Master Hasken was a puffed-up booby who fancied himself a scholar and philosopher, prating before a polished copper plate every Sunday morning. In another home equally as dismal as this, a crowd assembled and stood, there being not room for a single chair. I found a corner and crouched so I could rest my sore feet. Master Hasken fumbled the words of a psalm so that it came out that the Israelites had prepared a feast to eat their enemies. I covered my smile.
By the time Meeting was finished, a stormy wind blew and sleet hit the house. They sent me to their house alone to build up the fire so it would be warm for them. I thought of escape, but where and how could I, in such a storm? They must have known I could not run away in such weather. Still, it was blessed to be alone. I pushed the coals with an iron rod, and fed straw into the fireplace. I looked out the door. No one yet, so I ran upstairs, pulled off my shoes and dug into Christine’s basket of stockings. I selected two pairs and put them on, one over the other, and got the shoes tied on just as I heard stamping at the doorstep. I nearly fell down the stairs in my rush, but I sat myself upon the floor, flushed and panting. I knelt, holding kindling against a mound of coals and blowing at it by the time they’d removed their wet blankets and cloaks enough to see me. Christine never mentioned that her store of stockings had changed.
A couple of days later, while I melted snow, I watched from the corner of my eye as Mistress sat to spin thread of the goat’s wool. She had a round of wood with a spindle on it, and whirled it. Now and then she grunted if the thread broke. The woman was twiddly and had nervous episodes where she paced across the two small rooms, and sometimes up and down the narrow stairway fidgeting with her hands, shaking them as if they were wet and needed drying, or as if something dreadful were stuck to her fingers.
“Are you listening?” Birgitta hissed, shaking the rod at my face. “I’ll have a word with Master Hasken about you if you are too simple to learn a thing.”
Had she been talking again? I looked first at the tip of the rod, inches from my nose. I had no idea she had been talking and I followed its length with my eyes, up her arm and to her face. As I did I remembered Aloysius, the sailor. “I am listening, madam.” I smiled to prove it, though I had no idea what she had said. “Thank you for explaining, Birgitta. I shall not forget.” My answer took her off her guard, for she shook her head, blinking long and hard, screwing her eyebrows up. I nodded and stirred the stew bubbling on the hearth. “Would you have me put more kindling by the great fireplace or the lesser?” I asked, reaching for a chunk of wood.
“Go and get more for the great one. Be careful,” she said, suddenly gentle, “and remember not to loosen any above and cause it to kill you dead. And get five more buckets of snow. Mistress will want tea for the honorable reverend. Last Meeting was for his and Miss Rachael’s Walking Out. Tonight’s supper is First Courting.”
I loaded up the box by the fireplace, my arms as full of wood as I could carry. I collected snow and sat to pluck floating bits of twig and leaf from the pot as the snow melted. I kept my hands in the warm water until it got hot. Mistress and the older girls spent the morning preparing a leg of goat that had been hanging inside the woodshed where it had frozen solid. I marveled at that. Had it hung in a shed at Meager Bay, flies and wasps would have cleaned it to the marrow in half a day. Later in the afternoon as the preparations slowed and bread rose on a board, all the daughters assembled for “school.” I sat on a small stool behind them, happy for a change from my endless tasks. I remember having been told I’d be schooled, but this was the first time in two months of living with them that any mention was made of it. As the girls recited addition by rote, I tried to join in, sensing a rhythm to what they were doing. Arithmetic seemed to be a pattern of things, such as three threes made nine. I smelled the goat shank boiling in its pot and roots roasting in the coals. My mouth watered. My stomach made meowing sounds like a hungry cat, and Rachael frowned at me for it.
We were an hour into school when Reverend Johansen arrived with his leather satchel and his Scriptures. Master Hasken answered the knock on the door himself. Birgitta showed him to the single real chair and Master sat upon the family bench. Mistress Hasken intended to give our little schooling an airing before him, for she did not dismiss us from our places. I used my hiding place behind the girls to study this reverend. He had a kind expression, and a sadness about the eyes that was appealing despite his thinness. Perhaps he would save me.
Mistress broke the silence, saying, “Rachael, what is the greatest sin?”
I thought about stealing stockings, while Rachael said, “There are seven major sins. The greatest of these is sloth, because under its cloak abide all the others.”
“Good,” said Mistress, nodding. “Now, Christine, what are the seven detestable sins?” Christine gave no answer. Lonnie sat without speaking, a string of drool escaping her lips. “Mary,” said Mistress, “clean her face.”
I waited and watched. Reverend seemed unamused.