The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare Page B
Authors: Elizabeth George Speare
Ads: Link
outspokenness.
"Goodness, no!" she protested. "Whatever made you think of such a thing?"
"I just wondered," Judith responded, and as Matthew Wood turned a stern look back at them, both girls walked on in silence.
"You certainly made an impression on William Ashby," Judith ventured presently.
There was no point in denying it. "Perhaps because I was someone new," said Kit.
"Perhaps. You aren't exactly pretty, you know. But naturally William would be impressed by a dress like that."
Kit wanted to change the subject. Wisps of smoke were beginning to rise from the chimneys of several small log lean-tos along the roadway. They seemed to offer a safe topic.
"Do people live in those tiny houses?" she inquired.
"Of course not. Those are Sabbath houses." Then Judith emerged from her own musings long enough to explain. "Families that live too far to go home between services cook their meal there on Sunday, and in the winter they can warm themselves at a fire."
A chill trickle of doubt began to cool the glow of the noontime sun and the memory of William Ashby's admiration. Surely Judith could not mean—
"Did you say—between services?" Kit inquired fearfully.
"Didn't you know there's a second service in the afternoon?"
Kit was appalled. "Do you mean we have to go?"
"Of course we go," snapped Judith. "That is what the Sabbath is for."
Kit came to a halt, and suddenly she stamped her foot in the dusty road. "I won't do it!" she declared. "I absolutely won't endure that all over again!"
But one look ahead at her uncle's shoulders, rigid in their Sunday black, and she knew that she would. Almost choking with helpless rage she stumbled after Judith, who had moved ahead too absorbed to even notice. Oh, why had she ever come to this hateful place?
CHAPTER 6
R EVEREND GERSHOM BULKELEY laid down his linen napkin, pushed back his heavy chair from the table, and expanded his straining waistcoat in a satisfied sigh.
"A very excellent dinner, Mistress Wood. I warrant there's not a housewife in the colonies can duplicate your apple tarts."
He had just better compliment that dinner, thought Kit. The preparation of it had taken the better part of four days. Every inch of the great kitchen had been turned inside out. The floor had been fresh-sanded, the hearthstone polished, the pewter scoured. The brick oven had been heated for two nights in a row, and the whole family had gone without sugar since Sunday to make sure that the minister's notorious sweet tooth would be satisfied.
Well, Dr. Bulkeley had been pleased, but had anyone else? Matthew Wood had eaten little and spoken scarcely a word. He sat now with his lips pressed tight together. Rachel looked tired and flustered, and even Mercy seemed unusually quiet. Only Judith had blossomed. In the candlelight she looked bewitching, and Reverend Bulkeley smiled whenever he looked at her. But the greatest part of his condescension he had bestowed on Kit, once he had understood that her grandfather had been Sir Francis Tyler. He himself had visited Antigua in the West Indies, he had told her, and he was acquainted with some of the plantation owners there. He went back to the subject now for the third time.
"So, young lady, your grandfather was knighted for loyalty by King Charles, you say? A great honor, a very great honor indeed. And I take it he was a loyal subject of our good King James as well?"
"Why, of course, sir."
"And you yourself? You are a loyal subject also?"
"How could I be otherwise, sir?" Kit was puzzled.
"There are some who seem to find it possible," remarked the minister, staring meaningfully at a ceiling beam. "See that you keep your allegiance."
With an abrupt scrape of wood Matthew pushed back his chair. "Her allegiance is in no danger in this house," he announced angrily. "What are you implying, Gershom?"
"I meant nothing to offend you, Matthew," said the older man.
"Then watch your words. May I remind you I am a selectman in this town? I am no traitor!"
"I
"Goodness, no!" she protested. "Whatever made you think of such a thing?"
"I just wondered," Judith responded, and as Matthew Wood turned a stern look back at them, both girls walked on in silence.
"You certainly made an impression on William Ashby," Judith ventured presently.
There was no point in denying it. "Perhaps because I was someone new," said Kit.
"Perhaps. You aren't exactly pretty, you know. But naturally William would be impressed by a dress like that."
Kit wanted to change the subject. Wisps of smoke were beginning to rise from the chimneys of several small log lean-tos along the roadway. They seemed to offer a safe topic.
"Do people live in those tiny houses?" she inquired.
"Of course not. Those are Sabbath houses." Then Judith emerged from her own musings long enough to explain. "Families that live too far to go home between services cook their meal there on Sunday, and in the winter they can warm themselves at a fire."
A chill trickle of doubt began to cool the glow of the noontime sun and the memory of William Ashby's admiration. Surely Judith could not mean—
"Did you say—between services?" Kit inquired fearfully.
"Didn't you know there's a second service in the afternoon?"
Kit was appalled. "Do you mean we have to go?"
"Of course we go," snapped Judith. "That is what the Sabbath is for."
Kit came to a halt, and suddenly she stamped her foot in the dusty road. "I won't do it!" she declared. "I absolutely won't endure that all over again!"
But one look ahead at her uncle's shoulders, rigid in their Sunday black, and she knew that she would. Almost choking with helpless rage she stumbled after Judith, who had moved ahead too absorbed to even notice. Oh, why had she ever come to this hateful place?
CHAPTER 6
R EVEREND GERSHOM BULKELEY laid down his linen napkin, pushed back his heavy chair from the table, and expanded his straining waistcoat in a satisfied sigh.
"A very excellent dinner, Mistress Wood. I warrant there's not a housewife in the colonies can duplicate your apple tarts."
He had just better compliment that dinner, thought Kit. The preparation of it had taken the better part of four days. Every inch of the great kitchen had been turned inside out. The floor had been fresh-sanded, the hearthstone polished, the pewter scoured. The brick oven had been heated for two nights in a row, and the whole family had gone without sugar since Sunday to make sure that the minister's notorious sweet tooth would be satisfied.
Well, Dr. Bulkeley had been pleased, but had anyone else? Matthew Wood had eaten little and spoken scarcely a word. He sat now with his lips pressed tight together. Rachel looked tired and flustered, and even Mercy seemed unusually quiet. Only Judith had blossomed. In the candlelight she looked bewitching, and Reverend Bulkeley smiled whenever he looked at her. But the greatest part of his condescension he had bestowed on Kit, once he had understood that her grandfather had been Sir Francis Tyler. He himself had visited Antigua in the West Indies, he had told her, and he was acquainted with some of the plantation owners there. He went back to the subject now for the third time.
"So, young lady, your grandfather was knighted for loyalty by King Charles, you say? A great honor, a very great honor indeed. And I take it he was a loyal subject of our good King James as well?"
"Why, of course, sir."
"And you yourself? You are a loyal subject also?"
"How could I be otherwise, sir?" Kit was puzzled.
"There are some who seem to find it possible," remarked the minister, staring meaningfully at a ceiling beam. "See that you keep your allegiance."
With an abrupt scrape of wood Matthew pushed back his chair. "Her allegiance is in no danger in this house," he announced angrily. "What are you implying, Gershom?"
"I meant nothing to offend you, Matthew," said the older man.
"Then watch your words. May I remind you I am a selectman in this town? I am no traitor!"
"I
Similar Books
