Summer Holiday

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  But that doesn’t mean she should go. Emotion climbed his throat and threatened to come out in a cry. He lifted his face to the sky to hold back the threatening tears. Residents of the flats above him had their laundry drying in the summer sun, hanging from lines strung overhead. In one spot, several white sheets undulated in the breeze. With the sun shining from behind, they almost looked like angels.

  How could anything be better for Ellie than being with her family? he demanded of the faux heavenly choir above him. I’m her only family. But I’ve failed her.

  He sank to a metal step and dropped his head into his hands. Oona, forgive me.

  Chapter Eight

  Sarah huddled around the corner, head down, until the man left, taking long strides past without noticing her. Keeping her chin low, she looked out of the corner of her eye and watched him head in the direction they’d come from. He crossed the street and turned a corner. She waited for the space of three more breaths to calm her nerves and assure herself that he wouldn’t be returning.

  Only then did she straighten from her hiding place, but she kept an eye in the direction the director of Cloverfield Orphanage had gone, trying to piece together everything she’d heard. She’d heard all but the beginning of the conversation—enough to understand the situation and fill in several details on her own.

  Jacob used to talk about his childhood, which was influenced by his Irish mother. He and his elder sister, Oona, spent days scampering about the very room their mother lay dying in. He’d always insisted that Oona’s name came from the Irish word for lamb, uan, which meant she was little and soft and weak, even if she was the elder sibling. Oona readily countered that no, she was named after the Queen of the Fairies, which meant she ruled over him, and he should do her bidding.

  He’d told the story of how, on one day in that freezing room, his mother had settled the argument—between coughing fits. They were both right. Oona was her given name so she would remember to be as gentle as a lamb, even as she had the power of a queen and should act like one. She told them to care for each other and keep the other’s happiness and best interest at heart. For not only was Oona Queen of the Fairies, but Jacob was the father of the twelve tribes of Israel. They were both powerful in their own ways.

  Their mother died only days later from an illness he could only speculate as having been consumption. The siblings were split up to live with different relatives, but fortunately, both remained in the city, near enough to remain in contact and, as their mother wished, make sure the other was happy and safe.

  Sarah tried to remember the last time Jacob had mentioned his sister. It hadn’t been recently. All the stories she remembered were from her first summer or two at Ivy House. Then one year, when she asked about Oona, he quickly changed the subject. At the time, Sarah hadn’t thought anything of it; she and Jacob often flitted from topic to topic like bees moving between flowers, and Jacob even more so than she did.

  But now, standing around the corner of the alley, Sarah was quite sure Jacob hadn’t mentioned Oona in several years. Now she knew why: Oona had given birth to an illegitimate child. If she’d married and then had a child, Jacob would have most certainly mentioned both events to the entire household. Now that child had apparently been orphaned by her mother’s death—something that sounded like a recent event. Jacob had taken on the job of caring for her as best he could, all the while keeping her existence a secret due to the nature of her birth. Now, he faced the prospect of losing his niece—the one connection he had to Oona and his mother.

  Sarah sighed with resignation, knowing all too well society’s opinion on such matters. He’d been wise to hide the connection. Even from me, she thought sadly. Even though I could have comforted him and tried to help. If she’d known, she might have spoken of the situation at a time when someone might overhear or tried to help in a way that revealed the truth. If she’d learned anything by working for a wealthy family with dozens of servants, it was that the chances of a secret remaining one decreased with every additional person who knew it, no matter how trustworthy they were.

  But now she knew about Ellie and had no way to erase that knowledge. She glanced about the street casually as she walked along and then slipped around the corner into the alleyway.

  As expected, she found Jacob at the far end, sitting on a metal stair, holding his head with both hands. His shoulders were rounded, and he looked more wretched than she’d ever seen him. For a moment, she forgot that she’d gone counter to his wishes by not going ahead to the market and—worse, surely—by eavesdropping.

  Only moments before Mr. Huntsman’s appearance, Jacob had wanted to tell her about his niece—Sarah felt certain that the very situation she’d learned about was the one Jacob had hinted at. Perhaps Jacob would be cross with her for discovering his secret; if so, she’d take the blame. But she would also do everything she could to help him—and to carry his secret to the grave.

  But first, she had to comfort the man who meant more to her than anyone else.

  The cobblestones were angled slightly to allow water and refuse to flow down the middle, so she kept to one side as she made her way down the alleyway. With each step, she expected Jacob to look up, but he mustn’t have heard her footfalls because she drew within a few paces of him before he saw the hem of her dress and looked up.

  He quickly wiped one eye and then the other with his palm. Even if she hadn’t seen the tears, she’d have known by the redness around his eyes and his bereft expression that he was in pain. “You heard?” he asked.

  “I’m so sorry, Jacob.”

  She went to the stairs, dropped to her knees, and embraced him. Jacob held her tight, and for a moment, neither said another word. He mourned, and she mourned with him. After a time, he released her and scooted over on the stair, an invitation to join him.

  “I failed Oona,” he said miserably. “I promised to care for Ellie, to watch over her. And now . . . I can’t.”

