On Sparrow Hill (25 page)

Near lunchtime Rebecca took Padgett back to the kitchen, hoping Dana had called Aidan by now. He not only had a right to know, he was probably the only one who could really help her get through this.

Rebecca let Padgett spread a piece of bread with jam, which wobbled its way from knife to table, a bit of it splashing coincidentally onto the bread. Rebecca laughed and helped, grateful for one thing: at least her mind wasn’t on herself. It was silly to dwell on Caroline Norleigh.

While Rebecca finished making sandwiches for Dana and herself, she sent Padgett to the office for her mother. Even if she wasn’t finished with those records, she needed to eat.

“Mommy’s not there,” Padgett said, staring up at Rebecca with wide blue eyes that weren’t in the least worried, trusting Rebecca would know where next to look for her missing mother.

“Did you check in her bedroom?”

Padgett shook her head.

“Let’s go have a look, shall we? Maybe she needed to use the toilet.”

“The baffroom,” Padgett corrected.

Taking the child’s hand, Rebecca nodded, adding a smile though she wanted to jump to any number of worries. It was too quiet for someone to be in the lavatory; she could hear water running from any room in the Hall. Upstairs the quiet was more definite. She wasn’t surprised to find both Dana’s and Padgett’s rooms empty.

“I suppose she went for a walk, then,” Rebecca said, leading the way downstairs again. “Let’s go look.”

They went out the front door. If Dana had exited the back and headed anywhere near the farm, they would have easily spotted her. Rebecca wondered what Padgett must think, whether she found it odd her mother had chosen to go outside but not in their direction.

“There she is!”

Rebecca followed Padgett’s path straight to the pond, where Dana sat on the bench nearby. It offered a peaceful view of the water and the countryside beyond the Hollinworth land. Rebecca didn’t often come this way, preferring the view from the back.

“It’s lunchtime, Mommy.” Padgett crawled up to her mother’s lap. “How come you’re out here all by yourself?”

“I just needed to think awhile.” Dana gave her daughter a smile. “Let’s go have lunch, okay?”

She stood, carrying Padgett in her arms. Rebecca stepped forward, reaching for the child. “Mind if I carry you, Padge?”

Though the child nodded, reaching for Rebecca, Dana didn’t let go. “If anything were to go wrong because of me carrying her, it would have happened already.”

Something in the way she said it made Rebecca wonder if Dana almost hoped something might end this pregnancy. Rebecca chastised the thought; no sense reading something that might not be there, especially a thought as unfair to Dana as that.

“Everything okay?” Rebecca asked, once Padgett resigned herself to staying in her mother’s arms, resting her head on Dana’s shoulder.

“Oh, couldn’t be better.” There was that tone again. “I’m making a list of all the things I might want to worry about in the future. I certainly have enough material.”

“You mad, Mommy?” Padgett asked. She might not be able to understand the words, but she understood the same tone Rebecca heard.

“No.” Dana offered another smile, this one a little tighter, narrower. “Just a little sad. It’s okay to feel that way sometimes.”

“Okay, just so you’re not mad.” Padgett grinned. “I hope you won’t be sad much longer. ’Cause that makes me sad.”

Dana leaned closer to Padgett, rubbing her daughter’s nose with her own. “You know what? You just made me feel better. Give me a kissie.”

Padgett kissed her mother’s cheek, then squirmed to the ground and raced ahead, reaching the door first.

“Before you ask, no, I didn’t call Aidan.” Dana stopped, turning to Rebecca.

The transformation was amazing; in one instant she’d convinced Padgett she was fine, almost convincing Rebecca as well. But she wasn’t. The look on her face now proved it. Rebecca said nothing.

“How am I going to tell him, Rebecca? I can’t even think about it without being terrified.”

“I don’t know Aidan very well, Dana, but I do know he loves you. His reaction might be better than you think.”

She folded her arms. “I’m not worried about his reaction. He’ll remind me there’s a fifty-fifty chance of everything being fine, be the first one to tell me everything will be all right. He might even be able to convince himself of that.”

“And he might be right.”

“Please! I don’t need two optimists around me.”

They heard Padgett’s call to hurry up, that she was hungry, and they resumed the path to the front door.

