by Maisey Yates
And Addie had known.
Gram had known. All this time. And never spoken a word of it to her.
Had never reached out and done a thing to see if she could ease Lark’s grief.
She was there for you. She just didn’t ask you about this.
But they could have. They could have.
It’s your fault, isn’t it? You kept the secret.
She was so sick of secrets. She was so done. What had it given her? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It certainly hadn’t brought Mara back. The child she’d named after she was already gone.
Mara.
Bitter.
She remembered that from Sunday School, the meaning of that name. That in the Book of Ruth, Naomi had changed her name after losing her husband and sons.
Bitter.
The loss had been bitter.
And she thought... She thought that she could make sense of this, on her own. She’d been certain that she’d been missing something on her healing journey.
And she’d been right.
She’d been right.
It was only a shame that this made her feel cut open fresh again. That it made an old wound feel new. The staring down at this blanket, this possibility, this piece of another future, made it all feel so keen.
And Taylor... Ben’s daughter.
His living daughter. Barely even a year younger than the one he didn’t know about. The one who had never lived.
Seeing her didn’t help either.
You came back. You came back to this place where it would be hardest to keep it to yourself. What were you really hoping for?
Maybe the same thing Avery was hoping for when she had walked into the Craft Café with a bruise on her face.
A lifeline she hadn’t even known she needed.
“What happened?” Mary asked, sitting on the bed beside her and grabbing her hands. “Lark, what happened?”
This was the moment. Her chance. To finally say it out loud.
This was what Addie had left her. Not just The Miner’s House, but these letters. This blanket.
This knowledge that she’d known, but that she’d never had the chance to share. So it felt right to do it here.
These were the words she’d been keeping inside ever since she’d taken that test and seen those two pink lines bleed into being.
“I got pregnant. The summer before college. And I kept thinking... I would tell you. Because you can’t keep that kind of thing a secret. Except, I couldn’t decide what to do. I couldn’t decide, and I waited until it was too late to...to have an abortion. I figured I didn’t really want one anyway. I went all through classes, and I just didn’t talk about it. And some people asked, and I would shrug and say that I was a surrogate or something. I just lied. A lot. I told someone I was married and he was in the army.” She scrunched her face. “I just... I didn’t want to tell anyone. And I started to feel her move. They told me it was a girl.”
Her breath caught. “I realized it was my chance. To be great at something. I could be her mother. But I didn’t want to tell anyone. I wanted it to be mine, and I kept thinking the time would come when I’d feel ready. And then she came. Early. I was sure it would still be all right. But I had... I had a placental abruption. And she died. She was... She was born dead, really. She never cried. She never cried, and it just felt like another way I’d failed. Another way I wasn’t... Avery who’s just so perfect and wonderful, and Hannah who was so brilliantly talented. You were so worried my big feelings would get me in trouble. And then I got pregnant. I made such a big mistake, and I proved I was just as...silly and irresponsible as everyone believed, but I thought maybe I could be a good mom. I thought it was my chance. And I failed her.”
“Lark,” her mom whispered, tears in her eyes. “You didn’t fail her, you didn’t fail anyone.”
“I was so embarrassed. Because you warned me. You told me being impetuous and spontaneous and emotional like I was could hurt me. And I knew that you would be disappointed that I got pregnant when I was eighteen. And I couldn’t marry him. I couldn’t marry him because he got engaged to someone else.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how to tell anyone. What was I supposed to do? He got back together with her, and I found out I was pregnant. And I just wanted to stay away forever. I wanted to stay away forever because I thought I could never hurt as bad as I did knowing that he was going to be with someone else. But I was having his baby. Until I didn’t.” She put her hand on the blanket. “She knew. She figured it out. And I don’t even know how. It must’ve been one of the times I came home. I did come home twice when I was pregnant. It didn’t really show, and I just didn’t say anything. Gram knew. She never... She knew I lost the baby and she never said anything. Maybe she thought I got rid of it. Gave it up for adoption or... And... But we never talked about it. And we never will.”
Mary grabbed her and pulled her in for a hug. “But I know,” she said. Her mother was smaller than her and had been for a long time, but her fragile frame held Lark with all the strength that she needed. “I know, Lark.” She could hear tears in her mother’s voice. “And you can tell me whatever you need to. I am so sorry I didn’t ask you. I’m so sorry we couldn’t talk.”
“I know. If things had been different...with him...”
“Ben?”
“Yes,” Lark said.
“You could be with him now.”
She nodded. “It scares me, though. He conveniently doesn’t have a wife, and has a daughter so close to the age that my baby would be. Our baby. And it all feels a little bit neat. Like the kind of thing that might actually be poison.” A tear fell from her cheek onto her mother’s hand. “I wanted her, you know. I loved her. So much.”
