Chapter 3 Sarafina

CHAPTER 3

SARAFINA

APRIL 10, 1894

There are times in life when seemingly small moments aren't small at all. Like the sudden flash of lightning that announces a coming storm, these moments mark the beginning of something larger. Something powerful but not yet seen, hovering just out of sight. The first time you spoke to me was one of these moments, and neither of us could have predicted how fierce the storm that followed would be….

—letter from William Day to Sarafina Dove

In all her sixteen years, Sarafina Dove had found only one thing she hated: Miss LaFont's School of Comportment for Young Ladies. According to Miss LaFont, that tightly laced-up and strict epitome of supposed female virtues, "true ladies" never discussed real-life issues, laughed aloud, read interesting books, or had even a hint of an original thought in their purposefully-kept-empty, well-coifed heads. Each day there, spent embroidering ridiculous homilies about "quiet patience" and "womanly virtues" on endless handkerchiefs, or sipping tepid cups of weak tea while discussing absolutely nothing of interest, made Sarafina feel as if her soul might expire.

Which was why, after a particularly boring day of trying to stay awake in Miss LaFont's too-warm front parlor, instead of going home, Sarafina headed to her favorite fishing hole. As she left the road for the pathway through the woods, she checked to make sure the piece of Aunt Emily Anne's famous cornbread, which she'd wrapped in waxed paper that morning and tucked into her coat pocket, was still there. Happy to find her snack in place, she set off for an adventure.

Society at large—even her unconventional aunts—would have given a collective, horrified gasp if they'd seen how, as soon as she was safely away from the main road, she'd quickly and expertly tucked her skirts into her waistband. Then, humming to herself, she ran—yes, ran —down the wooded path, leaping across puddles left by the spring rains and ignoring the tug of branches as they caught at her coat sleeves. It was a beautiful day, the first in a week of gray skies and unending rain, and she couldn't keep from skipping a little whenever the path permitted it.

Smiling, she rounded a corner and found herself facing Sweet Creek. She'd never seen the water as high as it was today, but—unwilling to waste even a second of her free time—she went straight to the large rock that stuck a third of the way over the creek and prepared to leap.

Crossing the creek was always an adventure in itself, since it required a rather daring hop, but today it looked especially challenging, as the chilly water had risen until it lapped over the edges of the rock. Sarafina made sure her skirts were still safely tucked into her waistband, then straightened her shoulders, stepped out on the rock, and—with a huge breath—jumped.

That's when she discovered that the grass on the other side was sopping wet, and the dirt under it an oozing, muddy mess. She landed with a thick splash, and her feet instantly shot out from under her, her arms waving wildly as she tipped back toward the raging creek.

She clenched her eyes closed and, heart racing, waited for an icy dunking. But instead, at the last possible moment, someone caught her and set her firmly back on her feet, their hard hands now holding her upright.

Shocked, she slowly let out her breath and opened her eyes. William Day stood in front of her, his black hair tousled, his blue eyes far too close to hers, his hands still firmly wrapped around her upper arms.

Although they'd never spoken to each other, Sarafina Dove had known William Day for most of her life. Or at least had known of him. They were of a similar age—he was only two years older—and they'd grown up in the same small town, too. Sadly, their tiny town seemed obsessed with the salacious bits of gossip that chronicled his family's misfortunes.

Everyone in Dove Pond knew the story of how, twenty-odd years ago, the Day family had been sundered in two. It began when brothers Edward and Charles Day had a violent falling-out over the inheritance left them upon their father's death. After a long and very public fight, the two had settled their disagreement, but they had never spoken again.

Over the next few years, older brother Edward had invested his portion of the inheritance wisely in numerous businesses and was now a pillar of their small town. He had built an impressive house on the hill overlooking Dove Pond and was now the sole owner and editor of the town's newspaper, the Dove Pond Register . Meanwhile, younger brother Charles went in the opposite direction. He wasted his inheritance on gambling, drinking, and other unsavory pursuits. As time went on, he slid down the social ladder, taking his long-suffering wife and children with him, until the family ended up at the edge of town in a tiny clapboard house so close to the railroad tracks that it shook every time a train went by.