Rebecca wished she could do more than offer a place of refuge, a home that wasn’t even her own. She wished she knew how to offer hope that was more immediate than eternity, more tangible than a distant future, more secure than either one of them felt.

But she didn’t know how.

38

* * *

My dear Cosima,

I hate to begin with bad news, but this regards your cousin Finola and her son, Conall. Not to worry about either one’s health, however. It is a legal matter. Since Conall is so young, our license does not extend to students his age. The Commission says we cannot keep him, even though his mother is here with us. It is a problem even Simon MacFarland cannot fix, and so Finola will have to leave us. And go where, we cannot guess. Perhaps her brother will have a change of heart, though I doubt that, given the fact he has not visited or contacted her since she arrived and so I cannot help believing he doesn’t miss her in the least.

She has already packed, telling us she will go back to her friend in Dublin, where she shall prepare to beg her brother to take her back in. . . .

“I hardly know what to say,” Berrie told Finola, who stood at the door with her two bags filled, Conall at her side.

Surprisingly enough, Duff was nowhere to be seen. Jobbin waited outside in the misty rain to drive Finola into town, where she would await a coach to Dublin.

“There’s nothin’ to be said,” Finola replied. She handed her bags to Jobbin, who put them in the back of the wagon. He would be damp by the time they arrived at their destination, since the driver was subject to the weather, but at least Finola and Conall would be more comfortable beneath the canvas top that stretched along the rear. “I’ve come to expect bad news at my doorstep; it’s happened from my childhood. Nessa will understand. She’s an O’Brien by birth, and they’ve always known to expect the worst.” She smiled wistfully as she climbed into the wagon. “My friend has welcomed me before, my Nessa O’Brien O’Donnell.” The singsong name carried affectionately on Finola’s lips, and Katie repeated it even as she handed Finola her son. Neither Katie nor Conall appeared to notice Finola’s sadness. “There’s naught to be done for me, at least until my wee one’s not so wee anymore.”

“His twelfth birthday seems far off,” Berrie said. “But we’ll always have a cot for him. And you, too, Finola.”

She nodded, eyes downcast, perhaps to hide a tear. She left then, and Berrie watched the wagon rumble down the rutted lane.

Duff never came, not with so much as a wave.

39

* * *

Rebecca gazed at the night sky and thought of van Gogh’s
Starry Night
, the way a few clouds swirled around stars bright enough to shine through. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of roses from the garden first planted by Hamilton gardeners, maintained for almost two hundred years now. For a moment, with stars above, roses at her feet, and the man she could so easily love standing beside her, Rebecca imagined life to be nearly perfect, even if it wasn’t supposed to be.

“God has them all named, you know,” Quentin whispered.

“What?”

“The stars.”

Rebecca smiled, leaning closer, putting her head on his shoulder. It was late and Dana and Padgett had retired for the evening, giving Rebecca and Quentin time alone.

“Yes, I know. Amazing, isn’t it? That He gave us so many beautiful things?”

Quentin turned her to face him and stared at her with a smile that said the beauty he saw was in her. “Yes, it is.” He kissed her, then added with his lips still pressed to hers, “Amazing.”

Rebecca delighted in his kiss, his words, the look in his eyes. “It’s easy to think life is simple sometimes,” she said. “That all we have to do is enjoy the gifts we’ve been given.”

“It should be. Why isn’t it?”

“I suppose if it really were that simple we’d forget all about the Giver.” She glanced back to the veranda door, thinking of Dana. “I know Dana is questioning why God allowed this pregnancy after all she did to prevent it. She’s trying to believe He’s forgotten all about her, I think. Blaming Him for letting this slip by without notice, like some kind of mistake.”

“She’ll be all right,” Quentin said.

“At the moment she needs a friend.” Rebecca gave him a half smile. “Which means you and I won’t have much time together, at least until she decides to let Aidan in on this.”

“I’ve never pretended to understand the workings of the female mind,” Quentin said with a grin, “but it seems to me she should have called him by now.”

“I agree. We all adjust to our challenges in our own ways, I suppose.”

“And your challenges, Rebecca?” he asked, stroking her cheek gently. “How are you adjusting to . . . us?”

