He climbed atop the bed in the last room to peer out the window.
This must be one of the little ones, he thought, gazing down at the cherry trees. But where are the large windows? One must be just on the other side of this wall.
Stepping back into the hallway, he saw that it had ended. There was nowhere to go but back from where he had come.
But where are the largest windows? Where will I place the top? Ugh…now Will won’t believe me.
He ran his hand over the wall, wondering if there was a hidden door. His search was fruitless.
Disappointment and frustration turned his wary stepping to a careless tread as he headed back down the hall and staircase. Taking two steps at a time, Jonathan descended the stairs and burst into the kitchen to see Cook, her eyes wide with surprise, her ugly mouth a little ‘o’.
“Well, there’s certainly no hidden treasure up there,” he announced peevishly and ran out of the kitchen. Rushing through the swinging door, he left it swinging in his wake, back and forth, and ran past where Sophia waited, her little hands clasped over her chest.
“You’re alive!” she cried.
Where’s Will? he wondered, careening past her. He probably won’t believe me.
Will did believe him, but he was no more impressed than usual.
“That’s just where the servants sleep, you idiot,” he said, sorting through his new set of toy soldiers on the front lawn. He shoved a heavily decorated figurine into Jonathan’s hand.
“Here, you be Spain, and I get all the horses this time.”
* * * * * * *
Days later, as they were in the drive climbing into the carriage, Jonathan looked up and remembered the windows.
“Papa? Whose windows are those?” he asked, pointing at the top story.
Holding back the curtain to peer out of the carriage, Sir William answered proudly, “Those are my windows.”
“Well, of course, just as Speed’s stable is yours and Cook’s oven is yours, but who looks out of those large windows on the end there? Who sleeps in those rooms?”
“What, the two largest of the top row?” Papa asked, rumpling Jonathan’s hair. “Those are blind dormers.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is no usable space behind them. They were put there simply because it makes the house look nicer.”
“You mean no one can look through them?” Jonathan asked, baffled, as the carriage jolted into motion.
“The last person to stick his nose up against that glass was the glazer who installed it, nearly 150 years ago, tapping it into place where it would serve no purpose other than glorious pretense.”
“What?” Jonathan asked with such incredulity that his father laughed aloud.
Windows with no purpose but to make the house look more grand?
“Are you going to score a few runs with that new cricket bat today?” Sir William asked.
Jonathan nodded his head absent-mindedly, still contemplating.
Windows that are only for show? How perfectly stupid!
4: The Picking Up of Pebbles
~ Lydia, age 11
Hillcrest Farm
Upon entering the kitchen, Lydia saw her mother peering through the window out at the graveled yard.
“What is it?” Lydia asked, setting the egg basket down on the table.
“Your father’s having Jack pick up pebbles again,” her mother replied, her mouth arching into a little smile. “Most farmers sweeten their deals with a sip of brandy, but your father prefers to use Jack’s spittle.”
Walking to where her mother stood, Lydia looked out to see Jack, bending over, a long strand of saliva dangling from his lips. The men on either side of him watched as he suspended it lower and lower until it touched the ground. Its end rested there for a second before he slurped the whole thing back up again.
Here’s his favorite part, thought Lydia, knowing there was a gleam in her brother’s eyes.
Jack smiled smugly at the men, then opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. Though she couldn’t see it from the distance, Lydia knew that on its tip a tiny pebble was perched.
“There’s a boy!” Smythe’s voice carried across the yard as he roughly pounded his son’s bony back.
“Ha ha!” laughed Farmer Midwinter. “He’s got the trickiest spit in the county! Do it again!”
“Sally!” Smythe turned to holler toward the house as Jack spat out the pebble. Pert, the dog, bounded about them excitedly. “Bring out a bottle of me best!”
Sally shot Lydia a look. “It sounds as if they reached an agreement on the cow. It’s to be spittle and brandy.”
As her mother hurried off, Lydia turned her attention back to the scene outside where Jack, his hands on his knees, was again the men’s focus. She smiled lightly and reached for the egg basket.
5: Vomiting Cherries
~ Jonathan, age 12
Whitehall
Once again, Jonathan sat in the crook of a cherry tree though his lanky body made this less comfortable than in years past. Every spring, he would heft himself up into the burgeoning branches and feast upon their bountiful fruit.
He belched as his stomach reminded him of its limitations.
Just one more, he thought, reaching for a dangling ruby fruit. A bee buzzed around his sun-warmed head.
He spat out the stone and the bee flew off to different territories.
Maybe just one more, he thought and reached over his head again.
Just as his eye settled on what would possibly be his final mouthful, he heard a shout in the distance, and another. He looked around, seeing no one in the yard or orchard. Then the horizon erupted with screams and anguished cries.
In spite of his painfully full belly, Jonathan dropped from the
