Page 42 of The Frozen River

Clarissa nods, pronouncing her verdict with certainty. “May is pregnant.” The others gasp, but it’s only for show, and she looks gratified when she adds, “Why else would they marry so quickly?”

It is an appalling display of hypocrisy, and I will not tolerate it a moment longer. I step out from behind the shelf, startling them. They spin around, horrified to find that their ugly conversation has been overheard. And by me no less. Varying expressions of shame, anger, and suspicion dart across their faces.

Both Clarissa and Peggy are heavily pregnant. Clarissa to such a degree that it looks as though she might already be past due. I let my gaze linger over their swollen bellies, let them grow uncomfortable beneath my gaze.

“Perhaps they married quickly because they are in love? Or because Sam nearly died a couple of weeks ago and that certainly makes a man think there is no time to waste.” I move closer. Lower my voice. “There is nothing wrong with a man wanting to share a bed with his wife right from the start. What is wrong, however, is gossiping about your neighbors in such a cruel way. And not just Sam Dawin—a good man by anyone’s standards—but Sarah White? That is rich. Even for the likes of you three.

“As I recall,” I add, twisting the knife, “you delivered your first child four months after your wedding, Peggy. It was six months for you, Rachel.” I look to Clarissa Stone and shake my head. “But you’re the one who should be most ashamed of your pious outrage. It took a year and a bitter paternity suit before Paul would make an honest woman out of you.”

I don’t have to remind them how I know this, how I attended each of them in childbirth and that—in Clarissa’s case—I received testimony as to the paternity of her child, which I later gave in court when she sued for maintenance.

“Not one of you has the right to speak,” I say. “And if you had a lick of integrity, you would go apologize to Sarah this instant.”

Only Rachel Blossom has the decency to blush. The others shift and glare before turning their noses to the ceiling and brushing past me.

“I am sorry,” Rachel whispers as she turns her face to the floor and follows after them, but, like her friends, she does not say a word to Sarah on her way out.

I watch them go, imagining how they must be cursing me under their breath as they hustle back to their homes. They have left the bolts of fabric in disarray, so I fold and straighten them into neat rows on the table. A bolt of pale green silk catches my attention, and I pluck it from the pile. Run my thumb along the nubby weave. Check the price tag. Put it back. Pick it up again. Back and forth, five times, until I make up my mind and tuck it under one arm. I do need a new dress, after all.

I look up to find Sarah White standing in front of me.

“Thank you,” she says. “You didn’t have to defend me. I made my choices. But I’m glad you did nonetheless.”

“It was the truth. And they needed to hear it.” Sarah looks so sad as she’s turning away that I reach for her hand. I want to ease her embarrassment, to reassure her that not everyone in the Hook considers her an outcast. “Their opinion of you doesn’t matter, Sarah.”

“It isn’t just them, Martha. It’s everyone. It’s hard to stare down an entire town,” she says, then goes to pay for the items in her basket.

I watch as Sarah leaves, her chin tucked against the collar of her dress to avoid the cold blast of wind. It pains me to think of her so alone and ostracized in this community. It will be harder for her to find a husband now that she’s already borne a child, but she is not without hope, and I resolve to help find her a man who will love her as she is.

I turn back to the sewing supplies and ask, “Where are the needles?”

“Behind you, and to the left. Second shelf from the bottom. Green jar,” Coleman calls out from the front of the store.

“You heard that?”

“I’m mostly blind, Mistress Ballard, but me ears work fine.”

Sure enough, the needles are right where he said, and I take a packet from the jar, then sort through another beside it for buttons, before bringing everything to the front.

I set the basket at my feet and lean against the counter.

“I’m afraid to ask just how well your ears were working a few moments ago.”

“Ye weren’t taking great pains to keep yer voice down. And they deserved it regardless.”

“Perhaps, but it wasn’t very kind of me.”

“And what they were accusing Sam Dawin of? That was kind?” he asks.

“Hardly. Although it is human nature, I suppose.”

“Hypocrisy?”

“Well, yes. They feel better about themselves whenever anyone else is caught doing the same.”

“But neither Sam nor May have been caught in anything.”

“Which is why I didn’t hold my tongue.”