter if it was half the size of Charlie’s; it was hers, something she’d never had at her parents’ house, where she’d slept by the fire. Sophia assured her that when the baby came, it would sleep in their room, and they’d build a new house before it was old enough to need its own. Addie had said it didn’t matter, not really. It did, though, and she was glad they understood.
Addie went in the door and found Sophia at the kitchen table, composing lessons. Sophia wanted to reopen school in a week. She said the children needed to be reassured that life would return to normal. But Addie had heard people saying they weren’t going to send their children back. Perhaps next year. Getting an education wasn’t all that important in Chestnut Hill. It wasn’t as if you would do anything with it. Wasn’t as if you were going anywhere else.
Addie didn’t plan to tell Sophia there’d be no school. Her foster mother needed to get back to normal too, perhaps more than anyone else. Each death had been a blow that Addie swore she could see on Sophia’s fragile body. There’d been days when it was all she and Preacher could do to make Sophia eat. That’s when Preacher told her about the baby, so she’d understand how important it was for Sophia to be healthy. Addie had already known. Her mother had lost three babies after Addie, and she’d recognized the signs of pregnancy. She’d kept quiet, though, until they’d seen fit to tell her. Now she guarded that secret as ferociously as a bear with a single cub. It was theirs, and it made them a family—truly a family, trusting one another with their deepest secret. No one was going to take that away from her.
“Addie,” Sophia said, rising with a smile. “What did you catch?”
“Nothing.”
Alarm filled Sophia’s pretty face, and Addie could have laughed, as if returning empty-handed portended the end of the world. Sophia knew she always caught a deer or a few rabbits and if she hadn’t, then something was wrong. Having a person know you that well . . . it felt good.
“There’s men coming,” she said. “Preacher says they’re snake-oil peddlers, on account of the deaths.”
The alarm on Sophia’s face grew. “Oh my.”
“It’s all right. Preacher will stop them. He just wanted me to tell you. Are you feeling poorly?”
A wan smile. “Better today. Let me make you some breakfast—”
“I already ate. Took biscuits this morning before I left.” Addie paused, still just inside the door. “Can I go back? Help Preacher if he needs me? He seemed mighty worried.”
“Go on, then. I’ll stay inside. Last thing anyone needs is hearing me tell those peddlers where they can put their wares.”
“You can tell me,” Addie said with a grin.
Sophia laughed. “Go on, now. Tell Benjamin I’m feeling fine. I’ll make a hot lunch for both of you.”
* * *
When Addie headed back out, she could hear a hullabaloo down the road and knew Preacher hadn’t been able to stop the peddlers.
Addie blamed Millie. True, the old woman had left as soon as Preacher asked, but Addie blamed her anyway, for taking up his time with something as silly as confession when he had so much else to attend to these days. Addie believed in God; Sophia said she ought to, so she did. She just didn’t figure He had time to be listening to old gossips confess their sins. Not if He obviously hadn’t had time to listen to Addie’s prayers and save Charlie.
Addie stayed in the forest as she circled around to the commotion. People were spilling out of their houses now. Eager for the distraction. As she drew close, she could hear the whispers starting already. The men were doctors. No, they were undertakers. No, they were from the government, putting the whole village under quarantine.
The advantage to moving through the woods was that Addie could get a lot closer to the situation than those who’d just come out their doors. Someone had brought the two men straight to Preacher and the mayor, down by the community hall, so she was able to creep alongside it and hear everything unfolding.
“We’d like to have a word with you, Your Worship,” the younger stranger was saying, and Addie figured that meant Preacher, but it was the mayor who answered.
“Whatever you’re selling, we aren’t interested.”
“I’m sorry,” Preacher said. “It’s been a very hard month for us. We really would prefer to be left alone in our time of crisis. We’ll certainly provide a hot lunch, though, and replenish any supplies you need before you go on your way.”
“I understand your hesitation,” the younger man said. “But I can assure you that we did not come to profit from your tragedy. Instead, we offer . . .” He cleared his throat. “I hesitate to say more in public, Your Worship. Please, grant us a few minutes of your time. After hearing what we offer, if you wish us to move on, I assure you, we will, without another word to anyone.”
Mayor Browning clearly wanted the men to leave. He was a brusque man by nature. Now his only child had just passed, and he had no patience for intrusions, no more than he’d had when Addie tried to visit Charlie. Yet Preacher took him aside, pulling him closer to where Addie hid.
“Let’s allow them to have their say,” Preacher said. “They’re here now. If we refuse, they may try to sell their snake oil on the side. We’ll hear them out, refuse their offer, and escort them, politely, from town.”
Mayor Browning allowed that this was probably the most expedient way to deal with the situation. When he went back and told the strangers to have their say, though, they insisted on having the whole town council present at the meeting. That led to more discussion, but finally the mayor broke down again. There were only two others who made up the council and they were there, anyway, listening in. He’d bring them all inside and get this over with, so he could return to his grieving wife.
* * *
Addie went in the back door of the community hall. It led to a small kitchen, where they would lay meals for a festival or other special occasions. Now the table was covered in food brought for the bereaved, most of it left untouched for days and starting to stink.
She could hear Mayor Browning in the next room, asking his wife to leave for a few minutes. She argued—her child would be in the ground soon enough and she wanted to spend every last moment at his side. But the mayor was firm. She ought to go, but only briefly. Leave out the back door and take some air. He’d call her back when he could.
Addie quickly retreated and hid herself under the porch as Mrs. Browning left. Then she crept inside again.
The hall had two main rooms with a wall between them, which could be removed for large gatherings. During the funerals, they’d kept the wall up—bodies would be laid out in the back room, while the service for one victim would take place in the front. From the voices, Addie could tell that the men were holding their meeting in the front room, so she slipped into the back one.
As soon as she saw the open coffins, she went still. She’d just finished thinking that this was where they kept the bodies and yet she hadn’t really thought about it at all.
He’s here. Charlie’s here.
I won’t look. I won’t. I’ll just walk—
Walk across to the other wall. Where his coffin lay. She couldn’t see Charlie, nestled too low, but she could tell the coffin was his by the items laid on the table. All the parents had done that, set out small personal belongings that would be laid to rest with the child. Things that mattered to them. Things that mattered to Charlie.
An American coin from a trader who told wild tales of life in the south. A ribbon from a parade in Toronto, on his trip there five years past. A drawing of a pure black Arabian horse, the sort of fine mount he dreamed of owning. Finally, an eagle feather, from last summer, when they’d climbed the bluffs together. He’d wanted her to have it, but she’d found one for herself. Now she wished she’d taken his gift. Something to remember him by.
She could still take it.
Steal from the dead? What would Preacher say?
Addie swallowed and yanked her gaze from the feather. She could hear voices settling in the next room as the introductions finished. This was what she’d come for—to hear what the strangers wanted. Not to lose herself in grief and wicked thoughts.
She hurried to the wall and pressed her ear against it.