“Mary! Clean her face, I said,” the woman demanded.
I grew aware after a moment that she meant me. I had been called “Mary” all these days but could not reply to it when caught off guard. I pulled up a bit of my skirt and swiped it across Lonnie’s face while turning my eyes to the ceiling. Nothing repelled me more than slaver running from a mouth.
Christine mumbled something and her mother nodded, head inclined toward the girl, as if by that motion she could produce words from Christine’s mouth. Mistress said, “She knows them by heart. She—she speaks softest of the girls.”
I folded my skirt so I could not see Lonnie’s mouth spot on it. The reverend appeared bored. I wanted to jump at him and shout the wrongs done to me. I made a noise, accidentally scooting my stool a bit.
Mistress eyed me and her face changed somewhat. Her smiling lips thinned out and her brows lowered. “Mary? Do you know the detestable sins?”
Pa always said if you wanted a man to befriend you, get him to talk about himself. If I could get the man to feel fondness toward me, to feel pity and perhaps admiration for my ma’s teaching, perhaps he would take me home to her. What more would a parson love than to talk about his philosophies? Perhaps he needed asking. Perhaps I should ask him. Ma had never spoken of a list of such things as detestable sin. I said, “I—I am sure that Holy God detests all wickedness.”
The reverend raised one brow and nodded.
Mistress said, “Mary, the kettle is hot. I’ll serve Parson some tea.” She had laid her teapot and tea safe on a kerchief at the table. She seemed uncertain at its preparation. They drank nothing but hard cider usually, as there was naught else to drink. I knew all about tea for I had helped my mother so often. I hurried to the fireplace and pulled the trammel with a crooked rod she used for it. As Mistress tried to whittle the corner off the tea brick, she said, “Of course we never use tea often. We keep frugal.” I poured hot water into the old teapot, and with a look on my face and a nod, took the tea brick from her, breaking it as Ma had done, dropping it in, to stir with a fork. Mistress began to smile but stopped herself and turned away from me. “Lonnie?” she went on. “What is the greatest commandment?”
“Honor thy father and mother,” Lonnie sang out, clapping her hands. “My father and mother, honor them, honor them, ho-nor them.”
When I turned to hang the kettle of hot water back in the fire, a coal popped and a spark flew toward me. I kicked at it, intending to send it back into the bank of coals, but it caught in the hole of my tattered shoe. Pain shot through my toe. I cried out, holding forth the iron kettle. Lonnie came running to me and held her hands under the hot kettle as if I would lay it into them. “No!” I cried. “Lonnie, move your hands!”
“Mary,” Birgitta said, coming at me, “you earned three strokes for raising your voice to the misses of this house.”
My hands sweating and the handle slipping, I held the kettle with every bit of strength I could find. I cried, “Lonnie! The kettle will hurt you. Get away.” At last I could keep it suspended no more and my arms began to fall lower.
Birgitta reached forward and took Lonnie’s hands in hers, leading her away. I set the kettle on the floor and shook my shoe. The spark had no more light in it but smoke came from my shoe like a candlewick just snuffed. Tears poured down my face.
“What is all this?” asked Master. “Pick up that kettle, Mary!” It was such a small room to have so many people, he could not see what had happened to my foot. He raised his fist, ready to fetch me a clap on the head.
“I am sorry, Master,” I said, ducking my head. In that moment, a picture of Cora, bowing and ducking in Patience’s stolen shoes, appeared in my mind. My toe hurt too badly to think more. “I did not want to hurt Miss Lonnie.”
Reverend Johansen came to my rescue, saying, “I believe her voice was raised only in warning, Hasken. Let the serving girl have some tea for it.”