Adam stared at the fire. The logs were mostly red cedar, well dried. Each was bottomed by small pink flames that strove to reach its top; and now and then a flame, stretching, would get up there, and expand, waxing blue, and leap in glee, and waver, then abruptly, as if spat at, die. But the flames underneath kept licking away.
"Pong!" went the needle. "Pong!"
Adam stared at the backs of his hands, but they looked pretty much the same as they always had, so, after a while, he stared at the fire again.
Deborah asked him about the voyage. What had the weather been like? He answered a shade impatiently. You didn't talk about sea weather except to sailors. If there was a lot of it, then there was a lot of work; or if not, not. And in any case the weather Deborah Selden asked about was gone now.
She asked also about London, though cautiously; and it was with caution that Adam answered. The truth is, he did not care to admit even to himself how disappointed he had been in what he used to call Home. What good things about it he could find in his heart to say, he said; but those weren't many. And he finished—remembering his mother, though not mentioning her—with the bitter observation that it was hard to see why folks had to be dragged out of jails or made drunk or hit on the head in order to persuade them to quit a place like that for a place like this.
"But I thought you didn't like Newport, Captain?"
"Never said that. I just figured Newport didn't like me."
"Do they really do those things to enlist people?"
"Worse. They steal 'em."
Without making any mention of his own exploits, he told her about the kidnappers. She was horrified.
"Why, there ought to be a law against that!"
"Probably is. There's laws against pretty nigh everything."
Their voices trailed off; and soon there was again only the sound of her sewing and the spit of sparks in the fireplace.
Some time passed in this way.
Then Adam rose. He waggled his hands. When he did succeed in speaking, his voice was louder than it had any reason to be.
"So you still want a husband, even though you don't have to have one, is that it?"
She did not look up from her needlework, and indeed she bent over it a little lower.
"Captain, I don't think that's very kind of you. I never said I just wanted a husband. I wanted you. So when I got a chance I asked you. And when you said no, I still wanted you. So I tried to trick you."
"You sure did."
"Any other girl would have done the same. Only she'd get a better chance. She'd let you walk out with her, and if she could, she'd bundle with you. Then you'd get all fussed up, and you'd beg her to marry you, and you'd think you was lucky when she said she would, not knowdng she'd planned it that way. With me it wasn't the same. I had to ask straight-out."
He looked at the fire, and then he looked at the top of her head and down the back of her neck, where her dress stood out a bit.
"You never wanted anybody else, the same way?"
"No, Adam. I can honestly say I never did."
"But you did want me—like that?"
She had ceased to do the needlework. She dropped her hands to her lap, it could be to control them. Otherwise she didn't stir.
"I did, and I still do."
The voice was tiny. Slowly her head was lowered even more. Downy black hairs clustered at the nape of her neck just beneath the bun. Her shoulders were hunched up a bit.
She did not stir. He put out a hand and placed it on her shoulder, and at the touch she fairly jumped. She was quiet after that, but rigid. Her hands were pressed down white in her lap. Her feet shoved the floor.
"If I'd known that was the way you felt—well, things might have been different."
"You always seemed to be afraid of me."
"Maybe I was. I was afraid of most folks then. After all, I don't know who my father was, for sure. And my mother I don't remember well. Mr. and Mrs. Sedgewick weren't much help, though they didn't beat me much—I guess not as much as they should've."
"You— You used to jeer at everybody."
"I reckon that's because I was scared. Then the better work I did, the smarter I got, the more it seemed folks disliked me. I guess I just imagined that. But naturally I never even dreamed that you—well, I never even gave myself a loose to think about that, that's all. And now it's too late."
Her shoulder leapt under his hand and her head went back, so that he retreated, truly thinking for an instant that she was about to spring at him and claw his face with her fingernails.
"You didn't marry that red-head down there?"
She looked lovely. Her eyes were flashing. Her chin was up, and the way her head was lifted it showed the lines of her neck. Her hands were at her sides on the bench now, and her feet were drawn underneath her, as though she was all readied to spring.
Fascinated, he moved toward her.
"Don't you touch me, Adam Long!"
He stopped.
"Are you married to her?"
He shook his head.
"No," he said.
Her head went down, and the muscles in her shoulders and arms slacked off. She slumped.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't think even you would be fool enough to do that. But I had to ask."
He just stood there looking at her; and he was the one who was doing the trembling now.
Color rose in her neck, in her face.
"You can touch me now, if you want, Adam," she whispered.
Eager leaves tinked and scraped at the window, then turned out of sight, sinking.
Adam did not touch her. He was afraid to.
"No, I'm not married— But it's sort of the same, in a way."
"How do you mean? No, I'd rather you didn't tell me! But you—you're not really married?"
"Not really, no. But I got certain obligations. I've done certain things and I reckon I can't back out of 'em now. I reckon that in the eyes of God I am married. God's got it all wrote down, in the Book. You know that."
She rose. Head averted, she stood right close to him. He could smell her hair.
"Reckon I'd better get back to the schooner," he muttered.
"You don't have to go, Adam."
"Reckon I'd better."
The air outside, unexpectedly cold, grabbed him like so many hands. He realized that he was all drenched with sweat.
A shadow sprang from behind a maple. Arms went around Adam's neck. He forgot his sword, and brought up a knee, hopping back.
"Ow! Adam, you hurt me!"
"Thunderation! How'd I know it was you, out in the dark like this?"
"You take me for a footpad? We don't have 'em here."
"I've just come from England, and they sure have 'em there."
"Just come from England, yes, and where do you go?"
"Selden's the only other owner now. I had to make a report."
Elnathan came closer. She had a long woolen shawl over head and shoulders, a shawl the size of a comforter, and when she let this fall partly open, Adam saw that she wasn't wearing a great deal more. She must be cold, he thought.
"Forgive me, my chick." She slid an arm around his neck, pressing close to him. "It's been so long—"
"We're in a public street, woman!"
"Yes. Let's go inside. That's what I was waiting to ask you."
"Zeph—"
"He's asleep. Won't wake up for another hour, we can be quiet."
She laid her cheek on his chest, turning her lips up. Her eyes were closed. Her breath came fast.
"Come on, Adam. He won't hear anything. Come on."
He wrenched himself free, choky noises in his throat. He didn't say anything at all, just ran on down the hill.
It was as well for him that he did not see Elnathan Evans' face, the way she looked after him.