Thirteenth Child

CHAPTER 12

THAT WHOLE SUMMER, IT SEEMED LIKE ALL ANYBODY COULD TALK about was the McNeil expedition and how it turned out. Every man who’d been along got treated like something special and then some. It got so none of them could poke a nose out of doors without a whole gaggle of “expedition ladies”—upper school girls and young single ladies—following them around, giggling and flirting and fussing over them. Mama said such behavior was a disgrace, so she wasn’t pleased to find that Nan and Rennie had been joining in. She gave them both a tongue-lashing and extra chores for a week, which pretty much stopped them going out after the expeditioners. But it didn’t keep them from making cow eyes at Brant when he stopped by to visit Papa.

Brant visited a good deal, talking with Papa about the settlement his uncle was going to build and planning how to handle the wildlife without magic. At first it seemed just dreaming, but after dithering for nearly half the summer, the Settlement Office finally offered the Rationalists an allotment after all. The place the Settlement Office picked was a failed site about two days’ hard ride from the river, where a settlement group had collapsed three years before.

Some of the Rationalists weren’t too happy when they heard what the Settlement Office was proposing, because the previous settlement had used spells to keep the wildlife out. Brant said that was silly. What with all the magical animals and plants and insects on the Great Plains and on west, there wasn’t a place that hadn’t ever had something magic about it. That first settlement was gone, along with their spells. Even their buildings had mostly collapsed, and their fields had gone back to weeds and wild.

By the time Brant and the ones who thought like him got the others talked around, it was too late in the year for the whole group to set out. Some of the men went ahead to lay out the compound they’d all be living in later. The buildings had to be a lot sturdier than the ones in a normal settlement, and they were going to take a lot longer to put up, all because the Rationalists wouldn’t use magic. So Brant said it was just as well they had the extra time.

The expedition ladies made quite a to-do when the Rationalist settler group left. They threw a going-away party for Brant that was near as big as the welcome-home celebration for the whole expedition. Rennie and Nan helped with that, too. They said it was to wish the men well; Mama said it was an excuse for more foolishness, and gave them extra chores again.

“I wish him well, I do indeed,” Mama said the day after Brant and the others set out, when Rennie and Nan complained. “But I don’t see that making the poor man dance half the night away is any help or encouragement to him, especially when he has a hard day’s work ahead of him.”

“You don’t understand,” Rennie said.

“I understand quite well enough for any reasonable person,” Mama told her. “Which is plainly more than you’d like me to.”

Rennie didn’t quite dare to answer back, but she looked a whole book and a couple of extra chapters.

“It’s just as well that young man’s going to be gone this winter,” Mama said. “He’s a dangerous fellow.”

“Mama! How can you say that?” Nan burst out.

“It’s quite true,” Papa said. “Brant’s an idealist, and he’s competent. There are few more dangerous combinations in this world.”

Mama glanced at Nan and Rennie, then nodded. I got the distinct impression that she hadn’t meant it the way Papa said.

“Brant isn’t dangerous!” Rennie cried. “He’s a hero—everybody says so!”

“Heroes are even more dangerous than idealists,” Papa said.

“Don’t tease the child, Daniel,” Mama said. “Rennie, while you are working at the mending, think on this: No one has ever yet said just who Brant might be a danger to. A barnyard cat is a powerful danger to mice, but none whatsoever to the farmer.”

Rennie gave a sullen nod, and Mama turned away, satisfied. I was still watching Rennie, and it seemed to me that she was paying less attention to what Mama had said than to working out whether it came out a compliment or an insult to Brant.

I wasn’t sure whether to be glad or sorry over Nan and Rennie’s punishment. Rennie especially. The way she’d been acting all summer, shirking her work to hang about when Brant came to see Papa and then slipping off to gossip with the expedition ladies, it was plain to anyone with sense that she’d get a comeuppance sooner more than later. Also, I was pleased to get help with the mending for a time; not one of the boys seemed able to get through three days that summer without tearing a shirt, and the only pants in the house that still had knees were their Sunday best and Papa’s. Even with Allie and me hard at it, we couldn’t keep up.

