For a brief moment, Dermot held Mr. Barton’s gaze. He hoped his hard expression communicated how little he approved of the way Evangeline had been treated by her family. Far from shrinking from the silent criticism, Mr. Barton nodded. “You’ll look after the Blake sisters, I presume.”
“I’ve every intention of doing so,” he answered.
Mrs. Barton assumed her all-too-familiar tone and expression of distaste. “I imagine you do.”
“Enough,” Mr. Barton spoke sharply. “You have offered enough unwarranted insults to last most people a lifetime, and I, for one, will not endure it any longer.”
He stepped away from his wife and moved toward their waiting carriage.
“Do you mean to leave me here?” she called after him.
“I mean to return home,” he said, not slowing or looking back. “If you wish to come as well, I suggest you hurry.”
No more was said. No peace was restored between them. Dermot did not know the history that had led to such animosity in their marriage, but he found himself feeling unexpectedly sorry for the Bartons. They were so obviously unhappy, and that misery infected most everyone they encountered. Somehow, Evangeline had managed to rise above it.
Her determination, her hope in the face of sorrow, her strength had thoroughly captured him. Which presented a question he was not yet ready to answer: what would he do if her grandfather insisted that Lucy return to Leeds and Evangeline chose to follow? How could he possibly live without her?
Chapter Thirty-Three
After some initial shock at the humbleness of Evangeline’s living quarters, Lucy settled in nicely. She quickly spotted her treasures from home on the mantelshelf. “You still have them.”
“Of course I do. They have been waiting there for you.”
Lucy took George’s shepherd from its perch and cradled it lovingly in her hands. A moment later, she did the same with Father’s pipe.
“I can read to you from James’s book tonight, if you’d like,” Evangeline offered.
“Just as Father used to,” Lucy said, her voice heavy and quiet.
“Yes. Just as Father used to.”
Lucy’s head slowly turned until she faced the photograph directly. She leaned closer. The tips of her fingers rested on the edge of the mantelshelf, but she did not touch the frame or glass.
“Mother,” she whispered.
Evangeline blinked back tears as Lucy stood for minutes on end looking longingly at the frozen faces. She whispered each of their names, not in greeting or recognition, but in tones of utter heartbreak.
“May we go somewhere else for a while?” Lucy asked.
“Of course,” Evangeline said. “The view from the top of the street is lovely. Shall we go see it?”
“I would like that.”
Evangeline walked with her beyond the street’s end, all the way out to the edge of the moor. The endless sea of grass-covered hills rolling out into the distance left Lucy speechless. Evangeline drank in the view as she always did. She didn’t imagine there was a place in all of England as breathtaking in its starkness as this harsh but beautiful land.
“Would you like to meet one of my favorite families? They live here on the moor. Three of their children attend the school; one acts as my helper in class. She reminds me a great deal of you, actually, though perhaps a bit more outspoken.”
Lucy nodded, so they made their way along the damp, dirt path. Lucy had so many questions. Why were there so few trees? What kind of grass grew in such a barren place? The tiny frogs that dotted the trail as it passed near a small spring captured her attention. She bent low, watching them, fascinated to discover the small dots below her feet were not rocks but tiny creatures.
“The moor is full of surprises,” Evangeline told her sister. “It is an often unforgiving place, and it tests the mettle of all who live on it or around its edges, but it is wonderful all the same.”
“I think you like living here,” Lucy said.
“I could not imagine living anywhere else.” The admission did not surprise Evangeline, though she had never spoken the words out loud before.
“Even Petersmarch?” Lucy pressed.
She thought a moment but knew her answer immediately. “I should like to visit again someday, but I don’t know that it would feel like home any longer. The house is not ours. The family living there belongs to us only distantly. This place, with all its challenges and struggles, has become home to me.”
Lucy threaded her arm through Evangeline’s. “I want to see all of it.”
Evangeline pointed out the fields where the Crossleys’ sheep had once roamed and spoke of the tragedy that had befallen them. She told her sister about the Palmers and their endless struggles. She talked of the factory, though not in tremendous detail; her sister did not need to know just yet how closely their family was tied to the suffering in this town. She shared a number of stories about her students and the progress they were making. She spoke of the inspector and his disapproval.
