What if he were gone, she thought suddenly. Could I bring it back, all by myself?
A spasm of elemental panic gripped her, just for a moment, at the thought. Without Roger as her touchstone, with nothing but her own memories to serve as anchor to the future, that time would be lost. Would fade into hazy dreams, and be lost, leaving her no firm ground of reality to stand upon.
She took a deep breath of the cold night air, crisp with woodsmoke, and dug the balls of her feet hard into the ground as they walked, trying to feel solid.
MamaMamaMAMA! A small blob detached itself from the confusion round the fire and rocketed toward her, crashing into her knees with enough force to make her grab hold of Rogers arm.
Jem! There you are! She scooped him up and buried her face in his hair, which smelled pleasantly of goats, hay, and spicy sausage. He was heavy, and more than solid.
Then Ute McGillivray turned and saw them. Her broad face was creased in a frown, but broke into a beam of delight at seeing them. People turned at her call of greeting, and they were engulfed
at once by the crowd, everyone asking questions, expressing gratified surprise at their coming.
A few questions were asked about the Dutch family, but Kenny Lindsay had brought the news of the burning earlier; Brianna was glad of that. People clucked and shook their heads, but by now they had exhausted most of their horrified speculations, and were turning to other matters. The cold of the graves beneath the fir trees still lingered as a faint chill on her heart; she had no wish to make that experience real again by talking about it.
The newly engaged couple were seated together on a pair of upturned buckets, holding hands, faces blissful in the glow of the bonfire.
I win, Brianna said, smiling at sight of them. Dont they look happy?
They do, Roger agreed. I doubt Ronnie Sinclair is. Is he here? He glanced round, and so did she, but the cooper was nowhere in sight.
Waithes in his shop, she said, putting a hand on Rogers wrist and nodding toward the small building on the opposite side of the road. There were no windows on this side of the coopers shop, but a faint glow showed round the edge of the closed door.
Roger glanced from the darkened shop to the convivial crowd round the fire; a good many of Utes relations had ridden over with the lucky bridegroom and his friends from Salem, bringing with them an immense barrel of black beer, which was adding to the festivities. The air was yeasty with the tang of hops.
By contrast, the coopers shop had a desolate, glowering sort of air about it. She wondered whether anyone around the fire had yet missed Ronnie Sinclair.
Ill go and have a bit of a blether with him, aye? Roger touched her back in brief affection. He could maybe use a sympathetic ear.
That and a stiff drink? She nodded toward the house, where Robin McGillivray was visible through the open door, pouring what she assumed to be whisky for a select circle of friends.
I imagine he will have managed that for himself, Roger replied dryly. He left her, making his way around the convivial group by the fire. He disappeared in the dark, but then she saw the door of the coopers shop open, and Roger silhouetted briefly against the glow from within, his tall form blocking the light before vanishing inside.
Wanna drink, Mama! Jemmy was wriggling like a tadpole, trying to get down. She set him on the ground, and he was off like a shot, nearly upsetting a stout lady with a platter of corn fritters.
The aroma of the steaming fritters reminded her that she hadnt had any supper, and she made her way after Jemmy to the table of food, where Lizzie, in her role as almost-daughter-of-the-house, helped her importantly to sauerkraut, sausages, smoked eggs, and something involving corn and squash.
Wheres your sweetheart, Lizzie? she asked, teasing. Shouldnt you be spooning with him?
Oh, him? Lizzie looked like someone recalling a thing of vague general interest, but no immediate importance. Manfred, ye mean? Hes ower there. She squinted against the glow of the fire, then pointed with her serving spoon. Manfred McGillivray, her own betrothed, was with three or four other young men, all with arms linked, swaying to and fro as they sang something in German. They appeared to have trouble remembering the words, as each verse dissolved into giggles and shoving accusations.
Here, Schätzchenthats sweetheart, ken, in German, Lizzie explained, leaning down to give Jemmy a bite of sausage. He snapped the tidbit up like a starving seal and chewed industriously, then mumbled, Wagga gink, and wandered off into the night.
Jem! Brianna made to go after him, but was hampered by an oncoming crowd headed for the table.
Ah, dinna fash yourself about him, Lizzie assured her. Everyone kens who he is; hell come to nay harm.
She might still have gone after him, save that she saw a small blond head pop up beside Jems. Germain, Jems bosom friend. Germain was two years older, and had a great deal more worldly knowledge than the average five-year-old, thanks in great part to his fathers tutelage. She did hope he wasnt picking pockets in the crowd, and made a mental note to frisk him for contraband, later.