“Nothing is going to replace your baby. His daughter wouldn’t be the same. Just like you’re not the same as Avery or Hannah. One of you does not replace the other. And never could. It just sort of expands, that’s all.”
“But we’re not in that space. Not at all.”
“How did you survive?” her mom asked. “Without any help?”
“I just... Kept on breathing. And in the end, that’s all it takes to survive. But somewhere in there I lost something of what I wanted to be. I lost my connection to all of you.” She looked at her mom, emotion bubbling in her chest. “Mom,” she said. “I really did think that you would look at me and think that I was... That I was broken like her.”
Guilt lashed at her, because she could see that her words nearly destroyed her mother where she sat.
“This is never what I wanted,” her mom said. “It’s not what I thought we had.”
And she couldn’t say who was at fault. Because it was like they had all allowed each other to be guests in each other’s homes, showing only the very best of themselves and hiding their secrets in a closet. Choosing to believe that each other couldn’t handle them rather than actually putting it to the test.
Even Gram had done that. Gram had known, but hadn’t reached out.
It was like they all felt so tentative in their position in the family. Gram knowing she was barely forgiven by her daughter, their mother wanting so desperately to be perfect in a way her own mother hadn’t been. And her daughters in turn wanting to make sure they didn’t disappoint that effort. And as for each other... As for the sisters...
They had let that same tendency keep them apart from each other as well.
Separate rooms, full of secrets.
Separate quilt squares.
Separate stories.
“Did anyone ever cry with you?” her mother asked, putting her hand on Lark’s face.
Her mother, who had never been able to show emotion, had tears on her cheeks. And Lark wanted to share this.
Needed to.
Lark shook her head, and Mary lowered hers, tears slipping down her cheek
. This hurt. But it was a gift. This shared grief. The shared tears. And even though it was painful it was like a balm. Like a disinfectant poured onto a deep wound.
Because this pain, this grief, deserved the tears of others, because it was that deep. And she had carried it by herself all this time. Carried it inside of her, a piece of her story that she never spoke out loud.
And when they were done crying, Lark’s eyes were swollen, but her heart felt new.
“I’ll drive you back to The Dowell House,” her mom said, pushing her hair back from her face.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I feel like I have so much work to do, Lark. Getting to know you. Getting you to trust that I want to.”
“It isn’t just you,” Lark said. “You’ve just started sharing all the ways that Gram hurt you. You wanted to preserve our relationship with her, so you didn’t tell us how much it hurt. We knew it did, but it wasn’t... We knew it did. But I’m beginning to understand. And it’s complicated. Because I love Gram, but she hurt you.”
“I couldn’t ask you to sort through that when you were children.”
“We have to start trusting each other to handle these things that hurt. Because otherwise... Otherwise we just have to face them alone.”
Mary nodded, and they walked out of Gram’s bedroom and turned the light off behind them. Lark was holding the blanket, pressed firmly to her chest, but she didn’t notice until they were out the front door. But she kept on holding it, this blanket in her arms. That her grandmother had made for the great-grandchild she never held. That her mother now knew about. And even though she was holding the blanket now, she felt like she was carrying less than she had for the last sixteen years.
33
Sam threw me out. I have nowhere to go. I have nothing. Elsie says I can’t come back to the apartment. I’ll have to go back to Bear Creek. I don’t know if I can bear the shame of it. But I remember the girl I was there. She had hope. I want that hope again. I want to be loved again.
Ava Moore’s diary, 1924
Avery
It was sunny, it was summer, and Avery didn’t have to go into the store today. Consequently, she had dragged Hayden and Peyton to the Craft Café with her. Dragged was maybe a strong choice of words, but of course Hayden had to pretend like he was a little bit too cool to go to a Craft Café with his mother. Peyton... All of this had been difficult for her. It had been a little bit rocky with her friends, and she was still torn over feeling betrayed by what her dad had done, and loving him. And Avery didn’t have an easy answer for that. Because it wasn’t as if she had stopped loving David the day that he had hurt her.
She was thankful the school had been supportive. They’d offered the kids scholarships for next year if she couldn’t afford to pay, and it went a long way in soothing some of her worries.
But it didn’t ease their pain.
She still loved the idea of him. She could still see the man that she had walked down the aisle toward, and that man, she loved.
But she did not love the man that he became, and that was the only man left.
But he was Peyton’s dad, and it was never going to be simple.
But just because it was complicated, didn’t mean they couldn’t be happy.
And Avery didn’t feel tired like she had before.
“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward a table and chairs in the corner. It was larger, of course, than the one that Gram had kept set up for herself, Hannah and Lark. But it was in the same place. And it made her smile.
Lark came out from behind the counter and walked over to the table, grinning.
“Hi, Aunt Lark,” Peyton said.
“Hi,” Hayden mumbled.
“Anything to drink?”
