The Water Seeker by Kimberly Willis Holt

Author:Kimberly Willis Holt
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780805080209
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

CHAPTER

16

GWENDOLYN WINTHROP looked toward the other tents. She noticed the boy who’d stood outside the mercantile store that morning with the rude little brat. He had stared, too, but unlike the younger boy, he turned away. She didn’t know what bothered her most, the gawking or the shunning. She should be accustomed to both by now. In London the reactions subsided after the customers encountered her a few times. Still, when people spoke to her there, it was as if they didn’t know where to focus. They stared over her shoulder, searching for her mother to rescue them from the awkward situation. Now in this new country, she would have to start over again.

If they only knew she could tell so much about them by just a quick sniff. In London, she’d known Agatha Peabody pined for their delivery man because of the lilac perfume she wore exclusively on Thursdays when he made deliveries. And when Mr. Boden complained about someone breaking into his home and stealing his tobacco and best pipe, she knew the thief was his young son, Charles. She knew about affairs of the heart, gluttons who ate bread pudding for breakfast, and her own father’s penchant for rum. She was the keeper of secrets and the credit belonged to her nose.

Gwendolyn watched the older boy sitting next to a burly man dressed in leather and fur. If that was his father, he looked nothing like him. The boy’s hair appeared as if it had been bathed in sunlight, and unlike the man, he was tall and lean. Thank goodness for the safe distance between them. He couldn’t see her gaze tracing every inch of his body. She began at his head and worked her way down his neck, over to his shoulders, then his arms. Even from where Gwendolyn stood, she noticed his long fingers. She wondered if he was a musician or a poet.

Gwendolyn scanned her way down Amos’s legs, and when she reached his moccasins, she allowed her eyes to travel all the way up his body again. She wondered what he smelled like. Inside the tent, her father grumbled to her mother. Gwendolyn detested him. He was the reason she’d never have the life she dreamed of— a simple life— an adoring husband and children. At least she had books. A heavy sadness overcame her as she glanced back at the boy.

While she admired the boy, she caught a glimpse of the familiar woman dashing behind his tent. The woman always appeared in moments of sadness and pain. The first time she showed up was in London at the home over their store. Gwendolyn was eight years old and had just endured the first of her father’s many beatings. That one merely split her bottom lip and bruised her left cheekbone. Gwendolyn couldn’t remember what she’d said, but her remark had been defiant enough to set off Hale’s quick temper.

After the blow to her face, she escaped to her bedroom and threw herself on the bed, crying into her pillow.

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