one man.” My mother’s once gentle mouth had developed a hard set, her way of dealing with the merciless circumstances.
“Why don’t you hire some help, a boy from one of the other farms. Or rent out the property. Surely someone in town is looking to expand,” I said.
“Your brother won’t hear of such a thing, so do not be so reckless as to mention it to him. You know how proud he is,” she said, turning her head so I wouldn’t see the bitterness in her expression. His pride had become their misfortune.
I needed to change the subject. “Where’s Glynnis?”
Maeve flushed. “She’s working at Watford’s now. She’s stocking shelves today.”
“On the Sabbath?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Working off our debt, truth be told,” my mother said, her confession ending in an irritated sigh as she fussed with the potatoes.
Adair’s money weighed in my purse. There was no question that
I wouldn’t give that money to them, and deal with the consequences later.
The door swung open and Nevin stepped into the dim cabin, a hulking dark figure silhouetted against the overcast sky. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust and for me to see Nevin himself. He’d lost weight and gotten hard and sinewy. He’d cut his hair so close to the skull it might as well have been shaved, and his face was filthy and nicked with scars, as were his hands. He had the same scorn for me in his eyes that he’d had the day I left, fueled by his own self-pity at what had befallen them since.
He made a sound in the back of his throat at the sight of me and ducked past to the wash bucket, plunging his hands in.
I stood up. “Hello, Nevin.”
He dried his hands on a bit of rag before taking off his battered coat. He smelled of cattle, dirt, and fatigue.
“I’d like to speak to Lanore in private,” he said. My mother and sister exchanged looks, then began to head for the door.
“No, wait,” I called after them. “Let Nevin and I go outdoors. You stay where it’s warm.”
My mother shook her head. “No, we have chores that need doing before supper. You have your talk.” She shepherded my sister in front of her.
In truth, I was afraid to be left alone with Nevin. His dislike of me was like a sheer rock face; he gave me not an inch in which to begin. I’d be better off walking away, his defiance seemed to say, than to try to find a way into his heart or head.
“So you’re back,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “But not to stay.”
“No.” There was no point in lying to him. “My home is in Boston now.”
He gave me a superior look. “I can guess from your fancy clothes what you’ve been doing. Do you think your mother or me want to know what shameful thing you’ve done with yourself? Why’d you come back?” The question I’d been dreading.
“To see everyone again,” I said, my tone pleading. “To let you know I wasn’t dead.”
“Such news could have been put in a letter. It’s been a long time with no word from you.”
“I can only apologize for that.”
“Were you in prison? Is that why you could not write?” he asked, mocking.
“I didn’t write because I wasn’t sure if it would be welcome.” What could I have said? I had been certain it was best that they never heard from me again and that was as Alejandro had advised. It’s a conceit, or a failing, of the young to think you can excise your past and it will never come looking for you.
He snorted at my excuse. “Did you ever think what effect your silence might have on Mother and Father? It very nearly killed Mother. It was the reason Father died.”
“Mother said he was killed by a bull-”
“That was how he died, for certain. His skull split open by a bull, his blood pouring into the mud with no way for us to stop it. But did you ever know Father to let his guard down around the livestock? No. It happened because he was sick at heart. After he got the letter from the nuns, he was not the same. Blamed himself for sending you away-and to think he’d be with us still if you’d let him know you were alive!” He smashed his knuckles into the table.
“I told you I was sorry. There were circumstances that prevented me-”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. You say you weren’t in prison. You come back looking like the richest whore in Boston. I’ve some idea how difficult the years have been for you. I’ll hear no more.” He swung away from me, nursing his bloodied knuckles. “I forgot to ask-where’s the babe? Did you leave it behind with your procurer?”
My cheeks were hot as embers. “You’ll be happy to know that the child perished before it was born. A miscarriage.”
“Ah. God’s will, as they say. Punishment for your wickedness, accommodating that devil St. Andrew.” Nevin glowered, pleased with my news, happy to make his judgments. “I never could understand how a smart girl like you could be blind to that bastard. Why didn’t you listen to me? I’m a man, same as he, I know how a man thinks…” He trailed off, exasperated. I wanted to wipe the smug grimace off Nevin’s face, but I couldn’t. He might have been right. Maybe he
He wiped his knuckles again. “So, how long are you planning to stay?”
“I don’t know. A few weeks.”
“Does Mother know you’ve not returned for good? That you’re going to leave us again?” Nevin asked, with pleasure in his voice that I would break our mother’s heart again.
I shook my head.
“You can’t stay too long,” he warned, “or you’ll be snowed in till spring.”
How long would it take to convince Jonathan to come to Boston with me? Could I stand a winter sequestered in St. Andrew? It made me claustrophobic, the very thought of the long, dark winter days snowbound in the cabin with my brother.
Nevin dipped his bloody fist into the water bucket, tending his self-inflicted wound while he spoke to me. “You can stay with us while you are visiting. I’d rather toss you out on your ear, but I’ll not be a source of gossip to the neighbors. But you must behave the entire time, or it’s out you go.”
“Of course.”
“And you’ll not bring that bastard St. Andrew around here. I’d say you’re not to see him while you’re staying under my roof, but I know you’d go to him anyway and lie to me about it.”
He was right, of course. For now, though, I had to pretend to be contrite. “Whatever you say, brother. Thank you.”
THIRTY-FOUR
That first evening home was difficult. On one hand, I can’t recall a more joyful dinner. When Glynnis arrived home from her day at Watford’s, we had the opportunity for one more reunion, which sparked our hearts anew (except for Nevin, who would never be forgiving). While the biscuits baked, I brought their presents from my trunk, handing out gifts as though I were Father Christmas. Maeve and Glynnis waltzed around with the Chinese silk held up to their bodices, planning the fancy dresses they would make with it, and my mother nearly wept tears of joy over the shawl. Their delight only made Nevin angrier; thank goodness I’d not brought anything for him (knowing he’d only throw it in the fire) or he probably would have boxed my ears and tossed me out on my ass.
We sat around the table after the plates were scraped clean and the candles drew low, my mother and sisters filling me in on everything that had happened in the village while I was gone: failed crops, illnesses, one or two new arrivals. And, of course, deaths, births, and marriages. They lingered over Jonathan’s wedding, expecting I’d want to know all about it, what fancy food was served (not knowing the exotic delicacies I’d consumed), what
