“This year it will be in the upstairs hall of our new church.” Ballard fixed his gaze on Clover. “I accepted for all of us but after the lad rode away, I recalled that I cannae answer for all of ye. Ye dinnae have to go.”
“And why should we refuse? It sounds lovely.”
“Weel, it willnae be like the balls or fancy teas ye went to in Langleyville.”
“I am sure it will be great fun.”
“Good.” Ballard stood up. “Everyone is expected to bring some food. Clemmons always supplies the drink and we take up a collection to compensate him, although I am certain he never gets the full cost back. Weel, laddies, back to work.”
As soon as everyone was gone, Clover helped Molly clean up. She wanted to go to the spring revel, but could not stop worrying about meeting more of Ballard’s friends. Her mother had told Mabel Clemmons their whole sad tale, and Clover knew the story would have spread far and wide. She prayed she would not face the same kind of ostracism she had inLangleyville—the looks of pity, the abrupt dismissals. Although she would never ask her mother to lie, she did wish Agnes would be a little less forthright. They had come to Kentucky to leave the painful past behind them, to start a new life. Clover prayed she was not about to discover that one could never really start afresh.
Muttering curses, Clover hefted the pile of wood. Ballard had told her to call Shelton, Lambert, or him when she needed the woodbox filled, but she had not wanted to interrupt their field work. She decided she would not be so reticent next time. The wood was dirty, heavy, and awkward to carry. At the rate she was toting wood from the woodshed to the woodbox near the house, it would take her the rest of the day to finish. She had not yet gained the strength for such a chore and her hands were riddled with splinters.
She dumped the wood into the box, moved to brush off her skirts, and screamed. Squatting on her skirt was a huge spider, bigger than her hand. Just as she told herself not to panic, Ballard loped up to her side.
“Get it off,” she whispered pointing at the spider, afraid of speaking too loudly and causing it to move up her dress.
Ballard picked up a piece of wood, brushed the spider from her skirts, and crushed it. He watched her closely as she sat down on the back steps. Although she was pale and shaking, she looked unhurt.
“Ye gave me a fright, lass,” he murmured as he sat down next to her. “I feared the bears had returned to the area and wandered up to the house. They usedto do that at this time of the year. They are powerful hungry after the winter.”
“I believe I would have been less upset by a bear.”
He laughed and kissed her cheek. “Thatwasa big spider, although I have seen bigger.”
“You must be joking. Spiders are supposed to be small, things you can brush away and step on. That thing covered the whole front of my apron. What kind of spider was it?”
“No idea. We call them wood spiders, as we only seen them ‘round the wood.”
Clover sighed, a little embarrassed now that her shock had passed. “I am sorry. I am not usually such a hysterical—”
He stopped her words with a quick kiss. “Dinnae apologize, lass. No one likes spiders that big. The first time I saw one, I ran inside, got the musket, and shot it. Put a hole in the woodhouse. ‘Tis why I told ye to tell the boys when ye need wood.”
“Have you ever found one in the woodbox?”
“Nay, never. ‘Tis built a mite tighter than the woodshed. Are ye all right now?” She nodded and he stood up. “Need any more wood?”
“I have enough for now, but the box does need to be refilled.”
“I will get the lads to do it afore supper.”
She watched him walk back to the stables and sighed. A glance at the dead spider assured her that it was as big as she recalled, but that did not make her feel much better. Pioneer women were supposed to be a hardy lot. They were not supposed to scream loud enough to raise the dead just because a spider climbed onto their aprons, even if it did look big enough to eat her for dinner. Ballard must think hera complete fool. She was glad the others were too far away from the house to have heard her.
After rinsing off her hands, she went to bring the laundry in. All the confidence she had gained from her success at breadmaking had vanished. Ballard needed a strong wife, not one who trembled at the sight of an overfed insect.
