On Sparrow Hill (22 page)

“My ship took me to Corsica, where the shores smelled like evergreens. I hiked in the hills, fell asleep on the bracken growing under the trees, ate roasted wild pigs that had fed on island chestnuts. Then we sailed to other islands, to Minorca and Sicily and Crete and others—too many to recall. I saw castles where they locked important people away and dogs that could take care of little children, the sun setting and making the sky and the water and everything around me look purple. And do you know what I learned?”

Katie shook her head, still smiling.

“That families everywhere are very much like ours. Sisters and brothers who take care of each other, even though they live so far away. Do you know what they thought when I told them I was from Ireland?”

“What?”

“That we live in a very strange and wonderful place, just the way we think of them living in a strange and wonderful place.”

She giggled, repeating the phrase that she lived in a strange and wonderful place. Berrie let her gaze linger on Simon, unaware they’d exchanged smiles until it was done. The British Empire—a strange and wonderful place.

Maybe it was.

33

* * *

Rebecca stirred her tea at the kitchen table. It was impossible to be in this room, with its tall shelves and efficient appliances ready for nearly any size crowd, without thinking of the first time Quentin had kissed her.

She barely consumed half of her tea, but it was the only thing her stomach could tolerate. It was early; she’d awakened hours ago after very little sleep. She knew Padgett was awake; she’d heard her playing with her doll in what had become a favorite spot—at the top of the stairs on the oval Persian rug. From there she could see anyone coming from bedroom or office and at the same time listen to anything that happened below as far away as the kitchen. Dana was likely awake as well, though she hadn’t come down for breakfast yet.

Rebecca left her tea at the kitchen table. Even if she couldn’t eat, Dana and Padgett must. Whatever malady Dana suffered these days, eating seemed to help.

Taking a pan from the cupboard and ingredients from the tall refrigerator, Rebecca planned to scramble some eggs and serve them over toast, a simple yet filling meal. If she could tolerate the smell with her own knotted stomach, the meal would pass in peace. They made fine friends, she and Dana, both of them suffering nausea from one source or another. Only Rebecca knew the source of hers.

Quentin would come. He did every day, had done so ever since he’d moved out the day after he’d kissed her at this very kitchen table. She stared at the spot, reliving that moment yet again. What had it meant to him?

Dana didn’t look any better than Rebecca felt when she came into the kitchen. Her obvious discomfort drove Rebecca’s self-pity away. “Sit,” she commanded. “I have tea, eggs, and toast ready.”

“Just the tea and toast, I think,” Dana said.

Rebecca set out the food, taking a seat opposite. “Have you ever been bothered by this kind of nausea before, Dana?”

Dana shook her head, sipping her tea, taking a bit of the toast.

“Dana,” Rebecca said gently, “do you know why you’ve been so sick lately?”

A sigh escaped, almost a cry. Dana nodded. “I’ve been trying not to think about it, but it can only be one thing. I remember these symptoms; my sister had them twice. And nine months later, a baby each time.”

Rebecca knew the normal congratulations weren’t what Dana wanted. “You should see a doctor, or at least take a pregnancy test. I can run to the chemist for you.”

Confusion emerged through the concern on Dana’s face. “The chemist?”

Rebecca nodded. “You know, for the test. To see if you’re pregnant.”

Dana nodded. “You mean the drugstore.”

Rebecca grinned. “Same thing. I’ll go right away.”

Dana grabbed her hand. “But Quentin is bound to be here any minute. You should be here, talk to him about that picture.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I’m brilliant when it comes to delay tactics.”

“It won’t do any good; you’ll have to talk to him.”

“I will.”

“Do you want me to say anything if he gets here before you get back?”

Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t want you worrying about anything for my sake, Dana. You’ve got enough to keep your mind occupied.”

Dana’s eyes welled with tears. “I want to think about you and Quentin instead. I want to help. It’s better than worrying about having a baby—one who’d belong in Berrie’s school if it hadn’t closed all those years ago.”

