Page 17

17

No mortal was framed for such weather as this. Sideways snow blurred the world into white blindness. Wind whipped so forcefully, it brought tears to the eyes and froze the lashes. Bram ducked his head against a particularly cruel blast. His sleeves were pulled down as far as the fabric would allow, covering as much skin as possible, but even so, his knuckles were cracked and raw from the blistering cold. Would that he’d have thought to bring his gloves along, for it was muscle memory alone that kept his grip on the reins.

He never should have suggested a stop at Heffer’s.

The horses—God love them—plodded along. He could barely see their ice-encrusted rumps. They wouldn’t last much longer. Eva wouldn’t either. She huddled next to him, trembling uncontrollably.

And night would soon fall.

If his calculations were correct, they’d traveled a little over halfway to Royston. So close, yet so impossibly far in this dangerous weather. Though if he remembered right, the Robinson farm ought to be getting close. They could hunker down with them until morning—if he could find the turnoff.

He bent his face close to Eva’s ear to be heard over the howling wind. “The Robinson farm—is it the next drive?”

Hard to tell if she shook her head yes or no, so violently did she shiver, but she did shift a bit, lifting her chin. “It is, but the Robinsons moved out years ago,” she shouted. “The house is empty. We cannot stay there alone.”

“It is that or die.”

Without waiting for her consent, he squinted into the colourless world, scanning what he hoped was the right side of the road. If he turned too soon, they’d plow headfirst into a frozen hedgerow and be stuck. Too late and they’d miss the turnoff altogether.

An eternity later, an indistinguishable shape appeared. Maybe. Maybe not. Bram hunched forward on the bench seat, straining to see. Eventually, he focused on what could be a man in a charcoal coat, arms wrapped tight, standing immobile—the exact sight he was hoping for. The man-sized tree stump had guarded the Robinson farm lane for as long as he could remember. He slowed the horses with a slight tug—not too much lest they stop, but not too little or the back of the wagon would swing wide. With a layer of ice beneath the snow, it would be easy to lose control. Ever so carefully, he guided the horses in a gentle arc.

It was an excruciating dance, this delicate balance of trying to remain on a road he couldn’t see. Thankfully the drive wasn’t miles long. Just as the last of the day’s light threatened to give up its ghost, the light grey mass of a structure grew darker in hue. He pulled on the reins with a “Whoa, now. Easy boys.”

The crunch of wheels against snow ground to a halt. Bram climbed down from the driver’s seat, stiff enough to shatter should he slip and fall, which he nearly did. He grasped the side of the wagon and worked his way around to the passenger side. “Come, Eva. I am here for you.”

Gloved fingers shot out of the driving snow, flailing for his grip. He flung his hand toward her. Too late. A body hurtled at him, catching him off-balance. Bram flew backward, Eva sailing with him to the icy ground. He lay dazed, frozen, and completely out of breath ... though it was nice to hold Eva so close.

“Sorry!” She pushed away and toppled sideways.

If he weren’t so cold, he’d laugh.

With a few slips and slides, he made his way to his feet. Anchoring his step, he hauled her up. After a quick re-tucking of the blanket around her shoulders, he pulled her against his side. “Hold on to me and try not to lose your footing.”

She gripped him without argument or mercy. As he trudged toward the old house, it took all his effort to breathe, so tightly did she cling. Ahead, the dark maw of a door hole opened in the whiteness. No actual door closed out the elements. Blast. Would this ramshackle old house be any protection against the storm?

He stumbled inside, pulling Eva along with him, and once his vision adjusted to the shadows, his spirits lifted. A door did still hang from its hinges. Likely the wind had blown it open.

He slid his arm from Eva’s shoulders. “Stay here. I will see to the horses and return to make a fire in the hearth. Maybe look around for some wood, hmm?”

She nodded, teeth chattering.

He fought the door shut behind him—a brutal battle—and tromped back into a face full of snow. It was an even bigger fight to unhitch the horses, but eventually he prevailed and led them to a collection of wooden boards leaning together like a band of drunken sailors desperate to remain upright. Some barn. The roof was more of a suggestion than a covering. One of the horses snorted a puff of steam in protest.

“Easy now, Jasper.” He patted the bay on the nose. “Let’s see what we can find you and your mate.”

Bram rambled around the big space, scowling when wind whipped snow through cracks in the walls. Two stalls toward the back seemed to be the best hope of protection. At least it was better than being out on the road.

It took him some time to remove the horses’ tack, his fingers refusing to cooperate in the frigid air. Frequent breaks of huffing warm breath onto his hands helped somewhat. Eventually, he secured Quill and Jasper for the night, then shouldered his way back into the storm. Twilight settled like a dark counterpane pulled over the earth. He longed for a cheery fire, for light and warmth. Survival, actually. Thank God he’d purchased a new cigar and plenty of matches while in Cambridge.

