A Brother's Price (13 page)

Jerin added extra of the blue ribbon to their purchases; it would be pretty braided in his hair. He would need to look his best at Mayfair to fetch a high brother’s price; his family was counting on him. At least an hour remained before the packet arrived. Summer, Captain Tern, and Jerin went out to join Mother Erica and Corelle. They moved the wagon down to the village green and set out a light picnic lunch. Jerin got out his sewing kit and tacked the veil to his new hat between bites of his sandwich.

Corelle and Summer were both pleased with the idea
114

Wen Spencer

of becoming shopkeepers. The older sisters would take the store, they reasoned, because it would need minding right away.

‘‘No more getting up before dawn!’’ Corelle cried happily. ‘‘No more fighting with stock in the middle of snowstorms. No more watering fields during droughts using endless buckets of water. No more plowing, and planting, and seeding.’’

Mother Erica laughed at their logic, saying it made more sense for their aging, wiser mothers to mind the store, moving the younger sisters to the city to learn storekeeping as they grew up.

‘‘We at least have worked at our sisters’ store in Annaboro,’’ Mother Erica reminded them. ‘‘Besides, your baby sisters aren’t big enough to take on all that brute work, and your mothers can’t tend the farm alone. You know that it takes at least twenty able bodies to manage planting and harvest.’’

Summer frowned. ‘‘But there are only eleven of us. How are we going to work this?’’

‘‘We’ll manage.’’ Mother Erica smiled. ‘‘There are so few opportunities like this. Unless a family ends like the Pickers, or loses everything in some disaster of bad judgment, farms and businesses just aren’t sold. Your aunts had to travel to Annaboro to find a business to buy.’’

‘‘Look!’’ Summer stood and pointed upriver. A trail of gray smoke drifted above the treetops. A deep-throated whistle sounded, far off and echoing. ‘‘The packet is coming.’’

‘‘Eldest will have to eat on the boat,’’ Mother Erica said, repacking the basket.

The packet rounded the bend as they reached the sloped cobblestone of the landing. It was a triple-decked stern-wheeler with twin smokestacks. Now in sight of the landing, it blasted its whistle again, a deafening howl of near discord. The stevedores caught the mooring ropes and looped them about great pilings set into the stone-
A BROTHER’S PRICE

115

work of the levy, tying the stern-wheeler off by bow and stern. The swinging landing stage, fixed with ropes at the bow of the boat, was dropped down to form a gangplank up to the main deck.

The smooth and practiced docking complete, the huge boat was suddenly laid still beside the stone landing, dwarfing all structures in town. Jerin stood in awe, though he had seen it many times before. What great works woman could create!

Jerin recognized one of the women waiting to board, a small hill of bandboxes and steamer trunks beside her. Miss Abie Skinner taught the one-room schoolhouse that his school-aged sisters attended at the intersection of Whistler, Brindle, Fisher, and Brown land. She had been kind enough over the years to extend the classroom to Jerin and Doric by sending homework back with their sisters. Occasionally, she even came to the house to teach. Reed-thin, she dressed with the same artistic flair of her handwriting. When Jerin was very young, he had been madly in love with her. He recognized signs of it in Doric now. Their infatuation came, he decided, as a side effect of her being the only female they closely associated with who wasn’t blood related.

‘‘Miss Skinner.’’ He greeted her with a smile. ‘‘You’re going to be on this boat too?’’

His teacher turned in surprise, smiled with pleasure to see him, then frowned. ‘‘Master Whistler, you know that a proper young man never starts a conversation with a woman outside of his family when in public.’’

Jerin recoiled, hurt. ‘‘But I’ve talked to you lots of times.’’

‘‘I know, lad, but I shouldn’t have let you. ‘Once’

leads to ‘always.’ You’re leaving Heron Landing, where everyone knows not to mess with your sisters, and your sisters know where they live.’’

Jerin nodded. ‘‘I know not to talk to strangers, but you’re Miss Skinner.’’

116

Wen Spencer

Abie Skinner smiled. ‘‘Thank you, Master Whistler.’’

‘‘So, you’re going to be on this boat?’’

She tried not to grin, then shook her head and laughed. ‘‘Yes, Master Whistler. I’m going home.’’

‘‘For a visit?’’

‘‘No, for good. I got a letter from Eldest.’’ She patted her pocket, and a paper crinkled under the pat. ‘‘My scattered sisters and I have finally accrued enough money to purchase a husband of modest breeding.’’

‘‘How wonderful!’’ Then the implication sank in.

