came an immediate cry from the reverend. “For bones of the saints, or some of Mary’s ubiquitous hairs? We have no need for such nonsense here in Massachusetts!”
“For a few more weeks at least,” Charlotte answered, ignoring Christian Rowe, “we’ll be less busy than usual.”
“And what is it you do today?” asked the musico.
“We’ll begin to dry shell beans. But I’ve set aside mostof the day for making cheeses. Tomorrow, Hannah and I plan to start preserving pears.”
“Only you live here, Mrs. Willett, with one servant? There is no man who helps you with these things?”
Undaunted, Reverend Rowe threw out a new reproof. “Some here suppose that a woman can decide her duties for herself, without the guidance of a husband. Yet on the Sabbath, women
must
be led by those of greater learning, so that they will think not on the flesh, but of their souls.”
“We do what is necessary, whenever what we can,” Charlotte said mildly. “As a widow, I have a right to choose my own occupations. But Hannah is hardly a servant,” she added, speaking toward the windows. “She exchanges her labor in return for a portion of what we produce together. Her family, you see, is well supplied with daughters awaiting their own marriages, and homes. Oh, but I do employ Hannah’s young Henry, who assists me morning and evening with the milking.”
“A skill I, too, learned as a boy,” Lahte replied proudly.
“Then would you like to see the dairy?”
“I would be delighted, madama!”
“A good start,” said Longfellow, “if you mean to try the country life, Lahte. After that, we might go after a hillside of rye grass—but I recall we’ve not come to discuss farming or housekeeping this morning, Mrs. Willett. We are here, instead, to ask for your help. We wish to inquire about buttons.”
“Buttons?”
“Is it possible for you to recall those worn by the man we saw in the reverend’s cellar?”
“Well, I did notice that they were rather large. Molded, I think, and uncovered metal. I supposed the tops were meant to look as if they had filigree on them, though I believe they were nothing so fine. They were the kind whosetwo halves are made separately, then crimped together over a shank-eye; I’m sure you and Signor Lahte noticed that, too.”
“Hmmm.”
“But why are his buttons of interest today?”
“Because someone stole them from the corpse last night. Someone who took his boots as well.” Though Mrs. Willett made no answer, Longfellow guessed there might be something else she hesitated to ask.
For several minutes, in fact, Charlotte had watched as Gian Carlo Lahte became increasingly uncomfortable. By now, he rubbed the sleeves of his shirt restlessly, almost as if—
“I wonder, sir,” she asked him then, “if last night
you
were bothered by something?” Lahte moaned with surprising energy, and began to luxuriate in an orgy of scratching through his sleeves.
“I have been much bitten,” he said quite unnecessarily.
“I believe I can help.”
“You cannot refer to bedbugs?” asked Longfellow, his eyebrows lifting.
“Mosquitoes, I think,” Mrs. Willett reassured him.
“Odd. I wasn’t bothered last night, in bed or on the grass. But I suppose you’re new to this particular sort, Lahte, and so they find you more attractive than the rest of us.”
Charlotte recrossed the room, carrying a bottle of witch hazel and a piece of flannel. After Signor Lahte rolled up his sleeves she began to dab at several red bumps, hearing him sigh with relief as the cooling liquid had its expected effect.
“I would imagine,” Longfellow went on, “that you’ll soon get used to them, and they to you. At the moment, you’re a rare treat for most of our local creatures.”
“I have become deaf to the buzzing of many kinds of beings, both large and small,” said the musico, not unkindly.
Longfellow observed Hannah Sloan’s broad body lean in at the window, and saw that she, too, watched
“For a few more weeks at least,” Charlotte answered, ignoring Christian Rowe, “we’ll be less busy than usual.”
“And what is it you do today?” asked the musico.
“We’ll begin to dry shell beans. But I’ve set aside mostof the day for making cheeses. Tomorrow, Hannah and I plan to start preserving pears.”
“Only you live here, Mrs. Willett, with one servant? There is no man who helps you with these things?”
Undaunted, Reverend Rowe threw out a new reproof. “Some here suppose that a woman can decide her duties for herself, without the guidance of a husband. Yet on the Sabbath, women
must
be led by those of greater learning, so that they will think not on the flesh, but of their souls.”
“We do what is necessary, whenever what we can,” Charlotte said mildly. “As a widow, I have a right to choose my own occupations. But Hannah is hardly a servant,” she added, speaking toward the windows. “She exchanges her labor in return for a portion of what we produce together. Her family, you see, is well supplied with daughters awaiting their own marriages, and homes. Oh, but I do employ Hannah’s young Henry, who assists me morning and evening with the milking.”
“A skill I, too, learned as a boy,” Lahte replied proudly.
“Then would you like to see the dairy?”
“I would be delighted, madama!”
“A good start,” said Longfellow, “if you mean to try the country life, Lahte. After that, we might go after a hillside of rye grass—but I recall we’ve not come to discuss farming or housekeeping this morning, Mrs. Willett. We are here, instead, to ask for your help. We wish to inquire about buttons.”
“Buttons?”
“Is it possible for you to recall those worn by the man we saw in the reverend’s cellar?”
“Well, I did notice that they were rather large. Molded, I think, and uncovered metal. I supposed the tops were meant to look as if they had filigree on them, though I believe they were nothing so fine. They were the kind whosetwo halves are made separately, then crimped together over a shank-eye; I’m sure you and Signor Lahte noticed that, too.”
“Hmmm.”
“But why are his buttons of interest today?”
“Because someone stole them from the corpse last night. Someone who took his boots as well.” Though Mrs. Willett made no answer, Longfellow guessed there might be something else she hesitated to ask.
For several minutes, in fact, Charlotte had watched as Gian Carlo Lahte became increasingly uncomfortable. By now, he rubbed the sleeves of his shirt restlessly, almost as if—
“I wonder, sir,” she asked him then, “if last night
you
were bothered by something?” Lahte moaned with surprising energy, and began to luxuriate in an orgy of scratching through his sleeves.
“I have been much bitten,” he said quite unnecessarily.
“I believe I can help.”
“You cannot refer to bedbugs?” asked Longfellow, his eyebrows lifting.
“Mosquitoes, I think,” Mrs. Willett reassured him.
“Odd. I wasn’t bothered last night, in bed or on the grass. But I suppose you’re new to this particular sort, Lahte, and so they find you more attractive than the rest of us.”
Charlotte recrossed the room, carrying a bottle of witch hazel and a piece of flannel. After Signor Lahte rolled up his sleeves she began to dab at several red bumps, hearing him sigh with relief as the cooling liquid had its expected effect.
“I would imagine,” Longfellow went on, “that you’ll soon get used to them, and they to you. At the moment, you’re a rare treat for most of our local creatures.”
“I have become deaf to the buzzing of many kinds of beings, both large and small,” said the musico, not unkindly.
Longfellow observed Hannah Sloan’s broad body lean in at the window, and saw that she, too, watched
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