What had compelled her to chase Emily’s story? Had it just been a gut feeling? Or a distraction?
No. Emily’s was more than just a tragic love story. The woman had a strength that Sophia couldn’t help but admire. She hadn’t let a lack of love destroy her.
In fact, when her own plans hadn’t worked out, she’d surrendered.
Maybe William was right—Sophia had to stop fighting. Perhaps she really did need to write her story after all, to surrender to all the truth that she’d never wanted to face. The good, the bad, the ugly—and the beautiful too.
Her fingers itched as she reached into her bag. Of course. When she finally needed it, she didn’t have any blank paper.
But wait.
Sophia pulled out Emily’s notebook. Each typed page only took up one side of 8.5” by 11” printer paper. The backs were blank.
Yanking a pen from inside her purse, she finally stopped holding back. “God, if you’re listening—if you care—then please, help me do this.”
And then, finally, inspiration came.
She poured everything out, letter by letter, word by word, emotion by emotion.
. . . I may never understand why I let David in, why I let him control me like he did. I can see now that living a life where I tried to be “strong like Mom” didn’t work for me. Could it be that I’ve been so focused on helping others that I forgot self-care? For so long, it felt like I was living outside of myself, a critical third party that saw but didn’t feel. But when David came along, I finally let myself feel, and maybe that wasn’t a bad thing in and of itself.
Perhaps letting someone in never is.
I think that I kind of reversed things then, feeling and not thinking. Or maybe just denying.
Whatever the case, I feel stronger, more self-aware than I ever have. I can hear David’s voice in my head and finally recognize whose voice it was all along—my own. And I’m not excusing his behavior. Not one bit. I’m finally able to accept that I was a victim and that doesn’t make me weak.
But I do recognize that it was easier to believe his lies because I already believed them about myself. That doesn’t make the abuse my fault in any way—he’s still responsible for that—but it’s helpful for me to see how David did or didn’t change me. To understand who I was before and who I am now, after.
Thankfully, now I know the truth.
I am strong, not because I steeled myself against love or because I went after what I wanted, but because I have finally learned how to be me—and to be okay with who that is.
Her pen stilled.
She’d done it. Her story weaved quite literally between the pages of Emily’s—their lives intersecting despite their differences. Perhaps she’d never understand how she had come to have this notebook in the first place. It may have been coincidence. Maybe more. The important thing was it had helped her do what she’d been longing to do.
Her phone buzzed at that moment. She wiped away tears she hadn’t known were streaming from her eyes. Sophia did a double take at the name appearing on her screen.
“Hello? Mr. Bryant?” Why was Hugh calling her? They’d left his house not five or six hours ago, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want to be contacted again.
“Ms. Barrett, hi. I know you’re probably surprised to hear from me, but before you left, I saw something in your eyes that . . . Well, I felt prompted to call the family attorney and inquire about my cousin’s possessions.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. He said they went to a friend of my cousin’s. She runs a B&B not far from me. Name’s Kathryn Forrester. Here’s the address.” He rambled it off and Sophia rapidly wrote it down on the bottom of the page where she’d just finished her story. “Not sure if she’d still have the original journal, but it’s worth looking into. Oh, and my cousin’s name was Evelyn Shoemaker. You probably need to know that.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Bryant. You have no idea what this means to me.”
“Yes, well.” He paused. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Me too, sir.” She glanced down at the notebook. “In fact, I think I already have.”
Sophia hung up the phone, stared at it, and laughed. It seemed providence had struck once again. With a quick swipe of her fingers, she pulled William’s number up to call him . . . but stopped. How would he respond to a call right now, when she still didn’t know what her future held? She didn’t want to be unfair to him or get his hopes up.
Maybe she’d just drive to the B&B and scope it out first, then bring him back with her later if things panned out.
