Page 115 of Eleanor’s Earrings

He kissed her gently, then walked her back to camp without asking for more.

A few of the sisters heard the exchange and failed to preserve solemn faces. Eleanor surrendered her dignity long enough to laugh, then returned them all to sharing the first half of the night watch after the ravine crossing with steadier nerves.

In the days after the family council, lighter moments returned around camp in scattered pieces.

Lydia’s teasing sometimes made Eleanor forget how closely she watched people. That evening, Lydia sat beside Eleanor repairing a torn hem. “You like him more when he argues with you,” she said.

Eleanor did not look up. “Who?”

“Archibald.”

Eleanor turned sharply.

Lydia grinned. “Nathaniel.”

“That was not amusing.”

“It was a little amusing.”

Eleanor returned to her sewing. “And you are wrong.”

“No, I am not. When he agrees with everything you say, you become suspicious. When he disagrees, you become interested.”

“I become irritated.”

“For you, that is very close.”

Eleanor tried not to smile.

Lydia’s needle moved quickly. She was better at sewing than she pretended, just as she was better at reading moods than anyone gave her credit for.

“You make jokes when you are frightened,” Eleanor said.

Lydia’s hands paused.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“That sounds inconvenient.”

“It is.”

Lydia sighed. “If everyone is laughing, I know they are breathing.”

The answer struck Eleanor silent.

Lydia shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “Besides, somebody in this family has to prevent us from becoming unbearably solemn.”

“You have taken the responsibility very seriously.”

“I learned from you.”

“I am not funny.”

“That is what makes you funny.”

Eleanor nudged her with one shoulder.