The Witch of Blackbird Pond - Elizabeth George Speare [15]
Judith had the gloves on before the sentence was finished, and stood stretching out her slender arms admiringly. Mercy stroked hers with a timid finger and laid them gently aside. Then Judith pounced on the dresses.
"Try it on," suggested Kit, seeing that Judith could scarcely take her eyes from a bright peacock blue paduasoy. Judith needed no urging. Dropping her own homespun skirt unashamedly on the floor, she drew the shining folds over her head.
"Why, 'tis perfect," exclaimed Kit. "It makes your eyes look almost green!"
Judith tiptoed across the floor, straining to see herself in the one small dim mirror that hung over a chest. Truly, in the vivid dress Judith was breath-taking, and she did not need the mirror to tell her so.
"Oh, if William could see me in this!" she breathed, ignoring Mercy's worried protests.
Kit laughed delightedly. "Well, 'tis yours, Judith. 'Twas made just for you. And there's a little cap with ribbons to match—now where did I put it? There! Now which one will be best for Mercy?"
"Goodness, what use would I have for such things?" Mercy laughed. "I scarcely ever get to Meeting." Kit hesitated, chagrined. But Judith's eye had fallen on a light blue wool and she lifted it impulsively.
"This would be perfect for Mercy," she exclaimed.
Kit unfolded the delicate English shawl and dropped it across Mercy's shoulders.
"Oh, Kit, how beautiful! I never felt anything so soft! Like a kitten's fur." Delight and protest struggled in Mercy's face. "I can't take anything so lovely."
Judith was back at the mirror. "Just wait till I walk into Meeting in this on Sunday morning," she squealed. "A few people I know won't hear a word of the sermon!"
"Why, girls! What on earth—?" Rachel Wood had come back unnoticed, and she stood now staring at her daughter in the peacock blue gown with something, half fear and half hunger in her eyes.
"Oh, Mother—look what Kit has given me!" cried Judith.
"I am looking," stammered her mother. "Judith—you look—I scarcely know you!"
"You should, Aunt Rachel," Kit spoke up boldly. "Because you must have looked just exactly like that yourself. I know because Grandfather has told me how beautiful you were."
The two girls stared at their mother in astonishment. Rachel looked dazed. "I had a dress just that color once," she said slowly.
Kit dived impulsively into the trunk. "Put this on, Aunt Rachel," she coaxed. "See? It ties under your chin like this. Oh, 'tis just perfect! Go and look at yourself."
Rachel shied away from the mirror, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. Under the little beribboned bonnet the years had dropped away from her face. At her brilliant eyes and tremulous smile her two daughters stared in unbelief.
"Oh, Mother! Wear that on Sunday! Promise you will!"
But the color had suddenly drained from Rachel's face. A chill swept across the room from the abruptly opened door. On the threshold stood Matthew Wood, staring from his awful height at the littered room, the gowns tumbled over chairs and benches, and the guilty faces of his womenfolk.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"The girls were watching Katherine unpack," Rachel explained helplessly. "How are you back so soon, Matthew?"
"Can a man not come back for an axe helve without finding his house a shambles?"
"I guess we forgot ourselves." Rachel's fingers jerked at the bonnet strings.
Judith was not so easily intimidated. "Look, Father!" she attempted, "Kit has given me this dress. Did you ever see anything so handsome?"
"Give it back to her at once!"
"Father—no! I never had—"
"Do as I say!" he thundered.
"Uncle Matthew," broke in Kit. "You don't understand. I want her to have the dress."
Her uncle regarded her with scorn. "No one in my family has any use for such frippery," he said coldly. "Nor are we beholden on anyone's charity for our clothing."
"But they are gifts," cried Kit, tears of hurt and anger springing to her eyes. "Everyone brings—"
"Be quiet,