Out of the Shadows (Tangled Ivy #3) (20 page)

Elizabeth watched through the break in the hedgerow as the truck was unloaded, several men carrying furniture into the small house next door. A woman was hurrying from inside to outside, looking harried as she directed them.

New people in the neighborhood. That hadn’t happened since she’d been ten and the widower two streets over had passed away. It had taken six months for someone new to buy his house and move in, and they hadn’t been nearly as interesting as the people moving in next. Especially one particular lad . . .

He was young, maybe only a year or two older than Elizabeth’s fifteen years, but he was extraordinarily handsome. The wind tousled his light brown hair and the smile he gave the other men as he chatted with them was a mixture of sheepish young boy and mischievous man. He was entrancing and Elizabeth couldn’t take her eyes off him.

It wasn’t as though she’d never seen boys before. Certainly not at St. Mary’s, which was an all-girls school. But there were boys in the village, several of whom she’d grown up with. However, none of them looked like this particular boy.

She watched until she heard her da calling.

“Lizzie! Where are you?”

To her mortification, the new neighbor boy heard and glanced to where she stood behind the hedge. Then he smiled.

Elizabeth jumped back, a blush climbing in her cheeks. Turning, she ran up the small hill and around to her front door where her da stood waiting. She could feel the boy’s eyes on her the entire way.

His name turned out to be Mark Clay and he was seventeen. Elizabeth found out that much just from the village gossip. His father was in the military and his mother stayed at home. She’d seen Mark outside occasionally when she walked home from the shop where she worked part-time, but had hurried by without saying anything. She wondered what he’d do if she stopped and said hello . . .

“Is dinner done yet?”

Elizabeth pulled herself out of her daydreaming to answer her da. He’d been drinking again, but when didn’t he?

“It’s finished,” she said, hurriedly shoving the food onto two plates. Her father was in no mood to wait and she grabbed some silverware and set the plates on the table, sliding one in front of him.

“What the hell is this?” he asked. “It’s burned.”

“It’s not,” she said. “Just a little crispy perhaps.” She hadn’t been paying enough attention, instead watching out the window for Mark.

“Bollocks,” he spat, shoving the plate onto the floor. “Lazy bitch. Don’t know why I put up with you.”

Elizabeth knew what was coming, but wasn’t fast enough. He backhanded her hard enough to knock her to the ground, then tossed a plate of food on top of her. The ceramic plate hit the floor and shattered. She covered her face too late, feeling the sting of a cut on her cheek.

“Clean this mess up.” The chair scraped as he got up. His boots were a heavy tread on the floor as he walked away.

It took a minute for her head to clear and the throbbing pain in her jaw to subside enough before she got off the floor and cleaned up the mess with shaky hands. There was a warm trickle of blood on her cheek to match her tears, but she ignored it. Once everything was picked up and the broken shards thrown away, she grabbed her jacket and went out the back door.

Getting away. It was always the goal when her da got like this. Too much drinking, too much heartbreak over her mum. Elizabeth had never been enough for him. His heart and soul had died with his wife. Tomorrow, she knew, he’d stand in the doorway of the kitchen while she prepared breakfast. He’d mutter an apology in a rough voice, to which she’d nod and reply, “It’s fine,” though really it wasn’t. But it was all she’d ever known.

The night outside was chilly and dark as pitch. The sky was clear and the stars sparkled like diamonds tossed onto black velvet.

Elizabeth walked down the hill to where the trees met the small creek that ran through the back of the small village. It was her favorite spot—a quiet spot—and she came here often when she needed to escape.

The cold air felt good against her skin and eased the ache in her head. She settled down on the cool grass, pulling her knees to her chest and staring at the dark water.

“I wondered if I’d ever see you again.”

Elizabeth started at the voice, nearly jumping to her feet, but he spoke again.

“Take it easy, it’s all right. It’s just me, your new neighbor.” He moved into the dim light cast from the moon, which filtered through the trees. “Mark.”

Stunned, Elizabeth thought he looked even more perfect in the moonlight. To her amazement, he sat down beside her with a sigh, staring at the water as she had been.

“So are you gonna tell me your name?” he asked. “Or shall I attempt to guess?”

Her tongue didn’t seem to remember how to work, but she managed to croak out, “Lizzie.”

“Lizzie?” he asked. She nodded. “Is that short for Elizabeth?” She nodded again. “Which do you prefer?”

She’d always hated being called Lizzie, so she didn’t hesitate now that someone had actually asked. “Elizabeth.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth,” he said, extending a hand.

She looked at it, then tentatively gave him her own. His hand closed around hers, warm and strong, yet gentle.

“What are you doing out here this time of night?” he asked. “It’s a bit late for a stroll.”

“I just needed some air,” she said.

He nodded, as though that was a perfectly good reason for her to be wandering in the dark.

They sat there for a few minutes. She was no longer looking at the water, though. Her every focus was on the boy next to her. She fancied she could smell the slightly musky scent of his skin. It was invigorating and addicting.

Too nervous to speak, she clutched her knees to her chest as he turned and looked at her. He was smiling slightly and she tentatively smiled back. But then his smile faded and his brows drew together in a frown.

“What’s this?” he asked, reaching out to touch her cheek. “You’re bleeding. Did you hurt yourself?”

She’d completely forgotten. So taken aback by his appearance, Elizabeth hadn’t given a thought as to how she must look. Reflexively, she jerked away.