‘‘You’re not coming back?’’

‘‘No.’’ She grinned widely. ‘‘Someone else will have to force basic figures and reading onto willful young minds.’’

‘‘My sisters will miss you.’’ He could think only that Doric would be crushed.

‘‘Some of them. I will miss those ones.’’

They had two cabins on the second deck. Jerin would share a cabin with one of his sisters. Captain Tern would sleep in the other cabin. They worked out a schedule where at all times at least two of the women would be awake while the other two slept. One of his sleeping sisters would always be in the bunk under the window while he slept. It was as safe as they could make the trip.

That afternoon he took a stroll on the sundeck with Summer and Corelle. He had stepped out of his room intending to pull down his veil. The unobstructed sight of the sunshine on the water checked him. He climbed the stairs to the sundeck with his sisters trailing him. Jerin expected Corelle or Summer to say something about his veil being up, but they didn’t. Feeling someplace between guilty and free, he walked the sundeck, more interested in the fellow passengers. They gave him wide smiles and nods of greeting, but, with quick looks at his armed sisters, didn’t speak to him.
A BROTHER’S PRICE

117

At the stern, over the churning paddle wheel, he met Miss Skinner.

‘‘
Tch,
Mr. Whistler, what are you doing?’’ Miss Skinner reached up and tugged down the veil. ‘‘There are people on this boat not to be trusted. If they thought you were an ugly thing behind that veil, they might leave you alone. Don’t tempt them by showing them how stunningly beautiful you are.’’

‘‘I’m not stunningly beautiful.’’

‘‘Most women only see a few men in their lives. Their father. Perhaps their grandfather. If they are lucky, a brother and their husband. Any other men they see are always veiled. To them, anything with both eyes and sound teeth is a handsome man. My family are portrait painters. My hand is not as good as my sisters’, so I decided to teach instead, to see a bit of the world. Before I left, though, I had seen an extraordinary number of men and paintings of men. You, Mr. Jerin Whistler, are the most stunningly beautiful man I have ever seen.’’

‘‘Me?’’

‘‘Yes, you.’’ She twitched the veil, artfully arranging the fold at his neck. ‘‘So don’t tempt the scruffy lot on this boat more than your mere presence already does.’’

‘‘Yes, Miss Skinner.’’

The next morning it was raining. Captain Tern was guarding him while his sisters slept. Miss Skinner came to the door, bearing a gift.

‘‘Here, I have something for you to look at.’’ It was a large book, almost three feet square. She set it down on the table and opened it to reveal maps done in gorgeous color. ‘‘This is an atlas. It has maps of all of the countries of the world.’’

‘‘I wish I could have gone to school,’’ Jerin murmured.

‘‘
Tch,
I wouldn’t have wanted the responsibility of keeping you safe, Mr. Whistler. It would have been too easy for someone to steal you away, and then where
118

Wen Spencer

would I be? All alone in Heron Landing with the Whistler girls out for my blood.’’

‘‘Are you happy about getting married?’’ Jerin asked.

‘‘To tell the truth, I’m giddy as a girl.’’

‘‘Even though you don’t know your husband at all?’’

‘‘Honestly’’—she blushed—‘‘I haven’t thought much about him, just the babies. We had a brother, who was killed a year before we would have swapped him for a husband. Maybe if we hadn’t grown up so sure we would be married, it wouldn’t have mattered so much. Some days, it’s all I can think about, having children of our own.’’

‘‘Really?’’

She nodded unhappily. ‘‘The first day of school and the last are always the hardest. The seven-year-olds come in that first day, oh so little and darling. You just want to cuddle them. You try to keep your distance, but at the end of the year, when it’s going to be months before you see them again—it just breaks my heart.’’

‘‘I’m sorry.’’

‘‘It’s not your fault,’’ she scolded.

‘‘I mean—well, I guess I mean that I feel sorry for you.’’

‘‘Don’t. I’m getting married. We’ll have baskets and bushels of babies and get as blaseábout them as everyone else.’’

‘‘Blase´?’’ he asked, unsure what the word meant.

‘‘Casual. Careless.’’ She defined the word using ones he did know. ‘‘Ever been to a social function and watch the mothers with their babies? Oh, you can’t hold the little boys—no one but family gets to hold the boys—

but they pass the baby girls off like sacks of wheat. Anyone can hold them as long as they want. And they sigh over the fact that the baby girls weren’t born boys. You want to scream at them how lucky they are, and how they shouldn’t take these healthy babies so lightly. And at least once a week you wonder if you’re still young enough to carry a healthy child to term and survive delivering it, or maybe you should avoid all the risk, even
A BROTHER’S PRICE

119

though the thought of not being pregnant at least once is like putting a gun to your head and—’’

She shuddered to a stop, and wiped tears from her cheeks. ‘‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say things like that to you. I’m happy. I truly am.’’