  Sarah sensed what he did not say. She guessed now why he’d been tardy for the arrival. Who could blame an uncle for spending a few extra minutes with the girl he’d promised to watch over? “What are you going to do?”

  Jacob leaned both arms against his legs and stared between them at the cobblestones below. “What can I do?” He grunted in frustration and raked both hands through his hair. “And now you’re in the middle of it. Sarah, I tried to protect you so the Millingtons wouldn’t have a reason to connect you to—”

  “Shh.” Sarah placed a finger over his lips to stop his anxious rambling. “I’m glad I’m ‘in the middle’ of this, as you call it. Ellie is important to you. The circumstances of her birth don’t matter. What does matter is that you are her uncle and she should be with you.”

  “Should but won’t.” He sounded dejected, completely adrift. She yearned to draw him into a haven from his emotional storm, to smooth the worry lining his face. “I don’t know what to do,” he went on. “We’d need a miracle—rather, several—to fix this.”

  Sarah leaned close and spoke into his ear. “You know what they say about miracles?”

  At the question, Jacob turned his head, and suddenly their faces were nearly touching. She felt her own breath fail her completely. The two of them had been near each other hundreds, if not thousands, of times. They’d touched in some manner almost daily. But this connection, this closeness, was entirely different—intimate and wonderful and anxious all at once. Like the moment a rail track would be switched—or not. Somehow, their future hinged on this moment.

  He didn’t pull away, and neither did she, unwilling to stop feeling his breath on her cheek, unwilling to withdraw from the masculine scent that was Jacob—something she’d been familiar with for years, but had never experienced this intensely, this closely, or this long.

  He gazed into her eyes, and she felt as if she could drown in the hazel depths of his. “You aren’t disappointed in me?” he asked in a whisper.

  “About what?” Sarah said, equally breathy. �
�Having the loyalty and courage of a knight, no matter the cost?” The words thrilled her as she spoke them, for she felt their truth to her core. “You are an even better man than I thought, Jacob Croft—and that is no small thing.”

  “I could say the same about you,” Jacob said. “Though I’d amend the statement to your being an even better woman than I thought.” He smiled at that, but it was tinged with sadness.

  “Thank heavens for that.” The words slipped out, like a prayer of thanksgiving for having a man such as Jacob in her life.

  He reached up and smoothed a bit of hair that had escaped her bun. “To think I tried to protect you from my secret, when you would have been Ellie’s greatest champion all along.”

  “Of course,” Sarah said. “She needs you, and you need her.”

  He studied her face, drinking her in. “I need you too.”

  Her heart hiccuped, almost stealing her voice, but she managed, “And I you.”

  How many more seconds would they stay in this position, sitting so close, their bodies, touching, their faces nearly so? Sarah wanted the moment to last forever. She wished they’d been born under different stars—she with a dowry, he a landed gentleman—so they could be together forever and never worry about keeping their positions with a wealthy family because they needed them to survive. But she could not change their stars, so she wished instead that this moment, which had to end, would bring her joy to look back on.

  And it did. Jacob moved toward her until his lips is pressed against hers. Her eyes instinctively closed as the warmth of his kiss spread throughout her body. She pressed her hands against his shirt, and he reached up to hold her face, cradling it in his strong hands. When the kiss ended—too soon—he pressed his lips to her temple and held her close. She rested her head against his chest and heard the pounding of his heart, which beat almost as fast as her own. She smiled at the thought that she might have such an effect on him, as he did on her.

  “I would do anything for you,” she murmured. The words were as close as she’d ever come to saying she loved him—was in love with him.

  “You would?” Something in his tone told her that his thoughts had shifted. Where had the bumblebee flitted now?

  “Of course I would.” She sat up, her back straight, bracing herself for she knew not what. He might insist she go away so as to not sully her reputation by associating with him, to obtain a letter of recommendation from the Millingtons before the truth about Ellie was discovered. She didn’t know if she could bear that.

  “I have an idea—a way to keep Ellie from being adopted.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Sarah said with relief for herself, for Jacob, and for the little girl she’d never met.

  “But I need your help.”

  “Anything. What can I do?”

  Jacob took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, but instead of the sigh calming him, he seemed more nervous than ever. For the span of a couple of seconds, he looked everywhere but at Sarah. At last, he shifted to face her, took her hands in his, and spoke four simple words.

  “Will you marry me?”

  Chapter Nine

  Sarah didn’t think she’d heard right. Her shock and confusion must have been plainly evident because Jacob broke the silence between them.

  “You heard what Mr. Huntsman said. If I had a stable life and were married, then Ellie could leave the orphanage and live with me—us.” He squeezed her hands, excitement in his eyes, but Sarah pulled away and stood, trying to make sense of the world that had turned upside down. She took a few steps away and lifted one hand to her lips, which still tingled with his kiss. In the course of a few minutes, she’d gone from desperately worried to being swept away, from floating in the air to dropping to the ground and landing in a bruised heap.

  Jacob proposed, she thought, as if repeating the idea would make it real.

  Then why didn’t she feel happy? She’d hoped that this summer he’d kiss her—and he had.

