I took the pitcher of cider to a side table and looked again upon the woman sitting by the door. At the moment I did, she raised her head and looked from under the hood. I stared into a pair of my own eyes! Patience! “La,” I whispered. The Newhams had bought Patience. The Miss Talbot of Two Crowns Plantation sat by the door as a servant and not invited to table nor fed. Patey’s hand went to her lips and she motioned me to keep silent. Could I rush to my sister and not suffer for it? I could see her hands, as raw from work and washing as were mine, although they had provided her clothing new and whole.
Once supper was served, I was given a bowl and I took it to Patience, motioned for her to follow me, and we shoved clear a place betwixt the cloaks. On Birgitta’s bed we dipped our bread into the same sauce at last, leaning against each other in the only embrace we dared, shushed as mice. “Oh, Patey! I could climb into your lap.”
“Best they know nothing of us being sisters. They might not let us be together.”
“For a while I believed I had died and this was Purgatory. I have never been so cold. I am planning to run away when the wolves quit howling.”
She licked her fingers. “Summer will come. The Newhams and the Haskens are moving to the wilderness with some others. The minister of their church is taking families to pioneer, and once the roads are clear enough for that, you and I can leave.”
“Won’t they want to take us?” I asked.
“We will leave despite their wants.”
I smiled. My whole being felt warmed. “Do you have to milk goats?”
“No, Ressie. Do you keep geese? They bite my hands.”
“No. They gave me to the old one, Birgitta, like a poppet. She named me Mary.”
“The Newhams have talked of the Haskens’ troublesome serving girl, Mary.”
Mistress called, “Mary, the posset!” Lukas held his cup and I turned my head just enough to give the impression that I saw him not, and passed him with the pitcher. As I poured cider and served posset, I slipped three biscuits from the plate into the cuff of the pelisse.
Soon as I could, I sat beside Patience again. I put two biscuits in her hand. “They beat me at first,” I said. “But less now.”
“Mine do not,” she said. “Although they might if they knew my shame. I suppose they will soon enough.” She put an entire biscuit into her mouth, chewing it quickly.
I broke my biscuit and slipped half of it into my mouth. “I steal from them all the time. Stockings. Food. That is my shame. What shame have you?”
“We won’t talk of that now. Ressie, I cannot bear to think that they beat you.” She reached behind where no one could see and patted my back.
I ate the rest of the biscuit. “Are your people foolish? I think the very name Hasken must mean ‘daft’ in some other language.”
“No. They are genteel, churchy, Pa would have said. I warn you, never speak of saints or holidays. Ma taught us a mixture of Catholic from her childhood and some from long ago, from the Old Way. Some African.”
“Not a single crumb for Shortest Night. Anyway, everyone was ill with a fever. They cut off my hair.”
“Oh, poor thing,” she said, running her hands over my head. I closed my eyes, humming at the smoothness of her fingertips upon my brow. “It will grow. Keep your kerchief on and it does not show.” She took my hands in hers and said, “I so missed Pa breaking open the holiday cakes.”
“We shall go home, Patey.”
“Mary!”
“Yes, madam!” When we were not fetching things Patey and I sat side by side for long stretches without a single word, breathing the same air. I whispered, “If you and I don’t leave I will have to stay eight years.”
Patey looked on me with Ma’s eyes. “Unless a prince comes to pay your price.”
I did not want a prince. Certainly not one as bowlegged and bug-eyed as Lukas. Perhaps there were other young men in the town, comely ones, smart and gentle as our pa. I remembered Patience dreaming for her prince back in England. Perhaps I was old enough to dream of a prince, too, but not Lukas. “What if I pay my own price?” I asked. “My price was five pounds.”
She whispered, “What is the matter with your feet? You’re limping.”
“One shoe is too small. I change them from one foot to the other to let one foot rest.” I held forth the foot wearing Lonnie’s little crumpled leather bat of a shoe. Patience clucked her tongue and held up her feet. Her shoes were new and she had warm stockings of brown wool. I added, “I have stockings now. I stole them.”
The evening was gone too soon. Patience helped them on with their wraps and giant shoes, and I held the door as they trudged out. Patey stepped close to my side, brushing against me with her new crisp clothes. It was as close to a hug as we dared. No sooner had I pulled the door in place than it opened again. Lukas stood with Patience’s shoes in his hands. “Here,” he said, thrusting them at me. “My father will give you these and provide others for our servant. My sister died last fall and she can have hers.”
Oh, Patience! Her shoes! Though now she would go home in the most dreadful cold, other shoes awaited her there. Oh, how simple was this gift, and how valuable! I never imagined that one master might do such for another’s servant.
Mistress began bundling the girls up the stairs. Birgitta stood by the fire, watching me as Lukas closed the door. “Let’s see,” she said. Birgitta snatched the shoes from my hands and made as if to throw them into the fire.