Charles Day never forgave his brother for being successful and, fueled by his growing anger, eventually added "town drunk" to his list of non-accomplishments. Years later, to no one's surprise, Charles's battered wife left him, as did his three oldest sons, who silently disappeared one after the other as they got old enough to fend for themselves. Eventually, only Charles and his youngest son, William, were left in the shambles of their family home.

Most people expected that William would eventually leave just as his brothers had, but before that could happen, his father—staggering home drunk and alone on a bitterly cold winter night—had slipped and fallen into an icy pond and drowned. His funeral was held two days later, with fifteen-year-old William his only mourner.

The town gossips surmised that William, who looked more like his father than any of his brothers, would naturally follow his father's path of debauchery. True to their expectations, William quit school and was often seen loitering around town. Personally, Sarafina thought that was a harsh way to describe what William was actually doing, which was lingering in front of various businesses, waiting to do all the odd jobs no one else wanted to do. Occasionally, he chatted with a few of the town's other less fortunate young men, who often worked the jobs with him. Over the years, she had seen him loading bags of feed into the backs of wagons at the general store, cleaning stalls in the town stables, and sweeping the sidewalk in front of the mercantile, just to name a few of the tasks he'd shouldered.

Which was why, while she was surprised that William Day had helped her, it wasn't because she thought him rude or unwilling. It was simply because she'd never seen him on this particular path, one she'd taken hundreds of times before. She'd never seen him this close, either. He was taller than she'd realized, and much stronger, too. But the most astonishing difference was how his bright blue eyes—a Day family tell—were flecked with gold.

She noticed all of this because, although he'd released her soon after he'd set her back on her feet, he was still standing much too close.

He must have realized it, too, because his face grew slightly red. Without a word, he abruptly left and headed for the exact path she'd been planning to take, the one that led to the pond.

She should go somewhere else now. That would be the prudent thing to do. But instead, as if the words had been pent up inside her, she blurted out, "Wait!"

He stopped and glanced back at her, his brows knit, distrust in those blue, blue eyes.

Her face warmed even more. Still, she managed to choke out, "I'm going that way, too. We should walk together."

A flash of surprise flickered across his expressive face.

He didn't expect me to offer to walk with him. She supposed there were some people in town who would have eschewed his company, but she wasn't one of them.

To be honest, she was curious about him and had been for a long time now. She'd seen him on Main Street numerous times, sometimes sitting on a bale of hay outside the livery stables, reading a tattered book as he waited to help someone with their horses. She'd overheard the stable owner's wife, Mrs. Marks, saying that William Day might be "wilder than a wet cat" and didn't know good literature, as he "loved those dime novels," but he was good with the horses, even the less tamed ones.

Unbeknownst to many people, especially Miss LaFont and her overgrown sense of outrage, Sarafina loved the same colorful, rag-paper books she'd seen William read. The novels sold for a dime each at the general store and were filled with exciting stories. Her personal favorites contained a female detective named Lucille Freemont, who lived an unforgettable life solving various mysteries and even the occasional murder. While sitting in the boring confines of Miss LaFont's, Sarafina often imagined herself being like the intrepid Lucy Freemont, and one day moving to a big city to become a detective herself.

In fact, Sarafina kept a box under her bed filled with these dime novels, and she read them over and over into the wee hours of the night. She loved them so much that she'd even started writing her own, and often entertained Aunt Jane and Aunt Emily Anne by reading aloud her latest episodes by the fireside in the evenings.

"You took a big chance with that jump." William tilted his head to one side, his gaze locked on hers. "I've never seen a girl do something like that."

His voice was deeper than she'd expected, and far more refined. Another surprise. "Maybe you don't know enough girls."

His eyes twinkled, and a lazy half smile touched his mouth. "Apparently not." His gaze moved across her face and then up to her hair. "You've started wearing your hair up."