On the other hand, Rennie could sulk and pout and pine worse than anyone, and she knew how to make everyone around her just as miserable as she made out she was herself. Mrs. Callahan told Mrs. Sevenstones once that Rennie acted more like a spoiled child of five than a grown woman of nearly twenty, and it just showed you that even the best families had a black sheep somewhere. Mrs. Sevenstones said she rather thought Robbie was the black sheep, but that was just because her son had bought two of Robbie’s fake steam dragons that spring.

Rennie pined a bit after Brant left, though not where Mama could see her. It didn’t last long, because less than a week after Brant left, we got a letter from our older sister Diane. Not that we hadn’t been getting letters all along from the ones who’d stayed back East, but this one was different. It was four pages long, both sides—but Papa summed it all up in just one sentence.

“It seems Diane has found the position she’s dreamed of and the man of her dreams, both at once,” he said as he handed Mama the letter.

“What? What?” all the rest of us asked.

“Your sister Diane wishes to be married,” Papa told us. “And she has a chair with the New Bristol Traveling Orchestra.”

Everyone crowded around Mama, trying to get a look at the letter. Finally, she read it out to us, though usually when a letter came from one of the ones back East, we passed it around so we could all read it for ourselves. Mama might as well have done things the usual way, I thought. Papa had said all the real news; the rest of the letter was a lot of oh-how-wonderful, mostly about John Brearsly, the man Diane had gone and got herself engaged to, but some about the job as well. She’d sent along a short note from Mr. Brearsly, formally asking Papa for her hand, but it was plain as day from her part that they’d settled it between them already.

John Brearsly was third trumpet with the New Bristol Traveling Orchestra. Diane had been one of their substitute violinists for the past two years, and he’d encouraged her to try for the permanent position when it came open. Mama looked less and less happy as she read through the letter, and when she finished, she looked at Papa.

“I can’t pretend I like it,” she said, and sighed. “She is still so young.”

“Diane is twenty-three,” Papa pointed out. “You were five years younger than that when you married me.”

Mama turned pink. “I didn’t mean—Daniel, don’t tease! This is serious. We don’t know anything about this young man.”

“I should hope it was serious,” Papa said. “As for the young man, I expect we’ll hear more than we want to, one way and another, from Sharl and Julie at least, and probably from my sisters, as soon as Diane tells them the news. Maybe even from the boys. It’s not as if she has no family nearby to look out for her interests.”

“That’s true.” Mama looked more cheerful. “Still, I wish she’d chosen someone with a more reliable income. A musician’s life is so uncertain.”

“But Diane was going to be a musician already, even before she met Mr. Brearsly!” Allie said.

“That’s precisely why I wish she’d found a husband with a steadier position,” Mama said, sighing again. “I want my children to choose their partners wisely in temperament and moral character, but also in material considerations. Life can be bitterly hard for someone who mistakes her choice.”

Allie looked as puzzled as I felt, but she didn’t say anything because Rennie poked her and mouthed “later” behind her hand. So I followed them when they went off together after everyone finished marveling over Diane’s news, and that was how I found out about my aunt Amelia.

She’d been Mama’s sister, Rennie said. She’d fallen in love with a poor young man and had run off and married him over her parents’ objections. Afterward, our grandfather had forbidden anyone to even speak of her ever again. According to Rennie, that hadn’t mattered to Aunt Amelia. She’d been happy with her poor husband and her hard life, Rennie said, until she took ill and died for lack of money for a doctor. Rennie plainly thought it was a most romantic story, but she said that Aunt Amelia had been Mama’s favorite sister, and that accounted for Mama having such strong feelings on the subject of picking a marriage partner.

I thought Rennie was maybe partly right, but not altogether right. I’d heard Rennie and her friends talking sometimes, and the older girls at school, and sometimes even Mama and the ladies from church. It seemed to me that all mothers worried a fair piece about their children getting a good start in life, and the more children they had, the more they worried about every last one of them. Maybe having seen things go all wrong for her sister had made Mama more worried than some, but I thought that having fourteen of us to see launched was just as likely to be what was giving her fits.

