meant to teach the girls geography, world history, philosophy, and math. They would read the humanities, and when I was done, know Latin better than their brothers.
I wasn’t against them learning natural history, however, and after a particularly grueling lesson on longitudes and latitudes, I opened John James Audubon’s Birds of America, a massive brown leather folio, weighing at least as much as Becky. Turning to the ruffed grouse, which was common in the woods nearby, I said, “Who can mimic its call?”
There we were, a flock of ruffed grouses at the open window, trilling and whistling, when Catherine entered the classroom and demanded to know what sort of lesson I was conducting. She’d heard our chirping as she gathered the last cucumbers in the garden. “That was quite a bit of disturbance,” she said, the vegetable basket swinging on her arm, sifting crumbs of soil onto her ash-colored dress. Becky, ever alert to her aunt’s annoyance, spoke before I could push out my words. “We were calling the ruffed grouse.”
“Were you? I see.” She looked at me. “It seemed unduly loud. Perhaps more quietly next time.”
I smiled at her and she cocked her head and stepped closer, so close her dress hem brushed mine. Her eyes magnified behind the thickset lens of her glasses as she concentrated on the locket at my throat.
“What is the meaning of this?” she said.
“. . . The meaning of what?”
“Take it off!”
Becky wedged herself between us. “Auntie. Auntie.”
Catherine ignored her. “Your intentions have been more than clear to me, Sarah, but I had not thought you would be so bold as to wear Rebecca’s locket!”
“. . . Rebecca? . . . You mean, it belonged to . . .” My voice deserted me, my words adhering like barnacles at the back of my throat.
“Israel’s wife,” she said, finishing my sentence.
“Auntie?” Becky’s upturned face, drowning in the waves of our gray-green skirts, made her look like a castaway. “I gave it to her.”
“You did what? Well, I don’t care who gave it to her, she shouldn’t have taken it.” She thrust out her palm, shoving it inches from my chin. I could hear air rasping in and out of her nostrils.
“. . . . . . But I didn’t . . . know.”
“Give me the locket, please.”
“No,” Becky cried, sinking onto the rug.
I stepped back, unclasping the necklace, and placed it in Catherine’s hand. As I bent to scoop Becky from the floor, her aunt pulled the child gently by her arm and maneuvered both girls from the room.
I walked calmly, slowly out the door and down the escarpment toward the pond. Before stepping into the thicket of trees, I looked back at the house. The light was still citrus and bright, but Israel would be home soon, and Catherine would be waiting for him with the locket.
Cloaked in the cedars, I pressed one hand to my stomach and one to my mouth and stood there several seconds, as if squeezing myself together. Then I straightened and followed the path to the water.
I heard the pond before I saw it—the frogs deep in their hum, the violin whir of insects. On impulse, I walked along the edge until I reached the rowboat. Sunk in the mud, it took all my strength to flip it over. I lifted out the oar and inspected the bottom for holes and rotted wood. Seeing none, I gathered up my skirt, climbed in, and paddled to the middle of the pond, an untouchable place, far from everything. I tried to think what I would say to him, worried my voice would slink off again and leave me.
I remained there a long while, lapping on the surface. Vapor curled on the water, dragonflies pricked the air, and I thought it all beautiful. I hoped Israel wouldn’t send me away. I hoped the Inner Voice would not show up now, saying, Go south.
“Sarah!”
I jerked, causing the boat to tilt, and reached for the sides to steady it.
“What are you doing?” Israel called. He stood on the bank in his knee britches with the glinting buckles, hatless. He shaded his eyes and motioned me in with his hand.
I pulled the paddle through the water, banging the wood against the hull and made an inept, zigzag path to shore.
We sat on the bench while I did my best to explain that I’d thought the locket belonged to his daughter Rebecca, not his wife Rebecca. I told him about the evening Becky brought it