Free Whisper Falls by Elizabeth Langston Page A

insists.”
    â€œMr. Anthony Shaw?” I stopped again and frowned at my sister. “Whyever should he comment on the subject?”
    â€œHe’s courting Mama.”
    The news stunned me. “Truly? Mama wishes to marry again?”
    My sister nodded.
    Why would my mother consider another husband? Were two not enough? Although our father had been a good man, Mama hadn’t chosen well the second time. My stepfather had eaten often and worked little. When he had grown weary of having so many children around, he had bound me out.
    â€œI cannot believe you heard right. Mr. Shaw’s wife was buried but two months ago.”
    â€œHe says they will wait a respectable period for mourning.”
    He had not waited a respectable period to seek a replacement. Did he have no shame?
    â€œHis five children are all under the age of six.”
    â€œThat is true.”
    â€œOne is an infant.” The first Mrs. Shaw had died in childbirth.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHas Mama agreed to his proposal?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    Surely our mother would not be so foolish.
    â€œIf there are no wedding plans, why have they discussed you?”
    â€œMr. Shaw’s sister lives at his house, but she’ll go home soon. He needs someone to tend the children. If Mama keeps laundering clothes for hire, she won’t have time. He says the task will fall to me.” Phoebe’s face crumpled with anxiety. “It frightens me to tend children.”
    My sister was wise to be concerned. With tasks she disliked, she was clumsy and easily distracted, terrible qualities in a girl with babies under her charge. Phoebe was simply too happy to be useful in a normal household. I walked steadily toward the kitchen, more worried than I wanted her to realize.
    â€œIf you were Mama, what would you have me do?”
    â€œWork with fabric.” I heaved my bag of corn through the rear entrance to the kitchen and wiped my brow with the sleeve of my bodice. “You have a talent for coaxing beauty out of cloth and thread.”
    â€œI do enjoy needlework.” Her brow puckered. “I might be good at spinning. What do you think?”
    â€œAn excellent skill. Your fingers are so clever.”
    I hauled the bag into the pantry while Phoebe sat on the back steps with my two helpers, talking brightly about her future in spinning. I listened with part of my mind, the rest consumed with my sister’s news.
    A marriage to Mr. Shaw, while practical for him, would be nonsense for my mother. As a widow, she controlled her own property and children. If Mr. Shaw were her husband, he would control them, instead. Since he was younger than she and healthy, land she’d inherited from my father would likely pass into Mr. Shaw’s hands. She owed it to my brothers—and Papa’s memory—to save the farm for a Marsh.
    My mother wasn’t thinking clearly. She had little to gain and much to lose. It should be easy enough to present this logic to her. I would find Mama at church tomorrow and persuade her to abandon this path.
    * * *
    A dozen peaches remained after the noon-time meal. I loaded some into my apron and walked to the village, eager to restock our dwindling pantry supplies.
    The store was empty when I entered. Mr. Foster emerged from the back, his footsteps slowing as he caught sight of me.
    â€œGood afternoon, Susanna. How may I help you?”
    I set the fruit on his counter and nodded briskly. “I would like to trade for ginger and sugar.”
    He took the peaches, added them to a basket sitting on a shelf behind the counter, pulled out a journal, and made a notation. “I won’t be trading today. I cannot extend the Pratts any more credit.”
    I mulled over the statement, unsure of a response. “I am sorry to hear it.” Without spices, our meals would be tasteless.
    â€œYou tell Jethro Pratt he needs to bring his account current. These peaches will help only a