He reached out and covered her hand. ‘‘I’m sure things will be fine.’’

‘‘Indeed. Holy Mothers are kind.’’ She sniffed, and forced herself to smile. ‘‘Well, I’ll leave this with you to study. Eldest can drop it at my cabin later.’’

With that, she withdrew.

‘‘She should have gone to a crib,’’ Raven murmured after Miss Skinner’s footsteps had faded away. ‘‘Got herself pregnant before this. It’s warped her.’’

He could not help but feel that she was right. ‘‘Are you married, Captain Tern?’’

‘‘No. Don’t particularly want to be. I don’t get along well with my sisters, so I try to stay away from home. Not everyone fits the molds of society.’’

‘‘Do you want children?’’

Captain Tern considered the question and finally shrugged. ‘‘I don’t like small children. Their noise—that high-pitched squealing—and energy level grate on my nerves. You can’t reason with them. If you try bribing them, then they get spoiled and throw fits. My baby sisters drove me out of my home. I couldn’t stand them. I certainly don’t have a desire to raise any of my own. Still. I can’t imagine not having a family. I send part of my paycheck home every week, and visit when I get lonely.’’

The first deck of the steamboat had a dining room. They had avoided it the first night, eating instead from the food hamper. For breakfast and lunch of the next day, one of his sisters carried sandwiches back to their cabins to supplement the dwindling cache. By the second night, the food was gone. Reluctantly, they went down for dinner.

120

Wen Spencer

Round tables, with chairs to sit ten, crowded into the space, lit by chandeliers of oil lamps. Eldest chose a table with easy access to the doors. She and Captain Tern sat on either side of Jerin, Summer and Corelle flanking them. Jerin was the only one able to sit and eat in peace.

Most women approaching the unoccupied chairs veered away after one hard look from Captain Tern and Eldest. When they were almost through with dinner, however, a family of four sisters sat down, ignoring the pointed stares.

‘‘We have a hundred crowns,’’ the oldest-looking of the sisters stated.

‘‘So?’’ Eldest looked as mystified as Jerin felt.

‘‘We’re the Turners,’’ the oldest Turner said. ‘‘We were going to Suttons Ferry. There’s supposedly a cleanrun crib there. But we heard the talk since you’ve boarded. Four boys in your family, and you’re taking this one to market.’’

Captain Tern put down her silverware and slowly slid back her chair, her hands dropping down to her gun belt. Eldest growled softly. ‘‘Shut your mouth! My brother isn’t livestock.’’

A younger Turner sister leaned in. ‘‘What my sister is saying is that your family throws lots of boys. We were going to spend ten crown a night for one of us, probably Jolie here, to try for a baby.’’ She indicated the youngest, a mere teenager. ‘‘We’re too poor to afford a husband, so we’re doing it by tens, as they say.’’

‘‘My brother isn’t for sale,’’ Eldest said. Younger Turner said, ‘‘We’re offering twice the crib price, twenty crowns, because he’s of good lines and sure to be clean!’’

‘‘No!’’ Eldest shouted, drawing looks.

‘‘Jolie is a virgin,’’ older Turner pressed. ‘‘She’s clean. It would be a hundred crowns in only five nights!’’

‘‘My brother’s price is four thousand and not a crown less,’’ Eldest said through clenched teeth.
A BROTHER’S PRICE

121

Their jaws dropped.

‘‘Four—four thousand?’’ older Turner finally stuttered, apparently torn between being angry and laughing. ‘‘You’re insane!’’

‘‘We’re landed gentry with royal bloodlines and throw boys,’’ Eldest snapped. ‘‘That’s worth four thousand to a peer!’’

‘‘But you can’t be sure,’’ younger Turner said. ‘‘This is money in hand. It’s not like you can tell when a man is a virgin or not.’’

‘‘No,’’ Eldest said quietly.

‘‘No one would know,’’ younger Turner said.

‘‘I would know,’’ Captain Tern stated.

‘‘And who are you?’’ older Turner asked.

‘‘Raven Tern, Captain of the Royal Guard, serving as escort to Master Whistler by order of Queens. The Queens are sponsoring Mr. Whistler’s coming out and it would reflect poorly on them to present used goods.’’