Page 35 of The Duke of Ruin
Simon heard the edge of disappointment in her offer, and even if he hadn’t, he wasn’t going to let her bow out. “Of course you do. We’ll find someone else to join us.” He looked at the younger Pickford. “Whose side?”
“It seems to be brother against brother.” He winked at Jonathan. “I’ll be on theirs.”
Matthias looked pleadingly up at Simon, his brown eyes wide and limpid. “We need someone else.”
“Can I be on your team, Matthias?” The boys’ mother had come out, and so had Mrs. Haskins and her daughter, who’d taken charge of the Tafts’ daughter.
“What about Mary?” Mr. Taft asked before glancing back toward the inn, where Miss Haskins held the girl in her arms.
“She’s fine,” Mrs. Taft said. “So how about it, Matthias?”
He looked torn. Simon could tell he loved his mother, but that he maybe didn’t think she’d be good at this endeavor. Crouching down to the boy’s height, Simon whispered, “Are you worried that your mother won’t be able to make snowballs?”
Matthias shook his head. “She’s not a good thrower,” he said gravely. And not too quietly. A quick glance toward Mrs. Taft and the quirk of her lip showed that she’d heard her son.
“I bet she makes excellent cakes. Am I right?” Simon asked.
Matthias nodded. “The very best.”
“Well, then I wager she’ll be exemplary at making snowballs. Shall we charge her with that duty? It’s always best to have someone keeping up our supply.”
The boy’s eyes lit, and his lips spread into a wide smile. He looked at his mother. “Mama! Mama! We have the best job for you!”
She laughed and patted the boy’s head. “So long as you promise me this will be quick. It’s too cold to be out here long, and I swear I just felt a snowflake on my nose.”
Simon looked up and was rewarded with a wet droplet landing square in his eye. He dropped his head down to his chest and blinked rapidly.
“Are you all right?” Diana’s hand touched his bicep, jolting him to awareness.
He wiped his fingers over his eye and blinked some more. “Fine, thank you.”
She nodded at him and walked away from him to join her team.
Everyone turned toward Simon and seemed to be waiting for him to take charge. It had been ages since anyone had looked to him. He hesitated, but only for a moment.
Clearing his throat, he addressed the group in a loud voice. “Since it’s so cold, there will be a time limit on the fight. Five minutes.” The Taft boys’ faces instantly fell, but Simon jumped to reassure them. “It sounds short, but it will be a vast amount of time once you begin to get wet.”
“I’m not going to get wet,” Jonathan announced. “I’ll be too fast to hit.”
Simon smothered a smile at the boy’s confidence. “Even so, you’ll find it’s plenty long enough. No throwing snowballs in people’s faces—that will get you tossed out.” The Taft boys looked even more dejected, and their father gave them both reproving looks. “If at any time you wish to remove yourself from the game, simply step over to the overhang. Or, if you’re terribly freezing, go on inside.” He looked around at everyone. “Is that acceptable?”
There were nods all around, albeit reluctant ones from the young boys.
Their mother put her hands on her hips. “Perhaps we should just go inside right now.”
The boys immediately stood straighter and shook their heads. They lost their air of gloom, and anticipation crept over their features.
“We’ll take one minute to make snowballs before we begin. Go!” He hurried to the doorway of the inn and asked Mrs. Haskins if she could keep time.
“I think Mr. Emerson has a pocket watch,” she said. “I’ll just run in and get it.”
With a nod, Simon returned to his team, who were busily making snowballs under the guidance of Mr. Pickford, the elder.
“Mama, you need to make them faster if you’re to be our snowball maker,” Matthias said rather sternly for a child his age. His admonition was tinged in irony because he was having the devil’s time with his own snowball.
Simon crouched down once more. “Here, let me show you.” He scooped a handful of snow and curled his hand up around it. Then he covered the snow with his other hand and squeezed his palms together, keeping them rounded, to make the ball. “You want to press tightly to keep the snow together, but nottootightly or it will fall apart. It takes a bit of practice.”
Matthias concentrated on doing precisely what Simon said. When he was finished, he opened his hands and smiled widely. “I did it!”
