Page 5 of A Land So Wide

Guilt pooled in Greer’s belly, making her feel off-kilter and uneasy.

Some of what Louise had said was true. The mill brought in fistfuls of money each summer.

Greer had never gone without, had never been hungry or worn clothes patched or too small.

An only child, she’d never even scrapped with siblings for her portion of dinner.

It was a far cry from the Beauforts’ household.

“And…” Ellis trailed off, his eyes glancing to the sheets of water rolling off the promenade’s tin roof. “She’s been in a mood since the Stewards told her their ruling.”

“About letting her sit out this Hunt?” Greer frowned. They’d been together all day, yet Louise hadn’t mentioned it once. “I didn’t even know she’d presented her case. She hasn’t said anything. Neither has Father.”

With Ellis and Louise’s father’s death, grief had settled over Mary Beaufort like a thick, sticky cobweb, impossible to break free of.

Her mind had always been prone to flights of whimsy, but now it wandered further away, drawn to confusion and paranoia.

Strange tics riddled her gestures, and she’d often fall short in a conversation, sometimes mid-sentence—there one moment, then gone the next.

When it became clear that Mary could no longer run the Beaufort household, Louise had left school and taken the reins, to look after her younger siblings, tend to the cabin and livestock, and watch the accounts with a sharp eye.

She’d turned twenty-two during the last snowmelt and, though this should be her year to run in the Hunt, Louise had confided that she planned to ask the Stewards to let her stay home, reasoning that her family needed her more than Mistaken needed another bride.

“What did the Stewards say?”

Ellis looked uneasy. “I feel like she should be the one to tell you.”

Greer recalled the look on Louise’s face before she stalked back to Mistaken. “I don’t think she wants to tell me much of anything right now.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Or, whatever she might, I’m not sure I want to hear.”

Ellis licked his lips. “They’re making her run in the Hunt.”

“But…that can’t be right.”

Ellis shrugged helplessly.

“Oh, Louise…” She studied Ellis, unsure how to read his expression. “We don’t know she’ll be found,” she began tentatively, trying to think of something hopeful to say. “She always was the best at hide-and-seek.”

A corner of Ellis’s mouth lifted, but it was a far cry from his usual smile.

“But if she is caught…we’ll be together,” Greer assured him. “You and me. We’ll take care of Mary. The twins, little Norah, everyone. We won’t be far away.”

For the past year, Ellis had been preparing a cabin for the two of them, building it on the back half of the Beaufort land.

With the Hunt only a few weeks away, it was nearly complete, but Ellis insisted it remain a secret till after the Hunt and Joining Ceremony.

He wanted the first time Greer saw it to be when she was carried over the threshold as his bride.

He nodded now, looking appeased. “Don’t let her bad mood trouble you. I’m sure she didn’t mean whatever she said, and one offering won’t make a difference anyway.”

“Martha and I picked a bumper crop of blackberries yesterday,” Greer began thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could bring some over before the barn warming…”

“Not tonight,” he warned. “Give her time to stew. But tomorrow, that would be a kindness I know she’d appreciate—as would I. Nothing beats Martha Kingston’s jam,” he added cheerfully. The matter was—in his mind—laid to rest.

He was so unlike her.

Whereas Greer was prone to fits of worry, endlessly fretting over mistakes real or perceived, Ellis was fast to forgive, and just as quick to forget.

He reminded her of the black-and-white eider ducks on the Great Bay.

They paddled up and down its breadth no matter how perilous the weather, content to ride out whatever waves might come.

Ellis poked his head out from under the awning to peer at the sky. “Storm’s likely to last awhile. There’s sourdough in the oven. Should be done soon. Come on in.”

Ellis had begun working at the bakery once his schooling ended, seven harvests ago.

He’d started out as nothing more than an errand boy, wrapping orders and counting payment, making sure the barters were fair.

Now Tywynn allowed him to work in the back, pounding out the dough, and even entrusting Ellis with his best recipes.