Sophia stuffed the notebook back into her bag as she walked down the pathway toward the parking lot. Finally, she reached William’s car and climbed in. She pulled up the B&B on her phone’s GPS, put the key in the ignition, and eased onto the narrow, two-lane road.
As she drove, splashes of water began to plink against her windshield, and fifteen minutes later, the trees lining the road thrashed in the wind, rocking William’s small car. How had the day gone from perfectly brilliant to a raging storm? Sophia gripped the steering wheel and bit her lip. It was difficult to see with the water coming down, but the GPS showed she was getting close to the B&B. Thank goodness.
She rounded the corner and saw a sign that said Rambling B&B. Just beyond, she could make out the form of a two-story house. Her tires crunched over gravel and fallen branches as she drove the long driveway toward the house.
Sophia pulled into a small parking lot alongside a few other cars. Then, snatching her bag from the passenger seat, she got out of the car, wrapping herself deeper into her jacket as the wind and rain blew against her, and raced several feet toward the house. She walked up the wooden steps to a quaint porch and did her best to wipe her muddy shoes off on the welcome mat.
Before she could raise a hand to knock on the front door, she noticed a sign just above the doorknob that said, “Come on in.” With a turn of the knob, Sophia entered. Instant warmth overtook her whole body, which was shaking with the cold by now—she’d been soaked through in a matter of seconds. A woman who looked her age sat behind a desk a few feet away. Was this Kathryn Forrester? She exclaimed when she saw Sophia and disappeared through a door behind the desk.
What now?
But the woman reappeared with a stack of towels. She bustled around the desk toward Sophia. “You must be freezing.” As if she’d known Sophia her whole life, the woman threw a large, fluffy towel around her shoulders and pointed to a roaring fire next to a large dormer window. “Sit and warm yourself. I insist. I’ll get some tea.”
Before Sophia could respond, the woman was gone once more. But Sophia was so cold, she didn’t protest. Instead, she moved toward the fire and plopped into a Queen Anne chair. The crackles and pops from the fireplace soothed the frayed ends of her soul, and the smell of burning wood took her back to Girl Scout camp all those years ago. The fireplace was flanked by two large bookcases filled with numerous volumes of all sizes.
But the book on the side table next to the chair where she sat was what stole her breath.
Sophia reached out and touched the spine of Moonbeams on the Moor.
“My mother’s favorite author.” The woman entered the room carrying a tray with tea and English biscuits.
Sophia gave a shaky smile. “Mine too. So few people have ever heard of Appleton, though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she’s popular in Cornwall.”
“Ah, you’re one of the female theorists.” The woman’s eyes twinkled.
“My boyfriend made some very convincing arguments.” The thought of William brought both warmth and heartache.
The woman set the tray down on the coffee table, then sat on the sofa across from Sophia. “I’m Alice Forrester. My mother and I own this bed-and-breakfast.”
“Sophia Barrett. It’s nice to meet you. I actually came to talk with Kathryn. Is that your mother?”
“It is. She’s not here right now, but should be home shortly. Of course, with t
his weather, she might have decided to stay with my brother overnight in Camelford.” Alice leaned over and poured the tea into a cup. “Can I pass along a message?”
“No, it’s really something I need to ask in person, I’m afraid. Perhaps I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Surely you’re not going back out in that?” Alice’s eyes widened.
“Well . . .”
“Do you live nearby? If not, stay the night. Mum will be home by the morning if not sooner. She has a daily routine and hates to get behind.”
Sophia didn’t have to work in the bookstore tomorrow. And she had to admit, the thought of not returning to Port Willis tonight—where she and William had created memory upon memory—was somewhat comforting. Besides, lingering here, with the fireplace and all the books, didn’t sound half bad. And she could text Ginny and William and let them know she was all right. William shouldn’t need his car tomorrow since church was within walking distance, and he could probably borrow Ginny’s if he needed to go somewhere else. Other than that, she couldn’t think of any reason not to stay.
“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ll take a room for the night, please.”
