Lady of Milkweed Manor (34 page)

She soon realized the flyer was not on the beach but up on the ridge, hidden from view. As she passed a path leading up to the nearest house, the kite came crashing down beside her. So startled was Charlotte that she shoved the carriage to the side too quickly and it struck a large stone. She heard something snap.

Ohno…

Charlotte sunk to her haunches between the injured carriage and the fallen kite and almost immediately heard feet crunching over the pebbles toward her.

Looking up, she saw a boy of nine or ten years, spool of thread in hand, brown curls flopping up and down on his head as he ran.

“I didn’t brain you, did I?” the child called, worried.

“No. Not quite.” Charlotte smiled, and as the child stepped closer she realized it was not a boy after all, but a girl with hair cropped short around her face and dressed in boys’ trousers.

“When I saw you down on the ground like that, I thought I must have.”

“I was just examining this wheel. I seem to have knocked it from its, em, rod there.”

“Axle.”

“Right.”

The girl peeked beneath the carriage hood to look at Anne. “What’s your baby’s name?”

“Her name is Anne. But she isn’t mine. I’m her nurse.”

“She’s lovely.”

“As are you. I like your hair.” Charlotte looked at the loose, springy curls, much like her own hair would be, she guessed, if she cut it that length. “Must be less fuss short.”

“That’s what Mother says. Keeps all our hair short.”

“All?”

“My sisters and brothers. I have three of each.”

“I see. Shall I help get your kite back up?”

“Do you know how to fly a kite?”

“No. My mother and I tried once, but there was insufficient wind.”

“Plenty today.”

“What shall I do?”

“Well, if you’ll hold the kite while I take out the slack and start running …

Charlotte was already picking up the kite and flicked a piece of lichen from it.

Over her shoulder, the girl called, “Just let it go when I say.”

Charlotte saluted. “Aye, aye.”

The girl ran, the string grew taut, the girl shouted, and Charlotte released the kite. It struggled low to the ground for several seconds, then wavered. Just when she feared it would crash to the rocks, it caught the wind and leapt up. It rose higher and higher in the sky, level with the ridge, then beyond. It danced in the currents and reached higher still, straining at its tether. Watching the bright thing fly, Charlotte felt unexpected tears prick her eyes.

“Woo-hoo, Lizzy, that’s the way!” A man stood high on the ridge, his fist and face raised to the sky. The girl’s father, she assumed.

A few moments later, there came the man bounding down the steep hill, a broad smile on his face. He was younger than she would have expected. Wait, she recognized the man-the very tall man.

“Hallo there,” he called.

She waited until he jogged closer. “Hello. I was just admiring your little flyer there.”

“That’s Lizzy, my sister. I’m Thomas Cox.”

“Charlotte Lamb. I believe I saw you at church Sunday last.”

His eyes widened in recognition. “That’s right. And has your shoulder recovered from serving as Mrs. Beebe’s pillow?” He smiled his boyish smile.

“Indeed, there was little recovery needed.”

“I am surprised to hear it. But don’t let on I suggested Mrs. Beebe has a large head or I shall never hear the end of it. Nor enjoy those apple tarts of hers anytime soon.”

“Thomas! Thomas, look how high!” Lizzy Cox called from her position up the beach. Her brother turned to look her way. Again he whooped and raised a triumphant hand in the air.

Charlotte bent to reexamine the wheel. She really should be getting back. Mrs. Taylor might worry.

“Broke, did it?” With one large step, Thomas drew near and hunched beside her, hands on his knees.

“I’m afraid so. I feel terrible-it belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Beebe.”

“Never fear. I helped Mr. Beebe build the wee gig. We’ll have ‘er fixed up sharp.” Thomas loped back up the hill, as if the incline were no effort for his long legs.

A few minutes later, Lizzy jogged over, winding the twine back around its spool. “Thomas can fix anything,” she confided.

“Did your kite fall again?”

She shrugged. “No, I reeled it in. I need to finish my work in the garden.”

