“Ada, you are about a thousand times too smart for your own good.  I’m not saying what it has to do with.”

“Children aren’t allowed to hear again.”

“Exactly.”

“Then it mustn’t be good.”

“Nothing’s good or bad anymore.  It’s just how it is.  What I wanted was to say goodbye, but also I spent the night baking and Brewster’s the one to sort it all out for me.”  Charlotte took a sack from the back of the wagon, filled to overflowing with loaves of molasses bread, ginger cake, dried apple bread and honey cakes.  She feared at first that Brewster wouldn’t be able to carry it, but he slung it over his shoulder and bent under the weight.

Charlotte ruffled Brewster’s hair.  “You’re a wonderful child,” she said.  She reached back into the wagon, pulled out a tall stack of books and turned to Ada.

“These are for all of you.”  The girl held out her arms and Charlotte transferred the stack to her one book at a time.  “I read them when I was a girl.  Just don’t grow up to be like me.”  Charlotte put her arms around both Ada and the books and hugged tight.  “I’m not going to cry and you aren’t either,” though Ada already was.

“I don’t want you to be afraid,” Ada said.

Charlotte wiped away her own tears.  “I won’t if you won’t.  No matter what.  Promise?”

“I promise.”

Charlotte watched the two small forms with their burdens until they were out of sight.

Edward Fenton was an inspired choice for a runner.  Fiona came slowly, her face pale, wrapped in a shawl and carrying the baby.  She smiled gently at Charlotte and didn’t even seem to question the summons.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Charlotte said for Ellis’s benefit.  She knew he must be listening.  “I just wanted to see the baby one more time.”

Fiona unwrapped the bundle and unexpectedly placed the baby in Charlotte’s arms.  Of course, Charlotte thought.  She’d held infants before, but never voluntarily.  It always happened like this, new mothers assuming everyone shared their same maternal joy.  Charlotte cradled the tiny thing uneasily against her, amazed once again at the perfect little face and rosebud lips.  Then without seeming to do it in haste, she handed the baby back and pulled Fiona to the far side of the wagon, away from the fire.

Charlotte withdrew the drawstring bag from her pocket.  “Please don’t take offense at this,” she said, her voice low and hopefully out of range.  This was just between women.  She handed the bag to Fiona.  “I’m going to be blunt.  I don’t know if you’re aware of my history, thought it shows plain as day anyway, but I don’t want it ever to be anyone else’s history if I can help it.”