“I’m sorry,” he says. “But can you think on the other thing?”

“I done gave you my answer,” I say, scraping. There never was carrots scraped so clean.

“But then, are you—”

“It’s your business. I’m not fixing to talk to nobody about your business.”

“All right then,” he says after a stretch.

When he goes, Maple sucks her teeth and dumps a basket of potatoes on to the table. “That’s ’cause you let that blacksmith sniff around you. Men get to thinking you a certain way.”

“I’m not in the mood for you being hateful,” I say.

“Not in the mood?” She tips the bowl of shelled peas on to the floor. Then she looks around and her eyes light on some herbs I bundled and hung to dry by the cook-fire. She cuts every last one down and tosses them into the flames. “You best believe, I don’t care not one dead rat about your mood.”

Chapter 21

Henry

There’s no denying that blacksmithing is dirty work. The filth settles into your nail beds and into the wrinkles of your skin and the fabric of your clothes. Whenever I’m able, I dunk myself in the slow-moving river that flows just beyond the Johnson property to God knows where.

With my last scrap of soap clutched in my fist, I kick off my boots and wade in, clothes and all. I get most of the soot washed out, but my clothes are not what you might call clean. They need a proper washerwoman to have a go at them, but this trick keeps them bearable. When I think they’re more or less presentable again, I peel them off, wring them out, and hang them over the branches of a nearby tree to dry. Then I splash back into the river and wash my body and my hair. The soap is nearly used now, and the little pieces keep floating out of my hands. I have to lunge after them over and over. Soon the soap is gone and I’m just enjoying a swim in the tempting warmth of early summer.

Up the path, I hear the jabbering of a boy and the calm, soft response of a woman. I know that it’s Sarah and Thomas. From the pounding of his feet, I can imagine the boy jumping and bouncing in his excitement at whatever Sarah has come up with to amuse him.

I hear them come closer and I’m glad at the chance to see her, but my clothes are in the trees. I won’t get to them before they reach me, so I stay put in the water, submerged to my chest.

It’s Thomas who spots me first. “Look,” I hear him call to Sarah. “There’s a man in the river.”

I don’t want to frighten her, so I call out, “Morning!” and raise my hand in greeting.

Sarah shields her eyes and turns her back to me, but she also waves behind her, returning my greeting. “I’m sorry,” she calls out. “We’ll come back later.”