After another tussle with the door, he staggered inside, numb with cold. Shadows gathered in the front room, but no woman did.

“Eva?” he called. “Have you found some kindling?”

Nothing but the howling wind answered.

It wasn’t a big house. She ought to have heard him.

“Eva,” he called again as he tread across warped floorboards to a side room. Blackness reigned, the only light from a single window. Snow stuck against what glass remained and a drift crawled across the floor. He pushed the door shut.

“Eva!” he shouted while striding into a back room. A kitchen, apparently. A broken range stood cockeyed on a few missing legs. An old sink against one wall. Part of a chair and what used to be a table heaped in the center.

But no Eva.

A gap-stepped stairway clung to another wall as if either may tip over at the slightest touch. Surely she’d not have gone upstairs ... would she?

He dashed over to the steps. No. She absolutely would not have. The ceiling had collapsed on this part of the house, blocking anyone from traveling beyond the top stair.

He wheeled about, heart catching in his throat. He’d heard tales of those frozen to death, how delirium set in just before the poor soul wandered out into a perceived promise of warmth. Shedding clothing. Lying down to sleep. Forever.

“Eva!” He tore toward the rear door. “Where are you?”

She would die here, and not because of God’s lack of smiling. This was all her fault. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! Eva spun in a circle, clutching onto two small sticks for firewood. Snow pelted her face, blinding her. She couldn’t even see her footprints to decipher which direction led back to the safety of the Robinson farmhouse.

“Eva!”

She tensed. Was this what it was like to die by freezing, hallucinating the wind called your name? Straining, she listened with every fiber of her body, hoping against hope what she’d heard was something more than wishful thinking.

“Where are you?”

She gasped, the air cold against her raw throat. That was no delusion. “Here!” she shouted. “I’m here!”

Moments later a shadowy figure appeared, and Bram’s strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, gathering her close. “Try not to stumble. We are going to move fast.”

Transferring her sticks to one hand, she flung an arm around his waist. He hadn’t been jesting. He practically dragged her through the snow. They staggered through the door of the old house, and once inside, she pulled away and caught her breath.

“What were you thinking?” A great cloud of steam puffed out his mouth. “You could have died out there!”

“I—” She swallowed. Hearing him confirm her worst fear made it seem all the more real, yet he’d tasked her with finding firewood. “You told me to find kindling.” She shook the paltry sticks in the frigid air, snow powdering off her upraised arm.

“Oh, Eva. I meant inside the house.” Hefting a sigh, he once again wrapped his arm about her shoulder and guided her from the room. “Come. Let’s get you settled, and I will make a fire.”

“I doubt this will be enough wood.” The two sticks weighed hardly anything against her gloved palm.

He laughed. “This whole house is made of wood—what is left of it, anyway.” He stopped in front of a barren hearth in the main room. “Here, take a seat on the floor. It is hard and cold, but at least it is dry.”

Exhausted, she sank without complaint. Bram lifted the blanket from her shoulders and shook it out, ridding the fabric of snow before he replaced it. But when he shrugged out of his own coat and began laying that over her as well, she pushed away his thoughtful offering. “Bram, no. You will catch your death. I am fine with just the blanket.”

“A valiant refusal, yet I insist.” He winked and strode into the shadows.

Eva tugged the blanket—and Bram’s coat—closer to her neck, breathing in his mossy scent and the leftover sweetness of tobacco. He’d been nothing but kind, sheltering her as best he could all the way from Cambridge. She’d had the extra layer of a blanket. He’d had nothing but his coat. Surely he must be bone chilled. Though by the sounds of it, he was currently working up a sweat. The kicking in of a wall and cracking of slats being pulled free assaulted the cold air.

He reappeared with an armful of jagged-edged wood, dropped it in front of the hearth, then doubled back for another load. Eva shivered while he worked, torn between wanting to help yet unable to force her trembling body to move.

Methodically, Bram kicked away spent ash from the fireplace, then stacked the smaller sticks and scraps in the middle. When the pile grew to just below knee height, he disappeared once more and returned with a handful of splinters, which he carefully nested at the base. He then pulled out a small box of matches from his waistcoat pocket and struck one to life. Never had she been so glad to see a fire sputter into existence—nor so curious.

She cocked her head. “I am grateful, truly, but why do you just happen to have a box of matches? That seems very convenient.”

“You will not like the reason.” He blew on the tiny flames, coaxing them to life.

