Keturah and Lord Death

“Is she nearby, Choirmaster? I thought you came from a far distance.”

“Oh, yes, she is nearby, though not in a place you can reach by foot or by carriage. But she is nearby. I can feel it. She would whip my fingers, Mother would, every time I made a mistake in my music. It was a dainty golden whip she used. I feel it, I feel it every time I wish to love another.”

Beatrice said gently, “Come, it cannot be so bad.”

“My mother wanted to be God’s bride, but her father would not have it. He feared what God would do to him when He discovered what kind of a wife he’d raised his daughter to be. So he married my mother to an organ builder who drank too much. She raised me on music. Before I could say ‘Mama,’ I could play a sonata. Every waking moment I practiced. I gave her little whip the name Tooth, for it bit.”

“For this I am sorry,” I said. Beatrice made small sympathy sounds, and Gretta covered her mouth.

“Are you sorry, Beatrice?” Choirmaster asked with much feeling.

“Choirmaster, your music reminds me of every sad thought I ever had,” she said. “Your music would wrench the heart of the devil himself. Perhaps if you made your music … happier, you would hear your mother’s voice less, and someone could comfort your heart.”

“There can be no comfort for me but from my music,” he said dolefully. And he sat down at the organ to play so sad a tune that I had to hurry away.

Gretta and Beatrice soon caught up with me.

“Well, you tried,” Gretta said.

“It must be Ben,” I said. “The eye only waits to see if I can make a pie tasty enough to win Best Cook. I’m sure of it.”

Beatrice patted my arm. “Rest. Later we will think about pies.”

I shook my head, and though my whole body was weary, I did not slow my pace.

“There is no time. Tomorrow is the fair, and if there is any possibility I will live to see it, today I must make pies.”

* * *

Grandmother was in the garden when we arrived home, and looking so well that it cheered my heart and gave me renewed strength. I started on squash pie.

Just as I was finishing, someone knocked at the door. Gretta rose to answer it. When she opened the door, there stood Ben Marshall with another baby-sized squash in his arms. With a wooden spoon in one hand and a whisk in the other, I beamed at him. Behind him was Padmoh, and in her arms were several bunches of lettuce.

“Come in, Ben,” Grandmother said, “and you, Padmoh. We are just about to feast upon a pie Keturah made from your delicious squash, Ben. Sit, sit, both of you. How fortunate we are that you grow such big squashes, Ben, for then you have much to share.”

“I’ve brought another. Keturah, you are dusted all over with flour. You look so … pretty.”

Oh, handsome Ben, I thought. Good, solid Ben—but would I always have to be covered in flour and sugar to be beautiful to him? It made me more tired to think of it. Still, he was very handsome.

“I thought what a generous thing it was of Ben to bring squashes to the poor,” Padmoh said, “so I offered to carry lettuces. And besides, Mother Marshall bade me come.”

Ben looked at her as if she were a stray cat that had followed him home. Grandmother served them portions of the pie I had made, and Ben set right to eating.

“I am practicing for the cooking contest tomorrow,” I said, dearly wishing there would be a tomorrow.

Padmoh sat down, too, and gingerly took a taste.

“It’s delicious,” Ben said after a mouthful.

“There is a certain aftertaste,” Padmoh said delicately, “but it is quite good.”

Grandmother turned the talk to the beautification of the village, and Ben and even Padmoh and my friends talked about the wonders of it.

“Mistress Smith and some other women went to Hermit Gregor’s house,” Ben said. “They scrubbed and tossed and folded and washed and swept and gardened until he wept and promised to be a better man.”

Everyone laughed.

Padmoh said genteelly, “Widow Harker, who beds her cow in her house for want of a shed, came home today to find a sweet, clean shed for her cow.”

Ben noticed I was quiet and said, “With pie like this, Keturah, you could win Best Cook at fair time.”

“I am glad you like it,” I said.

Padmoh scowled at him and then at me. “It is hard to tell such a thing from pies,” she said. “Besides, didn’t he say that very thing to me the other day. Fickle Ben.”

“But I do believe this pie makes Keturah a fraction better,” Ben said.

Gretta and Beatrice smiled, and Padmoh stabbed violently at the pie with her fork. I felt sorry that she was unhappy, but I was relieved that Ben had loosened his tongue in favor of my chances.

Just then there was a weak knock at the door, and I opened it to see Tobias standing with lemons in his hands.

I threw my arms around him, then took the lemons. “Why, they are beautiful, Tobias! So plump, so fresh. Did they cost very much?”

Slowly he held out the second set of coins John Temsland had given him. “Not a penny, Keturah, and yet they were very dear.”

Only then did I notice that he was most pale, whiter than the gray dust around his mouth and eyes.

“How did you get them, then?”