The Witch of Blackbird Pond - Elizabeth George Speare [57]
"This William Ashby," Hannah said thoughtfully. "I never heard Nat mention him."
"He had come to call the night that Nat walked home with me. Nat met him there."
"Does thee mean he had come to call on thee?"
"Yes." Why hadn't she ever told Hannah about William?
"Is the young man courting thee, Kit?"
Kit looked down at her hands. "I guess you'd call it that, Hannah."
Hannah's shrewd little eyes studied the girl's downcast face. "Does thee plan to marry him?" she asked gently.
"I—I don't know. They all expect me to."
"Does thee love him?"
"How can I tell, Hannah? He is good, and he's fond of me. Besides," Kit's voice was pleading, "if I don't marry him, how shall I ever escape from my uncle's house?"
"Bless thee, child!" said Hannah softly. "Perhaps 'tis the answer. But remember, thee has never escaped at all if love is not there."
Presently Kit opened the door to Prudence's timid knock and was comforted by the pleasure that rushed into the child's face. Prudence had further news of the culprits.
"Nat won't be able to come to see you," she told Hannah. "They marched the three of them straight to the landing and put them on the Dolphin. But Nat waved to me as he went by."
"You know Nat?" Kit asked the child, surprised.
"Of course I know him. He comes to see Hannah. Last time he listened to me read."
Why should it disturb her to think of Nat's sharing the reading lessons? Kit wondered, trying to be reasonable. How many of his visits had she missed? She was a little jealous to think of them all here cozily together while she was hard at work in the cornfield. Annoyed at herself, she picked up the sail-wrapped bundle. "He sent you a present, though," she told Hannah brightly.
Hannah ruefully surveyed the length of gray woolen. "Now isn't that kind of Nat?" she exclaimed. "So soft and tight-woven. Much too fine for the likes of me. But thee knows, the truth is these old eyes of mine can't even see to thread a needle."
"Then Prudence and I will make you a dress," promised Kit blithely.
"Can you sew, truly?" demanded Prudence, overwhelmed at still another accomplishment.
"Of course I can sew. I've never made a woolen dress, but I learned to embroider before I was your age. I'll borrow a pattern and scissors from Mercy and you'll see!"
While the reading lesson began, Kit spread the cloth on the floor, turning it this way and that, as she had seen Mercy do, trying to plan how to use the length to the best advantage. The idea of cutting and sewing a dress by herself was novel and exciting.
"Will you really let me sew some stitches?" asked Prudence, watching her with shining eyes.
"Really and truly," promised Kit, smiling back at her. What fun it would be to make something warm and pretty for Prudence, she thought with longing. Did they never give the child anything decent to wear? Those skimpy sleeves did not even cover her elbows, and the scratchy linsey-woolsey cloth kept her thin shoulders constantly twitching.
She knew she could never give Prudence even the smallest gift. The lessons were risky enough. Looking at the child, Kit felt again a fleeting uneasiness. What misery would be the child's lot if these meetings were discovered? The miracle that had been taking place before their eyes had made it all too easy to forget the danger.
For Prudence was an entirely different child from the woebegone shrinking creature who had stood in the roadway outside the school. The tight little bud that was the real Prudence had steadily opened its petals in the sunshine of Kit's friendship and Hannah's gentle affection. Her mind was quick and eager. She had memorized the hornbook in a few day's time and sped through the primer. After that she had plunged headlong into the only other reading matter available, Hannah's tattered Bible. Kit