Reason, indeed. When had he found the time to purchase a cigar in Cambridge? Unless he’d stopped by his office at Trinity. Or possibly when she’d been looking at books inside Heffer’s, he’d bowed out to the tobacco shop next door.

“Please do not smoke a cigar in here.” She waved away a billowy grey cloud wafting from the hearth. It was hard enough to breathe with the smoke from the fire.

Bram fiddled with the flue handle. A jerk and a tug later, the thing creaked open, luring fumes and flames upward. After tossing a few of the bigger boards onto the fledgling fire, he sank to her side, stretching out his long legs toward the warmth. “If it were not for my bad habit, we would not have this fire now, would we?”

She humphed as she peeled off his coat and handed it over. Staying in a house alone with a fully dressed man was shameful enough. Better he should cover those shirtsleeves, where muscles bulged far too enticingly beneath the fabric. “The man I marry will not partake of such a filthy vice as cigar smoking.”

“I did not realize you were looking for a husband.”

Her cheeks heated as she pulled off her bonnet “I am not. It is just ... Oh, what does it matter, anyway? When word gets out I have spent a night alone with a man, no one will have me.”

“Any man would be a fool to listen to such blathering gossip. I would not.” Resolution deepened his tone.

Of course he wouldn’t give sway to what anyone said. He never had in the past. She set down her bedraggled bonnet on the dirty floor, then began working on shedding her sodden gloves. “You are not like other men.”

He flashed a grin. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

“You take everything as a compliment.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

She allowed the question to linger unanswered, weary of banter. Weary of everything, really. She laid out her wet gloves to dry, then lifted her hands to the fire. As she slowly thawed, her thoughts turned toward her sister. How worried the girl must be. “I hope Penny is all right,” she murmured. “I hope she did not venture out in this weather.”

“She has more sense than you credit, I think.” After tossing on a larger piece of wood, he returned to her side. “Still, your care for your sister is a noble endeavor.”

“There is nothing noble about it. I made a vow to my father to look out for her and the house.” A sigh deflated her, and she hunched farther into the blanket. “Though it seems I am failing miserably.”

“None of it! Penny is well tended, and once those antiquities sell, you shall have your tax money and then some. Inman Manor will be restored to its former glory beneath your hand.”

She peered over at him. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so.” He bopped her on the nose with one finger.

She stared into the fire, doubting every word he’d spoken.

“You carry the weight of the world.” His words were a soft rumble. “Why is that?”

Hah. As if she’d tell him all her deep, dark secrets. She fixed her gaze on the flames, ignoring the question.

“I know you may think otherwise, but you can trust me, Eva. I am a good listening ear. Besides”—he nudged her with his shoulder—“we have a history, you and me. We are friends, are we not?”

Slowly, she nodded. Despite his childhood pranks, he always had been there when she’d needed him most.

Until he wasn’t.

Sorrow welled. As a girl she hadn’t understood what she had done to make him abandon her without a single good-bye or even a note of explanation. “We were friends at one time.”

“And we still are. I have not changed my mind on that matter—and I never will. So tell me what troubles you. I promise anything said here tonight will not be repeated. Now is your chance to unload your secret burdens and be free of them—at least for one evening.”

Mesmerized by the flames, for the briefest of moments, she allowed herself to believe that could be true. “How lovely that would be.”

“Then do so. It is a magical night. A storm like none other. Why, the winds that rattle these walls could blow your troubles all away.”

Would that were true! Longing for just such a relief, she studied his face. The flames reflected sincerity in his grey eyes. Not a hint of jesting twitched his lips. All in all, he appeared to be deadly serious. “Do you vow you will not breathe a word of my secrets to anyone?”

Solemnly he nodded, one hand pressed flat against his heart. “I do.”

She turned back to the fire. If she was going to do this— was she going to do this?—then she’d do so without making eye contact. Sucking in a breath for courage, she willed a confession she’d kept locked deep in her soul to rise to her tongue. “I...” She swallowed against the swelling in her throat. “I am to blame for my parents’ deaths, my sister’s blindness, and the dismal state of Inman Manor.”

There. She’d said it. All of it. Aloud. Something she’d not dared to do since her father’s accident. And just as she’d feared, hearing it come from her own lips opened up a fresh ache in her soul.

Bram was quiet for a while, then finally spoke. “I am at a loss to think how you could have possibly accomplished all of that.”

Her chin dropped to her chest, shame a sickening weight. “My mother died about six months after you disappeared. I left open a window I had been told to close.”

He turned her face to his. “A window?”