42
GINNY
Ginny marched from the bookstore. Rain bombarded her—perfect. It must have started sometime during her talk with Garrett.
“Gin—”
“I’m not doing this, Garrett. You can have your lawyer talk to my lawyer.”
“Did you finally get one?” Frustration tinged his voice.
“I will. Just . . . leave me alone. Haven’t you done enough?” She turned and started to run before he could say more. But Ginny didn’t get far before she nearly plowed into Steven, who must have been on his way to meet her.
“Whoa.” He put his arms on her shoulders to stop her from falling. “What’s chasing you?”
The tease in his voice only made it all worse. She didn’t deserve his good humor. “It’s not funny.”
His look turned serious. “What’s wrong?”
Out of instinct, she threw herself into his arms. “I don’t know what to do.” The rain drenched them both, but she didn’t care. Not now, when her world was falling apart. How was she going to get through this?
An answer came to her, and it made her stomach ache.
Her parents had money. And if she only admitted that they’d been right, and she’d been wrong, she could use their lawyers to crush Garrett into the ground and keep what had become rightfully hers.
Steven nestled his nose and mouth down next to her ear so she could hear him over the sound of the rain smacking the sidewalk. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”
“Ginny—” And there was Garrett’s voice again.
Ginny squeezed her eyes shut as she felt Steven stiffen. She pulled back from his embrace and avoided looking into his eyes. Instead, she lifted her gaze to Garrett, who stared at his friend, slack-jawed. “I don’t have anything else to say to you, Garrett.”
“What’s going on here, Ginny?”
“Why do you care?” The fact Garrett thought he had any right to know anything about her life anymore . . . It burned.
“I definitely do care if my wife is taking up with my friend.” Garrett looked like he wanted to take a swing at Steven.
“Hey now.” Steven stepped around Ginny and held up his hands. “First, I don’t feel like Ginny should have to explain herself to you. And second, don’t insult her. She’s done nothing wrong here, mate. You have.”
Garrett’s balloon deflated and he kicked at a rock.
On the one hand, Ginny hated seeing him brought so low.
On the other, she wanted to kiss Steven right here and now for the way he’d protected her. All she would have to do is grab him and pull him toward her, and he’d kiss her back—she knew it. And it would hurt Garrett, and maybe he’d know what it felt like to be punched in the gut.
Oh man.
Where had that thought come from? It wasn’t her.
But it was something her mother would have done. Or her father. Hurt people before they can hurt you—that was their motto.
Or in this case, Take revenge where you can.
But that wasn’t her either.
Or was it? Did she really know herself at all?
Steven turned to Ginny. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Yes.” She let him grab her hand and lead her around the corner, out of the rain, and to her front door, where the porch overhang provided temporary relief from the storm.
Since she’d run out of the bookstore so quickly, she’d left her purse behind, but going back now didn’t seem like an option. She’d run inside and change, then go close everything up and retrieve her stuff when she was sure Garrett was gone. Goose bumps rose on her arms as she leaned down to the flowerpot next to the door and retrieved her spare key.
When she straightened, Steven was there, looking down at her. “What’s going on, Gin? Talk to me.”
“I . . .” She still needed to apologize to him for her rudeness a few weeks ago, but this didn’t seem like the moment. Right now, all she could think about was how she was losing everything—including herself.
“I need to go.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I just need to get away.” She placed the key into the lock and turned it. The metal click should have told Steven she was serious.
But he was persistent. “Gin, I care about you. Let me help.”
“I can’t.”
Or, rather, she wouldn’t.
Because she didn’t trust herself. And if she couldn’t trust herself, then who could she trust?
Ginny entered her home, alone, and closed the door behind her.
43
SOPHIA
The next morning, Sophia woke from a deep sleep. At first, her brain registered confusion at seeing the high-beamed wooden ceiling overhead, the four-poster bed, the pink walls, and the shabby chic curtains on the windows. But then she remembered. Alice had given her a room on the second floor and a change of clothes that were only slightly baggy on her.
