But the boy was considerably less cheery than he’d been Monday, spooked by phantom pains in a hand he no longer had.
“That’s quite common, I’m afraid,” Charlotte told him wearily. “It should lessen over time.”
She was certain she knew of treatments for phantom limbpain, but she couldn’t think what. So she didn’t mention them. She left dissatisfied, feeling like she’d accomplished nothing.
Old fishwives populated the village square, having their afternoon gossip. They nodded at Charlotte; she nodded back. Hardly had she passed them before they huddled together, whispering—in the way of old women who were trying to be discreet but were also half deaf—about her brother’s disappearance. And, worse, mortifyingly, abouther.
“...no denying he’s an odd one, but I do feel for the family.”
“Yes, of course—can’t imagine he’s much of a provider, but her having to take care of the children all on her own...”
“I’ve always wondered why some nice widower hasn’t snatched her up. She might’ve had a decent provider if she’d remarried.”
“Too late now. With how sick she’s been, she probably can’t handle a cannery worker’s passel of brats when she’s got two of her own already, I shouldn’t wonder...”
“Nonsense. She could handle that and more if she’d try harder.”
Charlotte reddened, her skin prickling, and hurried to escape their overloud whispers. Perhaps it didn’t matter what she did, how respectable she was. How hard she worked, even at her own expense. She’d given Seacliff no reason to talk about her through the years, but here the old gossips were, talking about her anyway, for things beyond her control.
She could manage on her own. She could. Shecould. And Arthur—well, wanting him back had nothing to do with how useful he might be. She wanted him back because he was her brother. As for a nice widower, she’d known for a long time a new husband might’ve made life easier. She’d been courted briefly several years back, by an unmarried man around Arthur’s age. But she’d caught him shaking Jonas, for some minor offense the nature of which she didn’t know to this day, andfrostily told him he needn’t come around again. She’d had no offers since, but that was a relief. A new husband, even a kind one, would’ve been another ball to juggle. The family had made do so far. Somehow, they’d keep going.
That was what she’d thought, until Arthur’s horse had come back without him.
There was a hand at her back. Charlotte jumped, jarring her aching joints.
“Sorry,” a familiar voice murmured in her ear. “Didn’t meant to scare you none.”
It was the woman who’d helped her home Monday afternoon, in shirt and trousers, with Arthur’s ugly old flat cap jammed on her head.
Charlotte rubbed her chest, letting out a breath. “You’re still here.”
The woman nodded.
“Need to restock before heading back through the wood. They told me there was no market till Friday.” Her voice soured with annoyance. “Back in Port Lorne, there’s a market every day.”
“Yes, well,” Charlotte said irritably. “We’re not as big as Port Lorne, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
The woman took her arm like they were old friends. Charlotte wanted to snap at her and shake her off, but she didn’t. To her surprise, the woman led her on a circuitous path through deserted alleyways and side streets.
“Why are we going this way?”
“The better to talk private-like.” In sight of the fishwives, the woman’s voice had been deepened; now she let it return to normal. “Besides, you said they’d not like a woman in trousers. With those kids of yours, figured you’re married, or used to be. Didn’t think folks’d like it if you was walking arm inarm with a stranger, neither, especially one what’s been upsetting ’em with a bunch of questions. Figured they might talk.”
Charlotte huffed a bitter laugh. “They certainly would talk, even if we were merely taking a turn about the square together. What did you want to discuss?”
“I’ve had my ear to the ground, I’ll own to it. Your brother’s vanished in the forest, and your neighbors won’t look for him. That right?”
Charlotte’s throat tightened. She nodded.
The woman squeezed her arm. “All right, so we’re in the same boat. My sister, Maggie, visited a while back. Friend of that Bess Little what lives in Port Lorne now, but she come home when her sister had her baby, and she asked Maggie to go with her. Well, Maggie was supposed to be back two weeks ago, only she never showed. I tried wiring to see if maybe she’d stayed longer without telling us, must’ve sent dozens of telegrams in two, three days, but I never got a response.”
She thumbed the flat cap higher up her forehead.
“I would’ve come sooner, but with Gran and Granddad half laid up with age it’s my work in the textile mill what keeps us fed anymore. Thought it’d make matters worse if I left Gran and Granddad alone—all right, notalone, there’s all my cousins hanging around making a nuisance of themselves, but if I could trust ’em to take care of Gran and Granddad we’d not be so hard up as we are in the first place.
“Well, Gran come to talk to me a few days after I sent all those messages and told me if I wanted to come see about Maggie, I might as well do it. Said she had a feeling, and I’d best listen to it and go. And I said to myself, if no one in Seacliff’ll wire me back, I guess I’ll go there myself, and I’ll give my cousins a good earful first about checking on Gran and Granddad while I’m gone.
“I found this—” she fished a silver acorn on a chain from her shirt “—in the wood.”