“Do you mean to continue teaching them from the stories you and Mrs. Crossley have written down?”
“I do.” She knew the consequences but would not change her mind. “The method is working, whether or not Mr. Garvey is willing to admit as much. And though these people might well lose their language and their stories in time, I will not be part of the reason they do.”
“You have become so fierce,” Lucy said.
Evangeline laughed to hear her sister speak so incredulously. Had she truly been so fainthearted before? “Dermot says I have fire in my soul.”
“I think he likes fire.” Lucy’s giggle gave away her meaning.
“You are playing matchmaker now?”
“This match was made long before I arrived.”
Oh, it was a relief to see her sister smiling. She had done little of that since arriving in Smeatley, and none at all during their family’s final days. Smeatley, with all its frustrations, was good for the heart.
“Do you like Dermot?” Evangeline found herself unexpectedly anxious about the answer.
Lucy did not hesitate. “I do. He is direct, which would have made me nervous if not for the way he kept looking at you.”
“What way is that?”
“As if you were the very last piece of blackberry tart.” Lucy sighed in that dramatic way all twelve-year-old girls seemed able to manage.
Evangeline chose to see the description as a compliment, though she had never before been compared to a pastry. “I think Father would have liked Dermot. How could he not?”
Lucy did not agree as readily as Evangeline expected. Indeed, her expression had grown guarded.
“Do you not think so?”
Lucy’s brow drew downward. She didn’t speak for a long moment as they continued their walk over the moor. “I remember the gentlemen Father introduced to you. They were not like Mr. McCormick. They were well-to-do and influential and came from fine families. I think Father and Mother always meant you to make a match of that sort.”
There was a great deal of truth in Lucy’s observation. Would Dermot have truly met with disapproval? Surely not. There was not a better man in all the world. He had cared about her when no one else had. He had stood as her friend during difficult moments and had not hesitated to tell her his thoughts when she asked for them. He saw her as capable and clever when even her own family had assumed she would fail at the tasks laid before her. He was good and kind and tenderhearted. How could her parents have wished for anything less for her?
Lucy spoke before Evangeline managed to find her voice. “Do you suppose Grandfather will object to him?”
“I happen to know Grandfather is impressed with him. He spoke highly of his work on the back-to-back houses and the way he manages his crew.”
With a wisdom that belied her years, Lucy countered that observation. “Appreciating his work is
a far cry from approving of him as a grandson-in-law.”
Heat rose to Evangeline’s face. “Things have not progressed so far as all that.”
Lucy shrugged. “Not yet.”
“There is one benefit to being a woman of independence living more or less on her own.” Evangeline spoke with more surety than she felt. “I get to make decisions for myself.” She only hoped this was one of those decisions.
When they reached the Crossleys’ home, Lucy eyed it with curiosity but, thankfully, not dismissal. Having been raised in a fine home with all the advantages, Lucy would be unfamiliar with such poverty as was common in this small town.
Susannah answered their knock. “Ey up, Miss Blake.”
“Good day to you, as well. I’ve come to introduce my sister. I should very much like for her to be acquainted with your family.”
“I’d’ve guessed she were thy sister.” Susannah seemed pleased. The Crossleys had been distant of late, but Evangeline hoped they were warming back up to her, however slowly.
“Let t’ ladies come in,” Mrs. Crossley called out. “It’s right parky outside.”
Lucy shot Evangeline a look of confusion.
“She was merely saying how cold the weather is.”
Lucy nodded, though her expression didn’t entirely clear.
They stepped inside. A blessed warmth immediately enveloped them. The weather had, indeed, turned “parky” of late. Evangeline suspected winters in Yorkshire would be cold indeed.
To her surprise, she found Dermot sitting at the table between John Crossley and Ronan, two buckets on the tabletop in front of them. They, along with the rest of the Crossley family, watched Evangeline and Lucy. Having spent a good amount of the walk here speaking of Dermot and speculating upon his intentions, Evangeline couldn’t prevent herself from coloring up. She only hoped the others would attribute the red in her cheeks to the cold air.
“Put t’ wood in t’ hole, Susannah,” Mrs. Crossley instructed. “Tha’ll let out all t’ warm air.”
