“He’s a fool,” Whitaker said. “What can be done?”
“If it was a normal year, we’d make sugar cakes and leave them in the hives, but there’s no sugar left. Every bit of it is gone. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Surely they’ll bring sugar back with them, won’t they?”
I raised my shoulders, shrugging. “Even if they do—we don’t have the money to pay for thirty pounds. Papa took everything with him when he left with Mama. And I’m sure whatever Sam gets will be squandered away before he returns home. If he returns home.”
The dark thought soured my stomach.
What if Samuel didn’t come back?
He’d been miserable and petulant for weeks, and now Rebecca was marrying another man. He’d tried acting blasé about the whole affair, but I couldn’t forget his reaction at the Gathering House—sharp and visceral and impossible to disguise.
What if he saw this run as his chance to break free of the Falls? He’d be long gone, completely untraceable, by the time our parents returned. With all his ill-gotten money, he’d be able to start a new life elsewhere. It was the perfect setup for him to run.
“Oh God,” I whispered, seeing everything with painful clarity. “What if he doesn’t return?”
Whitaker pressed a tentative hand on my shoulder. “Then you’ll have one less mouth to feed this winter and be better off for it.” His eyebrows furrowed together. “That sounds more callous than I intended, but it’s still the truth. You don’t need dead weight holding you back—or worse, dragging you down.”
“But I—I don’t know how to manage the farm. Papa taught me a little about the hives, but I feel as though I’m making up everything as I go along….What if I fail?”
“Oh, Ellerie,” he said, and cupped my cheek, rubbing his thumb across it. His hand was deliciously warm, and I fought the urge to lean into it, seeking more of his touch. “You won’t. You’re too smart for that, and you care too much. You’ll make mistakes—we all do—but you care enough to keep fighting. That’s the truly important part. You care too much to quit.”
“I might have to. Without sugar there really is no way to salvage the situation.”
Moonlight cast stark highlights down his profile, and it was too dark to accurately read his eyes. “What do you plan to do?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d give up just about anyth—”
He held up a hand, swiftly silencing me. “Be careful what you say in the dark of the night, Ellerie Downing, lest you promise something you might regret.”
I tilted my head, not understanding him. “What?”
“You were about to say you’d give up anything for that sugar, weren’t you?”
I nodded.
“But you wouldn’t, not truly.”
“I would,” I insisted with fervor.
“Not anything. Not your sisters, for example?”
My mouth fell open in horror. “Of course not!”
He raised one eyebrow at me. “Then choose your wording carefully. You never know who might be listening.”
He lowered his voice and waved his hands toward the whispering pines with wild theatricality. Though I knew he meant to be teasing me, my blood ran cold, thinking of all the things that could be out there, watching us now.
Things dressed in white, with fingers grown too long.
With all of the morning’s chaos, I’d forgotten about seeing it. Seeing her. Seeing whatever it was.
“How much did you say you needed?” he asked. “Thirty pounds?”
“You have sugar?” I asked, a glimmer of hope daring to spark in my chest and pushing back thoughts of the woman for a second time that day. “That much?”
He said nothing, only leaned back on his hands, watching me.
“Whitaker, truly?” I pressed. The tiny glimmer was quickly spiraling into a blaze, racing through me, impossible to check.
This could solve everything.
This could save the bees.
He grinned. “We have sugar, back at camp. Winter rations. Off the top of my head, I don’t know exactly how many pounds there are, but—I’m sure Burnish will lend some of his, and any bit ought to help, right?”
“Ought to? Whitaker, this will save us! You’ve no idea how— This is just— Thank you!” Coherent thought failed me, and I threw my arms around his neck, pulling him into a grateful embrace. He paused for a moment, then folded me to him, his fingers sinking into the base of my braid. I felt a soft pressure at the crown of my head, as though he’d pressed a quick kiss to it, but it happened so fast, I wasn’t certain.
“But I can’t just take your sugar. I’d need to pay you. And Burnish too,” I added, remembering the man with the top hat.
He shook his head. “He owes me a favor.”
“You, then,” I insisted.
“You have no money,” he reminded me with an endearing smile.
“A trade, then.”
Whitaker settled back, the space between us suddenly feeling too big and too cold. “There’s nothing I want or need,” he said gently. “Just take the sugar, Ellerie.”
“But that’s not right. I can’t just—”
“Take it,” he insisted. “What am I going to do with that many pounds of sugar?”
“You bought it,” I pointed out. “You’ll need it for rations, as you said.”
He waved his hand, dismissing my concerns. “It was part of the kits we got at our last trading post. There’s no way we’d come even close to using all of it. We’ll have to carry it out of the valley when we pack up camp. You’d be doing me a favor, honestly.”
My stomach twinged at the thought of him leaving in the spring. I’d known he would. It’s what all trappers did once their furs were ready. But I’d thought—no, I’d hoped—Whitaker might be different. I’d hoped he might see a reason to stay.
He pressed his lips together, studying me, and for one dreadful heated moment, I worried he’d somehow read my thoughts.
“Do you gamble much?” he asked.
“Gamble?” I repeated, confused at the turn in conversation.
His eyes crinkled in amusement. “I didn’t think so. Oftentimes when people are playing cards, making bets, they’ll use a marker as a substitute for the actual item being pledged. I might want to bet my horse on a good hand, but I can’t exactly pony him up to the table, see?”