A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,43
nearby. And if it was not Lem, as you seem to think… then it must have been another of our acquaintance. Trust no man, Mrs. Willett, or you may be sorry for it.”
Doubting that she could trust herself in the company of these ladies much longer, Charlotte withdrew and made her way into the open air, hoping to learn more of interest at her next stop, not many doors away.
Chapter 14
AS SHE HURRIED down the lane, Charlotte noted that the wind had veered, and that it now carried the sharp smell of snow. She turned where a new lane crossed her own, passed a few more houses and deserted gardens, and eventually came to one that was old and small.
Directly behind the dame school, the home of Jonah Bigelow and his grandson Ned stood under a tangle of denuded vines, canes, and saplings. In summer it was a quaint and leafy spot, but today it looked as if the house might be struggling for breath, within constricting bonds. Yet these could as well break the force of winter blasts, and keep those inside a little warmer. First impressions, Charlotte reminded herself, were sometimes inaccurate.
She mounted a sandstone stoop and stood beneath an undersized portico of rotting wood, where a descending current of wind brought smoke curling from the slanting brick chimney above. At her knock, a voice challenged the distant wail of the approaching storm, asking her to enter. She lifted a latch of cracked wood, and went inside.
A man she knew to be near seventy years of age sat next to his fire, in a rocker no doubt as old. Neither appeared artful, nor in any way stylish. But each was pleasing, the chair for its solid comfort, the man for his open countenance.
“What is this?” Jonah asked, attempting to rise, then falling back. A stifled bout of coughing followed. When the old man finally lifted his face, contentment still glistened in his moist eyes. “Young Mrs. Willett! You're very welcome. Sit down, here in Ned's chair.” He indicated another seat with a sagging rush bottom but straight, sturdy legs.
Charlotte came in further, after she'd latched the door. Looking about she felt the wonder of childhood, for she'd entered a place she once imagined elves to live in. How many years had it been since she'd come here at her mother's side? And why had she not come since, with more bread and butter, to visit an old man who might find himself longing for company?
“Mr. Bigelow…”
“Please, you must call me Jonah. For you're a child no longer, are ye? But it'll be Ned you wish to see. Perhaps you've some small job for him to do? I'm afraid he left early this morning, off after a bird for the larder, so he may not be back for some time. Would you care for tea?”
Charlotte began to search the tiny kitchen at the edge of the room, finding what was needed.
“I'll lift the kettle from the crane. There, now.” Jonah set down the steaming iron pot, and poured from it as soon as Charlotte brought cups and a thick brown teapot, with a bowl for the warming water. When Jonah wet the tea, she was impressed by the strength of his arms, if his legs were unusually thin. For some years, the village had watched Ned push his grandfather about while the elder sat in the bow of a handcart, from which he could greet all they met on their errands. She knew they could not afford a horse, though she barely recalled Jonah once riding a pony she'd befriended.
In another moment, Charlotte returned to the fireside with a jug of milk, a pot of sugar, and spoons. “I did come to see Ned,” she admitted. “But tell me how you are, Jonah. Yesterday, you were well enough to go out, I was glad to see.”
“I grow no worse, though every day a little older. But it's more than some can say! Many's the man I knew here as a youth who's in the ground now. Yesterday was a fine day. Good company, good ale, a sip of something braver,” he said with a wink. “Enjoyable things to chew on, too, thanks to our good women. I only wished I could have been some help out on the ice, as I once would have been. Still, I can tell a story or two while Ned plays his fiddle. I suppose that's worth something.”