She smiled slowly. “Now there’s a challenge.”

He didn’t smile, and she wondered if he’d missed her teasing tone. “Your father took the news rather well about the pregnancy kit story. Is the press still haunting you?”

“No, I think I’ve learned my lesson. Never do anything in public that can be misunderstood by those who watch—and realize there will always be someone watching. Which might mean I spend the rest of my life cloistered away.” Then, having heard her own words, she added abruptly, “The rest of the time we’re together, at any rate.”

Quentin frowned. “Do you foresee a limit on that time?”

“I don’t know.”

He held her close, pressing her head back on his shoulder. “That’s not the answer I was looking for, Rebecca.”

She knew that. She saw it on his face the moment she’d uttered the words. But what else could she have said? Left her former statement at that? That she hoped she would be with him the rest of her life, adjusting to whatever that meant?

Maybe she was old-fashioned, but she wanted him to be the first to hint that marriage was their mutual goal.

40

* * *

I know I just posted a letter to you yesterday and you will be surprised to receive another from me so soon, but I must write again already. It seems I cannot keep this to myself, even though that might be best. I can tell no other person here, not even Mrs. Cotgrave. My main concern has always been for the integrity of this school, and that is why I should say not a word. Yet here I am.

One infraction I might be able to explain, were I unfortunate enough to have someone know about that kiss. It was so unexpected—by both of us, I am sure—it could be termed almost an accident.

But tonight? Oh, Cosima, forgive me for babbling. I really must find a way to bar that man from these doors, and were it not for Katie welcoming him as she does, I would demand that very thing. He has confounded me again! After tonight, I vow I shall never, ever walk the grounds while that man is under this roof. . . .

“I really don’t need an escort, considering I’ve been doing this without one for half a year.”

Simon did not respond, did not even look at Berrie.

She waited, wondering if stretching out such an awkward, silent moment would be enough to change his mind. He did not budge. The night air was chilly without a shawl, so she couldn’t wait much longer.

“You really needn’t waste your time, Mr. MacFarland,” she said as she began walking.

He fell in step beside her. “If I sat in the parlor reading a book and something were to happen out here—something I could have prevented—then which would be the waste of time? My reading or my being out here?”

Instead of answering, she asked, “Do you take on the role of protector for everyone around you or only for those you find particularly helpless?”

“The answer to the first part of that question is no, and as to the second, I find you about as helpless as a porcupine.”

“While I find your comparison of me to a bristly little piglike rodent amusing, it’s clear you think I can take care of myself. So why must you follow anyway?”

“As I said, if anything were to happen, I would feel guilty.” At a glance, she thought she saw a grin as he continued speaking. “And since you seem to think I’d rather have you more uncomfortable than myself, you ought to know I intend to follow you until you’re safely back inside anyway.”

“It’s far more likely I should get hurt during the duties of my day than alone out here,” she muttered.

“If you pretend I’m not here, Miss Hamilton, you might enjoy yourself more.”

She cast another quick glance. She could do that. They rounded the first corner and she slowed her pace. There was nothing enjoyable in rushing. Nor, though, was there any comfort to be found in his company. She couldn’t enjoy herself as usual, find solace in the quiet, pray, or contemplate what she’d learned that day. Impossible.

Berrie came to the far end of the manor. There was a tree root she’d tripped on more than once in the dark. She should warn him; it was the polite thing to do. It was the right thing to do.

Another step, then another, but still she kept silent. A stumble would serve him right, with his self-imposed role of guardian. Besides, he’d told her to pretend he wasn’t there.

They turned the corner, and as they neared the familiar spot, her guilt multiplied. She could not, after all, refrain from warning him. “There is a—”

“I thought you were going to ignore me.”

Very well. However she couldn’t seem to hold her tongue entirely. “You know, Mr. MacFarland, if you could ever hold a civil conversation you might actually find the sort of woman you’re looking for. Someone who honors your thoughts and opinions, I think was how you phrased it.”

Simon stopped so abruptly she thought he’d tripped as she’d done at least a dozen times before. But she was confused; they weren’t upon the spot, and he was still standing straight. “What is it? Why have you stopped?”