  She’d hoped that he’d come to love her in return. He’d kissed her, yes. But in spite of knowing him for years, she had no experience with how he was with girls. Had he kissed other girls? Would he have kissed any girl who’d been there to show compassion? She hoped he wouldn’t, but she didn’t know.

  And then he’d proposed. Not after an expression of his love, if he had any, but as a solution to save Ellie—all very logical and practical. And entirely void of feeling.

  I can’t say no. If marrying Jacob helped Ellie, she should do it. He’d make a good husband to any woman, and there was every chance that she’d never again receive an offer. She’d been naive to think she could have what so many others lacked: a marriage based not on convenience, money, or need, but on love.

  She felt her eyes watering and fought back tears. She could not let him see her weep, not when she was foolishly mourning the loss of a girlish dream. With her back to him, she pressed her eyes closed. Two tears escaped one eye, which she quickly wiped away with her fingertips. She hoped he didn’t see the motion.

  “Sarah?” He sounded unsure, though not nearly as unsure as she felt.

  Not trusting herself to turn around, she answered with several wordless nods.

  Behind her, the staircase creaked as Jacob stood. “It won’t solve the entire problem, of course.”

  It? Even if she’d tried to come up with the least romantic way to refer to a marriage, she wouldn’t have thought of using it. The single word hurt. She hugged herself but had to wipe away a third tear from the other cheek.

  He paced behind her as words tumbled out with his energy. “We wouldn’t have a home for Ellie, of course, and that would be a problem,” Jacob said. “But we could probably find jobs in the city—maybe at a factory. Mr. Millington might be willing to loan us some money to help us get started.” When Sarah didn’t answer in the brief pause, Jacob barreled forward at full steam like a locomotive. “I know that factory work isn’t glamorous, and it’s far dirtier than what we’re used to, but hard work has never scared either of us, right?”

  She nodded and murmured something that he must have interpreted as an affirmative reply.

  “I’m glad you think so,” he said. “There is the matter of the Millingtons losing two servants at once, but I imagine there are plenty of men and women eager to take our positions, and—” At last, he stopped blathering and took a breath. “What you do think?”

  That I’m a fool for letting romantic stories get the better of me. His plan makes perfect sense and would be good for everyone involved. I should be grateful for the chance to marry a good man, no matter how much he cares for me. Oh, how much she wanted her first kiss to have meant something, to represent his genuine regard. To think that it might have been nothing but a response to an emotional moment nearly broke her.

  “Sarah? Did you hear me?”

  She’d surely stopped listening at some point, but she wasn’t at all certain how much longer he’d spoken. What had she missed?

  “What do you think of my plan?” From behind, Jacob laid a hand on her shoulder. Not flinching at his touch took every ounce of her self-control. The warmth of his hand, which moments ago would have sent her soaring, now made her heart feel like stone. “Come now, Sarah, what do you think?” he repeated.

  How to answer the question? His solution to Ellie’s predicament was a sound one, if judged entirely on its likelihood of keeping the girl from being adopted by someone else. That wasn’t all Sarah thought of the idea, but she couldn’t tell him what she really thought about those parts. Besides, she had yet to answer his proposal.

  She swallowed hard, hoping it would dissolve the thick disappointment filling her chest. “I think—” Another surreptitious swipe of her cheeks. “I think your plan will work.”

  “So you’ll do it?” He took her by the shoulders and, before she realized it, turned her around to face him. She smiled as quickly as she could, though there was no hiding the fact that she’d been crying—and far from smiling—a moment before.

>   “What’s wrong?” Jacob looked both perplexed and concerned.

  At least I’m not the only foolish one.

  She let out a shaky sigh. “It’s been a difficult day.”

  It was as broad a statement as she could come up with quickly, but she hoped he’d accept the explanation. With a trembling hand, she reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the slip of paper with the shopping list, followed by the coins Mrs. Roach had given her earlier. “Would you do the shopping for me? I’m afraid I’m rather unwell.”

  Jacob took the coins and paper with an open hand, but his brows were drawn together, and he studied her face as if he were a physician searching for the cause of her ailment. “If you’re ill, I can’t let you walk back alone.”

  “It’s just a headache, and the town house isn’t so far. I’ll return on my own just fine.” She left out any word about the mysterious—and likely fictional—highwayman Mrs. Roach had used as the reason for Jacob accompanying her in the first place. She nodded toward the money in his hand. “But Betsy will have a fit if she doesn’t get her pantry properly stocked. If you could do that for me, I’d be most grateful.”

  “Of course.” Jacob closed his fist around the coins and smiled at her in the way that always made her insides turn to pudding. “Anything for you.”

  “Thank you.” Not trusting herself to say another word, she left the alley, heading back toward Ivy House. When she was sure she’d put enough distance between her and Jacob, the tears fell on their own accord. She wiped them away, annoyed for having pinned her hopes on something more than a marriage of convenience.

  I should be happy, she told herself. Many women aren’t so lucky as to have the opportunity to marry, let alone to marry someone they know and care for, someone good and kind and agreeable. But despite her rational mind lecturing her the entire way back, her heart refused to believe a word of it.