What fault you’ve seen in me, still strive to shun,
And look at home, there’s something to be done.
The verse was not unique to them, yet it summed them up so well: their faith, their stoic suffering, their humility, and a belief in hard work and responsibility.
Thomas and Sarah Spring had been instrumental in shaping Anne’s character, as had her parents, of course, and she would always be grateful and always love them.
She tenderly ran a finger over the carved letters of their names and whispered, “I miss you.” She trusted that her mother and grandparents were in heaven and certainly hoped to see them again one day.
Anne then continued on, of old habit, to the favorite hiding place of her youth—an ancient chest tomb, its epitaph worn illegible, half covered by a low-hanging yew tree. She ducked beneath its lowest boughs and rose within the shelter of scratchy branches above the chest-shaped tomb. Oh, the many times she had hidden there during long-ago games of hide-and-seek with Fanny, Jasper Paine, and other local youths. It had been her special place. Hiding there as a child,she imagined she’d shrunk to the size of a tiny fairy concealed under a mushroom cap.
Emerging again a few moments later, Anne brushed yew needles and spring pollen from her sleeve.
She felt someone watching her and glanced around.
No one. Slowly scanning the area, she lifted her gaze, and there, over the high stone wall, loomed adjacent Painswick Court, its stone slate roof and tall chimney stacks rising like an angry hand toward the heavens. Was someone watching her from one of its upper-story windows? Or was the nearness of the old house itself, rumored to be haunted, the cause of her unease? She shivered, her skin prickling with gooseflesh.
Anne quickly walked on, out of the churchyard to St. Mary’s Street, past the market and then down Vicarage Street, passing humble cottages until she reached the Friends meetinghouse. Here she turned right down a narrow track she had enjoyed walking along as a girl.
One side of the path was bordered by a dense thicket of scrubby trees and brush, and the other looked onto a broad valley dotted with wool-drying racks and lofty Beacon Hill beyond.
There she paused to relish the view of the lovely vale draped in twilight.
From the other side of the thicket came the hum of voices in low conversation. Whoever it was probably thought themselves shielded from hearing as well as from sight.
A man said, “You should not have come here.”
A woman’s voice murmured a reply Anne could not hear.
“And you should definitely not stay at Painswick Court.”
Anne turned, attention caught by the name.
“Why not?”
“Shh. Keep your voice down. And you know the answer to that.”
“That’s whyyou’vecome, is it not?”
“No!” the man insisted. “Nothing good can come of this scheme of yours. Let it lie, I beg of you.”
“How can I? Besides, it’s too late. I...”
Anne could not make out the rest of her sentence, but whatever she said caused the man to groan an epithet under his breath.
Silence followed, and thinking they’d moved on, Anne took a step forward.Snap!A branch cracked beneath her half boots. Stopping in her tracks, she looked up and found herself peering through a small gap in the foliage. A man’s face looked in her direction, clearly startled. Through the narrow tunnel their gazes caught. With her back to the gap, his shorter companion remained out of sight. Anne glimpsed the top of a straw bonnet and no more.
A second later, the man turned, apparently leading the woman away. “Come. We shouldn’t discuss this out in the open.”
Anne remained where she was, oddly fearful the man might find a larger opening in the thicket and emerge to confront her. But their footsteps faded.
Heart pounding, Anne turned and retraced her steps, hurrying to leave this deserted track for the busier streets of town and the safety of Yew Cottage.
3
Anne’s first week in Painswick passed swiftly and pleasantly. She spent time in Yew Cottage with Miss Lotty, sewing, chatting, and tending to the woman’s ankle—applying soothing poultices when it ached and then rewrapping it as her father had shown her. She also enjoyed the excuse to visit the shop of Mr. Greaves:Chemist,Druggist,andPurveyor of Patent Medicinesin New Street, a man she had always liked. She purchased some herbal remedies from him, although she’d come prepared with her own medicine case—a prized gift from her father, along with the medical book he’d given her.
At first, she found it a little strange to see Lotty sitting still so much of the day. When Anne thought of her mother’s somewhat-younger friend, she pictured her bustling about, arranging flowers for the church, taking meals to invalids, or going to one of the charity schools to help pupils with their reading. Yet despite her limited ability to walk, Lotty’s hands were often busy knitting stockings for elderly neighbors and residents of the poorhouse. Anne could sew yet had never learned to knit. Lotty tried to teach her now, but Anne struggled to master the skill.