Rebecca hugged her. “Don’t think it, Dana. It could be wonderful, you know. Giving Padgett a little brother or sister. Having a baby with a man you love so much.”

Dana clung to her. “Months of worry, waiting to see if everything’s all right. I did that with Talie; I don’t want to do it myself.”

Rebecca pulled away to look steadily into Dana’s eyes. “We all manage to get through what God allows, right? He equips us for it.”

Dana nodded but didn’t look convinced.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. In the meantime, eat. You’ll feel better.”

Rebecca hurried out the door.

At the nearest Boots the Chemist shop, Rebecca hadn’t the faintest idea which brand was most reliable for the price. She studied a few packages, finally deciding to ask the dispensing chemist which test would prove most reliable. Twenty minutes and six pounds, fifty pence later, she had the clerk putting the test in a bag, and she made her way out the door.

Where she promptly bumped into a camera-toting young man, who stepped out of her way just long enough to snap her photograph.

34

* * *

I must tell you a secret, Cosima. Forgive me for starting this letter without the usual formalities of sharing my day, but I find myself unable to think properly just now. In your most recent letter, you said Peter would advise me to steer clear of Simon, advice I heed only too well. My brother has Simon pegged right in that he is so staunchly Irish he might be willing to go to extraordinary measures to see Irish independence. And believe me, I want nothing to do with him on a personal level. Truly.

For the past two months, I thought we were managing one another’s company quite well. Last time he visited, just two weeks ago, I shared with you how I enjoyed hearing of his travels. I was relieved to think we might learn to tolerate one another, since he sees Katie so often it is a matter of necessity that her brother and I learn to be cordial. Granted, we generally spend little time in conversation because Katie tends to dominate that, but something happened tonight that I must confess I will have difficulty forgetting. I hope that by telling you, I might put it into proper perspective. I went outside for my nightly walk, thinking Simon had already returned to the inn where he stays during his visits. It was a clear, starry night, and I walked with a prayer until I heard a noise behind me. I turned, and there he was. . . .

“Mr. MacFarland?”

“Yes, it is I.”

“I didn’t expect anyone to be outside. I was startled.”

“Forgive me.”

It was such an odd place to be, on the side of the manor, where no door or garden or indeed anything of interest was to be found. “Were you searching for something?” The question was absurd, especially considering the dark of night, but Berrie was too curious not to inquire the reason for his unexpected appearance.

Simon hesitated only a moment, looked away, then back to behold her gaze. “Yes, actually. You.”

Surprise filled her that he would seek her company without Katie by her side.

“I happened to see you leave, and I wondered where you might be off to at such an hour.”

His lack of trust was as evident as the stars in the sky. “It seems obvious, Mr. MacFarland, that your visits continue not only to see your sister but to check on me, to see if I might be caught in some infraction so you may say ‘Aha! I knew you were the nefarious kind, and I shall quite justifiably take my sister away.’”

He received the accusation solemnly, without denial. “What
are
you doing out here?”

“I walk the circumference of the manor each night, Mr. MacFarland. To see that all’s well.”

His gaze still held hers as if determining either the veracity or the worthiness of such an admission. “Perhaps you should hire a night watchman. Or at least, it seems to me, such a task would be better off to one of your male attendants. That tall one—Duff, I believe you call him—he seems eager to do your bidding.”

How could she admit her nightly walk wasn’t just a service to the school but rather a way of rejuvenating herself? When it wasn’t raining, this was a nightly ritual she anticipated the moment the sun began sinking in the sky. To be alone with no roof between her and God, to breathe in the fresh air that smelled wondrously different at night than it did during their morning drills, to see the stars in all their glorious blue. To pray.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” Not that Berrie had any intention of asking Duff to assume such a duty. She resumed her walk.

As if detecting her lie and unwilling to let it—or her—pass, Simon touched her arm to stop her. The contact was effective. She turned to him expectantly.

“It isn’t safe to be alone in the dark.”

“Our nearest tenant is a good deal down the hill, a family of five quite content to live their life without snooping around our school. A solitary place seldom brings trouble.” The worst she feared was a tree root she’d tripped on a few times in the dark.

