Susannah Morrow by Megan Chance Read Free Book Online

difference between the big and the small.”
    Tears of disappointment came to my eyes.
    I turned and nearly fell into my aunt. Susannah was standing behind us, the blue of her cloak shining in the cold sunlight,
     her fine straight nose pink from the cold. She was gazing at my father, two spots of red high on her cheeks. She put her hand
     on my shoulder. “Come,” she said in a hard voice. “Your neighbors are already on their way to the house.”
    We’d hardly taken a step before the parson was there, smiling at Susannah before he said distractedly to Jude and me, “If
     ever there was a woman chosen by God, ’twould be your mother.”
    He went past us without waiting for an answer. To my father, he said in a quiet voice, “Ah, Lucas, I know ’tis merely that
     you’ve forgotten…”
    I looked over my shoulder at them. My father was frowning as he reached into his pocket and took something out, something
     wrapped in a small cloth, and handed it to the minister. I watched Master Parris open it with quick, greedy hands, and I saw
     the shine of the sun on gold and knew it was a funeral ring—a gift for the words said at Mama’s graveside, and for the sermon
     the pastor would deliver on Sunday.
    My father’s face was tight, his eyes cold. I heard the pastor say, “The ministers in Boston are receiving gloves now as well—”
    “I haven’t the money to spend on frivolities,” my father said brusquely. “Gloves are for those richer than I and more important
     than she was. I’ve paid you enough for the prayers, Parson, and I thank you for them, but do not expect this means anything
     has changed between us.”
    I could not see the parson’s face. He bowed, and then he turned away with a quiet word I couldn’t quite hear.
    I was so busy listening to them that when my aunt touched me again and said, “Come then, shall we go?” I jumped. She looked
     past me to my father as if she were trying to see what I’d been watching. When she glanced back to me, there was curiosity
     in her eyes.
    “Your minister is an interesting man,” she said mildly.
    “Father doesn’t like him,” Jude said.
    Susannah smiled. “Oh? Why is that?”
    “He says he has no taste for the pastor’s preaching.”
    “I imagine your father has many opinions on that score,” Susannah said.
    ’Twas an insult, I realized. It startled me; I could not believe she’d said it. I said, “My father has a great reverence for
     the word of God.”
    Susannah touched my cheek, just a brush of her soft skin. “Of course he does. I meant nothing by it, Charity.” She smiled,
     so I forgot what it was that disturbed me so. “We should go. They’ll be home before us otherwise.”
    It did not take us long to get home—or at least, it seemed that way to me, because my thoughts were so full. ’Twas a lucky
     thing that we had laid out the food and the barrels of beer and cider before we’d left, because when we got to the house,
     neighbors had already congregated, ready to drink and eat to my mother’s memory. Unexpectedly, I thought how only a few days
     before I’d been helping Mama bake groaning cakes. Now we were here, feasting on funeral cake and bread and meat, while she
     was gone forever, so far from me that I would never again feel the soft touch of her hand on my hair or hear her quiet “Hand
     me the eggs, Charity, my dear” as together we made dinner.
    I was so sad suddenly that I could not take another step. My aunt hurried past to greet those just arriving. I let go of Jude’s
     hand, and she ran up the path to the house, calling out to some friend she saw hovering near the door while I stood there
     feeling weak beneath the weight of my sorrow.
    The dark woods beyond the house looked suddenly inviting, but I knew the darkness would come too soon, the shadows on the
     narrow pathways would lengthen until they took the shapes of demons and savages. Night was an evil thing, and dangerous besides.
     Lately there’d been