“That’s your home there?” Charlotte asked, looking up the ridge.

“Goodness no. That’s Shore Hill House. Thomas works there.”

“He’s their gardener?” Charlotte asked, watching Thomas return across the pebbled shore.

Again Lizzy shrugged. “Gardener, carter, cooper, surgeon, and all around repair boy.”

“Surgeon?”

Thomas clearly overheard at least part of their conversation. “Lizzy, don’t abuse Miss Charlotte’s ear so-and you know I’m not a surgeon.” He bent to the task of repairing the baby carriage.

“Did you not set Johnny’s arm and put a cast on it? And make those poultices for Mother that set her to rights last winter?”

“Yes, but you’re family.”

“You stitched up the McKinleys’ dog when it got into a fight last week. And Mrs. Moody says you’re better at getting her boy’s shoulder back in place than that surgeon in town.”

Thomas looked at Charlotte apologetically. “Not everyone can afford to call a surgeon for every ache and injury.” He shrugged, the gesture charmingly similar to his sister’s. “I just do what I can.”

“How do you know what to do?”

“I read a great deal. One of the families I work for-and have for some eight years now-the grandfather was a physician. When he died they gave me a few of his books.”

Charlotte nodded her understanding, wondering though, what Dr. Taylor would think of an uneducated man setting bones and stitching wounds. Of course she knew there were plenty of men who worked as surgeons or apothecaries who had never read a single book on the subject.

“The family I work for-the father is a physician.”

“The family letting Lloyd Lodge?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Is he planning to practice here?”

“I do not believe so. We’re only to be here for a few months.”

He looked oddly disappointed.

“But if you wanted to see him for something …’

“I should not like to trouble him on his holiday.”

She wanted to say more, but Thomas abruptly rose to his feet, and to his full impressive height.

“There you are, good as new.”

“Thank you so much. I shall tell the Beebes of your noble service.

“Please do-perhaps I shall earn an extra tart from the telling.” He smiled.

“I should like to pay you something for your time, but I haven’t my purse….

He waved her offer away. “Don’t give it a second thought, Miss Charlotte. It’s what neighbors do.”

“So you do live nearby?”

“Yes, a modest cottage further inland. About midway between here and Lloyd Lodge, I’d say. Wouldn’t you, Lizzy?”

“About that, yes.”

Charlotte began pushing the carriage. “Well, then, perhaps I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again sometime, Lizzy. And Thomas.”

He smiled again. “The pleasure, Miss Charlotte, would be ours.

Mrs. Beebe looked up from the buns she was brushing with egg-water. “There you are, Miss Charlotte. The missus was looking for you.”

Regret filled her. “I feared as much. Where is she?”

“She and her maid went into the village to do some shopping, though I don’t suppose she’ll find much there to her fancy. She wanted to take Anne along, but I told her, I did, `Mrs. Taylor, I have six grandbabies. So believe me when I tell you, you shall have a much more pleasant outing without a babe in arms.”’

Mrs. Beebe winked at Charlotte.

“Thank you.” Charlotte smiled, relieved. She could ill afford to anger Mrs. Taylor. “I happened upon Thomas Cox and his sister Lizzy on my walk.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes, I understand Thomas works for several families in the area.

“That he does. Does an odd job for Mr. Beebe now and again as well. That boy can fix anything he puts his hand to, whether it be an object or growing things, animals, even people.”

“Lizzy said he set her brother’s broken arm.”

“That’d be Johnny, the rascal. Always gettin’ into some mischief or other.”

“And I’m afraid I broke a wheel of Mr. Beebe’s carriage-but Thomas repaired it.”

“That’s a mercy. No one likes to see the old man cry.” Mrs. Beebe grinned. “Thomas has the touch, he does. What a blessing he is, especially to his mother-what with the mister out to sea fishing for days on end.”

“I wonder he’s so much older than his sister.”

“Than all the others, aye.” Mrs. Beebe looked as though she might say more but seemed to think better of it.

“Do pass me that Sugarloaf, will you? There’s a love.”

