Days slipped by without word from Sam.
The snow continued to fall, piling past Sadie’s knees, then Merry’s, then mine.
My dreams returned to normal, without heated visions of Whitaker or terrifying encounters with the creature in the pale dress.
My feet stayed in their socks.
Then came an unexpected knock at our front door one morning.
It sounded once, then twice. The third rap was louder. Our guest was clearly vexed no one had answered.
“Merry!” I was elbow-deep in the washtub, and the front of my apron was soaked.
Buttons had bounded through the kitchen, knocking a stack of tin plates into the soapy water before falling in himself. I could still hear him yowling in the loft as Sadie tried to dry him.
“Merry!” I tried again after the third set of knocks.
“She’s in the barn,” Sadie announced, coming down the stairs, carrying a murderous Buttons in a towel.
“Can you answer the door while I change?”
Her mouth fell open. “You want me to answer the door? I never get to answer the door.” Another set of raps spurred her into action. “Coming!” she shouted, her feet clattering loudly through the house.
I tossed the sodden apron onto the worktable and did a quick check in the little plate-glass mirror Mama kept in the kitchen for moments such as these. Wispy flyaways framed my face, but there was no time to fix them. I grabbed a clean pinafore off the hook and made my way to the front.
“What are you doing here?” I heard Sadie ask as she opened the door.
I inwardly groaned. Mama would have given her an earful if she’d heard her.
“Manners, Sadie,” I said, coming around the corner. When I saw the visitors, I stopped short. “Oh.”
Simon and Rebecca Briard stood in the middle of our sitting room wearing a set of matching scowls.
“Good Blessings,” I said, recovering.
“Good Blessings.” Only Simon echoed my sentiment.
An uncomfortable silence filled the room, making it clear neither of the Briards would speak first. “We’ve not seen you since the wedding. You look well.”
“Yes, my Rebecca is quite the picture of radiance these days, don’t you think?” Simon smiled at her fondly before letting his eyes drift to her belly.
She must have finally let him in on the happy news.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Even as I offered, I prayed they’d say no. We were down to our last tin.
Simon’s eyes lit hopefully, but Rebecca shook her head with a curt snap.
“We won’t be staying long.”
“What brings you by, then, neighbor?” I asked, adjusting my tone to match her clipped cadence.
“Coming home from town two days ago, we saw a troubling sight,” Simon jumped in as his wife nudged him in the ribs. “It appears your new relatives have come for a visit.”
“They were out chopping wood,” Rebecca added.
I said nothing, waiting for them to come to their point.
“Well?” Simon asked as the moment ran long. “Are they?”
“Are they…chopping wood?”
“Living here,” Rebecca hissed.
“Their wagon was vandalized on Christmas night,” I said. “Their oxen killed and—”
“We’ve heard,” Simon interrupted.
“We invited them to stay with us. At least until the worst of winter passes.”
His face fell, growing grave. “And you didn’t think to warn us?”
“Warn you? Of what?”
“Their presence. Near my—our property.”
The corner of Rebecca’s mouth tightened at his mistake, but she said nothing.
“Simon, you sound ridiculous. They’re my family. It’s not as though I’m harboring criminals.”
“I told you,” Rebecca muttered, tugging at his sleeve. “We ought to leave.”
“Well, actually,” he began. “There’s another reason for our visit. We weren’t sure if you’d heard the news yet.”
“What news?” Alarm knit in my throat. Parson Briard kept a falcon to send and deliver messages to and from the bishop in the city. Had Papa been able to send word? I braced for the worst.
“There was a fire. A few nights ago.”
“Oh.” Misplaced relief rose over me like a swell at sea. “What burned?”
“The schoolhouse.”
I inhaled sharply, certain I’d misheard. “The school?”
Simon nodded. “It’s completely destroyed, burnt to cinders.”
“I…that’s terrible.”
“It is.”
“What…what happened?” I asked carefully, uncertain if my interest might be perceived as a guilty conscience.
It was a coincidence. It had to be.
“No one knows for sure. It happened late in the evening. No one noticed until it was too late to save anything.”
I frowned, trying to look sympathetic. “When did it happen? There was that strange thunderstorm two nights back. Could it…could it have been lightning?”
Simon shook his head. “It burned the night before. On Wednesday.”
I thought hard, counting back my evenings. The schoolhouse had burned down the night I’d dreamed I’d set fire to it.
Coincidence.
A strange one, admittedly.
But a coincidence.
Nothing more.
“We thought you should know….There are rumors going around about who set it,” Rebecca said, arching one eyebrow at me.
Bile slushed about in my stomach, hot and acidic. It didn’t matter how deserted the town had appeared. Someone had seen me. Someone had watched me strike that damned match.
My mind raced. What would the penalty be for such a crime? They’d hung Cyrus for burning down our shed, but Mama had been seriously hurt. If no one had been injured, would my sentencing be more merciful?
Pull yourself together.
It had been a dream.
A terrible, nightmarish coincidence of a dream, but a dream all the same.
It had been warm. I’d been barefoot.
In reality, there were feet of snow outside on the ground.