“A bit, perhaps.” Her tone was sarcastic.
He guffawed. “I like an honest woman. Perhaps that’s what my brother sees in you. That and someone who said yes to a quickie engagement and marriage to a man she didn’t know at all. I guess the money didn’t hurt.” His voice was hard again now.
Sophie bit her lip, fighting tears. He was needlessly cruel. She turned on her heel without a word and left Evan standing there.
* * * *
She worried that Evan would follow her, but he didn’t, much to her relief. She wouldn’t set foot in the greenhouse again. Why did he hate his brother so? Was John as horrible as he said? Sophie had seen no real evidence of that. Evan was definitely cruel, or at least, he wanted to hurt her with harsh words.
Sarah often said that the hurt are the ones who damage others. Sophie wondered if there was some truth to her friend’s saying. Perhaps that was true of Evan. She didn’t know, and Sophie didn’t care to try to understand him. He wasn’t her problem, but his brother was. He was the man she was marrying, after all.
* * * *
“There you are,” John said when she came down to lunch later. He looked well rested in a navy blue sweater and brown cords.
She had debated having a tray sent up to her room. Sophie didn’t want to run into Evan—at least not by herself. His words stung more than she wanted to admit.
“Here I am.” She smiled, happy to see him.
He stood and pulled a chair out for her at the dining room table. “I thought you might want to have the seamstress come in later today and fit you for your wedding dress. Is that alright?”
“Of course, but I don’t know if I would feel right wearing white and doing the whole first wedding thing,” she said, feeling embarrassed. “I know it’s your first wedding, but—” It seemed unfair in so many ways that he was marrying divorcee with a child.
He broke in. “I would like you to wear white. I want you to. Would you do it for me?” John asked, a note of tenderness in his tone.
It nearly undid her after the harsh words his brother had spoken earlier that morning. “Of course I will!”
He laughed. “Then that settles it. I’ll have Ms. Bechdol come out later to fit you. In the meantime, would you go with me to the family chapel? That’s where we’ll be getting married, and I’d like you to see it so you can make any plans for the décor you want.”
Sophie flushed with pleasure. “That sounds wonderful.” She felt stirrings of excitement for the first time about the wedding. It felt like more than just an arrangement. Perhaps John was only humoring her, but she got the impression he wanted it to be a special day for both of them.
“Good. Let’s go. The chapel is just behind the house. You might not have noticed it when we came in yesterday. My great grandfather had it built, too. He was adamant that the family would have a personal place for worship and sacraments.” John opened the front door for her.
“I see. That must have been lovely,” Sophie said, following him into the brisk day.
“It is when we’ve used it. We don’t keep a clergyman on duty, but some generations in the house did.”
They walked a few minutes in silence, the sun bright, but the wind whipping in their faces. The small chapel came into view—stone and compact but lovely. Sunlight glinted off of the gold steeple on top.
“How charming!” Sophie clapped her hands.
To the left of the chapel, a small graveyard was enclosed by a black, iron fence. “Is all of your family buried on the estate, then?” She asked, pointing toward the churchyard. There appeared to be about twenty graves there, perhaps more. Many of the stones listed like rotten, broken teeth in the earth.
“Most of them who lived here, yes.” John’s voice was tight.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude,” Sophie said, feeling wrong footed.
“You aren’t. I just get emotional when I think about it. My memories in that little churchyard aren’t happy ones.” He grimaced. “Let’s have a look inside. You can see where my mother is buried and others are, too.” He opened the small gate and led her into the graveyard. They walked toward the back. “Here’s her headstone and my father’s.” He stopped in front of two newer stones that were less worn with age than most of the others.
Sophie admired the expensive granite and fine lettering that spelled out the names and epitaph for his mother. “Mona Lynn Granger. Dearly loved wife and mother and friend to all. She was only 44. How sad!” She had died in 1954.
“Yes, it is. She was far too young.” John shoved his hands into his coat pockets, looking at the ground.
“What happened to her?” Sophie asked softly.
“It was a terrible accident. She fell down the stairs in the house and broke her neck.” He bit his lip, gazing into the distance. “My brother and I were outside playing when it happened. My father was in the library.” His words were terse.
“How tragic. I’m so sorry.” Sophie touched his jacket sleeve with her her hand, wishing she could comfort him.
“Yes, I am, too. Nothing was ever the same after that. My parents’ marriage was unhappy, but my father was a changed man after her death. It was like all of his demons came to the fore. He drank too much, and he was harsh with us. It was hell, yet here we are still—living at Haven House. He has that kind of control over people.” John laughed harshly.
“John...” Sophie trailed off, not sure what to say. She touched his hand and squeezed it.
“I know. It’s ancient history now.” He gave her a forced, sad smile.
“But she’s your mother. It’s normal never to get over such a sudden, painful loss.” Sophie held his hand, reveling