Sophia stretched and sat up in bed, allowing her back to rest against the white headboard. Light streamed in from the window, and from what she could see, the sky was an azure blue, as if no storm had ever occurred.
She stayed in bed a few more moments before pulling herself up and over to where her purse hung on the back of a vanity chair. Snatching her phone, she hit the Power button. Since she didn’t have a charger with her, she’d shut it off last night to preserve her battery. Now several text messages pinged at her. She scrolled through them. Both Ginny and William had responded to her group text last night when she’d told them she’d been held over due to the rain.
William’s was just like him: Glad you’re safe. Don’t worry about the car. I can take a taxi if I need to go somewhere. And don’t feel like you have to wait for me to find the answers you’ve been looking for. I’ll be anxious to hear what you discover.
He’d given his blessing, then, to learn what she could from Kathryn about Emily’s journal without him here. The thought was bittersweet.
Sophia sighed as she put the phone down and wandered to the window. Her jaw dropped at the gorgeous scenery surrounding her. She hadn’t been able to see it in the dark, but now that light had come . . . Wow.
With a grunt, she worked the latch and pushed open her window. The cool air hit her cheeks, and she filled her lungs with it. Her eyes wandered the landscape, from the assortment of tall and short trees where the birds twittered, to the brightly adorned flower garden below.
A rapid thwack thwack thwack rose from the melody of nature beneath the window. Sophia angled her neck and saw a woman in a wide-brimmed straw hat standing by some bushes, pruning shears in hand. Gray hair fell around her shoulders. Perhaps this was Kathryn.
Sophia dressed quickly in her clothes—which were now dry—and headed downstairs. She passed a man and woman on the stairs who didn’t even seem to notice her. They hel
d hands and were softly laughing together as they climbed. Honeymooners, maybe?
That could be her and William someday, if she could only figure out what she wanted. What she needed.
Not now, Sophia.
Before going outside, she moved into the dining area and snagged a mug, which she filled with coffee—thank goodness Kathryn and Alice were catering to the non-tea-lovers among them.
She stepped into the sun, steaming mug in hand, and rounded the house, where she found the woman she’d seen from above a few minutes ago.
The rhythmic snipping ceased and the woman looked up. “Can I help you, my dear?”
Sophia knew next to nothing about gardening, but the plant the woman was working on seemed dry—maybe even dying. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
The older woman used the top of her thick gloves to push back a chunk of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You aren’t interrupting. I’m Kathryn Forrester. You must be our unexpected guest who arrived last night.”
“Yes, hi. Sophia Barrett. Nice to meet you.”
“You as well, dear. My daughter said you needed to speak with me about something?” She resumed her pruning.
Sophia leaned against a nearby tree and wrapped her fingers around the warm mug. “I do, although I don’t want to keep you from your work. Do you have time later this morning to chat?”
“I could clear some time this evening.” Kathryn peeked at Sophia from under the brim of her hat. “But I don’t mind you asking now. I sense you have a lot to say, and I’ll be here awhile yet.”
“Are you sure?”
“Try me.”
“Okay. I’m looking for something Evelyn Shoemaker may have left with you. She was a friend of yours, right?”
“She was. What was this thing you’re looking for?”
“A journal.”
“Perhaps you’d best start at the beginning, dear.”
Whether it was because she’d just relived everything by writing her story yesterday, or because Kathryn was simply easy to talk to—or maybe something else entirely—Sophia found herself spilling every relevant detail of her life to this woman she didn’t know. In the middle of it, Kathryn handed her an extra pair of gloves and some shears. When Kathryn pointed to a shoot, Sophia cut as she continued to speak. Together, they pruned the dead or oldest shoots so new shoots could have room to breathe—and grow—in their next season.
The Secrets of Paper and Ink Page 26