Taken aback, she put a hand to her hair. When she'd turned sixteen a few months ago, she'd started pinning her hair up. Aunt Jane said it was an unofficial announcement that Sarafina was no longer a child. It was startling to realize that he'd noticed, as she'd never seen him spare her so much as a glance. Sarafina suddenly realized that William was still standing in front of her, a question in his eyes, and she dropped her hand from her hair and tried to calm her nervous heart. "I'm surprised you noticed."

His smile, which had never left, now widened. "I couldn't miss it."

She didn't know how she was supposed to take that, but if her face got any hotter, it would burst into flames. She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, and his gaze moved to her muddy boots.

She glanced down and realized her skirts were still tucked into her waistband, her petticoats on full display. Oh no! Frantic, she freed her skirts and dropped them back into place. "That was—I didn't realize—I shouldn't have—" The words froze in her throat, and she couldn't think of another thing to say.

His lips quirked as he fought a smile. "I should leave you now. I'm sure you have places to go." He turned away as if to head back down the path.

She hurried to his side. When he looked at her, obviously startled, she said, "You were taking the path to the pond. I'm headed that way, too. We can walk together."

William's smile had disappeared. "I'm not going to the pond. I'm only walking this way until the path turns."

"We can walk that far together, then."

"No," he said shortly. "We can't."

"Why not?" Sarafina was sure her aunts could think of a hundred reasons why she shouldn't walk with William Day, but she'd had enough "rules" for one day.

"People might talk. You know that."

"They're already talking, so—" She shrugged.

"Not in the way they'll talk if they see you with me." He sent her a cold, hard look. "Go home. I have things to do that don't concern you."

Who did he think he was? She lifted her chin in the air and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll go home once I'm done fishing. I've been waiting for this all day."

He grimaced and said in a rather surly tone, "Do what you want, but walk there by yourself." With that, he walked past her and headed down the path in long strides.

She almost had to run to keep up with him. As she walked behind him, she noticed his long, ragged-edged coat as it swirled around his legs. His clothes were clean but roughly mended, the poor stitching on the patches far more in keeping with what one might see on a saddle blanket than a pair of pants.

He cast an impatient glance over his shoulder and, seeing her scrambling to keep pace with him, lengthened his stride yet more.

Soon, she was almost breathless, and yet determined more than ever to stay with him. Panting, she managed to call out, "A polite person would at least pretend we were walking together."

He stopped so suddenly she almost ran into him. He turned and scowled down at her. "Surely you've been warned about me."

She studied his face as she caught her breath. Some people said William was just like his father, but she'd never discerned even a hint of alcohol in either his clear gaze or his steady hands. Now that Sarafina thought about it, she couldn't recall a single negative comment from the town gossips that was based on his actual actions other than that he appeared to know some of the town's other rejects. Who else can he be friends with, since no one will acknowledge him? She lifted her chin and said in what she hoped was a superior manner, "I never listen to gossip."

"Everyone listens to gossip." His gaze moved over her face. "They talk about you, too, you know."

She knew. People talked about her absent father: why he left, why he'd never come back, why he'd abandoned his daughter so soon after his wife's death. They also talked about her two aunts. People said that when there were seven sisters born in the Dove family, the women inherited magical gifts, and Sarafina's aunts were no different. Although their five younger sisters had all moved away years ago, the remaining two still lived in town and had raised her.

Sarafina dearly loved Aunt Jane and Aunt Emily Anne and was rather envious of their unusual talents. Aunt Jane was a diviner who could find lost things, while Aunt Emily Anne could speak to birds. Aunt Jane's ability made her quite popular with the locals, who never failed to call whenever the family cow went wandering or someone was missing a ring or other piece of precious jewelry. But Aunt Emily Anne's family gift was far less welcome, especially by Sarafina, who knew that it was highly likely that some of the birds singing in the trees overhead were spying on her.

