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He grunted, eyes darting left and right to make sure none of the citizens were getting too close. They kept a respectable, curious distance on the sides of the road.
At William Elder’s cottage, the four of us dismounted and approached the door. The workers in the field stopped to see what was going on.
William Elder opened the door, back hunched and face fraught with wrinkles. He studied the bundle of linens in my arms with eyes squinted so hard they barely looked open.
Gently, Will said, “Well met, Pa.”
“Who goes there? Is it the taxman?” His voice rose as he yelled off to the side. “Barnaby! Fetch my cuttin’ axe! We have trouble!”
Will’s knuckles tightened at his sides. “Barnaby?”
We had run the duplicitous twins off last time we were here, but feared William Elder would accidentally rehire them once we were gone, because they would take advantage of his fading memory.
Instead, a middle-aged, bearded man—decidedly not Michael or Paul Barnaby—arrived and sighed. “Sir, these are not the taxmen. They hold no catchpole. The Barnabys have been gone for months.”
Will said, “It’s me, Pa. Will Scar—” He cut himself off, knowing his father didn’t appreciate the moniker he’d been given. “Your son.”
William Elder shuffled inside the house. “Oh. Hail, boy.”
We followed him in, as if nothing had happened. He had probably forgotten already.
“We come bearing gifts, sir,” I said with a smile, peering around the bundle hoisted in my arms.
“Gifts?” The old man let out a “pah” of annoyance. “We don’t need gifts, young lady.”
My smile faltered.
“Don’t be stubborn, old man,” Will said. “A good coat could do you some good for the chilly nights.”
“My coat works fine.” He gestured to the wall, where a threadbare article of clothing was hung up. It wouldn’t make it past the season.
Will took the coat from the top of the bundle and placed it on the table. “It’s here, for when your pride comes to your senses, Pa. We’ll be back in a fortnight.”
William Elder waved him off and looked away, a glazed look in his eyes.
Taking my arm, Will said, “Come on, let’s disperse these things and leave. I don’t want to stay longer than we have to.”
My frown stayed on my face as we made it outside. I looked over my shoulder one last time at William Elder, who looked so small, frail, and lonely sitting at his table by himself.
I wish Will had more patience and grace for his father. Again, I wasn’t going to insert myself in family matters. I knew his patience had been wearing thin lately, and how painful it must have been to see his father in such a declining state.
Outside, in the small town square surrounded by other huts, hovels, and cottages, men and women and children began to surround us to see what we were giving away.
The whelps stared at us like we were mythical creatures, the mothers like helpful saints . . . but the fathers and men of the town had sneers and disapproving glares on their faces.
“What is it you think you’re doing?” asked a burly man with a thick scar down his temple. He looked like a warrior more than a farmer.
I handed a shock of cloth to an elderly woman. “We want to offer the folk of Ravenshead gifts from our . . . travels.”
Other women and children were lining up around us, crowding our group.
“What for?” the burly man asked. “We already have a benefactor. Bishop Sutton provides us with all we need.”
“Oh please, Landon,” a woman beside him sighed. She tossed a vague wave at the ramshackle huts and houses. “Do you see the bishop anywhere? He’s been in Nottingham for a fortnight. We need all the help we can get.”
The bishop of this place is in Nottingham? Perhaps for the “meeting of higher-ups” Carter’s father mentioned. What sort of meeting could possibly be taking place there?
It felt awful being blind to the goings-on in my homeland. I needed fresh eyes in Nottingham.
