Bone House_ A Novel - Betsy Tobin [71]
“Where is your mother?” he asks at once. Anne raises her head at the question, but when I glance in her direction she lowers it quickly, as if I have caught her eavesdropping.
“She is resting at home,” I tell him.
“Is she ill?” he asks, uncomprehending.
“No. She is only tired,” I say. “But she’ll soon return.” Long Boy nods; this seems to satisfy him. Anne frowns but says nothing. “How do you feel?” I ask him.
“I am well,” he answers matter-of-factly. Perhaps he does not recall the fever of the past few days. He nods toward Anne. “Will this woman stay with me?” he asks.
“I do not know,” I say, for truly I do not.
“Whose mother is she?” he asks. It is an innocent enough question, but it hits the mark. Anne rises quickly, and taking up the leather strap used to carry kindling, leaves the cottage without a word.
“She has no children,” I explain once she has gone. “That is why she has been asked to look after you.” He frowns slightly, as if this somehow cannot be. “Have you eaten?” I ask. He does not answer, merely stares at the closed door, through which Anne has just departed. “Long Boy, are you hungry?” I say a little more loudly. At length he turns to me, his eyes dark and troubled.
“My mother is cold,” he says finally. I think of all the things that I could say in response, but something tells me I must tread carefully, for there is turmoil in his eyes.
Instead I bring him broth and bread, and he eats hungrily, absently, just as he did before the illness. While he is eating Anne returns, loaded with kindling, and begins to stack it in a pile by the fire.
“I want to go out,” says Long Boy, his mouth filled with bread. I glance in Anne’s direction and she frowns.
“Not yet,” I answer. “You must rest.”
“When?” he asks immediately. I nod toward Anne.
“She will tell you when the time has come,” I say. He looks at her darkly and I read disapproval in his eyes. “Perhaps soon,” I say pointedly, and Anne nods tentatively. “I must go now,” I tell Long Boy.
“Where?” he asks. Anne looks at me and our eyes lock.
“To my mother,” I reply.
The boy troubles me, for although the fever has gone, it has clearly left its imprint on him. As I approach my mother’s cottage, I see a small crowd standing outside. Samuell stands in front of the door facing them, and nods to me grimly from afar. The dozen or so people speak among themselves, but when they see me silence falls upon them like a shroud. I cross at once to Samuell, who takes my arm and eases me away from the others.
“What happens here?” I demand. He looks at me uneasily.
“The magistrate has ordered a search,” he says in a hushed tone. “Goodwife Cooper and Widow Smythe are within.”
“They search her person?” I ask. He nods. “May I at least attend them?” He shakes his head no.
“None but the two, according to his orders. And they shall report their findings directly to him.” I turn toward the crowd. Most of them do not meet my eyes.
“Why are they here?” I say angrily after a moment, raising my voice so they will hear. A few murmur in response. “What business have you here?” I shout. Samuell lays a hand upon my arm. I turn back to him.
“Please,” he says urgently. “I will bring the women back to the alehouse, and the crowd will no doubt follow.” I nod slowly. A few in the crowd have shuffled silently away. The others hang their heads like stray dogs.
“How long have they been within?” I ask Samuell. He bites his lip.
“Some time now,” he replies. I think of my mother and her fiercely private nature. She must have known that it might come to this, for a search is often done in cases where witchcraft is suspected. After another minute, the door to the cottage opens and Goodwife Cooper and Widow Smythe emerge silently, their eyes masked in secrecy. The crowd stirs a little, presses forward around them, but