Next to the orchard there stood an abandoned hut. An old woman, a friend of Grandmother, had lived there, and on occasion Judith had carried a parcel for her in exchange for a sweet. But the woman had suffered a fall, and she’d left to live in the care of her son two years before. She still owned the house, but she did not visit. She’d entrusted the upkeep of it to Judith’s sister, but it was Judith who looked after it. Vegetation had grown and spread, battering the withered structure, but the roof remained solid. Judith sometimes went in, lit a fire, and sat on the creaky bed to read, thus escaping the store and the guesthouse.
Grandmother had chided Judith when she caught her reading, saying there were chores to do, but she did not chide Alice when she stood in front of the mirror brushing her hair, or when she sat in the parlor looking at magazines with fashion plates. Grandmother was dead, and now Judith could open a book until its spine cracked, sitting with ferocious delight in the warmth of the hut for a little while.
One day, when she stood outside the hut counting the large yellow mushrooms in her basket, Nathaniel strode by.
“The hour is late,” he said. “Your sister said I should fetch you.”
She was upset by his intrusion, upset even more at Alice for telling him where he might find her. This had been a spot where the girls had played together when they were younger, before Alice married and gave herself airs, rubbing expensive almond creams on her face and scenting her handkerchiefs with perfume.
“It’s market day tomorrow,” he said. “Alice wants you to head home and make the beds. There are people who will be arriving to spend the night.”
The inn, the guesthouse, and the tavern accommodated travelers who sold their wares at the market, housing the more upstanding and wealthy people. The common farmers and the young laborers standing in bunches, like flowers pressed together, arrived very early in the morning to sell or buy wares instead of journeying the previous evening. A few lodged with friends. Some even slept in the fields, like common vagrants.
“Can’t she make the beds herself?” Judith asked. She would not have normally voiced her thoughts, but as the season wore itself thin, Alice did her utmost minimum to help around the house. Her sister had always been like this, but for a little while that summer she had attempted to become an industrious woman, perhaps in a show of false domesticity for her new husband. The novelty had worn off.
Nathaniel did not reply. Having been told he had to shepherd her home, he would not let her escape. Irritated, she walked with him back to the guesthouse.
In the morning she was up early. It was the last market day of the season. After this the village would cloister itself, but that day, for a few precious hours, it was a riotous hub of activity. There were eggs to be sold, salted fish, and sacks of potatoes, but also finer goods: chests of tea, dried fruit, chocolate, ribbons and lace, scented soaps, tobacco, and tooth powder. Nathaniel sold furs, and Judith was supposed to help him.
How she had loved market day in previous years, but this fall it was unbearable to stand next to Nathaniel as he spoke to customers—to stand so close to him in their little stall as he smiled pleasantly at her when her heart was bursting with discontent and restlessness.
While Nathaniel was busy talking to a man, Judith slipped away. She looked at the other stalls, wishing she had enough money to buy expensive combs or lace, but she received from her sister nothing but a few coins for her work, and those were begrudged her even though Alice had bought herself new shoes, a new shawl, and bolts and bolts of fabric for her trousseau. Needless expenses, since Alice was already outfitted, yet she acted as though she’d been a first-time bride.
Judith kicked a pebble and stopped to look at the bookseller’s cart.
“Hello, Miss Judith, looking for a light read? I have a good stock of women’s books,” he said, patting a pile to his left. He picked up a book of illustrated fairy tales.
Judith might have normally been satisfied with such fare, with the manuals for embroidering flowers he had on display or the light novels with long-suffering heroines who were always blessed with happiness on the last page. That day, however, she was despondent.
“I’d like to see what you have there,” she said, pointing to a chest the man was leaning on.
“Oh, no, those books are not for you,” the man said, straightening up. “Here is a proper book of fairy tales for young ladies, with the moral of the fable explained on the last page of each story.”
“Why can’t I have the other books?”
“They’re bawdy little volumes for men.”
Judith knew as much, though she’d never gazed upon a “bawdy” book up close. Plenty of village youths paid for those wares and squirreled them away quickly, marching toward the inn or another spot where they might share a drink and laugh together at the content between the covers.
“How much for one of them?”
“I could not.”
“I have the money,” she insisted.
“Your sister would throttle me if she heard I sold you this, Miss Judith,” the man said.
“Let me look at one of those books,” a man said.
A stranger stepped up next to Judith. He was neither a farmer nor a merchant. His clothes seemed to have been rather fine at one point, but now they were dirty and had been mended too many times. His long, black coat was frayed at the bottom. His hair was tied at his nape, and he did not wear a hat, as any decent man should, although he did have gloves, which seemed made of good leather. Perhaps he was a gentleman who had fallen low or a vagrant who had gathered a few decent garments from a charitable Samaritan. Probably the latter.
The bookseller hesitated but opened the chest and handed the man a book. The stranger flipped through it and asked about the price. When the bookseller named it, he gave him a few coins.
Judith began walking away, but the stranger caught up with her in a few quick strides.
“Do you want to read this?” he asked.
“Yes, but you bought it, so what?” she replied.
“I’ll sell it to you.”
“You’ll hike the price.”
“Not at all. Clearly you wanted it and wouldn’t be able to obtain it without intercession. Meet me behind the inn at dusk. You can have it for cheap.”
“Give it to me now.”
“A man is coming for you,” the stranger said, looking behind her, and he smiled.
Judith turned around and saw Nathaniel approaching her. He had his hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face. The stranger scurried away.
“Was that vagabond bothering you?” he asked.
“He was asking if he could lodge in the stable for free. I told him we can’t offer that kind of charity,” Judith said, hoping Nathaniel wouldn’t notice the fib.
The guesthouse was busy, and it took Judith longer than she expected to slip out. She rushed behind the inn, and when she arrived, she found herself alone under the branches of a crooked tree. Perhaps he had come and left. She cursed under her breath.
“You’re late,” a voice said. She was surprised to see a piece of darkness slip away from the tree. The man had been tucked rather snugly against its trunk; she had not spotted him. When his face was finally visible, she noticed his sharp grin.