A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,26

slipped her mittens back onto her hands. Each year, she seemed a little more absent, a little more tired. It was an effect less of age than of care, and perhaps too frequent quilting, Charlotte supposed; that was how the family made ends meet, beyond consuming or trading what her husband scratched from poor farmland.

“I hope you can tell me something of this.” Charlotte reached into her basket, and pulled out the spoon.

“Well, however did you—! Where was it?” Rachel asked, nearly overcome with amazement.

“I happened to find it… while skating on the marsh.”

“On the marsh! But—”

“Hannah told me you lost several spoons, and I thought this could be one of them. I'm sorry I can't tell you anything about the rest.” Again Charlotte hesitated, hoping she would not be asked to explain further. Rachel's pleading look forced her to add something more. “It wasn't far from your home. It was—on Boar Island.”

At this news, Rachel was speechless, and it was several moments before she nodded. She took the spoon and slipped it into her pocket.

“Thank you—very much, indeed! I feared they would all be in the hands of someone in Boston by now,” she added, her tone lowered. “At least I have one back, to help me remember. As if I could forget! You've so often been a help to us, Mrs. Willett.”

Charlotte now noticed several knots of people preparing to leave, in conveyances that had arrived to take them home. “Will you visit me, Rachel, one morning or afternoon? When you can steal an hour or two from your house and children?”

“My husband may soon be doing the housework—at least until my temper cools,” Rachel Dudley replied, gazing toward the bonfire.

“The sun is setting…”

“Yes. In January, it often comes as a surprise. Many things do, it seems. We will have to walk a few miles if I don't urge John to find us a ride. Good-bye, and oh— thank you!” Rachel stepped forward and gave her friend an impulsive embrace. She then hurried off, calling for her children.

Charlotte was glad she did not depend on any one man for her survival—especially a man like John Dudley. For bread and shelter, many women made similar bargains. For them, pity was hardly enough.

She noticed half a dozen lanterns had been lit to combat the coming darkness. The remaining haulers would need some illumination while they finished loading. Though the cutters had already gone off to enjoy their suppers, much ice lay on a long bed of straw, awaiting a final wagon. It would be a while before the last man would leave.

She saw Longfellow take a lantern to his sister, who sat on a makeshift seat at the edge of the pond, gently rocking. Was Diana weeping? Richard helped her to her feet, giving her his arm as she walked forward, awkward as a goose. In an amazing transformation, she seemed to become a weightless sprite, drifting about the gloom.

“I thought she might like to try a pair of skates,”

Longfellow commented at Charlotte's approach. “Nothing else I do seems to improve her spirits.” They walked slowly along the bank while they waited, gaining a little warmth.

“It takes time, as you know. But a kind of peace should come before long.”

“A kind, yes.”

They moved on in silence. Despite a feeling of renewed companionship that she'd missed in recent weeks, Charlotte also felt something nearly its opposite— something unexplained, and distinctly chilly. Though she hardly supposed this to be Richard's fault, it stopped her from speaking further.

What, she wondered, could have begun to bother her now? Looking around, she saw the last of the revelers depart, while the men by the pool of light continued their work. One walked from the others, toward a copse of dark firs. She soon saw him return to the rest and resume his efforts. Orpheus was disturbed as well, his attention directed to the same trees, which grew blacker by the minute. Charlotte lowered her head and suggested he take a look. He whined, his eyes going from hers to the copse, and back again. Though he continued to watch intently, the old dog refused to leave her.

With the fading of the last light in the west, Diana reappeared. By the lantern's glow they saw that her features were quite different from what they'd been before.

“How magical it was!” she gasped. “And just as I remembered! Thank you, Richard,” she added breathlessly.

“You're quite welcome, Diana. Now, perhaps, you'll be pleased to try what Cicero has for