Star's Crossing

1: The Courting Season Begins

Star's Crossing, Connecticut

1860

Tomorrow.

"Tomorrow." She spoke the word to taste it, brought his letter to her lips. She smelled ink in the parchment, imagined the lilt of his script, the tilt of his hand as he wrote it.

Tomorrow I shall return to Star's Crossing. At last we shall meet.

Tomorrow.

He'd sent the letter expressly, by a luggage carriage that had arrived before dawn. The boys were coming home, and Star's Crossing was wide awake for the first time in what felt like years.

Mare drew her hat over her ears, tracing the lace trim with calloused, ink-stained fingers. Her mother would swat them and cluck her tongue, lamenting Mare's distracted meander and longing sighs.

"No boy wants a girl who's given her heart to books." Her mother would smooth her hair and pinch her shoulders until they straightened. She'd chuck Mare's chin and hold her eyes. "Love is one thing to wish for, child. Romance is another."

But Mare's mother was at the church, preparing for tomorrow night's ball with the rest of Star's Crossing's women. The tailor and baker would be up to their elbows in flour and taffeta, the eyes of the town upon them. Cakes, gowns, music; everything had to be perfect for the boys, as it was every year. Mare sometimes thought the ball was more anticipated than Christmas.

Though it was nearly summer, spring clung to cracks in the cobble and the hem of the mountains in mist and dew, wreaths of pale buds in the dogwoods and bright sprays of determined wildflowers. She knelt to pluck one but hesitated, imagining the next girl strolling the lane would lament its absence. She caressed the silk of the flower's yellow petals instead, and jolted when she realized her dress had dipped into a puddle.

"Mare Atwood!"

Mare leapt to her feet, smoothing her gown, but it was only Alison Watt who approached, ducking out of the bookshop to the chime of the bell above the door. Her chestnut hair was fixed at the nape of her neck, and she wore a fine silk and linen day gown, a pale blue hat atop the ensemble, more fashionable than Mare's by a mile.

"Dallying by the flowers again?" Alison pecked her on the cheek, dusting Mare's shoulder with sable-gloved fingers. "Your mother would have your head."

"She can take it," said Mare, flashing a mischievous smile now trouble was off the table. "Have you had your fitting?"

"In an hour. Felicity's rescheduled twice. I'm beginning to fear I'll attend the gala naked as the birds." Alison pulled a book from her stack and offered it. "Bard's been missing his copy for ages. When I saw it on the shelf, I knew you'd want it first."

Mare traced Austen's name on the embossed cover and sighed. "Northanger Abbey? I hate reading what was published after she died. I feel like I'm peering over her shoulder while she writes."

"Well, don't peer long. Bard's convinced he can use the annex as a library. Do you think Star's Crossing will follow suit? They say Boston's library has become quite the popular sight. I think it's a silly idea. I don't relish the thought of dirty hands where mine will follow."

Mare smiled, bringing Alison's book to her chest. "There we disagree, my friend." Sharing a book was like sharing blood; it required ritual, sacrifice, and eternal binding. Mare thought moonlight and midnight ought to be involved in the affair as well, but this she kept to herself.