by Maureen Lang
“We’ll have to tie the bigger case on top and pray the rain holds off until we get to the Hall,” she said, reaching beneath the passenger seat to retrieve a rope. “Ready?”
Dana looked skeptical. “Maybe we can find someone to help. My bag is full of papers—copies of the Escott Manor records. It weighs a ton.”
Rebecca tested the bag, agreeing it was indeed heavy. But she’d never been one to rely on too much help. “You’ve been married too long, Dana,” she said with a chuckle. “We can do it ourselves. Come along.”
Between the two of them, they awkwardly lifted the luggage despite laughter sapping some of their strength. Rebecca tied the piece in place, confident her knot-tying abilities hadn’t been lost since her days at the university when she’d toted every belonging she’d owned on a roof just like this one.
“Now we race the rain!” Rebecca hopped behind the wheel just as Dana and Padgett got in.
Thankfully for the clothes and especially for the papers inside Dana’s luggage, they made it to the Hall before the first raindrop fell from heavy skies. After settling the Walkers into a suite of adjoining rooms on the same wing as Rebecca’s bedroom, they shared a lunch Helen presented, chatting over tales of Ireland and America and England. Padgett was the kind of child who made motherhood especially appealing with her frequent giggle, her polite manners, and her wide blue eyes. When Rebecca told her there were often schoolchildren visiting the Hall, the child’s interest was piqued.
“I’m going to school when we get home,” said Padgett. “I’m big enough now. Mommy says I’ll like school. I already know how to write my name. And I can count, too, all the way to ten. And I can tell the time on a real clock. Mommy says I do it right twice a day. Is it 9:30 yet? That’s the time I get it right.”
“Not yet,” Dana said with a grin. “You’ve missed it for this morning, and I think you may be sleeping by that time tonight.”
“But I’ll be sleeping here, right, Mommy?”
“That’s right. In the room Rebecca showed you, right next to mine.”
“And where does your cousin Quentin sleep, Mommy? This is his house, isn’t that right?”
“Quentin is living down the road in the next village at another house a bit like this,” Rebecca explained. She looked at Dana. “His mother’s side of the family brought another estate to the family line, and she prefers that home to this. Quentin is staying there when he isn’t in the city.”
Dana smiled. “Aidan was sorry he couldn’t get away from his responsibilities and see Quentin again. I think they enjoyed meeting one another. Will he be here for dinner?”
“His mother asked him to accompany her to a charity event in the city tonight, and there are meetings with the board of the recipients this afternoon, so he won’t be here until tomorrow. He would have been with me at the station to meet you otherwise.”
“Oh, that would have been fun,” Dana said with a grin. “We’d have had to strap him to the roof, too, but at least he could have lifted the bag up there for us.”
Rebecca laughed, thankful yet again for Dana’s company. Maybe she’d lived too long in the isolation of country life.
“So will we be meeting his mother anytime soon, then?”
“I’m not sure,” Rebecca said slowly. “Perhaps.” Rebecca eyed Padgett, who was now pulling the crust from the remains of her sandwich. “We have a new lamb as of a month ago, Padgett. And do you know what it’s missing?”
She shook her head.
“A name. Would you like to choose one for her?”
She nodded, eyes widening again. “Can I see her first, so I know what she looks like?”
Rebecca looked out the window from the breakfast room, where they’d shared lunch. “The rain has stopped again. I think it might be nice to walk down to the barn.”
They made their way to the cuddle farm, passing gardeners at work and, in the distance, one of the land agents surveying a crop of wheat.
“Is that Hollinworth land too?” Dana asked, pointing to the field below.
“Yes, they own two thousand acres. Not huge by American standards, I’m sure. Respectable by English. Most is leased, as it has been for about two hundred years.”
Dana sighed. “Things are certainly different here. History doesn’t seem so long ago.”
