“I beg to disagree. You posed a challenge, daring me to give an answer. Is that not the very definition of a question? Besides”—he smirked—“your voice went up at the end. Everyone knows that’s the true mark of a question. Now, I gave you an answer. So give me one in return.”
“Fine. What do you want to know?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as a smile burst across his mouth, full and wide and utterly incorrigible. “What’s your name?”
“Truly?” I raised an exasperated eyebrow at him before relenting. “Ellerie.”
“Ellerie…?” he drew out, clearly seeking more.
“Downing.”
“Downing,” he repeated. “Your father is the apiarist in these parts, isn’t he? I was told I absolutely must purchase a bottle of honey from him if I found myself here come harvest time.”
“From who?”
He cocked his head as if he didn’t understand the question.
“Who told you about Papa? And the honey?”
“You get a chance to redeem yourself, and those are the questions you choose?” He sank back again. “You’re really, truly awful at this game, Ellerie Downing.”
“I didn’t realize we were playing a game.”
“Of course we are. Isn’t everyone?”
Though his voice was as light and breezy as ever, a trace of overfamiliarity set my nerves on edge, and I glanced through the lines of laundry once more, wishing a great wind would come along so Papa could see this strange boy.
“Then, what’s your name?” I asked, suddenly ready for the conversation to be over. “You know mine now; it’s only fair.”
“Games are rarely ever fair, honey-haired girl.” His teeth winked as he smiled.
His audacity was maddening. I turned away from him, busying myself by rinsing the shirt and hanging it on the line. I’d finish the rest after lunch, bringing Papa with me in case the stranger was still there. He’d be able to get answers out of this infuriating man.
“Ellerie?” he prompted, once it became clear I was ignoring him.
I stacked the empty baskets together and hoisted them onto my hip before daring to look his way. “I don’t need another question. I already know everything I need to about you.” With a satisfied puff of pride, I turned on my heel and pushed past the first line of clothes, going home.
“I very much doubt that,” he called after me, but I steeled my resolve and didn’t turn back once.
* * *
“There was a stranger down by the creek,” I announced after we’d sat down and prayed over the food before us.
Everyone turned toward me, even Papa.
“He came out of the woods while I was washing clothes.”
Mama’s gaze shifted over to Papa, her eyes round with worry. He tapped the table, debating what to do with the information. With a trace of a smile, I imagined Papa grabbing the gun from over the mantel and storming down to the stream. We’d see how long the stranger could avoid answering simple questions with the length of a rifle trained on him.
“I told him where the property line was. He never crossed it,” I added, to be fair.
Papa reached for the bowl of hard-boiled eggs and spooned two onto his plate. “What’d he look like?”
I started to say “handsome,” but caught myself before the treacherous word fell. “Tall. About my age, I think. He had on boots.”
Papa nodded. “Probably a trapper. Jean Garreau passed last winter. I expect we’ll be seeing a few new faces around the Falls this autumn, wanting to stake a claim on his territory.”
“Should we tell him about the monsters?” Sadie asked, straining her neck to see over the windowsill to catch a glimpse of the trapper.
“We might ought to,” Papa said, still considering. “Trappers usually keep to themselves till they’ve got pelts to sell. But if he’s out in those woods, he needs to take care.” He glanced at me. “You see any weapons on him?”
I frowned, trying to remember details. I hadn’t seen a gun, but if he was a trapper, he’d surely have a set of knives. And there was that large rucksack, chockful of something.
“I don’t think so. But he had a big pack.”
Papa’s eyebrows furrowed together. “After lunch, show me where he was? He’s probably gone by now, but just in case.”
“Want me to go with you, Papa?” Samuel asked. It was the first day he’d ventured downstairs, carefully aided by Merry and Sadie.
“We’ll be fine,” Papa said, stabbing at a potato. “But I need you out at the hives this afternoon. Think you can hold the smoker?”
My heart sank. I’d hoped, with Sam laid up, I’d get another chance with the bees. I hid my red palm beneath the table as if that could take back the last three days or my foolish vote.
Samuel frowned, his eyes darting to the crutches propped against the wall. “I…I can try, but…”
“Just take Ellerie,” Mama said. “This contention between you two has gone on long enough. She cast her vote, as she’s allowed. Let it lie, Gideon.”
The words behind Papa’s lips piled up like water in a dam. Just as I was sure they were about to break through, drowning us all, he swallowed them back and released a long sigh instead. “You done with all your chores today, Ellerie?”
“There’s one last basket of clothes.”
He let out a noncommittal grunt, then asked for the biscuits. Mama picked up the plate but wouldn’t release it until he met her stare.
“After the wash is done…why don’t you help me with the hives?” His teeth gritted together so hard, I feared they’d crumble to powder.
I looked down meekly, but inside I was a mess of nerves. I so badly wanted the chance to show him I was just as capable as Samuel, but not like this. Not when he would rather anyone else but me beside him. Things could go so horribly wrong. He’d be tense, and the bees would sense it. They’d attack, and we’d lose half a hive before the afternoon was over. And it would all be my fault.
A warm hand landed on my knee and squeezed it. Mama offered me a small smile. She looked so full of encouragement that I dared to wonder if I might be able to fix the mess I’d made. Perhaps I could use our forced togetherness to explain why I’d done it, why I’d voted against him.
And at least within the beekeeper’s suit, my hands would look exactly the same as his.