The Last Days of Dogtown
Page 116
Judge Cook arrived several weeks before the rest of his family and spent his days at his desk, reading mail and receiving local acquaintances in the library. He met with Judy to review the books and noted, “Mrs. Plant seems quite a treasure. Well done.”
After Judy returned from her interview with their employer, Harriet plied her with questions. “Now there’s a likely looking man. Is he good to you? Is he still in law?
Will he remarry, do you think?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what Joshua Cook has in mind,”
said Judy. “I think it unlikely that he’ll marry again, though.”
“Why’s that? He’s young enough, and easy on the eyes.
Is he pining for his wife, then?”
“Really, Harriet, I haven’t any idea. And I’m not entirely sure I approve of gossiping about the master of the house.”
“Well then, what about you?” she said, brightly.
“Me?”
“I can ask if you’ve ever been married, can’t I?”
Judy smiled in spite of herself. “No. I have not been married.”
“Why not?” Harriet asked.
“No dowry, no family, no prospects.”
“Oh, tosh. You’ve a fine head on your shoulders, and a face that don’t curdle milk.”
“Flatterer!” said Judy.
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The L A S T D AY S of D O G TOW N
“I got me a husband, for a while at least. And you can see I’m no beauty!” Harriet said. “Maybe we should go see the fortune-teller at the tavern that I heard tell of; maybe she can see clear to finding you a husband.”
Judy laughed at the idea. “If you’re talking about Easter Carter, she can’t see into the future any more than you or me.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Well, you heard a pack of nonsense,” Judy said, and told her about Easter’s real gifts, of their days together in Dogtown, and the odd assortment of neighbors they’d known and buried. “Now that we’re both in town, I can’t fathom why we stayed there as long as we did.”
“It’s never easy to make a big change,” Harriet said.
“Anyone left up there anymore?”
“Just one, I believe.”
“Which one?”
“Cornelius Finson.”
“You didn’t mention him.”
“Didn’t I?” Judy said. “There’s not too much to tell, though he is the last African in these parts. He lives by his wits, trapping and hunting. Quite the hermit by now. He took over my old cottage, not that it was ever really mine.