She sighed and wished for the thousandth time that she had a special Dove gift, too. Her aunts both swore that the stories she wrote for them displayed an unusual amount of talent, but while Sarafina appreciated their enthusiasm, she knew talent wasn't real magic. Not like theirs.

Still, she loved to write stories for her aunts, magic or not. That was her life now—reading, writing, avoiding her father's scant attention, and attending Miss LaFont's after her father decided during one of his rare visits that she was sadly lacking in social graces.

Aware that William's gaze still rested on her, she sniffed. "I know people talk. What did you hear?"

"That your father never visits, and that your aunts…" He hesi-tated.

Of course. "My aunt Jane is a finder of the lost, and my aunt Em talks to birds. That's just the way things are."

Disbelief flickered in his blue eyes. "Can they really do those things?"

She nodded. "I've seen them."

"That's ridiculous."

"It's the truth. I swear it."

His gaze narrowed, but after a moment he said, "What about your father? Can he do stuff like that, too?"

That almost made her laugh. "No. Aunt Em thinks that's why Papa's always so grouchy. He's a bit resentful. I suppose it's a good thing he visits only once a year."

William shot her a curious look. "Doesn't that bother you?"

She liked that he'd asked that. Whenever she mentioned her father, most people tended to look uncomfortable and then say something condescending, like "He's an important man, so I'm sure he's busy."

But not William. She liked his comment better than the others'. "It used to bother me, but not anymore." In some way, she'd developed a hard casing in the spot of her heart where her father resided.

A soft breeze sent a loose leaf tumbling across the toe of her boot, and she reached down and picked it up. "I see Papa every Easter, and that's enough. To be honest, it would be nice if he'd skip an Easter or two."

If she'd said that to anyone else—even her aunts, who had no love for their haughty and judgmental brother—she'd have been castigated for being rude.

William nodded. "My father wasn't the best, either."

From what she'd heard, that was an understatement. That his father's drinking had ignited an unstable temper was a well-known topic of conversation in every house in town. "Aunt Jane says your dad was a jackass."

A flash of surprise followed quickly by one of amusement crossed William's face. "You're an unusual girl, Sarafina Dove."

She flushed, regretting her impulsive speech. "I shouldn't have said that, should I?"

One corner of William's mouth curled into a half smile. "You're honest. I like that."

There was something unsettling about that half smile. It made her far too aware of him, and in ways she wasn't sure about. Suddenly eager to change the direction of their conversation, she said, "I haven't thanked you for keeping me from falling."

He shrugged. "It wasn't a big deal."

She reached into her pocket and dug out the cornbread she'd been saving and held it out. "Here. Take this as my thanks."

He stared down at the cornbread, and his mouth thinned. "No, thank you. I don't take handouts."

"It's not a handout. It's a thank-you gift."

His jaw tightened. "Keep it."

"There's a whole pan of it waiting for me when I get home." She shook it impatiently. "It's delicious. My aunt Emily Anne made it."

"I said no." His voice was almost harsh.

Goodness, but he had an uncomfortable amount of pride. She sighed, grabbed his hand, and placed the cornbread in it, noticing how rough his fingers felt against hers. "Eat it or feed it to the fish, the choice is yours. Just don't throw it away. If Aunt Em finds out someone has disrespected her baking, we'll both regret it."

He scowled. "You're not giving me much choice, are you?" He muttered something under his breath and then stuffed the cornbread into his coat pocket.

She hid her smile behind a prim sniff. "You're making a big deal out of this. I just wanted to thank you for saving me from getting a dunking, that's all."

"I didn't do that much. But—" After a tight pause, he grimaced. "Thank you."

To hide her smile, she dropped her gaze, noticing his tired-looking boots. They were scuffed and scratched, the heels low and worn down. She wished she had more to share with him than just cornbread.

He nodded toward the path. "Let's go."

Surprised, her gaze flew to meet his.

"I'll walk slower this time." He walked down the path, his stride noticeably shorter than before.

She smiled and took off, hurrying to catch up to him. As she fell into step with him, he moved over slightly so they could walk side by side.