Though unstated, it was common understanding that once the old baker—long widowed, with no children of his own—was ready, he’d pass the business on to Ellis.

“It’s tempting,” Greer said.

“Is it?” His voice lowered still, warm and husky with longing.

He laced his fingers through hers, tangling them into an affectionate knot. A spark of hungry warmth caught in her middle, and as he traced little circles over her knuckles, Greer suddenly forgot all about Louise.

“Is anyone else around?”

“Haven’t had a customer since noon.”

“What a shame. I suppose I should come in and buy something.”

“For Tywynn,” he reasoned, brushing his thumb across the delicate skin of her inner wrist.

Greer’s breath hitched, lodging in the hollow of her throat. “For Tywynn.” The words almost didn’t come out.

As she stepped inside, Greer was struck by a wall of delicious heat. She could hear the flames in the ovens crackling, the hiss of baking bread. The front shop was clean and tidy and gloriously empty.

Even so, Ellis tugged her to the far corner of the room, away from the large storefront window. Eyes were everywhere, and with only days until the Hunt, nothing would please the town gossips more than catching a pair of lovers in a moment of indiscretion.

Ellis traced the curve of her ear, murmuring how much he’d missed her. Then, after he gave a quick glance back out the window, his mouth was on hers.

She nearly laughed with relief as they fell against each other.

Pressed between the wall and Ellis’s long, looming frame, for one blessed, heady moment, Greer heard nothing but the whisper of his breath, the deep hum of his appreciation, and the racing patter of his heart and hers.

In that moment, the rest of the world washed away, leaving only the two of them behind.

“I’ve missed you, Ellis Beaufort,” she murmured as he left a trail of kisses down the column of her throat.

His hands roamed along her sides, squeezing the curve of her hips, bundling folds of her skirt as if he wished to tear them away.

She drew lines up over his back, tugging at his suspenders, across his scalp, her fingers curling into his hair.

She wanted to hold him in place, wanted to keep this moment going.

Just a little longer.

Just a little…

Ellis chuckled as he broke away, giving her an admonishing tap on her nose.

“You’re going to bring Old Lady Cowen running in, making noises like that,” he teased.

Greer cupped his cheek, pleased with how his beard prickled, and snorted as she pictured the widowed seamstress bursting in, brandishing a pair of scissors, ready to snip the inflamed couple apart. “Do you ever feel like the entire town still thinks us children?”

He pressed a kiss to the center of her palm and shrugged. “I suppose, till after the Hunt, we are.”

“If we had just run in the last one”—her hand fell as a wave of bitter melancholy washed over her—“we’d be married.

We’d have children of our own already. But instead…

.” She waggled a crooked, admonishing finger at him, approximating the widowed Cowen.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “It’s my fault—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Ellis kissed her, silencing her worries.

“None of that,” he said. “You were in no shape to be thinking of anything but Ailie.”

“But you were,” she countered, sinking into a pool of guilt so deep she wanted to cry. “You were ready. You could have run and found some other, a girl who doesn’t hear things she shouldn’t, a girl who isn’t strange—”

“Greer.” Her name on his lips was enough to stop the anxious spiral.

He tilted her face to his so that their eyes met.

“Why would I ever settle for some girl when I have you? I would wait a thousand years if I had to. Happily. Joyfully. It was never a hardship. Never,” he emphasized, squeezing her hands.

She could only stare, caught in a strong current of too many emotions. Shame and gratitude, guilt and wonder, and so many shades of love. Each demanded to be acknowledged and felt in equal measure, all fighting to come to the forefront of her inner storm.

Ground yourself .

The memory of Ailie’s voice cut through the turmoil.

When things are overwhelming, ground yourself in truths .

Greer took a deep, centering breath. With Ellis, there was only ever one truth that mattered.

“I love you.” She stood on her tiptoes, feeling strangely shy as she pressed a quick kiss to the cheek of the man she’d loved for more than a decade. “Always.”

“Always,” he agreed and a light flickered in his eyes. “I forgot to tell you: something special came in today.”

