“Surely you’re not going to let the town of Amity Falls starve over a bit of legalese,” Parson Briard challenged, folding his arms over his chest.
“This is a Deciding the town must make as a whole. We need to cast votes. We need—”
Asher let out a groan. “There’s no time for all that!”
“We must have decorum,” Amos said, struggling to raise his voice as a burst of wet coughs erupted from his chest. He leaned forward, gripping his cane as their force racked through him. As his chest stilled, he pulled out a handkerchief and blotted the spittle from his papery lips, regaining focus. “There is a way things are done. We cannot forsake our very identity as a town for expediency.”
In the silence that followed, Briard nudged Asher, spurring him into action.
“People of Amity Falls, I put forth the motion for a supply train, leaving tomorrow at first light. We will bring back enough provisions to help us through the winter. All in favor, raise your hands.”
After a moment of uneasiness, the room stirred to action. The Elders’ eyes darted about, counting votes.
“And opposed?”
Not a single hand raised.
“There you have it,” Asher said. “May we proceed?”
Matthias’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t used to having his authority ripped out from under him. “You have the floor.”
Asher slowly looked about the crowd, making eye contact with everyone before speaking. “We’ll need at least one more to accompany us. Who will go?”
The room remained silent. Everyone wanted the benefit of the supplies without the risk.
Matthias stroked his beard. “Parson? Perhaps you’ll join them? They’ll certainly need every blessing they can get.” Though his words seemed friendly, there was a dark undercurrent to them, daring Parson Briard to say no in front of the whole town.
“These old bones wouldn’t make it up a mountain under the best conditions,” he said, waving aside the challenge. “I’m afraid I’d only slow the younger fellows down.”
“Simon, then,” the Elder said, undeterred, fixing his eyes on the parson’s son.
“Simon can’t leave at present.” Parson Briard cleared his throat. “I hadn’t intended to make this public today—it certainly isn’t a moment for celebration—but we’ll be having a wedding soon. You’re all invited, of course.”
“Who’s the girl?” someone called out.
The parson clapped his son on the back, giving him the floor.
Simon was as lanky as a beanpole, all arms and legs and angles formed too sharply. He was only a year or two older than me, but I couldn’t remember a single thing about him from school. I’d never met anyone so thoroughly unremarkable. From his mop of mousy-brown hair and muddy eyes, to the way he spoke—too soft, and as though on the verge of tripping over his words—everything about him seemed utterly forgettable.
Simon’s face somehow both turned ashen and flushed as he mustered the courage to speak. He opened his mouth once, twice, looking for all the world like a trout, too cowed to answer.
“Rebecca Danforth,” Parson Briard filled in, ignoring the gasps and looks of confusion.
Beside me, Samuel’s hands clenched and unclenched, leaving little half-moon indents pressed into the meat of his palms. “I knew it,” he muttered.
“We know it’s not the custom for such an event to take place after…a death in the family,” the parson continued. “But Rebecca and her brother are all alone on that big farm of theirs, and, well…young love oughtn’t to be stopped.”
Young love indeed.
I glanced back to Rebecca, studying her stomach with a critical eye. She’d not yet begun to show but must have been terrified of her secret slipping out before she was safely married away. My heart ached for her for so many reasons. Her eyes were dark and glassy—nearly on the verge of tears—but she smiled wanly and accepted the well-wishes from those surrounding her. When our gazes met, she looked away as though she hadn’t seen me.
I wondered if Simon knew about the baby. I couldn’t imagine he did. He’d never be able to keep such a secret from his father, and there was little chance the parson would sanction such a union, even with all the land and money Rebecca now brought to the table.
But it wasn’t his, no matter what Sam claimed. I was certain of that with a bone-deep conviction.
Rebecca had only ever loved Sam, but when faced with absolute ruin, she’d latched on to whatever option could pull her from it.
Abruptly, Samuel stood. “I’ll join you, Asher. I don’t have a cart, but I’m a good shot. I know I can be of help.”
“Sam, no!” I said, tugging at his hand. He was volunteering out of anger and wounded pride, ready to prove himself capable of service.
“Leave me alone, Ellerie. I’m going,” he hissed through the side of his mouth.
“You’re sure?” Asher asked skeptically. “Your sisters—”
“Will be just fine,” Samuel said, cutting him off. “Ellerie knows how to handle everything on her own. It’s remarkable, really. Besides, our uncle is here now.” He glanced toward Ezra, who startled into a nod. “I’m sure they’ll all get along just fine.”
He plunked himself back onto the bench, his decision made.
I covered his hand with mine. “Stay, Sam, please,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for the fight, for the things I said.”
He shook his head with resolution and tossed my hand aside. Only six inches of space separated us on the bench, but it felt like miles.
“If there’s no one else willing to go, I suppose this meeting has come to an end.” Asher glanced about the room, clearly hoping more would jump to their feet, but everyone swarmed Rebecca and Simon. “Can those going meet at the front to discuss details? We’ll leave at first light.”
* * *
I woke with a gasp, prodded by the nagging feeling that something was wrong. I lay in bed, wondering what had bothered me. My sisters’ even breathing was punctuated with Sadie’s occasional soft laughter. She was always happy in her dreams.
What was it?
I didn’t hear anything amiss, didn’t smell smoke. There wasn’t a sound from Samuel’s corner of the loft, but with Mama and Papa gone, he’d taken to sleeping in their room, eager to be away from our roomful of girls.
I strained my ears, listening for noises downstairs. Was Samuel up, already packing for the trip? The moon was still low in the sky; it couldn’t be past midnight.