She tossed back her head, unwilling to give in to his tender touch. She didn’t deserve such a kindness. “My mother was terribly ill during her confinement, though admittedly, she was never of prime health. Mother had weak lungs, you see, and during her pregnancy had suffered a terrible rash and fever. I simply wished to spare her any further torment. Dixon always forced me to take air whenever I felt ill, so I assumed such a measure could only be beneficial. My mother was too weak to leave her bed, so I opened her window. Father had bid me close it before I left her room, but I did not. I left the room with it open, and I forgot to go back and do as I was told.” Eva scrunched her eyes closed, trapping hot tears. “Would that I had, for that one act of disobedience caused her to leave me forever.”

“What happened?” Bram asked softly.

“Mother went into labour the next day. She died shortly after delivery. A month or so later, the wet nurse declared Penny to be blind. My father never recovered from such low blows, and I suspect it was his melancholy that affected his business sense. Though I did not realize it at the time, he simply could not manage anymore.” She pressed her fists to her eyes. “Last year, I quarreled with him over a gown. A silly little gown! He had refused me, but I pushed and pushed until he stormed off for a ride—one that took him from me as well.” Eva forced her eyes open and looked full in Bram’s face. Better to bear his disgusted expression head-on than hear it in his voice. “So you see, it was all my fault, and now I am abandoned by them both.”

“Rubbish. I hate that you believe such awful lies.” Shooting to his feet, he threw a piece of wood at the fire, kicking up red sparks. “It is God alone who numbers our days, not a twelve-year-old girl doing what she thought best for her mother or a young woman who knew nothing about the state of her father’s affairs. The strain of labour no doubt took its toll on your mother’s lungs, and the horse hurt your father, not you. You had nothing to do with any of it.”

“Maybe so, but had my mother not been so terribly ill, Penny wouldn’t have been born blind. And if I had not been so insistent on my way, my father would not have gone out riding in such a frame of mind.”

“Perhaps, and yet I repeat you are not God. He is sovereign. You are not. And the same goes for your father’s melancholy. He made the choice to go riding when obviously he should not have been. You are not responsible for anyone’s emotional state or choices made, save for your own.”

Her heart squeezed, a fresh hope straining to be born. What if ... this was truth? Dare she believe it? How freeing that would be, and yet also fearful, for to admit such a thing meant she wasn’t in control ... and she desperately needed to be in control. She didn’t know any other way to live, for how else could she stop anyone else from abandoning her? “It seems you are determined to see the best in me.”

“Oh, Eva.” Face softening, Bram dropped to his knees in front of her and collected both her hands in his. “What I see is a woman who has blamed herself far too long for things she ought not.”

She yanked from his touch. “But I left the window open on a drafty night! And the argument with my father—”

“Did you ask God for forgiveness?” With a swing of his legs, he settled back at her side.

“With every breath I still do.”

“Then you may stop now. The very first time you asked to be pardoned, you were. That is what grace is all about. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, as far as the east is from the west. Even when we’ve done wrong, God does not abandon us.”

Her lips twitched, wanting to smile, yet she wasn’t quite ready for that much happiness. She wasn’t completely convinced she deserved it. “I think you have muddled together several Scriptures, sir.”

A slow grin stretched across his lips. “I told you I was no theologian.”

True, but, oh, how his words resonated in her soul, lifting the weight that had pressed on her for so long. And buried beneath that weight was a fear she’d never faced, for she’d not been brave enough. But here, now, in Bram’s safe and secure presence, she might even admit she’d been terrified that at some point, God might abandon her too.

She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. “Perhaps I have never moved beyond thinking of the past like a twelve-year-old. Why, I may just be as rash as my sister.”

“We all have our moments of fear and doubt, Eva. It is part of being human. But I promise you, God’s love and grace are constant whether we falter or not.”

Tears stung her eyes as she drank in his words. “I have always felt like I needed to atone for my mistakes, to earn favor in God’s eyes because of my wrongdoings. But hearing what you say is like—” Her throat closed, and it took her several breaths before she could even whisper. “It is like a burden being lifted.”

“That is because it is,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. “You do not have to carry that weight anymore. It was never meant for you to begin with.”

She squeezed his fingers, wanting—needing—to hold on to all the truth he’d imparted. For the first time in years, she felt a glimmer of hope. Of lightness. She could let go of her past and embrace the grace she’d always believed in yet never truly accepted. “Thank you, Bram. Your words mean more than you could ever know.”

“You are stronger than you think, Eva. And you are never alone. Not with God, and not with me.”

“You speak as if you have already dealt with the same demons I have been wrestling all these years.” She peered up at him. “How do you know so much about God’s mercy?”

“Hard-earned experience.” He chuckled.

“Is that so?” She lifted her chin. “Then I should like to hear of it.”

“Of what?”

“Your experience. It is, after all, only fair. I have shared with you my deep, dark secret.” She leaned close. “So tell me, Bram Webb, what is yours?”