He crossed behind the counter, and Greer followed, watching him take a loaf of bread from the case and set it on a length of brown paper.

“Is that cinnamon chip?” Greer asked with surprise. It had been an age since the bakery had had the spice in stock.

“Tywynn was able to talk that merchant captain out of an entire case of sticks.” He wiped his hands on the apron. “I baked a batch this afternoon. I know Hessel is partial to it.”

“His favorite.”

Ellis hesitated. “With all the trouble at the mill earlier, I thought he’d appreciate a slice or two.”

“Trouble?” Greer echoed as a bolt of alarm spiked through her.

Though Greer was kept away from the mill’s chaos, she knew the work was hard and dangerous.

The yard was cluttered with stacks of enormous felled trees and jaggedly toothed saws.

The waterwheel churned constantly, never stopping, even on feast days.

Great cogs and stampers whirred, and the gristmill sometimes spat out wayward shards of wood.

Accidents happened—crushed legs, sliced hands, punctured sides.

Hessel himself could only boast of nine fingers and seven toes, but Greer knew he considered himself lucky.

Other men—men like Ellis’s father, John—lost far more than that.

“Is everyone all right?”

“Everyone’s fine, physically, I’m sure.” Ellis tied off the wrapped loaf with a bow of striped twine. “Only…the schooner.”

Greer remembered the empty Narrows. “They didn’t stay long.”

Ellis shook his head. “From what I heard, the captain offered far too low a price for the lumber.” He stopped, letting the words he didn’t say fill in the story’s gaps.

Greer pictured how it must have played out. Ayaan’s stony silence. Hessel’s face red with insult, then rage. “Father wouldn’t have taken that well.”

Wordlessly, Ellis handed her the bread.

Greer clutched it to her chest; it was still warm from the oven. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate your kindness.”

Doubt darkened Ellis’s eyes.

“Two weeks,” she reminded him. “The Hunt is in two weeks, and then everything is done and settled, and it won’t matter what he thinks.”

Ellis gave a faint shrug, and she wished she could wipe away every bit of wistfulness staking its claim. Melancholy never looked right on Ellis Beaufort. It hung off his features like a pair of hand-me-down trousers, too loose, too short.

But before she could offer any comfort, a roaring wall of sound rang out, thundering over the town and cove like the cry of a monstrous beast. Greer could feel the low vibrations of First Bellows rumble along her sternum.

Her ears ached. Her head felt as though it would burst. It lasted exactly ten seconds, then died away.

“One hour till sunset,” she said needlessly. She fished a small coin from her pocket and set it on the counter, payment for the bread. “Do you need any help closing up?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Tywynn promised to stop in before Thirds.”

“And you’ll be at the barn warming?”

“Think it’ll still go on? Even with all this?” He gestured toward the window.

“Roibart Andersan would never let a little weather spoil a party.”

“Then I look forward to the first dance.” He leaned over the counter, clearly intending to kiss her once more.

The scent of browning bread warmed the air between them.

“The sourdough!” Ellis exclaimed and turned before pushing through the kitchen’s swinging door.

“I’ll see you tonight?”

She listened to the heavy clanks and scrapes of hot metal pans being removed from the oven. He didn’t respond, and Greer was certain he hadn’t heard her. She marveled at what that must be like.

“I love you,” she tried again anyway.

No answer.

With a shake of her head, Greer left the bakery.

When she stepped out from under the promenade’s cover, the pitter-patter of raindrops surrounded her in a blanket of deafening white noise. In seconds, she was soaked through.

“Wait!”

Greer stopped and turned, smiling. Ellis had heard her after all.

But he wasn’t on the walkway. He wasn’t on the threshold, watching her go. He wasn’t even at the windows.

Confused, she swept her gaze down the promenade, searching for anyone else who might have called after her.

“Starling.”

The word was soft and hissed and sounded wholly wrong. Wholly inhuman.

Greer scanned the road.

It was empty.

No one was there.

A tendril of unease unfurled within Greer, its barbs sharp and biting.

“We’ll see you soon, little Starling.”