A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,103
follow my example. Or you may leave your shillings, later, outside my door; I will set out a basket. And I would advise the women here to check carefully at home, to see if they have lately come upon coins a little too heavy, a little too soft, with bright indentations around their edges. These must circulate no longer!”
“But if we give them all to you, some of us may starve!” cried a wary voice from the crowd.
“Starve? I think not. No one has ventured a great deal, after all. And there will be a surprising amount in the village poor fund soon, for any who are truly in need. A good exchange, I think, for keeping your ears, gentlemen, as well as your goods, and your reputations—dubious though some of the latter are. You have elected me, and I will keep the peace here!”
Longfellow began to walk through the throng, hearing the others rise to follow him down the aisle, through the entry, and out the door. He went to one side of the snowy path they'd earlier trampled. There he dropped the shilling, which made a final shining statement as it caught the sun.
The selectman walked a few feet further and turned to face the road, keeping his back to the rest.
A thaw continued to warm the air, but he knew it would be months before the roads would be entirely clear. The village would see other freezes and dangerous ice; further storms would force them to depend on one another, as they scrambled to dig their way out. That was the way of winter—it was the way of life.
Sometimes, little things could happen to make one glad to be a part of it all. Something like that was happening behind him now, he suspected, for he heard the pleasing sound of silver on silver, more or less, as the pile of coins mounted. Many of his neighbors turned and passed before him, starting down the road with furtive nods, bolder bows, even tips of their hats, set back atop their ridiculous, rustic wigs.
What they had done had been audacious, brazen, shameless—and it proved they had no love for overweening authority. In the end, what he'd uncovered made Longfellow a little proud of living among these unruly and resourceful villagers, after all.
Chapter 36
THE BRIEF WINTER day was done. In Richard Longfellow's.study, the ormolu clock beneath the Venetian mirror struck the hour of five.
Charlotte glanced quickly to the glass. This was something he had observed her to do for several days, when she supposed no one saw. Had she grown vain? Or did she consult the thing to see if someone crept up unexpectedly?
At least, most of what had threatened the village lately was now put to rest or to flight, thought Longfellow. Once again a villain—this time an unfortunate one, whose loss would be regretted—had left them. He'd rarely thought of Ned Bigelow before. Perhaps, he told himself, he should take time to become better acquainted with the other village lads, who seemed to grow like stalks of corn. At least he might try.
At the moment, though, he planned to enjoy the end to this latest flurry of unwanted activity. It would be a pleasure to become reacquainted with the old fellow who spent cold nights in the kitchen, tending his creaking joints before the fire, replenishing his mind with reading. At the moment, Cicero was in the taproom across the way learning the news from Boston, where each of them had friends. At his return, Longfellow would hear whatever news he'd discovered, hidden in his favorite nook behind the great hearth.
For a while, at least, they would be glad to lose their visitors and return to an occasional game of chess or backgammon, and the revolving arguments manufactured on a regular basis to learn all sides of questions both considered worthy of study.
“Diana and Edmund will leave soon,” said Charlotte, thinking of the future as well.
“Yes—and be pleased to start over in their own humble establishment.”
“Are they above?”
“They went to the inn with Cicero. To be served, as you know, is, to Diana, one of the sweeter pleasures.”
“I've been left as well. Lem went out to see Mattie.”
“I predict you'll often lose his company as the weather improves. And then, one day…”
“Orpheus and I may easily enjoy ourselves, as long as we can walk, and visit someone who will throw us a bone from time to time.”
“Then we're all pleased by our prospects,” he said, smiling.