“Is it safe?” Catherine asks.
I nod slowly, even though the question is a complicated one. “We’re merely swimming. But he’s…a stable hand.”
Understanding lights her eyes. Fellowship between men of our classes is not commonplace. Abraham would be more likely to be my servant than my friend, a fact that makes me unduly angry to contemplate. No one should be forced to work so much harder than another for something as simple as living.
My mother walks into the room before Catherine can respond, and we go back to packing up her scarves.
“Perhaps Jasper should fetch some salted pork from town,” Catherine says, causing me to look at her sharply. Is she trying to help me escape?
The scrutiny on my mother’s face is an obstacle Catherine deftly evades.
“I’m still recovering,” she says, an excuse. Under normal circumstances, there would be no reason for me to do the duties of our housekeeper. “The reserve of dried meat is dwindling, ma’am.”
“No,” my mother says with a quick shake of her head. “We have plenty for our trip.”
“I don’t disagree,” Catherine says carefully. “However, after packing what’s needed, there will be scarcely any left upon our return.”
My mother’s expression is hard. She doesn’t like Catherine attempting to run the household, as Catherine very well knows. The simple fact that she’s willing to test my mother’s patience on my behalf has me finding some confidence within myself. Or perhaps it’s recklessness.
“I wouldn’t mind,” I tell my mother, shifting her regard my way. “I can visit the butcher.”
After only a moment’s consideration, she shakes her head once more. “No. Catherine will do it when we return.”
I try not to let my disappointment show, but I can feel Catherine’s sympathetic eye watching me.
I’ve all but resigned myself to missing my stolen hours with Abraham when there’s a soft knock at my door. The hour is late, dark creeping over the sky and my stomach full with stewed beef, carrots, and corn from our meal. I ease off my bed, half-convinced the noise was only the wind. As it turns out, it’s Catherine.
“Come,” she says quickly.
I stare after her for a heartbeat before following.
Catherine leads me down the darkened hall and into the kitchen. My mother and father are nowhere to be seen, but I have no doubt they’re near. Catherine swiftly shoves a loaf of still-warm bread into my hands, a hunk of dried meat, three carrots, and a jar of fine apricot jam.
“Catherine,” I whisper, nearly overcome.
“Is it Abraham?” she asks, her hands gripping the outsides of my own. “The Morris boy?”
I can only nod. I’m astounded she guessed as much, but Catherine runs in circles outside of my own. She knows people in this town, inner workings, I never have nor will.
She nudges me decisively. “Then take it. Abigail is a good friend. I hate to see her and her boy suffer, but I haven’t dared…”
She doesn’t finish her sentence, but I understand. She hasn’t dared bring them food herself. If she was found stealing from my family, the consequences would be dire.
But for me?
“Do wehave any butter?” I ask.
Catherine’s smile is bright, and she turns, fetching a small jar. She adds it onto the pile in my hands. “Go. I’ll leave your window unlocked for when you return.”
“Thank you,” I tell her fervently.
A single candle flickers at the table as I turn and rush down the hall. My bedchamber is dark, but I reach under my mattress, feeling for the spare haversack I used to collect pine cones and sticks in as a child. Finding the strap, I tug it free, carefully loading the food inside. I stop for a moment, glancing at the outline of my wardrobe.
In the end, I leave my coat behind and crawl through the window.
The barest hint of light remains outside, the sky a dusky blue soon to turn black. I thank the moon and stars for their light as I jog swiftly in the direction of Abraham’s creek. There’s little chance he’s still there, but he said he lives close. Perhaps I could find him? Or leave the sack for him to discover another day?
I feel almost giddy as I run, the haversack knocking against my hip with each stride. Hope flourishes inside my chest, even as my more rational mind tries to temper my excitement.
