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“I didn’t either.”
He considers this. “Sometimes it feels as if you put some kind of spell on me. It was so sudden. One day you weren’t in my life, and the next you were all that I could think about.”
My fingers grip so tight around the book that they turn white. “I would never!” My voice hitches. “John, you have to believe me, I—”
But then I see the faint smile tugging at his lips, and I let out a little breath of relief.
“Do you still want me?” I ask in a small voice, my body bracing for the truth. “I wouldn’t blame you if—”
He stands up and the air goes out of me as I wait for him to take up his hat and leave. But instead of turning toward the door, John gingerly perches on the bed beside me.
Careful not to graze my shoulder, he cups my face in his lean, strong hands. “Lydia Montrose,” he says, his sea-storm eyes dancing with light, “you are an exquisite little mystery and I have never wanted anything or anyone so badly in my life.”
He leans down and claims my lips in a long, hot kiss that scatters the last of my doubts and fears to the four winds.
* * *
The wedding was a small, simple affair with only Mother, Father, Ada and Joe standing as witnesses. We waited until spring, so that my shoulder would have a chance to heal, and the snow melted to make our upcoming journey to our new home in Vermont easier. Catherine had said she didn’t feel well and wanted to stay in bed, but just as I was leaving she caught me by the door. “You aren’t really going to wear that old rag on your wedding day, are you?” she asked, perhaps thinking of her own wedding gown holding her dark secret at the bottom of the pond. My dress was the most beautiful frock I’d ever seen, all creamy lace, nipped waist and embroidered leaves around the neck. I chose the same frothy pink silk that I’d chosen for my imagined wedding that day I went shopping with Catherine for her gown. John had looked so handsome in his black cutaway coat, standing at the altar in the dappled light of the stained glass, smiling with hand outstretched to greet me. When we left the church, I looked down to see little flowers springing up in our wake, just as my mother had said they did when I was little.
The next morning, we found a note from Catherine informing us that she’d left for New York. What she means to do there, or how she plans to survive, I have no idea. Perhaps she couldn’t bear the thought of staying in New Oldbury, a spinster in her own eyes. Or maybe, belatedly, she thought it was for the best after all the pain she caused Mother—though she had to know that Mother would forgive her and would want her in her life. Knowing Catherine, whatever her reasons are, she has more than enough charm and ingenuity to make a success of it. I wish her luck.
Now as I stand next to my husband by the waiting carriage in the mellow April air, it’s hard to see Willow Hall as anything other than a stately country home. Only the vacant corners of my heart stand as a reminder of all that I have lost in the brief chapter of my life spent in this house.
Ada puts a tentative hand on my arm, bringing me out of my thoughts. “Do you have everything you need, miss? There’s the sandwiches I made, and if you get thirsty there’s—”
“We’ll be fine.” I smile. “Thank you, Ada.”
“I know you will. But...it just won’t be the same without you.” Ada dips her head, trying to hide the tears rimming her big brown eyes.
My heart tugs. Ada has been with us every step of the way since Boston, weathering the worst alongside of us. On an impulse, I take her by the hands. “Come with us. Come to Vermont. It’s only twenty miles away.” As soon as John had showed me the little farm nestled at the foothill of the mountains, I knew it was home. Mother and Father will move into Barrett House, and Willow Hall will be torn down. Whatever ghosts still call that unhappy place home will have to do so without the stark reminder of a house that has borne witness to so much tragedy.
“Oh, miss, I couldn’t possibly. Your parents need me and—”
“I need you. Mother and Father will have Joe, and any number of servants if they so choose.”
Ada glances uncomfortably at the waiting carriage. “I don’t know...”
“Come as my sister.”
Her gaze swings back to me, eyes widening. “What?”
“You’re like a sister to me. I don’t want to lose you. Please, Ada. Will you come?”
Ada bites her lip and looks up at me from under her mousy lashes. “Do you really mean that?”
“I do.”
Her smile broadens and she throws her knobby arms around me. “I’ll have to pack. I’ll have to let your father know. Will you wait for me?”
“I’ll tell Father. And of course we’ll wait while you pack.”
She scampers off back into the house. Father is clasping John by the shoulder, making a valiant attempt to blink back tears. Mother stands beside him, diminutive as ever, but rosy and smiling.
“It’s a hard blow to lose one’s daughter and business partner in one fell swoop,” he says.
I come up to them, slipping my arm around Father’s waist. “You’re not losing us. We’ll be a few hours away, and you can visit us anytime.” I already promised Mother that we will visit her as often as we are able; after all that we have lost, our bond and our shared memories of Emeline are too precious to let slip away. And I have a lifetime’s worth of questions to ask her about our family.
“I never thought I’d see my daughter choose to live the life of a farmer, but I suppose if that’s what you want...” He trails off, looking behind us at Willow Hall. “I thought this house would be my legacy, a place for my children and grandchildren to build a life.”