Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy) by Ari Berk Read Free Book Online

uneasy about them coming by. At least if they arrived late in the afternoon, they could be given tea and sent on their way. No one would expect to stay for supper. She wondered why they wanted to see her. Were they worried about her house? Had some business been left unfinished? Was there something more to clean up in the north wing? Or, had they all become unspoken friends since the . . . unpleasantness? Now she’d have to think about her words before she spoke them, and sound polite and formal, and she was already tired today. Make no mistake, she liked playing Lady of the House, it was just that some days it was easier than others.
    Dolores picked up her yarn basket and put it in a cupboard by the fireplace. She had taken up knitting again. The last time she had so much as looked at a ball of wool was just before Silas was born. Now it brought her comfort. She found it soothing. Maybe it was the regularity, the predictability of it. One stitch after another . . . on and on. You could almost see the future in the stitches. Stick to the pattern and you always knew what you were going to get: a sock, a sweater, a scarf. There was certainty in needlework, and she needed more of that in her life. Still, Dolores felt that having the knitting basket by her chair would make her look too domestic in front of company. She had been making a scarf for Silas. She liked the idea of him wearing something she’d made for him. Like a mother’s blessing around his neck wherever he went. The days were still cold enough to need one.
    She walked slowly through the reception rooms at the front of her house. Everything was in place and the small table in the parlor was set for tea. After “the incident,” many of the peculiar objects in the house had been moved to the attic. Less to dust, and most of those carved things and old fossils and statuary unsettled her. She kept out most of the Roman and Egyptian pieces, finding them stately, and the odd stuffed hippo-lion was simply too heavy to move. So the “Ammit,” as Silas had called it, was still at the foot of the staircase, standing guard. Now, the silver—that stayed too. Every stick of it. She had hired some girls from the market to come by and do the polishing. Then, she had thought it best to keep them on, a few days a week, to do a little light cleaning and sometimes a bit of cooking. One girl would have been sufficient, but no one in town wanted to work in Charles Umber’s house by herself, so it was two or nothing. Having the extra help felt good. She liked hearing the sounds of people working around her. It made the house feel more alive somehow. She could pay for it now, so why not? Why begrudge herself a little pleasure in life? And the way all that silver shone from the table and the hutch and the top of the buffet! It made the whole house feel clean and grand. For Dolores, the silver bowls, candlesticks, and cutlery changed the very quality of the air.
    She heard the knock at the front door and waited for one of the girls to come from the kitchen to answer it. Mother Peale and Mrs. Bowe were shown into the parlor and they were invited to sit down on recently reupholstered chairs.
    “Well, ladies,” said Dolores, “to what do I owe this honor?” She managed a small smile, but there was something about the three of them together in the same room that made Dolores feel distinctly tense.
    “We’ve come about Silas. Not to worry you, but—”
    Perhaps mindful of the bad blood between Dolores and Mrs. Bowe, Mother Peale interrupted.
    “Begging your pardon, but why mince words? Dolores, we’ve come to you, in the ancient manner, for the benefit of kin. Silas needs your help and we come on his behalf. We ask that you go with us to the millpond, and there speak some certain words that will ensure his safety.”
    Dolores’s already small smile pulled very tight and nearly vanished for an instant before she said sarcastically, “‘Ancient manner’? ‘Certain