Rebecca asked the keeper to bring out the new lamb, and Padgett was officially introduced to the nameless little one. They laughed over possibilities, names Rebecca had never heard of, evidently from one American cartoon or another.
At last Padgett held up her index finger. “Mommy! We should give her the name you were going to give me. How about Emma?”
Dana nodded. “I’ve always liked that name. It would be nice to give it some use, wouldn’t it?”
“Can we, Rebecca?” Padgett asked. “Name her Emma?”
“Emma it is. I’ll have the stable keeper make a sign as soon as he can, so everyone who visits will know who she is.”
“Yippee!” Padgett said, bending low once again and talking to the furry creature as she followed it along the paddock.
Rebecca watched with pleasure. “She’s a lovely child,” she said to Dana.
“Thank you. We’re blessed to have her.” She cleared her throat to say something, stopped, then started again. “There is something I’ve been wanting to clarify.” They were far enough from Padgett so she wouldn’t hear, engaged as she was. “About what Padgett said when we were here before. About her cousin Ben being the reason we adopted her.”
“No need to explain anything to me, Dana,” Rebecca said. “I didn’t make any judgments from the comment.”
“I did,” Dana said, adding with a grimace, “of myself. I must have said what she heard, only for the life of me I can’t recall saying it. Even Aidan vaguely remembers me saying it. It’s true we didn’t want to risk bringing another child with a disability into this world, but when we filled out the adoption papers, we said we’d be willing to take a child with a disability. We’ve had some experience because of Ben, and it seemed like the right thing to do. Not add a new little one with difficulties—rescue one instead.”
“But Padgett seems fine.”
“She is. Now. When we adopted her, we thought she suffered from partial fetal alcohol syndrome because of her mother’s lifestyle. Padgett was behind developmentally, malnourished. The birth mother insisted she hadn’t been drinking during her pregnancy, but no one believed her because of Padgett’s lethargy. The woman was telling the truth, though, because once Padgett began getting proper attention and nutrition, she flourished. And now, she really is perfect.”
Rebecca wondered at the sadness behind Dana’s words. “What every mother prays for,” Rebecca said gently.
Dana nodded. “I am glad, but it didn’t come without guilt.”
“Whatever for? You’ve changed her life forever, for the good.”
“Yes, I know. But my sister . . . She has the child I might have had if Aidan and I hadn’t been careful not to get pregnant. Every day, my sister, Talie, faces challenges I might have had too. Her son’s delays, the frustrations, the pain of knowing he will never be able to take care of himself. That’s why I couldn’t believe I’d actually said the words Padgett heard, making it sound like I didn’t want a child like Ben and so I adopted her. It didn’t start out that way . . . but I’m relieved enough to feel guilty.” She faced Rebecca squarely. “Selfish, isn’t it, to want a perfect child?”
Rebecca gave a little laugh. “Selfish? Because you’re relieved God has blessed you with a healthy child?” She shook her head. “I don’t think He meant for us to feel guilty over the blessings He sends our way. Look at all Quentin has. Should he feel guilty for having been born healthy to a family with all this? He did have a blood test, by the way, though the physician took one look at his pedigree and insisted something like fragile X couldn’t have hidden so long.”
“Any results yet?”
“Still waiting.” Rebecca looked around, invit
ing Dana to do the same by pointing to the manor house. “You might easily have been born in his place instead.”
Now it was Dana’s turn to laugh, and Padgett joined them with the lamb in her arms, who squirmed free within moments. She was indeed a blessing; Rebecca could see that without having to study them very hard.
Padgett was the kind of blessing Rebecca wouldn’t let herself dream about in the last few years. She’d chosen the reclusive country life over a bustling city one. She hadn’t let herself think about marrying, having children.
Until now.
24
* * *
I know there will be little, if any, forthcoming help from Mr. Truebody regarding our lawsuit. Why is it, Cosima, that men begrudge women performing a task—even one they have left woefully untended?
