Page 31 of Holding Onto Love

“No alphabets today?” she asked Charlotte.

Charlotte had asked Vanessa to teach her to read. The woman had applied herself to the task with vigor at first, but it was slow going. Her enthusiasm had faded. Vanessa hesitated to push her. Was it condescending to wish her neighbor was literate?

“No time.” She sipped. “Maybe you should teach Petey and Little Dan instead.” She added a mirthless laugh.

“You all three could learn.”

“No, I don’t mean to bother you more. Besides, I’d have to convince Dan.” Charlotte rolled her eyes.

Vanessa hadn’t figured out yet whose word held sway in that household. Charlotte acted as though she bowed to Dan’s will, but Vanessa had yet to see the evidence.

“Oh, but since we’re talking about reading! I almost forgot,” Charlotte said. “Sherwood has a letter for you over at the tavern.”

Here in Cartmel, the tavern was the post. The letter had to be from Will. No one else knew she was here.

“I hope it hasn’t to do with the house.” Vanessa bit her lip. “I thought I signed everything I had to sign. I suppose I better walk over there later.”

Charlotte giggled. “I’m sure Sherwood would be happy to bring it by. I could have Dan drop a word.”

“No, thank you. I could do with a stroll.”

Sherwood considered himself quite the Corinthian. Amusingly enough, many of the ladies of the town seemed to think he was too.

“Have you talked to Lydia recently?” Charlotte asked.

“Just quickly. At church.”

Charlotte flushed. Vanessa noticed she missed church fairly often. She once mumbled an excuse, something about Sunday being Dan’s day to “sleep late,” which sounded rather scandalous for Cartmel, so Vanessa never referred to it again. She refilled Charlotte’s cup.

Charlotte swirled her tea, mixing the last little bit of honey at the bottom. “She didn’t say anything about Herve’s cousin?”

“Who?” Vanessa knew nothing about Herve, let alone a cousin.

“Herve’s a tanner over in Barrow. His cousin lost both his legs. Both of them. Herve asked Jon if there might be a place for him at the boot mill.”

Jon Compton called his cottage a mill. Vanessa understood that people for miles around ordered his semi-customized boots for men of theirs in the army, knowing that the government procurers could not keep the constantly marching soldiers well shod. The Comptons tried to price their wares low—not to undercut their competitors but because their customers were not well off. They turned out several pairs a week. Quality boots. Vanessa admired them. But a tiny part of her scoffed at the notion that an output like that qualified their endeavor as a mill.

“Lydia didn’t mention it. But I’m sure they’ll find something he can do.”

Charlotte nodded, but not as though she were convinced. “He wasn’t a soldier though. The cousin. He was drinking and fell down a hill.”

“And lost both his legs?”

“It was a big hill.”

Vanessa caught back a laugh. It wasn’t funny. But she had an image of a foxed fellow tumbling down a hillside and leaving his legs at the top.

“He isn’t a drunkard though. Just had one too many.”

“You know him?”

Charlotte nodded. “I was born in Barrow.”

“Well, talk to Lydia. I’m sure if you vouch for him…”

Sweet Kate startled awake with a cry. Then a grunt. Then a foul odor filled the air.

“Oh, no,” Charlotte groaned. “Sweet Kate’s got what Petey’s got. I better get her home and wash her off.” She scooped up the basket and cast a sorrowful glance at the cups. “I’ll come back for them or send Little Dan.” She hurried out the door.