Chapter Twelve #3
Caroline’s mouth twitched. “He thanked Father for pointing out the error.”
Thomas winced.
Lydia said, “Caroline wrote back.”
Thomas laughed. “What did you say?” he asked.
Caroline looked into the fire. “‘My father did not find the error. I did. If you intend to correct the map, you may also correct your assumption.’”
Thomas stared at her.
Nathaniel whispered, “He is gone.”
Eleanor whispered back, “Completely.”
Thomas said, “Did he answer again?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He apologized.”
Thomas smiled slowly. “I would like to see the letter.”
Caroline looked at him. “Why?”
“Because I think I may want to frame it.”
Caroline blushed.
Lydia inhaled.
Eleanor clapped a hand over her mouth before sound emerged.
Nathaniel whispered, “You are getting very good at that.”
“Practice.”
Caroline pointed at Eleanor. “Remove your hand from Lydia.”
“No.”
Lydia nodded vigorously beneath Eleanor’s palm.
Thomas laughed.
Caroline’s blush deepened.
Eleanor finally released Lydia.
Her sister whispered, “Maps.”
Rebecca whispered back, “Definitely maps.”
Caroline threw a pinecone at them.
The stories continued.
Charlotte told about accidentally correcting the arithmetic in a merchant’s account book while Father was negotiating with him.
“He was cheating Father,” she explained.
“How old were you?” Nathaniel asked.
“Twelve.”
“What did your father do?”
“Bought me my first ledger.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Appropriate.”
Charlotte smiled.
Martha told a story about the first pie she ever baked.
“It was terrible,” Rebecca said.
“You ate two pieces.”
“I was thirteen.”
“That does not explain it.”
“I was hungry.”
“What was wrong with the pie?” Grace asked.
“I forgot the sugar.”
Lydia stared at Martha. “You?”
“Yes.”
“Our Martha?”
“Yes.”
“The woman who measures everything?”
“I learned why.”
Eleanor smiled. “Father ate an entire slice.”
Martha’s expression softened. “He said it was excellent.”
Rebecca said, “Then he drank three cups of coffee.”
Martha laughed.
Grace told about trying to rescue a bird that had flown into the house and accidentally releasing Mother’s cat into the room.
Lucy interrupted repeatedly because she remembered the story differently.
“You were four.”
“I still remember.”
“You remember hiding beneath the table.”
“The cat was excited.”
“The bird was more excited.”
Lucy finally told a story about cutting her own hair when she was six because Lydia told her short hair made people run faster.
Lydia defended herself. “I believed it.”
“You were twelve!”
“I had not conducted experiments.”
Eleanor looked around the circle of her sisters.
They laughed at one another, interrupted, corrected details, accused one another of exaggeration, and told stories Eleanor hadn't thought about in years.
For a few hours their parents were not only losses. Mother was catching the Christmas goose. Father was eating Martha’s terrible pie. He was buying Charlotte her first ledger and receiving Caroline’s furious copy of the mapmaker’s letter.
Their old house existed again in laughter.
Nathaniel’s hand found Eleanor’s beside the log.
He did not say anything.
She squeezed his fingers.
Lydia saw.
Naturally.
She opened her mouth.
Eleanor pointed at her without looking.
“Do not.”
Lydia closed it.
Nathaniel whispered, “Impressive.”
“I have developed authority.”
“You always had authority.”
“Now it occasionally works.”
Mrs. Bell called for one final story.
“Something romantic,” Lucy said.
“Something funny,” Rebecca countered.
“Those are not mutually exclusive,” Lydia said.
Everyone looked at Eleanor and Nathaniel.
“No,” Eleanor said.
Nathaniel said, “Absolutely not.”
Lydia grinned. “Then I will tell the story.”
“There is no story.”
“There is always a story.”
“Lydia.”
“Once upon a time, eight sisters left Missouri—”
Eleanor stood.
Lydia jumped behind Rebecca.
“—and their eldest sister met a wagon master who did not understand that she was always right.”
Nathaniel said, “This story is already inaccurate.”
Eleanor stopped chasing Lydia. “Thank you.”
Nathaniel continued, “She is only usually right.”
Eleanor turned.
The camp roared.
Nathaniel stood immediately.
“That was a joke.”
“Run.”
He ran.
Eleanor went after him.
He moved carefully around the fire, not wanting her to do anything to hurt herself.
“Your ribs!” he called.
“Are fine!”
Everyone was laughing now.
Nathaniel stopped on the opposite side of Mrs. Bell.
“Protect me.”
Mrs. Bell considered. “What will you pay?”
“Coffee.”
“How much?”
“Two cups.”
“Three.”
“Done.”
Mrs. Bell planted her walking stick across Eleanor’s path.
Eleanor stared at her. “You have been bribed.”
“I am old, not foolish.”
Nathaniel smiled from behind her.
Eleanor pointed at him. “This is not over.”
“I look forward to the next chapter.”
Lydia shouted, “That sounds romantic!”
Eleanor started laughing.
Nathaniel came around Mrs. Bell and held out his hand.
“Truce?”
“For tonight,” Eleanor said.
“That is all I ask.”
She took his hand.
Around them the fire burned low while the last laughter drifted through the wagon circle.
The stories had done what miles and maps could not.
For one evening, everyone had gone home.