Keturah and Lord Death

But some part of me knew, even as I spoke, that Lord Death, clean as a filed blade as he was, did not always want the souls we so willy-nilly sent to him. I wondered if he had put the thought in my mind, or if mere proximity to him was teaching me.

“And no one must go to Great Town,” I added.

As I spoke, the eyes of the men got larger, as if their ears were not big enough to hear what I was saying and their eyes had to help.

“I believe her,” said Henry Bean’s father, Caleb.

“And I,” said Gretta’s father, Will.

“We must work on the road all night,” said Beatrice’s father, James.

A few wives were wheedling their husbands into submission. Mothers hugged their children close and hurried them back to home.

John jumped down and the men gathered, and before I could get entirely away, work on the road had begun.

I headed for home, for I was weary, weary. I had not gone far when I was stopped short by something splattering at my feet—a rotten apple. I was too tired even to look for the culprit. I stepped over it, and another landed nearby. This time I stopped and looked behind me. John Temsland was coming toward me, and in each hand was the ear of an attached boy. They squirmed and came with their ears.

“These boys have somewhat to say,” John said cheerfully.

“Sorry,” squeaked one boy.

“Sorry,” said the other.

John let them go, and they ran away, rubbing their ears. “I will have a man watch over your house,” he said.

“I am not afraid,” I said. Not of them, I added in my thoughts. Against the one I truly feared, no one could guard.

I bent my head in respect and continued on my way.

“You are a brave woman, Keturah Reeve,” he called after me.

I scarcely heard him, for the sun was on its descent, and my mind reeled for a new story.

When I arrived home, Grandmother placed di

“I thought you were very brave today,” Ben said timidly. “I brought you this.” He handed me a purple squash.

I thanked him and cradled the squash in one arm like a baby. With the other hand I reached into my apron pocket and discovered to my dismay that the eye had not stopped and was rolling up and down and side to side as before.

“I never believed that you were stolen by the fairies,” he said quietly.

“No, Ben, it was not true,” I said. I had paid the price— why didn’t it stop? The squash was evidence that he was smitten with me.

He cleared his throat. “There is much talk. Mother has heard it. But all the talk in the village can’t stop you from wi

I squinted at him, forcing my eyes to think him the most beautiful of men. I willed myself to love him. Love him! I commanded my heart. But the eye continued to roll.

Grandmother came in from the garden and seemed delighted to see I had a visitor. “What news, Ben?”

“Good day, Grandmother Reeve. I—I just came to tell you that the poor parish priest’s cow died of the bloat,” Ben said.

“Perhaps he should have sprinkled his cow with stolen holy water like Farmer Dan,” Grandmother said, chuckling.

“I heard Dan tell the priest his flock had grown so fat, it was hard to repent,” Ben answered. It was clear he was trying to charm her. “The priest said his flock might become so holy they would refuse to mate. That put the fear into him.” Grandmother laughed and Ben blushed at his own joke.

It was a good joke, I thought as they continued to talk. Grandmother thought it fu

“Ben,” I said, interrupting a lengthy speech on the fine art of growing asparagus, “would you come tomorrow to try my pies?” If only there would be a tomorrow.

He smiled. “Of course, Keturah. It is good that you are practicing your cooking for the fair.”

“Ben, what if I don’t win Best Cook?” I said.

“You must win, Keturah,” Ben said. “I am bound by tradition.”

“Yes,” his mother said, startling us both by appearing in the doorway. “Tradition.”

“Constance,” said Grandmother. “Won’t you come in?”

“I will not,” she said. “And Ben is needed at home.”

“Constance, surely you don’t believe the ... the talk,”

Grandmother said stiffly.

“We don’t want your fairies in our garden,” Constance said shortly. “They eat holes in the chard and make webs between the beanstalks.”

“Mother!” Ben said.

“Mother Marshall, I assure you I have had no dealings with fairies,” I said.

“No? Then is it true that it is worse than fairies, that you have had dealings with him?”

“Mother, please. Go—I will follow shortly,” Ben said.

His mother gave me a sour look and turned to leave. When she was down the path, Ben said, “Keturah, I am bound by the Marshall tradition to marry the Best Cook, but I am also freed by it. Win Best Cook, and no one, including Mother, can nay-say it.”

He smiled a wide smile and followed his mother down the path. Though it was the handsomest of smiles, the eye continued to roll and my heart was unmoved.

Never mind. I would train my heart to love Ben and his baby-sized purple squashes. And when I won Best Cook, the eye must be still.

“Goodbye, Ben,” I called after him. “Thank you for the beautiful squash.”

For the rest of the day and on into the night, I listened to the ringing of hammers and the shouts of men as they worked on the road, and I practiced pies. Gretta and Beatrice came, and I plied them with pie. They assured me that my pies were the best in the village, but I knew they would have to be wondrous to win Best Cook. I made the pies I had dreamed of: one offish, and one of venison; a strawberry pie, and a peach, and a plum; and one of potatoes and mushrooms and cheese—and all with a crust that almost blew away when it was cut.

That evening, as I prepared to take samplings of my pies to Cook, I watched the sun set in a green sky and plotted the story that would save my life. Gretta stitched by the fire, and Beatrice practiced her arpeggios and chatted with Grandmother.

A laurel-leaf willow tree that grew at the very edge of the forest, and had been growing beyond its bounds for some time, brushed up against the window as the evening breeze came on. One slim bough tapped with the wind.

Knowing that it was a harmless tree did not lift my heart at all. All day long our cottage seemed to hunch away from the shadow of the forest, and now that shadow encroached boldly upon it, almost touching it. Would that Grandfather were still alive and still able to take his ax to the trees that stole slowly into our little plot of land.

Then a face appeared at the window, and my heart pounded hugely in my chest, like the thump of a great empty drum, until I realized it was our cow, Bridie. She always huddled close to the house as night fell.

A knock at the door startled Bridie away.

“Who could that be?” Grandmother asked.

At the door, to my relief, was Tobias, and in his hands a small burlap bag. He was flushed and dirty, and behind him his horse was lathered.

“My lemons!” I exclaimed. “Did you get my lemons, Tobias?”

“I did,” he said. “The most beautifulest round lemons you ever saw.”