II
Mistress Bryte finished shaping the dough into loaves as, from somewhere back toward the cow barn, the sound of screams came to an end. She let her breath out with a sigh, tucked a loose strand of hair back in place, and held her mind on mentally repeating the memorized passage of scripture, feeling calm return to her as she did so.
John Bryte’s voice reached her dimly from somewhere outside, sympathetic, but with a hard unyielding quality:
“No, my lad, not then, or anytime . . . I know how it is . . . But there is no fireplace or chimney in your little shed. It could have set the field afire. That would have burned the barn, and the house, and maybe us. Once it started, we could never have stopped it. We would be driven out! We would have no home, do you understand? No home! . . . Now go clean up that mess, and never do it again or I will whip you till you cannot stand. We can’t fool with fire!”
There came a padding of small feet past the door, and a low voice murmuring, “Wind could catch it . . . Water. Put water on it . . . Stone won’t burn. Keep it in stone. Is safe in fireplace . . . Not let it get out fireplace . . .”
The voice went on past.
Mistress Bryte sighed, and got back to work.