tumbled down the stairwell to my death!” She stabbed the air with a bony finger, squinting hard at Asa. “Nay! They’re out to do me in, I tell you. If only my dear brother were here to protect me. But, alas, he feels it his due to serve God even at the expense of being here to take care of this poor, ailing wretch who gave up her whole life to raise him. Mind you, I’m not faulting Cyrus. A fine man!” Her wrinkled features contorted into a self-satisfied smile, threatening to crack her face like old plaster. “A missionary, you know.”
Asa offered her a weary nod. Who didn’t know? Birdie Blackwell never started or ended one of her tiresome bouts of gossip without reference to her saintly brother. Somehow Asa found this transformation of the man hard to explain and harder to visualize. The Reverend Cyrus Blackwell remained in his memory as a troublesome and sometimes vicious youngster who had stolen merchandise from his father’s general store on Main Street and tortured the town’s population of cats, dogs, and birds. There was even some talk that as a young man he had torched the home of a woman who refused him. The girl and her aging mother had died in the flames. The fire was never explained. Soon afterward, Cyrus Blackwell left the area to enter the seminary. Since that time, he had never returned to Quoddy Cove. But even if the man were innocent of that crime, with a sister like Birdie, Asa could understand why he stayed away.
“Now, mind you, I’m not one to cast dispersions,” Birdie went on, “but you know how the people hereabouts will talk. If Miss Persia were mine to bring up, I’d haul her off the pond this minute, take her home for a good strapping, and lock her in her room with only her Bible for company until she’s old enough to know how to act properly in public.”
Victoria, who had been thinking that just such a course of action might be wise, took exception to someone else voicing such an opinion.
“Birdie dear, they’re only skating, and in broad view of everyone in town. I can’t see that it’s so scandalous.”
Miss Blackwell made a disapproving, clicking sound with her whale-ivory teeth. “Of course you’re her mother, Victoria, but no daughter of mine would make such a display of herself with a man. Mark my words, the girl wants discipline—a strong hand, well placed. Or the next thing you know, she’ll be sneaking out to meet men and doing you know what behind your backs.”
Europa snickered softly. Her father gave her a scathing look. His temper was nearing its limits.
“Please explain exactly what you assume our Persia will be doing in the event she decides to start sneaking out, as you put it, Miss Blackwell. I’d like to hear it in so many words!”
“Captain!” Victoria gasped softly, placing a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. Miss Birdie Blackwell, the town gossip, was not one to be goaded without retaliating in the meanest fashion.
“That sort of thing doesn’t need explaining to any man, Asa Whiddington! How dare you try to embarrass a poor spinster lady who’s dedicated her whole life only to God and her dear, devout brother?” She shook a warning finger at the captain once more. “You just mind that red-haired wanton you’ve raised up. I’m warning you, she’s one of the devil’s own!”
Before Asa Whiddington could calm himself enough to frame a suitable reply, Birdie Blackwell summoned her servants with an angry howl and was off to sow her seeds of discontent elsewhere.
“The bloody old bitch!” Asa mumbled, clenching his fingers, which he very much wished were around the woman’s wrinkled throat.
“Asa, please,” Victoria whispered. “Europa will hear you.”
But their elder daughter was no longer beside them.
Zack whirled Persia about and soon had her in his arms, facing him as if she were a dancing partner. Immediately, she saw his intent. He moved them into the figures of an ice waltz that set her skirts swaying and
Asa offered her a weary nod. Who didn’t know? Birdie Blackwell never started or ended one of her tiresome bouts of gossip without reference to her saintly brother. Somehow Asa found this transformation of the man hard to explain and harder to visualize. The Reverend Cyrus Blackwell remained in his memory as a troublesome and sometimes vicious youngster who had stolen merchandise from his father’s general store on Main Street and tortured the town’s population of cats, dogs, and birds. There was even some talk that as a young man he had torched the home of a woman who refused him. The girl and her aging mother had died in the flames. The fire was never explained. Soon afterward, Cyrus Blackwell left the area to enter the seminary. Since that time, he had never returned to Quoddy Cove. But even if the man were innocent of that crime, with a sister like Birdie, Asa could understand why he stayed away.
“Now, mind you, I’m not one to cast dispersions,” Birdie went on, “but you know how the people hereabouts will talk. If Miss Persia were mine to bring up, I’d haul her off the pond this minute, take her home for a good strapping, and lock her in her room with only her Bible for company until she’s old enough to know how to act properly in public.”
Victoria, who had been thinking that just such a course of action might be wise, took exception to someone else voicing such an opinion.
“Birdie dear, they’re only skating, and in broad view of everyone in town. I can’t see that it’s so scandalous.”
Miss Blackwell made a disapproving, clicking sound with her whale-ivory teeth. “Of course you’re her mother, Victoria, but no daughter of mine would make such a display of herself with a man. Mark my words, the girl wants discipline—a strong hand, well placed. Or the next thing you know, she’ll be sneaking out to meet men and doing you know what behind your backs.”
Europa snickered softly. Her father gave her a scathing look. His temper was nearing its limits.
“Please explain exactly what you assume our Persia will be doing in the event she decides to start sneaking out, as you put it, Miss Blackwell. I’d like to hear it in so many words!”
“Captain!” Victoria gasped softly, placing a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. Miss Birdie Blackwell, the town gossip, was not one to be goaded without retaliating in the meanest fashion.
“That sort of thing doesn’t need explaining to any man, Asa Whiddington! How dare you try to embarrass a poor spinster lady who’s dedicated her whole life only to God and her dear, devout brother?” She shook a warning finger at the captain once more. “You just mind that red-haired wanton you’ve raised up. I’m warning you, she’s one of the devil’s own!”
Before Asa Whiddington could calm himself enough to frame a suitable reply, Birdie Blackwell summoned her servants with an angry howl and was off to sow her seeds of discontent elsewhere.
“The bloody old bitch!” Asa mumbled, clenching his fingers, which he very much wished were around the woman’s wrinkled throat.
“Asa, please,” Victoria whispered. “Europa will hear you.”
But their elder daughter was no longer beside them.
Zack whirled Persia about and soon had her in his arms, facing him as if she were a dancing partner. Immediately, she saw his intent. He moved them into the figures of an ice waltz that set her skirts swaying and
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