The Witch of Blackbird Pond - Elizabeth George Speare [13]
Water! For breakfast! But the corn bread was good, and she managed a second piece in spite of her dry tongue.
Rachel Wood could not seem to look away from the young face across the table, and every few moments her eyes brimmed over with tears.
"I declare, you look so like her it takes my breath away. But all the same, there is a hint of your father there, too. I can see it if I look closely."
"You remember my father?" Kit asked eagerly.
"I remember him well. A fine upstanding lad he was, and I never could blame Margaret. But it broke my heart to have her go so far."
But Rachel had come even farther. What could she have seen in that fierce silent man to draw her away from England? Could he have been handsome? Perhaps, with that strong regal nose and high forehead. But so terrifying!
Matthew Wood had not sat down at the table with the others. Though he had said nothing, Kit had been aware that not a motion had escaped his intent scowl. Now he pulled down a leather jacket from a peg on the wall and thrust his long arms into the sleeves.
"I will be working in the south meadow," he told his wife. "You had best not expect me till sundown."
At the open door, however, he stopped and looked back at them. "What is all this?" he inquired coldly.
"Oh," said Kit, scrambling to her feet. "I forgot. Those are my trunks."
"Yours? Seven trunks? What can be in them?"
"Why—my clothes, and a few things of Grandfather's."
"Seven trunks of clothes, all the way from Barbados just for a visit?"
The cold measured words fell like so many stones into the quiet room. Kit's throat was so dry she longed now to swallow the water. She lifted her chin and looked directly into those searching eyes.
"I have not come for a visit, sir," she answered. "I have come to stay with you."
There was a little gasp from Rachel. Matthew Wood closed the door deliberately and came back toward the table. "Why did you not write to us first?"
All her life, whenever her grandfather had asked her a question he had expected a direct answer. Now, in this stern man facing her, so totally different from her grandfather. Kit sensed the same quality of directness, and out of an instinctive respect she gave the only honest answer she could.
"I did not dare to write," she said. "I was afraid that you might not tell me to come, and I had to come."
Rachel leaned forward to put a hand on Kit's arm.
"We would not have refused you if you were in need," said her uncle. "But a step like this should not be taken without due pondering."
"Matthew," protested Rachel timidly, "what is there to ponder? We are the only family she has. Let us talk about it later. Now Katherine is tired, and your work has been delayed already."
Matthew Wood drew up a chair and sat down heavily. "The work will have to wait," he said. "It is best that we understand this matter at once. How did you come to set sail all alone?"
"There was a ship in the harbor and they said it was from Connecticut. I should have sent a letter, I know, but it might have been months before another ship came. So instead of writing I decided to come myself."
"You mean that, just on an impulse, you left your rightful home and sailed halfway across the world?"
"No, it was not an impulse exactly. You see, I really had no home to leave."
"What of your grandfather's estate? I always understood he was a wealthy man."
"I suppose he was wealthy, once. But he had not been well for a long time. I think for years he was not able to manage the plantation, but no one realized it. He left everything more and more to the overseer, a man named Bryant. Last winter Bryant sold off the whole crop and then disappeared. Probably he sailed back to England on the trading ship. Grandfather couldn't believe it. After that he was never really well. The other plantation owners were his friends. Nobody ever pressed him, but after he died there just seemed to be debts everywhere, wherever I turned."
"Did you pay them?"
"Yes, every one of them. All the land had to be sold, and the house and the slaves,