Forbidden by Eve Bunting Page B

realized there was no noisy disturbance, no groups of jeering onlookers to taunt me. It appeared to be a normal town, with men and women, suitably attired, in the streets. There was a cart filled with peat, probably taken from a nearby bog, and two horses tied to a railing.
    Then I became aware of the faces peering out at me from behind curtains. House after house had curtains closed, twitching to indicate watchers behind them. A shiver crawled along my body. I noticed that those we met stared at me with more than curiosity. There was hostility. And the smiles I offered were not returned.
    We passed a blacksmith’s shop, where the smell of burning hooves wafted toward us. The blacksmith stopped hammering and came to stand at the door as we passed. I was sure I was a strange sight, though he called out, “Good mornin’, Mistress,” before he took off his cap and scratched his head and called again, “Mistress! What is your business here?”
    I did not answer.
    Here was a produce shop with a barrel of cabbages on display outside.
    Here a tavern with a swinging board proclaiming, THE FISHERMAN’S INN .
    Next to it was a fancy-looking establishment called Jackdaws. I led Dobbin over and managed to slide down from his back. A man stopped to watch.
    I looped the reins around the railing.
    “Good morn,” he said, doffing his hat. “I am Clifton MacIntyre, mayor of Brindle.” His eyes were small, and a drooping mustache hid his mouth.
    I tried to smooth my hair. “I am happy to meet you, sir.”
    “You may not think Brindle sufficiently important to have a mayor,” he said in a voice both pompous and patronizing. “But we are quite a thriving community, though small. We get visitors from towns afar. They come to shop at Jackdaws.” He nodded slightly toward the fancy shop behind him.
    “I am sure,” I said.
    “And you, Mistress, are?”
    “I am Josie Ferguson, niece to Caleb Ferguson of Brindle Point.” At my words, I saw his face change. Change to what? I wasn’t certain. He was less watchful now, as if reassured. That I did know.
    “You are here to stay?”
    “For a long time,” I told him. “But not forever.”
    He absently leaned over and stroked Dobbin’s head. “I should have been more observant,” he said. “You are riding your uncle’s horse.”
    “Yes.” I smoothed Dobbin’s mane. When I got back to Raven’s Roost, I would find a comb and untangle it.
    “Well,” the mayor said at last. “Your aunt and uncle are fine people. Please give them my regards.”
    “I shall,” I informed him, though indeed I was hoping to be back at Raven’s Roost before they missed me. I watched him walk away, then curiosity tempted me and I pushed open the door of Jackdaws. Perhaps I would find stockings. A polite bell tinkled. Sun slanted through the windows, illuminating the interior, and I caught my breath. I felt as if I’d stepped into another world, a hushed hidden world.
    Aladdin’s cave.
    Around me and displayed on polished tables and shelves was bric-a-brac of all kinds. China angels, china dogs, snuffboxes, jewelry, ladies’ fans, some of which were broken and stained. A glimmering blue dress was spread across a chest. And there were stockings, finer and less serviceable than any I’d ever worn. Those would not do for me. I saw a ship’s steering wheel made of gleaming mahogany. There was a prie-dieu, all faded scarlet and gold. I had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching me, but when I turned around, I saw that it was a ship’s figurehead, a beautiful plaster woman with golden locks and a bare bosom. For a moment, I imagined her on the prow of some great ship, facing the wind, reaching out for unknown territory. What had happened to that ship? How had the figurehead come here?
    A piano stood next to me and, without thinking, I tapped on the keys. Sound shivered out, and I lifted my fingers as if they’d been burned.
    A woman, very stylish in a dove gray dress and shoes with