Upon leaving Mr. Truebody’s office, I took my leisure in returning to the manor, stopping at the church in town. I enjoy going there, and as I walked, the doors would not let me pass by. I stayed longer than I realized, and it was well past dark by the time I arrived back.
When I approached the manor house in the dim moonlight, I noticed the MacFarland carriage was still here. Katie had been granted another night with us. Which meant, of course, that her brother was still present as well.
Mrs. Cotgrave was halfway across the lawn before we were close enough to speak. I am sure had I not seen the outright worry upon her face over my late arrival I should have guessed it anyway from the moment she walked forth to greet me. . . .
“It’s late, Miss Berrie. I fear it couldn’t have gone well.”
“I stopped at the church to pray. It’ll take God’s help, since I’m sure Mr. Truebody will provide little assistance.” The two women fell in step toward the front door of the manor house. “Are things well this evening?” Berrie hoped any fusses were kept to a minimum while Simon MacFarland was still there. Goodness, she hoped he left soon. Without Katie.
“Well enough.” She smiled. “Eóin snuck into the family bedroom and left a little something for our guest there. You know how he loves to move things about.”
“What was it?” She recalled a pair of shoes he’d left in her room. Mrs. Cotgrave hadn’t been so fortunate; to her, Eóin had delivered a dead mouse.
“Only a pot, a pan, and a spoon. All laid out as neatly as could be, awaiting Katie’s brother on the bed. Mr. MacFarland returned them to the kitchen just a little while ago, then tucked himself in without a word.”
“He’s said nothing about whether he’ll be taking Katie away?”
Mrs. Cotgrave shook her head as they entered the parlor and each took her favorite seat. “He did wonder where you’d gone off to, as he told me he wanted a word with you. Perhaps he’s made his decision.”
“And where did you tell him I’d been?”
“On an errand. He’s quite the nosy one, asking what sort of errand as if he has a right to know our comings and goings.”
The thought of Simon MacFarland allowed every concern to rush back to Berrie’s mind, and she withdrew the letter from the pouch in which she’d carried it.
“You must contact this Finola O’Shea through her solicitor,” Mrs. Cotgrave said. “Invite her here. Very likely she has no idea Escott Manor is now a school.”
“Let’s pray it makes a difference and she won’t demand we all leave.”
“Now, there, Miss Berrie. It’s in God’s hands. You’ve just spent time in prayer over this, as have I. And the Lord hasn’t told me we’re to close our door because of this letter. Has He told you that?”
Berrie shook her head, smiling. Movement beyond Mrs. Cotgrave caught Berrie’s eye. A moment later Katie stood in full view, dressed in her cotton nightgown without a wrap or slippers. A frown marred her large forehead.
“We’re to close the school, Miss Berrie? Because of a letter? We cannot do that. It’s our home.”
Berrie stood but not before Katie turned on her bare heel and rushed from the room. Berrie moved to follow.
“I’ll go,” Mrs. Cotgrave said, passing Berrie without trouble. “I’ve put the kettle on; you should have a cup of tea, and then to bed with you.”
Instead of retaking her seat, as inviting as it was, Berrie went to the kitchen in search of tea. She took a seat at the wide worktable, where bowls, clean and ready for morning porridge, waited in neat stacks. Nothing in this kitchen reminded her of home, not the aged stove nor the plain but serviceable dishware. And yet she thought of her family just then, wondering if she would return to them sooner than she’d expected.
Over a cup, Berrie bent her head in prayer. She closed each day with a plea on behalf of one student or another, each in their turn. Tonight all of the children were on her mind. The school had only just begun to help them and their families. What would become of them if this letter proved to be a real problem?
She wasn’t sure what disturbed her prayer, since she heard nothing. She lifted her head, and there stood Simon MacFarland. White shirt, black trousers, his thick hair tumbling onto his forehead. Appealing to behold. It irritated Berrie that she should even notice such a thing with so much on her mind—and when the man in question had so brash an interior.
