Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📕

man showed kindness to children. That was a small point in his favor.

I stood and Helen grabbed my hand, pulling me to the nearby entry. “Philip, Chess, I want you to meet my cousin.” They squeezed into the small space.

“Forgive us, Dorothy.” Earnest blushed. “We forgot.”

Philip and Chess MacDonald gave very charming, overly gracious introductions, though Chess was all too ready to release my hand. He grasped it gently, then tossed it as if it had been a scrap for a dog. Unless material changes occur in his manners, I can say at this moment that I will not be tempted to set my heart in his direction.

“Join us, if you wish.” At least Philip was kind enough to offer.

Ernest shook his head. “She won’t come. She’s in mourning.” He pointed to my black shawl then rocked back on his heels. “Tried to get her to come out yesterday.”

Philip buttoned his cap under his chin. “Widowed already? You’re awfully young.”

“Indeed not.” Impertinent man.

Chess laughed. “Don’t tell me you are one and forty? You don’t look that old.”

Ernest gave me an apologetic look. “Her parents, you idiots, and only recently.”

“My apologies.” Philip slightly bowed. “Another day, then. Good to make your acquaintance.” And with that the boys flew out the door, leaving behind a trail of chill breeze that snaked around my bare fingers and neck.

The cold moved Helen from her trance. Truly, she seemed dazed by their energy. Kirsten handed her a pair of boots but she did not take them. Her eyes followed the backs of Chess, Philip, and Ernest.

In my room, I gathered my cloak and boots. This was one of those times I decided I might think better outside my room than in. Besides, Aunt might worry if I sequestered myself. A long snow- hike seemed ideal. My thoughts and I needed to be alone and return with a singular purpose.

As I reached for the door handle, Uncle’s heavy hands dropped on my shoulders and gently turned me.

“Wait for us. We don’t want you to get lost now.”

“How did you know I was going for a walk?”

Uncle squeezed my shoulder. “I saw it in your eyes. Your mother’s had the same look when she needed to get outdoors.”

And here I thought eyes could never be properly read. “Is Aunt joining us?”

“Just David and me.”

How awkward. I almost refused but no excuse came quickly enough to mind.

Uncle and Mr. Bleu had already donned their boots. I wished Aunt would join us, begged her to do so. “You know I can’t, Dorothy.” I thought of the many mouths, the cook stove, and the little ones to tend. Her choice had been made for her.

How would I converse with two grown men? That wasn’t comfortable. And how possible was it that Mr. Bleu fought in the war? Despite the scars that wrinkle in places, he seems far too young to have gone, especially standing next to Uncle. He has no creases around his eyes and his hair is dark as my gown.

I did not need to worry about conversation or about humiliating myself again. The two walked ahead of me by a few good paces and I was left to flesh out my purpose for being outdoors. For my future. Before my ruminations got too deep, however, I thought it good manners to speak up but couldn’t divine what to say to start a new conversation. I must admit though, that to leave a young woman without an arm to lean on (disregarding my solitary intent) seemed discourteous. Yet another small but noticeable slight.

We trooped over the sledding hills, by low stone fences bordered with cedar trees of every size. By snow-covered haystacks and piles of firewood. Uncle glanced back a time or two and asked if I was alright. I was indeed. The exercise, cool air, blue sky, unmarred snow—I might have been able to nod an affirmative to alright. Refreshed is perhaps a better word, even with the man-of-misery marching ahead of me. He never looked back. Not once. Apparently he hadn’t the least curiosity about my condition.

The best hill, which must be a mile distance from the house, stood ahead. Philip and Chess shouted, panic clouding their voices. We ran as though chased by tigers, my skirt hem laden with snow and slapping between my legs.

Could he be? I nearly blushed. Mr. Bleu seemed to be taking God’s name in vain until I realized that his repetitive sputtering of the word “God” was some sort lifeline to sanity, a prayerful lifeline to prod him toward the fence post where Ernest leaned.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God...” came after every heaving breath. Why would Mr. Bleu be so affected by a wound not his own? Ernest was no doubt hurt. That was all. Why the fuss? Nothing so terrible that a little attention couldn’t fix...I had hoped.

Uncle remained calm when he reached Ernest. Philip held a handful of snow atop Ernest’s back. Blood seeped around the edges, turning the white mound dark red. His coat had been slashed through.

“Papa—papa...” Ernest gasped for breath. “My other shoulder, dislocated...”

Uncle tossed his leather gloves to me. “Get the snow off.” He pointed at Philip. “Now. Let me see how bad it is.”

Philip wiped it away. “Sled runner plowed right into him. I couldn’t stop fast enough.” Philip paled as Uncle’s lips pursed tight. “Ernest must have been ten feet in the air.”

Mr. Bleu stood farther back. His mouth twitched. I stepped closer to Ernest.

“What can I do?” I asked. A simple, stupid question. Unworthy of an answer, I was ignored.

“Son, this will hurt, it can’t be helped. I need to get your left shoulder back into socket. Your right one is cut deep and it’s gonna hurt like hellfire.”

My stomach tightened.

“Be a man, now. Place both hands on the fence.” My cousin reached out. “It must be done.”

Ernest began to cry. I turned away out of kindness. I knew that later he would hate knowing that I’d watched. When I turned,