After Alice Fell(35)

I press my hands to my chest. “I confess I don’t know anything about pigs.”

“No. No, I think not. Not a Snow thing to be knowing about.” She takes another drink and studies Toby. “There’s rabbits out back. In the hutch. If you want to give them a visit.”

“Can I?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“Just out and to the right,” Essa says.

He scrambles from the bench seat and is out the door. Frederick gurgles and arches his back, then smacks his lips and is quiet.

“Only time he sleeps. All night, I’ve got to walk in circles to keep him from shattering all our ear drums.” She toes the rocker again, and we watch him twitch his fingers, then settle to sleep. “None for you?”

“I couldn’t.” It is the easiest answer.

“Well.”

I smile at her, then return to watching the baby.

“Toby looks just like his mother. Dainty fine, like he’ll break.”

“He doesn’t remember her. That’s what Cathy says.”

“Mayhap what she wishes. But he was old enough. He’ll remember.”

“Yes.”

“Hard thing that. Such an accident. And Alice finding her. No one should go to the Narrows.” She squints at the small window and then drinks the last of her coffee in a gulp. “But your Alice was a good one with the boy. Never saw such attention. They weren’t near ever apart. Come by for the rabbits. Just wanted to pet them. Asked for a rabbit’s foot once. To give the babe. She was never without that boy. Abel saw them in the woods sometimes, and that boy’d be tied up tight to her like a papoose. And then . . . well, we had that fever come through, and the boy was sick, wasn’t he? Alice too.”

“I remember.”

“I think your brother was at wit’s end by then. Just one hard thing after another. Can’t fault him for finding another wife.” She blows a long breath through her nose. “Abel took over some medicine I’d mixed, and your brother was nice as could be and so grateful we’d stopped. Said we didn’t need to look in anymore, they were on the mend. And next time, that woman over there turns her nose at us. Tells us it’s not our concern.” She straightens in the chair. “And I’ve said more than brings good graces. It’s just . . . Lydia came often to look in on us and . . .”

“You were kind to bring the medicine.”

“Most people were afraid, you know.” She slides the biscuit plate closer to me; when I pass on another serving, she covers it with a cloth. “Thought if Alice touched them, they’d be touched the same. Can’t change old ways, can you?” She points over my shoulder to a small sketch tucked in a frame of braided twigs. “Alice drew that up there for us.”

I stand and move closer to the sketch. Essa, with the boys hanging off her lap, sitting at the same table we sit now.

“She gave that in trade for the rabbit’s foot. She’s made me too pretty there, but she got the boys just right.”

“Would you consider visiting me at the house? And perhaps ask the other women? It would mean much to me. To Cathy. We can all start anew.”

She lifts and drops a shoulder. “Well. I suppose we should. Would be Christian, wouldn’t it.”

The door swings open and thunks against the wall. Toby’s shoulders are hunched tight and his breath shallow.

“What is it?” Essa turns in her chair.

“They’re dead.”

The chair scrapes the floor as she stands. She rushes to the landing, then stops, a quick touch to his shoulder. “Stay and watch the babe.”

Essa holds her hand to her mouth and stares at the hutches. “I fed them this morning.” She spins around to take in the yard. One thin trail of blood in the dirt. As if the fox killed them all and only chose one for a meal. The rest lay tumbled atop each other, the red streaks on their fur already dry from the heat. She looks at me. “I just fed them.”

Toby’s arrow flies true and lands with a thunk in the straw. I clap, then shake his hand. “Elbow up. Does the trick, doesn’t it?”

“And thumb to cheek.”

“Yes. All clear?”

He nods from his perch on the front step, and I move across the driveway to the bale set to the stump of the old tree. Better here than across in the field: at worst he’ll only lose another arrow to the hedge rather than an arrow to a sheep’s rump. I tug the arrow free, cock it under my arm, and hop down from the stump, careful to keep clear of the roots that travel the yard. The arrow slips to the ground. Just as I bend to retrieve it, another arrow whizzes past my ear. I scramble away, turning just as it hits the bullseye. The shaft quivers and slows.

“Toby, stop.”

But his mouth hangs open and his bow is on the ground in front of his feet, just as I taught him.

“Well, look at that.”

My gaze snaps to Cathy leaning out a second-floor window.

“I haven’t lost my aim.” She rests her chin in her palm and gives a smug smile.

“You could have hit me.”

“I could have,” she says. “But I didn’t.” Then she grabs the frame and pokes her head out. “You need to practice from many angles, Toby. Did you see that?” Her cheeks flush and she lets out a light laugh. “I’m going to try again. So, stay clear. Stay clear!”