The Witch of Blackbird Pond - Elizabeth George Speare [25]
Oh, dear! Could there never be a pleasant moment without this senseless argument? After Matthew's departure the conversation never really righted itself. Kit jumped as the square clock in the corner twanged eight o'clock. Only one hour! It seemed like the longest evening she had ever lived through. William rose deliberately to his feet.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Mistress Wood," he said politely.
John looked up, startled that the time had passed so quickly, and followed William's example. As the door shut behind their backs, a long sigh escaped Kit.
"Well, that's over with," she exclaimed. "At least we won't have to go through it again."
"Not till next Saturday night at least," laughed Mercy.
Kit shook her head positively. "He'll never come again," she said. Was she altogether relieved at the thought?
"Why, whatever makes you say that, child?" asked Rachel, busily raking up the fire.
"Couldn't you see? He hardly spoke a word to me. And then Uncle Matthew—"
"Oh, they all know about Father." Judith dismissed the quarrel airily. "William said he was starting to build his house, didn't he? What more could you want him to say?"
"He just happened to mention that."
"William Ashby never just happened to mention anything in his life," said Judith. "He knew exactly what he was saying."
"I can't see why just building a house—"
"Don't you know anything, Kit?" scoffed Judith. "William's father gave him that land three years ago, on his sixteenth birthday, and William said that he would never start to build his house until his mind was made up."
"That's ridiculous, Judith. He couldn't mean any such thing—so soon—could he, Mercy?"
"I'm afraid he could." Mercy smiled at her cousin's confusion. "I agree that William was telling all of us—you most of all—that his mind is made up. Whether you like it or not, Kit, William is going to come courting."
"But I don't want him to!" Kit was close to panic. "I don't want him to come at all. We—we can't even talk to each other!"
"Seems to me you're pretty choosy," snapped Judith. "Don't you know William is able to build the finest house in Wethersfield if he wants to? Does he have to keep you amused as well?"
Rachel put a reassuring hand on Kit's shoulder. "The girls are only teasing you, Katherine," she said gently.
"Then you don't think—"
"Yes, I do think William is serious. But you don't need to be worried, dear. No one is going to hurry you, least of all William himself. He is a very fine young man. Of course you feel like strangers now. But I think you'll find sufficient to talk about before long."
But would they? Kit wondered, climbing the stairs to bed. Her doubts persisted through the week. A second Saturday passed, a third and a fourth, and William's calls fell into a pattern. I shall ask Mercy to teach me to knit, Kit decided after the second Saturday, and thereafter she armed herself with wool and needles. At least they kept her hands occupied and gave her an excuse for not meeting that implacable gaze.
William seemed to find nothing lacking in those evenings. For him it was enough simply to sit across the room and look at her. It was flattering, she had to admit. The most eligible bachelor in Wethersfield and handsome, actually, in his substantial way. Sometimes, as she sat knitting, aware that William's eyes were on her face, she felt her breath tightening in a way that was strange and not unpleasant. Then, just as suddenly, rebellion would rise in her. He was so sure! Without even asking, he was reckoning on her as deliberately as he calculated his growing pile of lumber.
Perhaps she would not have thought about William so much had there been anything else to break the long monotonous stretch from Saturday to Saturday. It was incredible that every day should be the same, varied only in the work that filled every hour from sunrise to dark. Surely, it seemed, there must come a moment when all the tasks would be done and some brief leisure