I tore my eyes off Mr. Long and shook my head. “There’ll be a few more dance assemblies before March. And even on the frontier, folks surely scrape up some reels. As long as there are people, there’ll be music and dancing.” I cast a critical eye around the Goodriches’ immense parlor, swollen with the millings of laughing ladies and gentlemen in their Sunday best and wastefully aglow in countless candles. “Though probably not in such a fancy setting.”
“I’ll miss these occasions. Our neighbors, our friends. You, especially, Harry.”
“Well, you don’t need to miss me.” Because I’m not sticking around here, either. Mama had hardworking (if tediously inquisitive) Betsy to help her. Papa didn’t require me to darn his socks; even sickly Grace could do that. And Mr. Long … he obviously wouldn’t miss me. Why stay and witness his and Miss Goodrich’s courtship?
Yet I hesitated to declare my intention to leave. Home, home, home: It still held me in its familiar embrace. Plus, as busy as I’d been sentimentalizing Middleton, I hadn’t thought of a good way to disclose to Gid my idea of leaving it, to frame this agenda in such a manner to make it sound reasonable.
But perhaps, while the music and dancing afforded us a measure of privacy, now would be the time to speak. Staring straight ahead, squashing my reservations, I blurted, “You don’t need to miss me because I’m going with you.”
He turned to face me. A while passed before he stammered, “But—but—there’s Mama and the girls and—and what about him?” He waved a wild hand toward Mr. Long, deep in conversation with Miss Goodrich.
My mouth tightened. “What about him?” I glared at our neighbor. He aggravated me to no end, first assiduously attending to me for months—nay, years!—and so faithfully it seemed all of Middleton shared an understanding of our pending nuptials, then thoroughly ignoring me, to the extent that, for the past six weeks, I had been forced to endure an onslaught of pitying glances every Sabbath at meeting.
And then here, tonight: starting off with his old friendly jabs and jokes then promptly ditching me for the rest of the evening.
I felt toyed with. That I’d taken him for granted in the past and thus earned this treatment, I didn’t want to admit. I longed to show him—and everyone—that I was my own woman, quite capable of orchestrating my future without anyone’s help. I wasn’t going to hang around to see if our neighbor thought I was good enough for him. I wasn’t going to linger just to get tossed aside. Either way, the waiting made me a loser. Staying in Middleton would be like the quadrille now under way: a perfectly sedate dance, politely dictated by custom, all figured out step by step, up one long line and down another. Fine but predictable. Someone else had made up the dance. I shouldn’t have to follow the steps.
I wanted an adventure, too.
Gideon was looking doubtful. “I don’t think our parents will let you.”
“Well, for that matter, you don’t know if they’ll let you. And if they do, they might be grateful to me for agreeing to go with you. After all, who’ll set up your housekeeping while you’re working on your parcel, chopping down trees, and taming the wilderness?”
His gaze drifted toward Rachel.
I snorted. “I won’t interfere with your romance, Gid. Go ahead and court her. If she agrees to marry you, after the happy occasion I’ll leave you two to your love nest.” I knew I sounded sour, but I couldn’t help it. I had never imagined Gideon would prove so susceptible to a ninny. Most likely, after the featherbrain lost her youthful shine, he’d find her to be a terribly dull companion. I folded my arms. “Regardless, I can’t see marriage happening before you’ve cleared enough land to build a house and grow something.”
He nodded slowly. I could tell he was mulling over my points and finding them sound. “That’s decent of you, Harry. I’d sure love your company. Truthfully, leaving you behind was the one consideration spoiling my anticipation.” His smile turned tentative. “But if things work out with Miss Welds and me…” He cleared his throat, stared at his boots, and finished awkwardly, “Where would you go?”
“Back to Middleton, I guess.”
Even as I said this, I couldn’t really believe it. What would home be like without my best chum? The farm I knew featured Gideon racing me, coming to my aid when one of our brothers tormented me, making me laugh during the most boring activity. His absence would more than sadden me; it would permanently alter my world, turn it barren and cheerless and unfamiliar, as if a person hadn’t gone missing but a whole chunk of the landscape had disappeared—a big mountain, an entire stream.
My gaze found Mr. Long. He was leading Miss Goodrich from the dance floor and looking pleased. With her, probably. I experienced a sinking sensation. Once Gid left, I’d never find anyone to fill the void. Better that I go with him.
CHAPTER SIX
Being made aware of (and now a pending participant in) Gideon’s ambitious plan turned me into a quasi member of a secret club I hadn’t known existed. This club, before me, had been an organization of three: Gideon, Robert Welds, and Robert’s younger brother Ed.
On the first occasion of my attendance, I glanced around the graveyard where we were holding the meeting and asked, “Where’s Rachel?”
“Dunno,” Ed said, shrugging. “Minding the children, I expect.”
Given the number of sticky, stinky siblings these two brothers shared, his explanation was all too plausible. Poor Rachel. I didn’t particularly like her, but I wouldn’t wish that much snotty-nosed torture on anyone.
Robert eyed me with displeasure. “Like she’s supposed to be doing.”
I smiled blandly. As long as Gid said it was fine for me to hang around, Robert would just have to put up with me.
The three men’s feverish conversations, covertly shared behind the meetinghouse on Sundays and during rare visits arranged away from the farm, fed my excitement and, at least intermittently, lessened my dread of leaving home. They got their hands on a map and plotted their journeys, arguing where they ought to ford the Genesee River. And, with the help of the three letters Rachel had received months ago from Mrs. Linton, her old Massachusetts friend, the boys pieced together tidbits to improve their travel decisions and parcel choices. For instance, they learned that the main highway, called the Ridge Road, while the best means to penetrate the wilderness, was little more than an Indian trail. And certain available lots, particularly those below the lower falls, along the banks of Allan’s Creek in the new town of Carlton, were swampier than others and produced many plants ideal for foraging, like morels and elderberries, but were also home to any number of rattlesnakes.
And of course there were bears, wildcats, coyotes, and wolves. Thankfully, less terrifying creatures occupied the thick forests, too, including beavers, hedgehogs, raccoons, and quail, all suitable for eating, according to Mrs. Linton. While the boys discussed the best techniques for crossing brooks with their teams when no bridges spanned them, I pondered the prospect of eating a hedgehog and wondered how one set about preparing the animal for cooking without getting speared by a bunch of quills.
Throughout the planning, I listened but didn’t propose any suggestions. The fact was, while the Welds brothers knew that Gideon had made me privy to their plot, they didn’t know he’d agreed to let me make the journey with him.
“Why can’t we tell them?” I demanded, one early summer evening behind the barn. I carried a pail of cherries, my favorite fruit, and selected a plump, firm one from the top of the mound.
I’d chewed and spat out the pit before Gideon finally answered. Rubbing the back of his neck, toeing the dirt, and looking altogether sheepish, he admitted, “They don’t want a female messing with their adventure.”
“But Rachel’s going.”
“Not to stay with them.” He frowned and, with annoying primness, lectured, “It wouldn’t be at all seemly for a proper young lady, neither sister nor wife, to keep house for them. They’re to escort her to the Lintons’, where she’ll take up residency.”
“For how long?”