The Witch of Blackbird Pond - Elizabeth George Speare [48]
"Tonight?" she whispered in unbelief. Then suddenly joy came flooding past every doubt and restraint.
"Oh, Father!" she cried impetuously. "He doesn't need to miss the husking, does he? You know what he wants to ask! Say yes, now, so we can go to the party together!"
Matthew Wood was bewildered. "Why, daughter," he rebuked her, "what sort of talk is this?"
"Shameless talk, and I don't care!" laughed Judith, tossing her black curls. "Oh Father, you must have guessed. John doesn't need to tell you."
Such radiance was irresistible. Matthew Wood's stern features softened, and when he turned to John he was actually smiling.
"If you will come courting such a headstrong, brazen girl," he said indulgently, "then I can only give you both my blessing. Perhaps you can teach her some meekness."
John stood dumfounded, his pale face shocked completely colorless. He seemed totally unable to collect his wits.
Tell them! urged Kit, silently and desperately. You've got to say something, John, right away!
As if he had heard her, John opened his white lips and made a hoarse sound. "Sir—I—"he attempted. Then, still incredulous, he looked back at Judith. Every trace of pride and haughtiness was wiped from her face. Such utter happiness and trust shone from those blue eyes that John faltered, and in that moment of hesitation he was lost.
William's heavy hand descended on his shoulder. Aunt Rachel held out both hands to him, with tears in her eyes. Then Mercy came slowly from the hearth, her head up, her great eyes clear and lustrous. "I am so glad for you both," she said warmly. Only Kit could say nothing.
Perhaps I dreamed it, she thought, watching Mercy. But she knew she had not dreamed the love in Mercy's eyes that summer evening. Now no one but herself would ever know. She had counted on Judith's pride. But Mercy did not have Judith's pride; it was something much stronger than pride that upheld her.
Presently the four set out together into the still, frosty twilight. Judith took John's arm confidingly, still carried quite beyond constraint on her wave of happiness.
"You'll never know," she chattered. "You saved me from being the most outrageous hussy, John. I had a scheme. I'm not sure I would have dared, actually. But now—"
Now what? Kit asked, walking behind them. She ached with her own stifled protests. He can't do this! she told herself over and over. But she knew that he could. John understood Mercy. He knew that she had never in her life reached her hand for so much as a crust of bread that Judith might want. If he should hurt Judith now. Kit knew, Mercy would never forgive either him or herself.
Lost in her own thoughts, Kit barely noticed that William's dignified pace was even more deliberate than usual. They had dropped some distance behind the others when a purposeful hand grasped her own elbow.
"Wait a moment. Kit," said William. "Let them go ahead. I want to talk to you."
The quiet resolution in his voice penetrated her racing thoughts. Reluctantly she gave him a corner of her attention. The intent look in his eyes, even in the waning light, warned her of what was coming.
Oh, no! Not after all that had happened! She was tempted to run for the shelter of the fireside and Mercy.
"I didn't mean to speak tonight," William was saying. "But watching those two—don't you envy them their happiness, Kit?"
I can't bear it, she thought in panic. "Not tonight!" The last two words escaped into a half-whisper. William took them literally.
"Tomorrow then. Let me speak to your uncle. You won't need to help me out," he added with unwonted humor. "I am quite capable of speaking for myself."
Kit stood shivering in the damp twilight. This silk dress is not warm enough for New England, she thought irrelevantly. Then she made an effort to gather her forces. William's question was not unexpected after all. She had thought that her answer was all ready.
"Please, William," she whispered. "Don't speak to him yet."
William looked down at her, perplexed.
"Why not? Don't you want to marry