tomahawk. That same arm came up and around in an arc and then the tomahawk was flying, flashing as it turned over and over, like a child’s whirligig.
The heavy thunk of the blade burying itself in bone was loud enough to hear over the rushing river water.
“By God,” said someone nearby. “I doubt there’s another man living who could have made that kill. An angel of death with a bloody tomahawk instead of a scythe.”
“You see,” Nathaniel was saying. “Daniel’s took care of it. Come, Boots, come away now.”
13
A long with Ivy House, that had been made available for Lily and Simon for as long as they cared to stay in Paradise, came a Mrs. Thicke. The housekeeper was a widow and good-sister to Ethan’s own housekeeper, another Widow Thicke; both had come with him from Manhattan when he moved back to Paradise.
“Ethan would tear every building down just to build it up again, if we let him.” Lily’s father had told her about this soon after they arrived in port, in one of many long conversations about the changes she would see at home. Ethan had hand-picked families to take up vacant farmsteads in Paradise, and made sure that they would bring the skilled labor he wanted. There were carpenters, joiners, cabinetmakers, and masons. Farming was a risky business in the Sacandaga valley, but Ethan kept finding things to build or rebuild, and he paid the skilled workers well.
Lying in bed that first morning Lily took in the details that had been lost on her yesterday. Carved lintels where rabbits played among foliage; a washstand with a marble top; the hearth lined with beautiful tiles of a type she had never seen before, with a raised pattern in deep cobalt blue.
When she finally managed to get out of bed, Lily found that Mrs. Thicke had put out a full breakfast, from fresh biscuits to shirred eggs and bacon.
Simon grinned at the housekeeper from over his teacup. He had washed and shaved and found clean clothes in the confusion of their trunks, which meant he had risen long before. Simon was abominably cheery in the early morning, a habit Lily had not been able to break him of, nor could she bring herself to approve it.
She said, “What’s happened to Daniel?”
Mrs. Thicke’s eyelids fluttered. “He was leaving as I came in, just after sunrise. Wouldn’t stop for coffee nor tea nor anything else, either. Now they say you and he are twins, is that right?”
“We are twins,” Lily said. “But I’m the elder, by a good half hour.”
Simon leaned across the table to kiss her when Mrs. Thicke’s back was turned. “I’m off to see if I can be some help in the village, hen.”
“Well, of course you can be a help,” Lily said, a little grumpily. “You’ll have a dozen people asking you to build for them before the day is out.”
“And do ye object to the idea?”
Simon was looking at her with a patient expression that she disliked intensely. It meant that he was prepared to wait out her bad mood and could not be goaded into arguing.
Lily drew in a deep breath and concentrated. Did she wish to start out this new chapter of her life like a fishwife?
“Of course not.” She gentled her tone. “I’ll come down in a bit and see what I can do. Right now I’ve got trunks to sort through.”
There was a knock at the front door.
“And company to visit with, forbye.” Simon got up before Mrs. Thicke could even turn toward the door.
“Please permit me.”
The housekeeper giggled like a schoolgirl, something that often happened with women when Simon flashed his dimples at them. A long time ago he had promised Lily never to let his beard grow again, but lately she’d begun to reconsider. As satisfying as it was to know that other women found her husband handsome, it could be tiresome.
“Now that’s a fine man you’ve got there, Mrs. Ballentyne,” Mrs. Thicke said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Good-tempered, sweet, but a man all the same.” She sighed her way through a memory. “My
The heavy thunk of the blade burying itself in bone was loud enough to hear over the rushing river water.
“By God,” said someone nearby. “I doubt there’s another man living who could have made that kill. An angel of death with a bloody tomahawk instead of a scythe.”
“You see,” Nathaniel was saying. “Daniel’s took care of it. Come, Boots, come away now.”
13
A long with Ivy House, that had been made available for Lily and Simon for as long as they cared to stay in Paradise, came a Mrs. Thicke. The housekeeper was a widow and good-sister to Ethan’s own housekeeper, another Widow Thicke; both had come with him from Manhattan when he moved back to Paradise.
“Ethan would tear every building down just to build it up again, if we let him.” Lily’s father had told her about this soon after they arrived in port, in one of many long conversations about the changes she would see at home. Ethan had hand-picked families to take up vacant farmsteads in Paradise, and made sure that they would bring the skilled labor he wanted. There were carpenters, joiners, cabinetmakers, and masons. Farming was a risky business in the Sacandaga valley, but Ethan kept finding things to build or rebuild, and he paid the skilled workers well.
Lying in bed that first morning Lily took in the details that had been lost on her yesterday. Carved lintels where rabbits played among foliage; a washstand with a marble top; the hearth lined with beautiful tiles of a type she had never seen before, with a raised pattern in deep cobalt blue.
When she finally managed to get out of bed, Lily found that Mrs. Thicke had put out a full breakfast, from fresh biscuits to shirred eggs and bacon.
Simon grinned at the housekeeper from over his teacup. He had washed and shaved and found clean clothes in the confusion of their trunks, which meant he had risen long before. Simon was abominably cheery in the early morning, a habit Lily had not been able to break him of, nor could she bring herself to approve it.
She said, “What’s happened to Daniel?”
Mrs. Thicke’s eyelids fluttered. “He was leaving as I came in, just after sunrise. Wouldn’t stop for coffee nor tea nor anything else, either. Now they say you and he are twins, is that right?”
“We are twins,” Lily said. “But I’m the elder, by a good half hour.”
Simon leaned across the table to kiss her when Mrs. Thicke’s back was turned. “I’m off to see if I can be some help in the village, hen.”
“Well, of course you can be a help,” Lily said, a little grumpily. “You’ll have a dozen people asking you to build for them before the day is out.”
“And do ye object to the idea?”
Simon was looking at her with a patient expression that she disliked intensely. It meant that he was prepared to wait out her bad mood and could not be goaded into arguing.
Lily drew in a deep breath and concentrated. Did she wish to start out this new chapter of her life like a fishwife?
“Of course not.” She gentled her tone. “I’ll come down in a bit and see what I can do. Right now I’ve got trunks to sort through.”
There was a knock at the front door.
“And company to visit with, forbye.” Simon got up before Mrs. Thicke could even turn toward the door.
“Please permit me.”
The housekeeper giggled like a schoolgirl, something that often happened with women when Simon flashed his dimples at them. A long time ago he had promised Lily never to let his beard grow again, but lately she’d begun to reconsider. As satisfying as it was to know that other women found her husband handsome, it could be tiresome.
“Now that’s a fine man you’ve got there, Mrs. Ballentyne,” Mrs. Thicke said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Good-tempered, sweet, but a man all the same.” She sighed her way through a memory. “My
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