“He’ll have a hot chocolate,” Avery said, and laughed at his scowl. “It’s what you want. Stop drinking things you don’t like just to be cool.”
“What tea do you have?” Peyton asked, straightening and trying to look grown up.
“Chai,” Lark said. “Others too, but I bet you’d like the chai.”
“Okay. I’ll have that.”
“Do you know what craft you’re going to do?”
“I want to do those bags that people do here,” Avery said. “Where you carve out your own stamp.”
“Linocut,” Lark said. “I’ll get you the supplies for that. You two?”
“I don’t know,” Hayden said.
“I’ll do the same as Mom,” Peyton said.
“Linocut all around, how about? And I can help if you need it.”
Lark turned to get the supplies, and Avery stopped her. “Just a second,” she said. “I think we need...flower crowns.”
“What?” Hayden looked horrified.
“You don’t have to wear it. But I’m feeling celebratory.”
“What are we celebrating?” Peyton asked.
“Whatever we want. And that in the future we can be whatever we want. All of us.”
Lark returned with crafts, drinks and flower crowns, and the three of them set to work. She and Peyton wore the crowns, Hayden’s sat in front of him on the table.
It was amazing how being a happier woman, one who let herself want things, and feel things, was making her into a better mother. Because this didn’t feel hard, or like too much. It felt like joy. And it had been a long time since she had felt anything like joy.
Lark came and sat at the table for a while, assisted where assistance was needed.
“Do you want another drink?” Lark asked, after a while.
“Sure, I’ll go help you carry them.”
“You’re good at this,” Lark said, when they were out of earshot of the kids.
“It turns out that I’m good at a lot of things,” Avery said. “It’s amazing how much more you can appreciate that when you don’t always feel like you’re failing at something.” She studied Lark’s profile, and saw that there was a stillness, a sadness to her sister.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, forcing a smile. “I... Keira is in town.”
“Ben’s ex Keira?”
“Yes.”
“And that scares you.”
She nodded. “There are things...there are things I have to tell him about and this is going to make it even harder.”
“You’re not scared of hard, Lark Ashwood.”
“I’m not?”
Avery shook her head. “No. We all underestimated you for a long time, but look at you. Look at this place. You set your mind to something, and you seem to make it work. I think you’ll make this work too.”
Lark ducked her head. “Well. You too. You were always an overachiever.”
“I don’t know about that. But I liked a lot of different things. A lot of things that I forgot I liked. I used to really enjoy writing.”
“Well,” Lark said. “I would say that you have a lot to write about.”
Avery looked around the Craft Café, this building that housed so much of what she was. What she’d been, and now, who she was going to be. At her sister, who she was beginning to realize was strong and brilliant. Like they all were. Like all the women that had come before them. Who were with them now.
“I do. I really do.”
Lark
Lark had spent the whole next day feeling like she was floating. It wasn’t as though she felt entirely unburdened, but she felt like something. She couldn’t quite pin it down. She was about to close the shop, when Ben walked through the door.
“Hi,” she said.
Something shifted in her, when she looked at him. And she knew that she was going to have to tell him.
“I just came to find out if you wanted to have some dinner,” he said.
“Dinner?”
“Yeah. I brought...” He moved his hands out from behind his
back. “A picnic basket. I know you have food, but I didn’t think it was a very good offer if I had you make it for us.”
“That’s... Actually I did want to talk to you.”
He cut her off though, kissing her. And she just wished that she could kiss him and not talk because between Keira being back and having to face dealing with her secret...
She didn’t want to. She was too bruised. Too battered.
Because her one had up and married someone else. But he was the person that her heart cried out for, no matter how much distance, no matter how many years. And she had been certain it was that grief that she carried, the fact that she’d had his baby. That it had done something to her, but she didn’t think that was it. Not now. Not while he was kissing her.
When they parted, he was breathing heavily, and so was she. She pressed her fingertips to his chest and felt his heart beating beneath them.
“Keira is back,” she said, resting her hand against his chest.
“Yes,” he said, his voice rough. “It doesn’t matter. I mean, not like that. She came to talk to me and I sent her away.”
“You can’t do that. You have to talk to her.”
“I don’t,” he said.
“You do. Because she’s Taylor’s mom. And because frankly, we have to deal with this or we can’t...we won’t be able to work, Ben. We can’t pretend. We can’t pretend that it was us all this time. Not when it wasn’t.” Emotion throttled her voice. “I can’t pretend Taylor is mine. I mean, I can be in her life but I can’t pretend... Ben, I have something to tell you,” she said. “I just don’t know how. And it’s the real reason I have avoided you for all this time.” She breathed out deep, taking his hands in hers, letting a tear fall down her face. “Ben, we didn’t use a condom when we had sex that night.”
She could see confusion flash over his face as he tried to place her comment with a point in time, and realized what she meant.