the Gypsies they passed on the road seemed to walk and camp together in sociable groups. Perhaps it had to do with the children’s father, if there was one, for his name was never mentioned.
At every crossing of paths, Esther left scraps of cloth tied on tree branches, or piles of sticks and stones. She did not discuss their significance, or for whom they were intended, and Pell did not presume to ask. Perhaps, Pell thought, this network of pointings and signs added up to some sort of map; perhaps the world surrounding Salisbury Plain existed intact in Esther’s head, complete with every tree and hedge and fork in the road. This made Pell imagine her as an owl, floating silently over the countryside, aware of each stile, each fallen branch, each rut in the road, each mouse and shrew.
But she didn’t know where to find Bean or Jack, which would have been a good deal more useful.
As they traveled along a quiet stretch of road, Esther turned to Pell and asked, in a voice that assigned no importance to the question, “Your father is a preacher?”
Pell nodded, baffled by the woman’s ability to know things. “Yes. A nonconformist man of God. From Nomansland. He lived with us only when no one would pay him to preach elsewhere.”
Esther turned away with a weird smile. “I met a man like that once.”
“He is not the only one plying such a trade.”
“True.” And then, “I hoped to meet that man again.”
Pell frowned. “Most meet such men only when they cannot avoid it.”
“He wronged me twice,” she said. But did not elaborate further.
For a time they were both silent. Then Esther turned once more to Pell, with a slow smile. “And you? You left home to seek your fortune?”
“I left home on my wedding day.”
The other woman threw her head back and laughed, nodding her approval. Neither of them said anything more.
The midday meal was kettle broth made of hot water and bread with a bit of lard and a handful of grubby bram bleberries. Esther stuffed tobacco into her clay pipe and puffed away, sipping her tea, while Pell took Evelina onto her lap and showed the little girl her book of birds. The child’s eyes hardly dared blink, and it occurred to Pell that she had never seen a book before. In an atmosphere of near-religious awe, the child pointed to each bird, her finger hovering off the page, fearful of touching the picture and silent with amazement. Pell told her the names, which Evelina spoke in Romany along with the sound each made. Her favorite was a delicate pencil-and-watercolor sketch of a puffin, at the sight of which her eyes opened wide, astonished that such a bird—with its big bill and orange feet—existed.
Even after Pell put the book away, the child remained stock-still, staring at the place it had been, willing it to return, while Pell gazed at Evelina, willing the hard little face to take the place of the silent boy she’d lost.
Later, Pell found her squatted down, drawing her version of a puffin carefully in the dust with a twig, while the rest of the children gathered round hooting in disbelief. When she saw Pell watching, she stopped drawing and stared back with silent dignity, waiting for her to leave.
Esmé, who had been eyeing Pell with a look of misery and outrage since they set off together, continued to glare at every encounter, as if Bean’s disappearance indicated carelessness on Pell’s part. She had a disconcerting way of stealing up silently when Pell least expected it, hissing a single question over and over: “Where’s Bean?”
Eammon and Errol had different games in mind, running off across the plain in search of things to eat. They disappeared so often, and for such long stretches of time, that no one seemed to notice their absences, or to find it surprising when they appeared now and again with a scrawny chicken or rabbit for the pot. Pell asked if Esther ever worried she might lose them, and she replied that if one or two children went missing there’d
At every crossing of paths, Esther left scraps of cloth tied on tree branches, or piles of sticks and stones. She did not discuss their significance, or for whom they were intended, and Pell did not presume to ask. Perhaps, Pell thought, this network of pointings and signs added up to some sort of map; perhaps the world surrounding Salisbury Plain existed intact in Esther’s head, complete with every tree and hedge and fork in the road. This made Pell imagine her as an owl, floating silently over the countryside, aware of each stile, each fallen branch, each rut in the road, each mouse and shrew.
But she didn’t know where to find Bean or Jack, which would have been a good deal more useful.
As they traveled along a quiet stretch of road, Esther turned to Pell and asked, in a voice that assigned no importance to the question, “Your father is a preacher?”
Pell nodded, baffled by the woman’s ability to know things. “Yes. A nonconformist man of God. From Nomansland. He lived with us only when no one would pay him to preach elsewhere.”
Esther turned away with a weird smile. “I met a man like that once.”
“He is not the only one plying such a trade.”
“True.” And then, “I hoped to meet that man again.”
Pell frowned. “Most meet such men only when they cannot avoid it.”
“He wronged me twice,” she said. But did not elaborate further.
For a time they were both silent. Then Esther turned once more to Pell, with a slow smile. “And you? You left home to seek your fortune?”
“I left home on my wedding day.”
The other woman threw her head back and laughed, nodding her approval. Neither of them said anything more.
The midday meal was kettle broth made of hot water and bread with a bit of lard and a handful of grubby bram bleberries. Esther stuffed tobacco into her clay pipe and puffed away, sipping her tea, while Pell took Evelina onto her lap and showed the little girl her book of birds. The child’s eyes hardly dared blink, and it occurred to Pell that she had never seen a book before. In an atmosphere of near-religious awe, the child pointed to each bird, her finger hovering off the page, fearful of touching the picture and silent with amazement. Pell told her the names, which Evelina spoke in Romany along with the sound each made. Her favorite was a delicate pencil-and-watercolor sketch of a puffin, at the sight of which her eyes opened wide, astonished that such a bird—with its big bill and orange feet—existed.
Even after Pell put the book away, the child remained stock-still, staring at the place it had been, willing it to return, while Pell gazed at Evelina, willing the hard little face to take the place of the silent boy she’d lost.
Later, Pell found her squatted down, drawing her version of a puffin carefully in the dust with a twig, while the rest of the children gathered round hooting in disbelief. When she saw Pell watching, she stopped drawing and stared back with silent dignity, waiting for her to leave.
Esmé, who had been eyeing Pell with a look of misery and outrage since they set off together, continued to glare at every encounter, as if Bean’s disappearance indicated carelessness on Pell’s part. She had a disconcerting way of stealing up silently when Pell least expected it, hissing a single question over and over: “Where’s Bean?”
Eammon and Errol had different games in mind, running off across the plain in search of things to eat. They disappeared so often, and for such long stretches of time, that no one seemed to notice their absences, or to find it surprising when they appeared now and again with a scrawny chicken or rabbit for the pot. Pell asked if Esther ever worried she might lose them, and she replied that if one or two children went missing there’d
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