The Abernathy house lay on the edge of Dalkirk, next to the road out of town, behind a stone wall that was just tall enough to keep the neighbor’s sheep out. It was an old house, so much so that the maples planted to shade it were dying of old age. One had already succumbed, its branches remaining bare when spring coaxed its fellows to sprout new buds that year. A storm had blown out of the west two weeks back, and when it passed, it left the dead maple lying across the Widow Abernathy’s garden, the wall, and into the road. Passersby had managed well enough, but the elderly woman had been forced to make due with the debris, until she spotted the solution to her problem unloading a wagon in the market the previous day.

Dunstan and Elspeth joined Mrs. Abernathy for a cup of tea and pleasantries, before Dunstan asked where he could find an ax and a whetstone. He set to work sharpening the ax, while El helped their host with a few things around the house that had just needed another pair of hands. When he was satisfied with the edge on the borrowed implement, Dunstan stepped outside and began breaking down the fallen maple into manageable pieces. It wasn’t difficult work, and Dunstan was happy to have something to take his mind off things.

He’d finished chopping the truck and limbs into a size he could move, and was carrying them to a pile near the house when he heard someone call.

“You there, boy! Come over here! I have some more work—” the woman’s voice cut off abruptly when he turned around. She was standing on the road, next to the spot where the falling tree had smashed a hole in the stone wall. She was roughly his parents’ age, wearing a yellow bonnet on her head and a green dress. Her face was pinched into a grimace.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his heart sinking. He’d recognize Adelia Shrike anywhere.

“Certainly not,” she snipped. “Where is Mrs. Abernathy? You’d better not have done anything to her!”

“I think she’s inside,” Dunstan gestured toward the door.

“I’m not turning my back on the likes of you!” she crowed. Dunstan frowned.

“Would you like me to fetch her?” he asked, feeling the heat rising in his face.

“Don’t you go anywhere, and don’t come any closer, either! We’ll just see if you’re telling the truth when she gets here!” she insisted. “Helene! HELENE! Come out here!”

A moment passed while Mrs. Shrike continued to shout, before Dunstan was rescued by Mrs. Abernathy opening her door.

“What is all the commotion out here?” she demanded.

“I caught this wicked Wainwright boy stealing your firewood,” boasted Mrs. Shrike, with a look of utter triumph upon her face. “And I’ve no doubt he’s the one who vandalized this wall,” she added, gesturing at the hole left by the dead maple tree. Mrs. Abernathy stared at her for a moment.

“Well?! Aren’t you going to thank me?” The silence of her favor’s recipient seemed to cause Mrs. Shrike even further affront.

“I can’t decide if you’re deranged or just drunk,” Helene Abernathy remarked, as she crossed her arms and glared at the appalled Adelia Shrike.

“What did you say?!” she shrieked, the volume and pitch of her voice ascending rapidly.

“You heard me plain enough. I’ve been looking for someone to deal with that tree since spring, and no one could be bothered, much too much to do! Then, exactly as I said would happen, a storm came along and pushed it over, and still, no one has time to help an old woman.” She pointed her finger at Mrs. Shrike. “You walk past this house every day, and never saw fit to stop by and ask after my welfare, when I could have been killed by that falling on me!” she waved a hand at the deadfall. “Now I find you out here harassing poor Dunstan, when you refused to send your husband or son to deal with that tree, not even when you had to walk around it to attend to your errands!”

“They’re much too busy! Besides, I never dreamed you’d hire that Wainwright devil to pick it up! Why, the best that could be said about him is that he’s insane, and the alternative is that he practices witchcraft! In either case, he ought to be locked up! I can’t believe you’d disrespect your neighbors by bringing him here!”

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“I didn’t hire him to do anything, I asked him to help, and he was happy to do so! He’s a nice young man whose parents raised him right!” Mrs. Abernathy put her hands on her hips. “I suppose your poor son never stood a chance, that’s why he’s always too busy putting his sweaty palms where they aren’t wanted to do any honest work!”

“Those girls are all liars! My Caleb is an upstanding young man who goes to Mass every Sunday!” Mrs Shrike retorted. Dunstan tilted his head in confusion.

“I go to Mass every Sunday,” he pointed out, though he decided not to mention that he saw Caleb Shrike there only occasionally.