“A cut, that’s all,” she said, starting to panic. Most of the townspeople suspected her da’s temper, though she’d been careful to hide any evidence the best she could. Why she protected him, she didn’t know. Maybe it wasn’t so much protecting him as preserving her own self-respect.

“Odd place to get cut,” he mused, leaning closer. “How’d it happen?”

Elizabeth jumped to her feet. “I have to go,” she said, but Mark was on his feet as well.

“Please stay,” he said. “I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again.”

“No, no. I need to go.” In a blink, she was off, hurrying away from him. She looked back once, only to see his body silhouetted in the moonlight, gazing after her.

As she’d predicted, her da apologized the next morning, glancing at her bruised face once before quickly looking away. He left for the pub shortly after that, and Elizabeth knew he’d be there all day, which left her blissfully alone.

It was tempting to go back to the creek from last night to see if Mark would show up again, but she resisted. If he found out about her father, she might just die of mortification. So instead, she was curled up reading a book when there came a knock on the door, and was taken aback to find Mark standing on the stoop.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted.

“Now that’s a fine way to greet a friend,” he said with an easy smile, though his gaze was shrewd as he took in her face. Belatedly, she stepped back into the shadows of the hallway.

“We’re not friends,” she said.

“We can be.” To her dismay, he followed her, stepping inside. “I’d like to be.”

“Whatever for?”

“Maybe because it’d be nice to have someone who knew what it was like to have to hide marks that are hard to explain.”

She’d been edging backward, but now she stopped, fixing him with a look. He didn’t flinch from her probing gaze. A beat passed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Oh, don’t you?” He reached forward and brushed her cheek with his fingers. She sucked in a breath at the gentle touch. “I think you’re lying.”

“What’s it to you?” she asked. She was suddenly angry. She hadn’t wanted to be this—someone to be pitied—and he was making her feel like a victim.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his back to her. Confused, she watched him, then realized he was pulling his shirt up, exposing his back . . .

Which was covered in red welts and bruises.

“He likes the belt mainly,” Mark said after a charged moment of silence.

Elizabeth swallowed, saying nothing as Mark dropped his shirt and turned back to face her.

“So you wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Me, neither.”

They stared at each other for a moment and for the first time ever, Elizabeth felt a kinship with another living soul.

“Let’s go back out to the creek,” he said. “Bring your book along. You can read to me.”

She didn’t think to disobey, just got her book and slipped on her shoes before following him out the door. His hand found hers, slotting their fingers together like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Since he didn’t seem to think it was, she struggled for the same nonchalance.

And so the days of summer break passed, meeting Mark at their spot by the creek whenever she could get away. Some nights she waited for hours and he wouldn’t appear. Those were the nights when she knew the next day he’d be moving stiffly and he wouldn’t lie down in the grass.

They talked about everything and nothing. Sometimes they sat in silence. Sometimes she read to him. Occasionally she’d bring a few biscuits she’d made, or a piece of cake. He had a sweet tooth and liked that a lot.

It wasn’t until the next time Elizabeth had incurred the ire of her sole-remaining parent and showed up late with a split lip and bruises on her arms that Mark kissed her.

Tentative at first, as though he wasn’t sure what she’d do, then more confident when she didn’t pull away. His hands gently cupped her jaw and the world faded away around them as they kissed. It was as though they’d found solace together, a bit of healing and comfort, and it was the best thing she’d ever had in her young life.

Two months later, she realized she was pregnant.

She wasn’t completely ignorant of how these things happened, and as she stood there, counting again the days of the calendar, she knew she should be terrified. And she was. But she was also the tiniest bit elated.

Elizabeth told Mark that night as the summer moon shone down on them, lying on the soft grass. His hand was drifting across her stomach and it froze.

“Pregnant?” he asked. “Are you sure?”

“I’m two weeks late,” she said.

“You’re underage,” he said. “We can’t get married.”

Her heart sank a little. She hadn’t known what she’d expected him to do, but the idea of having a baby by herself, of telling her da . . . A shudder went through her at the thought.

“But we can run away,” Mark continued. “Just you and me. Bide our time until you’re sixteen. When will that be?”

“Three months.”

“Then we only have to hide until then. We can do that. Then we’ll marry and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

Marriage and a baby to a man she’d fallen in love with . . . it seemed too good to be true. And she should’ve known it would be because just then her da stepped out from behind a tree.

“So this is where you been coming every night,” he said, advancing on them.

Elizabeth gasped in dismay, grabbing up her clothes as Mark jumped to his feet. He had no time to say anything before her father’s fist shot out, knocking him in the jaw with a powerful crack of knuckles against bone. Mark dropped to the ground like a rock and didn’t move.

“Mark
!
” In moments, she was crouched next to him, trying to shake him awake. He was still breathing, thank goodness, just out cold.

“Pregnant, eh? Spreading your legs for the first boy who pays you a bit of attention?” Her da grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet and up the hill.

“Let me go
!
” She fought him, but a fist upside her head that made her see stars put an end to that.

She was forced to dress while her da packed her things, then he drove her out of town. For the next nine months, she was mostly a prisoner at a convent, growing and birthing her baby boy far away from the prying eyes of neighbors and friends. She railed and screamed when they took the boy from her, not even letting her hold him. Tears poured down her cheeks as she cursed them every vile way she knew how, until the Head Mother of the convent gave her cheek a stinging slap.

The hope that had kept her going—hope that she’d see Mark again—was dashed the moment she was returned to her home. He’d been sent away, into the military, never to return.