A wagon driven by a tall, thin woman rum-bled around a bend in the road.
“It’s Mrs. Robertson,” said Mary. “She doesn’t have a husband. She comes to see Ma.”
I sank down on the stump. The wagon creaked to a stop.
“Good morning, Mary. Good morning, Trevor,” said Mrs. Robertson. She stepped out of the wagon. “Trevor, be a good boy and look after Ben for me.”
Mary said, “This is Ellie from England. And Max.”
Mrs. Robertson smiled. Her teeth were big. She smelled like horses. When she had gone inside, Mary said, “Now we’ll get to have tea. Ma saves it for company.”
Mary leaned closer to me. “Mrs. Robertson is a widow,” she whispered. “She talked her poor husband to death. It’s true, even though Ma gets mad when you say it. And everyone knows she’s looking for a new husband.”
Mary gave me a sly look. “Maybe Mrs. Robertson will marry your papa.”
I clenched my hands into fists. Mary was a stupid girl. She said stupid things. I was glad when Ma called us to come inside.
Ma sliced a round, dark, plum cake. She set out a teapot decorated with pink roses and pale green leaves, and matching teacups. She poured cups of hot, weak tea.
I sipped my tea slowly. I could feel Mrs. Robertson staring at me. I tried to think of something to say. “We had tea every day in England. And little cakes with pink icing. Didn’t we, Max?”
“I don’t know,” said Max through a mouthful of plum cake.
“We did.” I could hear my voice getting louder. “Don’t you remember Clarissa and her tea trolley?”
Mary’s eyes flashed. But Mrs. Robertson laughed loudly, showing all her teeth. “I should think you’ll be missing a lot more than fancy cakes and tea trolleys.”
Mrs. Robertson raised her eyebrows at Ma. They were bushy with hairs growing straight up. Mary was wrong. Papa would never marry her!
“I hope the children’s father knew what he was doing when he headed off into the wilderness without them,” she said.
Ma frowned, but Mrs. Robertson went on. “It’s as easy as apple pie to get yourself lost.”
I sucked in my breath. What was Mrs. Robertson saying? Papa would never get lost!
“I’ve heard of many settlers who left behind part of their family and never did find them again.” Mrs. Robertson waggled her eyebrows again. “Many settlers. Why — ”
Crash!
The pink rosebud teacup slid from my fingers. It smashed on the cabin floor.
“Mercy,” said Mrs. Robertson. “The girl’s as white as a sheet.”
I stared at the broken cup. Mrs. Robertson was a liar! A liar! Papa was coming back. He had promised!
From far away, I heard Ma say, “You’ve frightened her with your talk.” And then, “Don’t cry, Ellie. It’s just a teacup.”
“It’s not just a teacup, Ma,” said Mary. “It’s the rosebud set you brought all the way from Scotland.”
Mrs. Robertson’s face tightened with disapproval.
“I never — ” Mrs. Robertson started to say.
Ma reached for me. I pushed her away. Max stared at us, his eyes like round black pebbles. I lunged outside and slammed the cabin door.