Sitting straighter, she wished she could greet him cordially but found it beyond her. If he’d come to tell her he would be taking Katie home with him, she didn’t want to hear it. Not tonight. He’d had a chance to judge their school for two days, longer than many parents had taken. If he found her school and staff lacking, perhaps the letter meant something she didn’t want to believe: that she wasn’t here under God’s mission after all, and the school was doomed for failure. She was a failure. Before she’d really begun.
“Katie came to my room a moment ago.”
“I’m sorry. I thought Mrs. Cotgrave—”
“Yes, she was quick on Katie’s heel. Mrs. Cotgrave saw her safely to bed.”
Berrie received the news with a nod. Then, seeing he showed no indication of leaving, she realized she would have to face his decision tonight whether she liked it or not. She raised a weary gaze to him. “Have you decided Katie’s future, Mr. MacFarland?”
“I thought I had,” he said, nearing the table and taking a seat.
It briefly crossed her mind she should offer him tea, but she simply sat. Waiting.
“Katie was upset just now. She said the school would have to close its doors.” Simon met Berrie’s steady gaze, and she strove to hide her regret that he knew of the situation. “Mrs. Cotgrave wasn’t very enlightening. Why should you be closing your doors?”
Too many thoughts warred in her mind already to try deciphering whether or not it was wise to share her burden with him. He hardly needed more reason to take Katie away. His elegant carriage awaited.
“I’ve received a letter claiming half of Escott Manor by legal inheritance, which was evidently overlooked within the last score of years. It says 50 percent belongs to relatives of the Irish woman we thought owned it outright.”
“But Escott is an English name. I thought this was all owned by an Englishman?”
“Through marriage. The woman who originally inherited the manor is Irish. Kennesey. She evidently had a sister whose descendants claim she should have inherited half.”
“There used to be a law regarding such things. First imposed by the English, Miss Hamilton.” His tone was as hard as the look in his eye. “Divide and conquer—that was the goal, so eventually there would be no great Irish landholders left.”
“I’m sure you’d like to blame me personally for a law created long before I was born, Mr. MacFarland.” Even as Berrie spoke, she was glad he didn’t know that her brother, father, grandfather, and other such forebears were at least partially responsible for the laws of England this man obviously detested. She was too tired to defend all of them along with herself and her school.
“May I see the letter?”
Momentarily confused, she didn’t comply. When he reached for the document resting before her, she belatedly took it up, handing i
t to him. He stood, placing himself in the immediate spill of the single sconce’s light.
“I’m not familiar with MacTaggert, the solicitor.” He studied the pages. “But I’m sure I can find out more about him. In any case, this is likely nothing to worry about. What has become Irish custom is one thing. English law, which as you know we’re all subject to, is another. That no longer requires the equal splitting of property.”
“So in this case English law will protect the right of the school?” It was the first hopeful thought she’d had since opening that dreadful envelope.
“Yes, Miss Hamilton. Like most of life, one can find something redemptive in the vilest creation.”
She had the faintest notion he was purposely trying to peeve her, but she held her tongue. She couldn’t afford to refuse assistance, regardless of whence it came.
Simon scrutinized the letter again. “A sufficiently subjugating letter, preferably on the letterhead of an MP, will likely put this matter to rest.”
Berrie bit her tongue once more. Standing before her was no doubt just the MP to affect an appropriately dominating tone.
25
* * *
Rebecca sat at her desk with Dana across from her. Four-year-old Padgett was soundly sleeping in the room that adjoined Dana’s down the hall. It wasn’t late, but an afternoon of flower collecting, croquet, and another visit to the cuddle farm had worn the child out.
Dana waded through the stack of thick brown envelopes she’d brought with her. “Most of the copies are legible,” she said, “although I’ve only had time to read a little so far. The woman I spoke to said when she was little, her grandmother gave these records to her, telling her how so many of the women in their family worked in hospitals of one kind or another.”
“Was she a nurse?”