Page 41 of The Frozen River

Tuesday, December 15—Clear and cold. I have been at home. Made twenty dozen candles. An officer went by here looking for Captain Burgess with a warrant for his arrest.

DR. COLEMAN’S STORE TUESDAY, DECEMBER 15

I am not the only woman who has come to Coleman’s in hope of finding something today. There are two women at the counter waiting to be served and three more at the back when I step in, wicker basket tucked in the crook of one arm. I pause just inside the doorway to shrug out of my riding cloak and shake the snow from my hair.

The stack of pelts beside the counter hasn’t grown any taller, but I don’t like the bright, bushy red tail sticking out from the center. I am scowling when I turn and come face-to-face with Sarah White. The young woman takes one look at my expression, bursts into tears, and tries to push her way past.

“Wait,” I say, dropping my basket with a thump. I grab Sarah’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I should have known better. Come early or late, Mother said, but not while the Ladies are out.”

Ladies. A pejorative if I’ve ever heard one.

I lead her to the side. “Tell me what happened.”

“Them,” Sarah says, nodding to where three women huddle in the far corner, backs to the room. “Made it clear I wasn’t welcome here.”

“It isn’t their store.”

She sniffs and wipes two fat tears off each cheek with the cuff of her sleeve. “They sure act like it is.”

If Sarah White had been born in another town, to different parents, she would have married early and well. Her face alone would have assured that. But her figure would have likely caused a duel. As it stands, she lives in the Hook, and her parents were ill equipped to protect such a lovely girl. A dalliance with a member of the Boston militia last year has left her with a bastard daughter and a ruined reputation.

“Did you find what you need?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“Well, you’d best do it then. It isn’t often you get out without the baby, and your mother won’t like to see you come home empty-handed.”

“But—”

“Let them answer to me,” I say, nudging Sarah back into the shop.

I grab my basket and move to the back where Coleman keeps the sewing supplies. The three women sift through bolts of fabric spread along a table. They whisper amongst themselves, laughing, and I listen as one of them speaks in a tone bubbling with glee.

“Can you believe how brazen Sarah is? Flouncing around without that baby.”

I look through the slats in the shelf to find Clarissa Stone running her hand along a bolt of soft blue cotton. Her face is angled toward the companion on her right, mouth twisted into a vicious smile.

“It’s indecent,” Rachel Blossom agrees.

Peggy Bridge chimes in then, unable to resist a bit of gossip, and a disapproving tsk. “There are hours for her to shop. Her mother should have taught her.”

“Oh, her mother clearly didn’t teach her anything,” Clarissa says, and I am opening my mouth to excoriate them all when she adds, “Did you hear about Sam Dawin?”

I step back to make sure they don’t see me.

“What about him?”

“He and May were married in Henry Sewall’s living room on Sunday. They went to housekeeping immediately. Her mother is furious.”

Clarissa receives exactly the response she intended. Hmms and tsks and heads that shake in judgment.

“Doesn’t it seem odd?” she asks. “They only posted their notice of intent six weeks ago.”

Peggy, not one to be left out, adds, “I heard they made quite a public show of affection. My husband saw Sam kiss May right on the street!”

This last word is said with such an air of scandal that she may as well have implied they ran naked through town after church.