Sarah Thornhill by Kate Grenville Read Free Book Online Page B

scornful weight.
    What they call him, he said. But not who he is.
    Then he was gone, down the steps and out the gate towards the river as if he couldn’t sit still.
    Who’s Dick Blackwood? I said.
    Lives up the Branch, Jack said. Got a still, cooks up brew. Pa gets it off him. That raw it’ll strip the lining out of your guts.
    Got a brother Dick, I said. Wonder is that him.
    No one ever looked at me as straight as Jack or listened so well.
    Dick Blackwood your brother, he said. Think so?
    Mightn’t be, I said. Only, you know, the name.
    Jack picked up another knife and stroked the steel against the stone, this way, that way.
    Will told me, I said. Some kind of bust-up with Pa, this brother sent off. Name of Dick, see.
    Never heard anyone say Dick Blackwood might be a Thornhill, Jack said. Then again, he’s a feller keeps himself to himself.
    Thought you’d laugh at me, I said. You know, what a silly idea.
    Never that, Sarah Thornhill, he said. Never laugh at you.
    Touched his thumb to the blade, laid it with the others.
    Only I’d like to know, I said. One way or the other.
    Now look, he said. There’s plenty of mights and might-nots in this world. Leave them alone till they come out and bite you. That’s my view, Sarah Thornhill. For what it’s worth.
    He gathered the knives, stood up.
    We get these back in the drawer, he said. Want to see her face when she does the bacon.
    So I let it go. But knew there’d be a chance, one of these days. Find out one way or the other.
    We stood innocent as the dawn when Ma started on the bacon. She made the first slice, stopped and looked at the knife, turned with it in her hand.
    You done this, Jack, she said. Sharpened this?
    Yes, Mrs Thornhill, Jack said.
    She cut another slice. The meat fell away from the knife so thin you could see through it.
    Well I’ll say this for you, Jack, Ma said. You do know how to put an edge on a blade.
    Yes, Mrs Thornhill, Jack said.
    Meek as meek, but when she turned away he gave me a grin like a tiger.

    That afternoon Langlands paid a visit. No one else, and Ma most particular for Will to put on his good new coat. No seven-guinea coat from Deane’s for Jack, just his blue shirt and a bandana at his neck, his black hair combed through with water. But to my eyes, the handsomest man in the world.
    I missed my moment to get him beside me on the sofa again, and he went to sit on a chair where Mrs Langland had her shawl. Picked it up to give it to her, somehow got his fingernail caught in it and pulled a thread. My word, the way Mrs Langland carried on. He stood with the bit of fluff in his fingers, head bowed under her scolding. The shame came off him like heat.
    That’s ruined now, Sophia said. No putting that right.
    Yes there is, Mary said. Give it here, Jack. I’ll have it fixed, never see where I done it.
    Mrs Langland wasn’t sure she wanted to trust anyone with her precious kashmir, but Mary took it out of Jack’s hand, picked the thread off where it was caught in his nail, went away to the sewing room. I thought, if she makes it worse, Jack will be the one pays.
    But I could see by her bounce when she come back in that she’d fixed it. Mrs Langland looked and Ma looked but blessed if they could see the mend. Sophia took the shawl over to the lamp, pored over every inch.
    Think you’ll find it’s as I promised, Mary said. Never see where I done it.
    Oh well, Sophia said. I best not try too hard then, had I?
    That’s all right then, Pa said. I’ll have another of them scones, Meg, and Jack, you got nothing to eat lad, get yourself one of them cakes going begging. And a fill of your cup.
    Mrs Langland started on about her joints again.
    Dr Mitchell said I had the loosest joints he’d ever seen, she said. I put my foot down, it’s flat on the floor, I got no arch at all.
    Goodness, Ma said. Fancy that now.
    Pa took a bite out of his scone so the crumbs rained