“DON’T TALK BACK TO ME!” howled Mrs. Shrike at Dunstan, who took a step back in alarm. She paused to inhale, no doubt getting ready to launch into another tirade, when something struck the side of her head. She reached a hand up and touched her shoulder, which was now covered in the slimy remnants of a broken egg. Her face was a mask of incomprehension and shock.

“That’s right, and I’ve got plenty more where that came from!” Mrs. Abernathy informed her with a vicious smirk. “Now, I think it’s time you stop making a nuisance of yourself and take your leave. We’ve all had quite enough of your nonsense for one day!”

Adelia Shrike looked around, then turned on her heel and stomped off. Dunstan had just let himself exhale in relief, when she paused to let out a scream of nearly inhuman fury. A few windows opened in nearby houses, and a couple of concerned neighbors began walking up the road toward them.

“Dunstan, dear,” Mrs. Abernathy said, “why don’t you come inside and wash up, then we’ll have some apple pie? I’ll explain about Mrs. Shrike’s little tantrum to the neighbors, don’t worry yourself about it.”

Dunstan was happy to do as she asked, and did his best to ignore the nervous fluttering sensation in his stomach as he walked into the house. His hands shook as he washed them in the basin, he got water all over the countertop when he tried to splash a bit on his face.

“Are you alright?” Elspeth asked. “I ran for Mrs. Abernathy as soon as I noticed Adelia Shrike talking to you, I’m so sorry Dunstan!”

“I’m fine, El,” he muttered, drying his hands by wiping them on the knees of his trousers. “What were you doing that you had to run for her?”

“I was gathering eggs while she put the pies together, that’s where it came from! She grabbed one and stuffed it in her apron, then marched over to the door!” Elspeth laughed. “I’ve wanted to do that for years! Mrs. Shrike is always so awful!”

They heard voices outside, Mrs. Abernathy and a few others. Someone raised theirs angrily, but the widow matched them for tone and volume, and they didn’t try again. She said something else, and there were a couple of laughs.

“I’ll bet she just told them about the egg. She’ll be the hero of the whole village before long, Adelia Shrike is terrible to everyone!”

“Yeah,” Dunstan said, leaning against the counter while he hung his head.

“What’s the matter?”

“Adelia Shrike is awful, but that doesn’t mean people like having me around. I see them whisper when I walk by. Some of them don’t even bother to lower their voices, they just call me a freak, and if I overhear, so much the better, at least then I know my place!” He wiped his red-rimmed eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and blinked furiously. “Got dirt in my eye...”

Elspeth took a step towards him, but he waved her off.

“I just need a moment, alright? I’ll be fine.”

Elspeth nodded, then walked over to the table and sat down. Dunstan breathed deeply to calm himself, joining her a moment later.

Mrs. Abernathy opened the door, bid farewell to someone over her shoulder, and came inside.

“What a bunch of useless louts,” she groused as soon as the door was closed. “No time to help with that dead tree all season, but Adelia Shrike starts some mischief, and they all have to come over and gossip about it. Men are gossips, my dear Elspeth, don’t let anyone tell you differently!” She grabbed a knitted potholder and marched over to the oven. “Except our sweet Dunstan, of course, he knows better.” She set the steaming apple pie on the table in front of them. “While that cools, we’ll brew some tea to wash it down with.”

“Now don’t you waste any time thinking about Adelia Shrike,” she said to Dunstan a few minutes later, watching him over the rim of her teacup. His felt his face redden and kept his eyes on his pie. “That one likes to cause trouble, it’s no reflection on you what she does. Sometimes our lives don’t turn out the way we’d like, probably more often than not. It’s natural enough to have strong feelings about that, but it isn’t right to make those feelings everyone else’s problem. Do you hear what I’m telling you, young man?”

Dunstan looked up and met the sharp look in her eyes. He nodded in acknowledgment.

“Good. See that you learn from Adelia’s example, and don’t repeat her mistakes.”

When they were done, Mrs. Abernathy pressed a couple of coins into Dunstan’s hand despite his protests, then sent them home with the rest of the pie, and a jar of the dried apples she’d used to make it. There weren’t many people on the road, and none of them gave the brother and sister anything other than a polite greeting. Dunstan was relieved; the last thing he wanted was more trouble, because he was certain that Adelia Shrike wasn’t finished with him yet.