Over the next few weeks, we got more letters, and Mama was a bit reassured. Most of the aunts said that Mr. Brearsly was a fine young man, though they liked his profession as little as Mama did. Sharl and Julie wrote, too, and even our oldest brother, Frank. And of course there were lots of letters from Diane herself.

Diane had evidently been thinking about her wedding for some time, and she didn’t much like the notion of coming out to Mill City to be married, when she didn’t know anyone here but us. She wanted us to come back East, every last one of us, so she could be married in Helvan Shores with all her family and friends. She proposed that most of us come home a month or so early, to visit and help with the wedding preparations. Papa would stay until the end of school, and they’d have the ceremony as soon as he arrived.

The plan seemed to suit everyone. Papa said it was very considerate of Diane to think of his students. Mama was pleased that she’d have a month to give Mr. Brearsly a looking-over for herself. The younger boys were glad to get out of a month of day school, though Mama told them we’d all still have lessons, which damped their enthusiasm some. The girls were excited about the wedding plans, and chattered about dresses and linens and wedding presents like an entire flock of blue jays.

I was the only one who didn’t like Diane’s plan, and nobody asked me what I thought. But all that fall and winter, while we sewed our dresses for the wedding and hemmed sheets and table linens for Diane’s starter trunk, I had a hard knot in my stomach. I tried not to think about going back to all the cousins and their teasing, and the suspicious looks of the aunts and uncles, but it was hard not to think about something when everyone around me would talk of nothing else. I changed the subject when I could, and when I couldn’t, I found some excuse to leave after a few minutes. There were always chores, if I couldn’t think of anything else.

I didn’t think anyone had noticed until Lan caught me in the pump room near the end of winter and gave me what for.

“You’re fretting over nothing,” he said flatly.

“I am not,” I said.

“Are, too. And if Mama or Papa notices, it’ll be trouble.”

“It’s not over nothing,” I said. “I thought at least you’d understand. And they won’t notice.”

Lan snorted. “They’d have noticed already, if they weren’t watching Rennie so close.”

“Rennie? What about Rennie?”

“If you’d been paying attention, you’d know,” Lan said in his most irritatingly superior tone. Lately, he’d taken to acting as if he was really a year older than me, instead of just a year ahead in school.

“If it’s that plain, I don’t need you to tell me,” I shot back. “I’ll figure it out myself in a day or so.”

“Go ahead and try,” Lan said. “Maybe it’ll keep you from worrying about going home for Diane’s wedding.”

“Helvan Shores isn’t home,” I said without thinking. “Not for me.”

“Me, either,” Lan said, but he didn’t sound like he really meant it. Then he added, “But it is for Mama and Papa, and all the older ones who stayed, and even Rennie and Hugh.”

“Huh.” I paused for a second. “I never thought of that.”

“No, you were too busy worrying when you shouldn’t be.”

“When I shouldn’t be? How can you say that? You remember how they were, all the cousins and the uncles and aunts. Don’t you?”

“Sure I remember,” Lan said. “But unlike you, I’ve actually thought about it. This is Diane’s wedding; nobody will want to spoil it for her. And she always liked you when we were little, so she won’t mind if you stick close. And besides—”

“Besides what?”

Lan gave me an evil grin. “Besides, if it hasn’t occurred to them that you’re the twin sister of a double-seventh son, they’ll remember it pretty sharp if they try anything nasty.”

“Lan! You can’t magic people just because they’re mean.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t! Uncle Earn will get a policeman to come arrest you this time!”

Lan looked at me and shook his head. “You goose! I won’t have to put a spell on anybody. All I have to do is remind them what I am and what I can do, and make it plain that I’ll have a mind to do something pretty quick if they don’t watch how they behave to you.”

“You think that’ll work?” I said hopefully.

“Of course it will.” Lan patted my shoulder. “So stop fretting.”

I hesitated. “I’ll try.”

If I didn’t manage to stop worrying completely after that, I could at least reassure myself that Lan was on my side. It even worked, sometimes, as long as I didn’t think too much about Uncle Earn.