I just moved in when Ivy Perkins went to live with her sister in Lanesville, and no one ever told me to leave. I guess there’s still no claim on it if Cornelius is there.”
Harriet smiled. “Sounds like a good story to me. Did he have a wife?”
“No,” said Judy, firmly.
Harriet perked up at the certainty in that answer. “You seem awful sure about that.”
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“Well, I suppose I don’t know for certain,” said Judy, giving away nothing. “Is there anything you wish me to order for dinner tonight?”
Harriet’s good-natured but persistent questioning about everything on Cape Ann ended with the arrival of the summer guests. The responsibility of running the house consumed Judy’s waking hours. She could hardly finish a sentence without interruption, as a hundred small details demanded her immediate attention.
The children arose early, needing breakfast. Card games and conversation lasted late into the night, with calls for savories and cider. All day, the sea air sharpened city appetites so that the kitchen never stopped and Judy was pressed into service, helping organize seaside picnics, elaborate teas, and formal dinners.
The young ones tracked sand everywhere, trampled flowers, spilled food, and filled the place with shrill shouts and giddy laughter. A nursemaid followed them from one adventure to the next, but Judy had to oversee the unending cleanup in their busy wake, while anticipating the needs of adults used to a much larger staff.
She felt a great sense of satisfaction in keeping the linens fresh, the larder filled, and the guests fed. She basked in the Judge’s pride in his well-run house. In bed, she relived the day’s failings (not enough milk for the children’s supper) and triumphs (praise for the gardens). But on the August morning she found herself cutting late roses for the dinner table, she realized that she’d been cheated out of a whole
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summer’s pleasures. She could not recall smelling the lilacs that year. She had not said much more than hello to Easter since June, nor visited with the Youngers. She had brought Polly in to do some mending, which at least got her up to date on the news about her little boys.
Harriet found a fresh source for Dogtown stories in Polly, who obliged with old tales of witches, a detailed recitation about the terrible Tammy Younger, and the notorious Mrs. Stanley.
“Doxies in Dogtown!” Harriet exclaimed. “Whatever happened to the boy?”
“He goes by the name of Maskey now, and he built himself a fine house in the center of Sandy Bay,” Polly said.
“He’s quite the model citizen, a church deacon. Have you seen him in his whiskers, Judy? And that ebony cane? He wears boots that give him an extra two inches, and they make him strut like a little rooster. He’s a bit of a laughing-stock, I’m afraid.
“He hasn’t married, though he might have his pick.
He’s an odd one,” said Polly. She glanced at Judy and said,
“Some folks say he’s as strange as Cornelius Finson.”
“What about that Cornelius fellow?” Harriet asked.
“I’m simply fascinated by the Africans.”
“He keeps to himself more than ever,” said Polly. “My Oliver worries about the poor man. We got to know him quite well a while back.” She told Harriet about how their dog found Cornelius lying on the road, and how Oliver had brought him to stay with them till he was well enough to go.
“How extraordinary,” Harriet said, “taking a stranger into your home like that. My goodness.”
“Cornelius wasn’t a stranger, really,” Polly said.
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