On a fine afternoon the following week, Charlotte again took Anne for a walk on the shore. She looked up hopefully but saw no kites in the sky. She enjoyed the wind though the arrangement of her hair did not-and she relished the freedom of being out of the cottage and the atmosphere of malaise that seemed to indwell it. So, too, the relief of being out from under the watchful eye of Mrs. Taylor. Her mistress was certainly not cruel, but she was exacting in her expectations of how Anne should be cared for-how she should be dressed, upon which side of her head the bow should be fastened in her small tufts of hair, and so on. It was tiresome to always be on one’s guard against a misstep. And unsettling to realize one’s livelihood and lodgings depended on a mistress who was both particular and changeable.

“Miss Charlotte!” a voice called down to her from the ridge above. There was Lizzy Cox, in those same trousers, waving down to her. “Come and see!” she called excitedly. “Come and see!”

Charlotte did not relish the prospect of pushing the baby carriage up the steep incline, so she maneuvered it off the side of the path, picked up Anne, and carried her up the slope. Lizzy met her halfway. “You’re just in time!”

“For what?”

“Lambs!”

She followed Lizzy around a fine house and to a timbered outbuilding. Inside, the smell of hay and grain and animals was strong, but not unpleasantly so. In the straw bed of a stall, Thomas sat cross-legged beside a ewe, on her side breathing rapidly. Thomas held one lamb in his arms, a second draped over his leg. “That’s it, then. Hello, Miss Charlotte.”

“Hello, Thomas.”

“Always best to be on hand during lambing. Tend to have trouble, they do. This girl is late-and see how big her lambs are.” He held up the one in his arms for her inspection.

“She was having trouble at first,” Lizzy said, “bellowing something awful. But Thomas helped her along.”

“Old Bob is a friend of mine. Had to go to town for his daughter’s wedding, so I said I’d watch this ewe for him.”

He stuck a piece of straw into the lamb’s nostrils. The lamb sneezed. Thomas wiped at its nose with a rag, then wiped down the rest of the lamb as well. “Sneezing helps them breathe.”

He offered the lamb in his hands to Lizzy. “Would you like to hold this little lad?”

“Yes, please.”

She took the lamb into her arms and held him gently against her chest. “How soft he is.”

“Would you like a turn, Miss Charlotte?” Thomas asked. “I’d offer to hold Anne for you, but my hands are soiled.”

“Here, I shall hold her, Miss Charlotte.” Lizzy handed her lamb back to Thomas, wiped her hands on her trousers and held out her hands to receive Anne. Anne, one fist in her mouth, opened her mouth even wider, forming a smile around her hand. Drool leaked out, but Lizzy didn’t seem to mind. She held Anne as if she had held many babies before. And likely had.

Thomas handed Charlotte the lamb and she held it and stroked it.

“You’re right, Lizzy. He is soft indeed.”

Little Anne’s eyes lit up as she watched the baby animal. She babbled happily and reached both hands toward the lamb.

“Not this time, moppet,” Charlotte said gently. “He’s not to put into your mouth.”

She handed the lamb back to Thomas, who set it on the floor near its mother, followed by its sibling. The ewe scrambled to her feet and began licking first one lamb, then the other. Stretching their necks eagerly, the lambs began to nurse.

“They’ll be all right on their own now,” Thomas said, and rose to his feet. Charlotte took Anne from Lizzy, and they all stepped outside into the sunshine. Thomas washed his hands in a bucket and wiped them with a clean rag.

“I’m off to finish picking the beans,” Lizzy announced, running off.

“Care to see the garden, Miss Charlotte?” Thomas asked.

“Very much. I love a garden.”

They strolled through the gardens inland from the house. In the vegetable garden, Charlotte grinned at the sight of Lizzy, tongue between her lips in concentration, carefully plucking bean pods from the vine. They also toured a kitchen herb garden and several flower gardens, all very well kept.

She was surprised to spy several milkweeds along the garden wall, near the hollyhocks. “Do you mind if I take some milkweed back with me?”