This was nice. Sarafina clasped her hands behind her back and cast him a short side-glance. "Where are you going?"

"I'm meeting a friend."

"Ah." They walked on, and she noticed what a pretty day it was now, the sunlight filtering through the branches, dried leaves crunching under their feet.

"Who taught you to fish?"

"My aunt Jane. She used to fish with her father when she was little. She doesn't fish anymore, though." Aunt Jane had become far too aware of what she called "life's proprieties" to do something so fun, which was a great pity, in Sarafina's opinion.

"How often do you go fishing?"

"My aunts are at their church meeting every Tuesday. I try to come other days, too, but sometimes I can't get away." A crow called from a branch above. Sarafina glanced up into the tree where the bird sat. It stared at her, tilted its head, and gave another caw.

"Stupid tattletale," Sarafina muttered as she came to a stop.

William stood beside her and eyed the bird curiously. "Tattle-tale?"

Sarafina reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a small bag. "If that bird tells Aunt Em I'm here, I'll be in trouble." She poured some breadcrumbs from the pouch into the palm of her hand.

"Hold on. You think your aunt sent that bird to spy on you."

"She doesn't send him; she just rewards him whenever he tells her where I am, so he's permanently on patrol. She calls him ‘Blackwing,' which is a dramatic name for ‘nosy snitch.'?" Sarafina held her cupped hand in front of her and waited.

It took only a few seconds before the crow flew down and landed on her wrist.

William took a startled step back and watched with wide eyes as the bird pecked away at the breadcrumbs.

"There," Sarafina told the bird when he finished. "Stay until I'm ready to leave. Then you can tell Aunt Em where I am. By that time, I'll be headed home."

The bird cawed as if it agreed and, the last breadcrumb gone, flew back to its perch in the branches overhead. Sarafina carefully tightened the drawstring on the little bag and tucked it away.

"That's the strangest thing I've ever seen." He stared up at the trees overhead. "Do they all take bribes like that?"

"The smart ones do." She continued down the path, William falling into step beside her.

She could feel his gaze resting on her from time to time, but she didn't bother speaking and just enjoyed his quiet company. It was nice to have someone to walk with, which was a new feeling, as she didn't have a lot of friends. Most of the girls in town were the sort to find Miss LaFont's detestable school enjoyable, and the few who didn't, the ones she might have been able to strike up a friendship with, weren't comfortable with her aunts and their abilities. Which meant that when she wasn't at Miss LaFont's, Sarafina was usually alone.

Until now, that is.

They reached a fork in the pathway, and William slowed to a stop. "This is where we part. I'm headed this way." He tilted his head toward the other path.

That was too bad. It was odd, but she didn't want their walk to end. "I guess you have a lot to do this afternoon."

"I'm expected back at the stables today. There's a shipment of feed arriving at five."

"I see." She should just say goodbye and leave. And yet she stayed where she was.

So did he. He watched her, his eyebrows lowered. "You should head on to the lake."

She should. She really, really should. And yet she couldn't seem to make her feet move. "I… I don't suppose you'd like to meet me here next Tuesday?" She could tell she'd surprised him, so she hurried to add, "I'll show you how to fish, if you'd like. I know a lot of tricks that could make you really good at it."

His mouth quirked into that half smile she was beginning to like way too much. "I already know how to fish."

Oh. She wished he'd already told her that. "Are you any good at it?"

"I'm not bad."

"Then come next week and we'll fish together." She found herself holding her breath as she waited for his answer, which was ridiculous, because he was going to refuse to do it. He'd already made it obvious he didn't think—

"Tuesday, then. I'll see you at the lake."

She gave an excited hop before she could stop herself. "Tuesday, then!"

His mouth curved into a smile. Before she could say another word, he left, his boots crunching on the fallen leaves that filled the path.

She watched until she couldn't see him anymore, and then, certain she was alone, she gave a happy twirl, going so fast that it left her feeling dizzy. The day now seemed even brighter than before.