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reams of water even when she wasn't here that was one of the things that made some folks say she was a seeper instead of a torch。 But when she dreamed outside； she always knew she was dreaming。 Here the water was real。
Real in the drips that formed like sweat on the milkjars setting in the stream。 Real in the cold damp clay of the spring house floor。 Real in the swallowing sound of the stream as it hurried through the middle of the house。
Keeping it cool all summer long； cold water spilling right out of the hill and into this place； shaded all the way by trees so old the moon made a point of passing through their branches just to hear some good old tales。 That was what little Peggy always came here for； even when Papa didn't hate her。 Not the wetness of the air； she could do just fine without that。 It was the way the fire went right out of her and she didn't have to be a torch。 Didn't have to see into all the dark places where folks hid theirselfs。
From her they hid theirselfs as if it would do some good。 Whatever they didn't like most about theirself they tried to tuck away in some dark corner but they didn't know how all them dark places burned in little Peggy's eyes。 Even when she was so little that she spit out her corn mash cause she was still hoping for a suck； she knew all the stories that the folks around her kept all hid。 She saw the bits of their past that they most wished they could bury； and she saw the bits of their future that they most feared。
And that was why she took to ing up here to the spring house。 Here she didn't have to see those things。 Not even the lady in Papa's memory。 There was nothing here but the heavy wet dark cool air to quench the fire and dim the light so she could be just for a few minutes in the day a little five…year…old girl with a straw poppet named Bugy and not even have to think about any of them grown…up secrets。
I'm not wicked； she told herself。 Again and again； but it didn't work because she knew she was。
All right then； she said to herself； I am wicked。 But I won't be wicked anymore。 I'll tell the truth like Papa says； or I'll say nothing at all。
Even at five years old； little Peggy knew that if she kept that vow； she'd be better off saying nothing。
So she said nothing； not even to herself； just lay there on a mossy damp table with Bugy clenched tight enough to strangle in her fist。
Ching ching ching。
Little Peggy woke up and got mad for just a minute。
Ching ching ching。
Made her mad because nobody said to her； Little Peggy； you don't mind if we talk this young blacksmith feller into settling down here； do you？ Not at all； Papa； she would've said if they'd asked。 She knew what it meant to have a smithy。 It meant your village would thrive； and folks from other places would e； and when they came there'd be trade； and where there was trade then her father's big house could be a forest inn； and where there was a forest inn then all the roads would kind of bend a little just to pass the place； if it wasn't too far out of the way little Peggy knew all that； as sure as the children of farmers knew the rhythms of the farm。 A road house by a smithy was a road house that would prosper。 So she would've said； Sure enough； let him stay； deed him land； brick his chimney； feed him free； let him have my bed so I have to double up with Cousin Peter who keeps trying to peek under my nightgown； I'll put up with all that just as long as you don't put him near the spring house so that all the time； even when I want to be alone with the water； there's that whack thump hiss roar； noise all the time； and a fire burning up the sky to turn it black； and the smell of charcoal burning。 It was enough to make a body wish to follow the stream right back into the mountain just to get some peace。
Of course the stream was the smart place to put the blacksmith。 Except for water； he could've put his smithy anywheres at all。 The iron came to him in the shipper's wagon clear from New Netherland； and the charcoal well； there was plenty of farmers willing to trade charcoal for a good shoe。 But water； that's what the smith needed that nobody'd bring him； so of course they put him right down the hill from the spring house where his ching ching ching could wake her up and put the fire back into her in the one place where she had used to be able to let it burn low and go almost to cold wet ash。
A roar of thunder。
She was at the door in a second。 Had to see the lightning。 Caught just the last shadow of the light but she knew that there'd be more。 It wasn't much after noon； surely； or had she slept all day？ What with all these blackbelly clouds she couldn't tell it might as well be the last minutes of dusk。 The air was all a…prickle with lightning just waiting to flash。 She knew that feeling； knew that it meant the lightning'd hit close。
She looked down to see if the blacksmith's stable was still full of horses。 It was。 The shoeing wasn't done； the road would turn to muck； and so the farmer with his two sons from out West Fork way was stuck here。 Not a chance they'd head home in this； with lightning ready to put a fire in the woods； or knock a tree down on them； or maybe just smack them a good one and lay them all out dead in a circle like them five Quakers they still was talking about and here it happened back in '90 when the first white folks came to settle here。 People talked still about the Circle of Five and all that； some people wondering if God up and smashed them flat so as to shut the Quakers up； seeing how nothing else ever could； while other people was wondering if God took them up into heaven like the first Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell who was smote by lightning at the age of ninety…seven and just disappeared。
No； that farmer and his big old boys'd stay another night。 Little Peggy was an innkeeper's daughter； wasn't she？ Papooses learnt to hunt； pickaninnies learnt to tote； farmer children learnt the weather； and an innkeeper's daughter learnt which folks would stay the night； even before they knew it right theirselfs。
Their horses were champing in the stable； snorting and warning each other about the storm。 In every group of horses； little Peggy figgered； there must be one that's remarkable dumb； so all the others have to tell him what all's going on。 Bad storm； they were saying。 We're going to get a soaking； if the lightning don't smack us first。 And the dumb one kept nickering and saying； What's that noise； what's that noise？
Then the sky just opened right up and dumped water on the earth。 Stripped leaves right off the trees； it came down so hard。 Came down so thick； too； that little Peggy couldn't even see the smithy for a minute and she thought maybe it got washed right away into the stream。 Oldpappy told her how that stream led right down to the Hatrack River； and the Hatrack poured right into the Hio； and the Hio shoved itself on through the woods to the Mizzipy； which went on down into the sea； and Oldpappy said how the sea drank so much water that it got indigestion and gave off the biggest old belches you ever heard； and what came up was clouds。 Belches from the sea； and now the smithy would float all that wa