“The remoteness doesn’t make it safe, particularly such a large manor house. And beside the human predator, there are other things that make the night unsafe. Bats, rodents, who knows if there may be a wild dog nearby.” He grinned, something Berrie had rarely seen directed her way. She stared at his mouth, unable to glance away. “And you know, don’t you, about all the troubles a leprechaun can bring? Who would know you even needed help, out here alone in the dark?”

She reined in her gaze, redirecting it forward. “Do you often try to inspire fear in others?”

“I’m pointing out things you should have already taken into consideration and therefore asked your Mr. Duff to do this for you.”

She was caught by the way he’d said “your Mr. Duff.” Was that Simon’s reason for searching her out, then? Had he suspected she might be coming out to a rendezvous with Duff? How convenient a scandal would be: disgrace her and make it easy to close the school altogether.

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. MacFarland, but I assure you I’m not alone when I walk at night. My God is my shield and my protector.”

“I hardly think it fair for foolish behavior to stir a busy God into extra duty, do you?”

She wasn’t sure where to start on the various misguided thoughts behind that statement. “Not that I see my behavior as foolish; however, you can hardly put
God
and
busy
in conjunction with one another or you make Him something less than He is, don’t you?”

“True. But in my recollection of theology, there is also an admonition not to test Him. Why purposely force His protection when it’s far more logical to have a night watchman or assign this task to one of the male attendants?”

“I like doing it myself!” Berrie hadn’t meant to admit the truth, though it occurred to her if she had done so sooner, this conversation wouldn’t have gone on or taken such an exasperated undercurrent. “I like the night air, the stars and the moon, the shadows and the sounds. So I won’t be assigning the task to someone else, if you must know.”

She moved forward again but another touch to her arm forestalled her. She turned, startled because his touch was so gentle she wasn’t sure his intention was to give her pause or not.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Confusion drew her brows. “For . . . what?”

“My perceived mistrust of you, following you, interrupting you, irritating you. I believe my offenses—real or at least perceived by you as such—came in that order.”

She let out a small smile. “I believe so.”

“Apology accepted, then?”

She nodded. She would have walked on, returning the way she’d come, back to the front of the manor and inside, but something held her in place.

“Sometimes when you look at me,” he said, his voice low, “I see the deepest mistrust. I wonder if you believe my sole desire is to cast you in the worst of light. I followed you only out of concern, Miss Hamilton. Nothing more.”

How true he’d read her, how accurately observed.

“Even now,” he whispered, “you don’t believe me.”

“No, I suppose I don’t,” she said, taking a step to pass him. He took the smallest step in her path, and suddenly he was far closer than she expected. Then, without warning, he shifted to stand fully in front of her and bent closer so that his face was level with hers. She stood still, knowing she should back away if he did not. She didn’t move.

“I don’t think anything malicious of you,” he whispered. “In fact, I . . .”

He did not finish his statement, and Berrie couldn’t imagine how to do it for him. Instead, she stared at his face, so clear in the moonlight, as if it were the first time she saw him and there were some unseen force pulling her gaze into his. She ought to move away, and yet there she stood, studying and being studied. The exchange couldn’t have lasted more than a moment and yet it seemed far longer.

Simon started to step away, and Berrie rushed to do the same. She couldn’t want to be so near him; this was the man who always brought out the worst in her.

She started to walk away, but she felt his hand fall gently back to her elbow. If he’d moved away it had only been temporary, because here he was again, too close . . . and yet not close enough. An extraordinary thought crossed her mind as she saw him look at her face, his gaze lingering on her lips. For the barest moment, he was contemplating a kiss. She should look away, step back. But she didn’t.

Then his lips were upon hers in a kind of kiss she’d received only once in her life—from Lord Welby back in England. The man who had once said he wanted to speak to her father, then never did.

But this was Simon MacFarland kissing her, and what was more stunning than that, she wasn’t doing a thing to stop him. Instead, her arms went about his neck, her lips pressed into his with equal exploration and intention.