Page 78 of The Scholar (Emerson Pass Historicals 3)

“I’ll come to you if I need to.”

Papa leaned forward with his fingers folded together between his knees. “I’ve never told you this, but one night right after Fiona was born, I found her over the crib with a knife in her hand.”

I stared at him, aghast. “But why? Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know. I’d never been more terrified in my life,” Papa said.

“What else?” I asked him. “I can see in your eyes that there’s something else you want to say.”

He let out a breath, his strong chest rising and falling. “Of all my children, it’s you I’ve worried about the most. Your sensitivity and the burden of finding your mother. I want you to have a joyous rest of your life. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I couldn’t be surer.” I smiled at him and then at Mama. “I’ve gotten Mrs. Lind’s blessing. Louisa’s agreed to a party here after the actual ceremony.”

Mama smiled as she exchanged a glance with Papa. “Lovely. We can invite everyone out after the church service.”

“Louisa doesn’t want to get married at the church. Not after what she believes they did to her father.”

“But where if not the church?” Mama asked, sounding horrified.

“The courthouse,” I said.

“Oh, I see.” Mama folded her hands in her lap. “Whatever she wishes is what shall be.”

I knew it hurt her to think of me getting married anyplace other than the church. “Thank you for understanding.”

“You’re my son. I’ll always be here for you,” Mama said.

“As will I.” Papa and I both stood and shook hands. “You’ve always made us proud. I know you always will.”

I echoed Louisa’s sentiment from earlier. “I hope to.”

20

Louisa

* * *

Theo arrived at the cottage to escort Mother and me to dinner. My stomach fluttered at the sight of him dressed in a tan suit with his dark curls hanging over his forehead.

“You both look lovely,” Theo said to my mother before kissing my hand.

“Thank you,” I said, flushing.

He turned to Mother. “Mrs. Lind, may I escort you to dinner?”

“No, you kids go ahead. I’ll be there shortly. I have to put on my brooch still.” Mother waved us along.

I gave Theo my hand and we walked out of the cottage. He stopped for a moment just outside the door. “We have a few minutes before dinner. Would you like to walk now that it’s a little cooler?”

“I’d love to,” I said.

We strolled down the path that led out to the gardens. The vegetable garden was enclosed behind a wire mesh to keep the deer and bunnies from eating the harvest. As we passed by, I spotted green tomatoes on the vines, some beans ready for picking, and pea plants already turning yellow in the midsummer sun. Potato plants, green and short, were at least a month from being ready to share their fruit. I liked the idea of the root vegetables growing deep down in the warm, damp soil. They were safe down there while they grew.

I was accustomed to thinking of the world this way, in terms of food and safety, shelter from the elements. Having had so little of that the first nine years of my life, I assumed I would stay obsessed with these two ideas forever. Was part of growing up accepting the past we could not erase?

“The other night, my father told me something I never knew about my real mother,” Theo said after a few minutes of compatible silence. “He said that shortly after Fiona was born, he caught my mother over the crib. She had a knife in her hand.”

“Oh, Theo.”