Evangeline had finally sorted out that particular turn of phrase. When she’d first heard it, she’d though the word “hole” was “oil,” owing to the unique Yorkshire pronunciation. “The wood” referred to the door. “The hole” referenced the open doorway. “Putting the wood in the hole” meant closing the door. It was a rather lovely way of saying such a commonplace thing.
With the door firmly closed, Susannah guided them to the crackling warmth of the fireplace. Evangeline looked to Mrs. Crossley as they passed, hoping to see a welcome there rather than an indication of intrusion. She received a genuinely pleased smile. Relief settled over her like a comforting blanket. Perhaps her deception, however unavoidable, would be forgiven.
“Tha’re sister to us Miss Blake?” Mrs. Crossley asked Lucy.
Had Evangeline looked as confused those first few weeks as Lucy did now? She made a quick translation. “She is asking if you are my sister.”
“I am,” Lucy answered.
Mrs. Crossley made quick work of introducing her family, though Mr. Crossley and Thomas were away from home. Susannah asked Lucy if she’d like to see the new kittens in the stone barn. Lucy looked to Evangeline for permission. She nodded, grateful for Susannah’s easy nature and willingness to befriend the quiet and uncertain.
The girls, nearly of an age, stepped outside. Lucy would find the welcome Evangeline, herself, had wished for.
“She looks a great deal like thee,” Mrs. Crossley said.
“I have heard that a few times since her arrival. I hadn’t realized before that we resembled one another so closely.”
Dermot rose. He nudged the two pails on the table closer to the boys. “Keep eyeing these, lads. I’ve a woman to greet, and I mean to do it well.”
He crossed to where she stood. His earnest gaze brought Lucy’s comparison to blackberry tarts firmly to mind. Quite suddenly, Evangeline could not stop herself from laughing.
“You’re not supposed to find the prospect of me greeting you so entertaining, lass.”
She set a hand on his arm and hoped her expression, though no doubt still filled with laughter, proved apologetic. “I was only thinking back on something Lucy said, and I could not help myself.”
He took her hand in his and kissed it, as he’d taken to doing every time they saw each other. He’d also made a habit of lingering over his good night when he left her house each evening. She hoped he would do so again when they parted today.
“And now you’re blushing.” His gaze narrowed, though amusement sparkled beneath the surface. “I can hardly wait to see what you do next.”
Evangeline glanced at Mrs. Crossley, uncertain what she thought of Dermot’s unabashed flirting, but she simply waved them off.
“Kiss her fully if tha’d like,” she said. “We’ll not tease thee much.”
Dermot chuckled low and deep. “I’ll not put you to the blush more than I already have, my dear. I will say, though, it’s a fine thing to have you here. I don’t always get to see you twice in one day.”
“You are always welcome for an extra visit. I don’t impose a limit on knocks per day.”
“I’ll remember that.” He released her hand, but didn’t step away. “At the moment, though, Ronan and I are teaching John how to mix mortar and how many bricks are needed for a piling and such things.”
“He is a very bright boy.”
Dermot turned back toward the table. “They both are.” He sat between the boys and turned toward John. “What have you decided about the mixtures?”
“This’n”—John tapped a bucket—“would be best in wet weather. This’n”—he tapped the other bucket—“would be best in dry weather.”
Dermot nodded. “You’ve the right of that. Now tell me why.”
Mrs. Crossley brought Evangeline a cup of hot tea while John gave Dermot his explanation.
“Thank you,” she said, holding the cup between her hands and reveling in the warmth.
“Dermot has spent t’ afternoon helping us John learn about bricklaying. He’ll be saved from t’ mill yet, I’m certain of it.”
“I do hope so.” Evangeline took a sip. Some of the chill she’d felt on the moor began to dissipate. “How is Johanna? I worry about her.”
“She’s been stronger these past weeks,” Mrs. Crossley said. “We’ve some hope of her getting better.”
“May I see her?”
Mrs. Crossley motioned her toward the small bedchamber where the little girl had been on Evangeline’s previous visits. She stepped inside and found Johanna wrapped in a blanket, sitting more upright than she had been. Her face was still pale but her eyes were more alert.
“Good afternoon, sweetheart.” Evangeline sat on the edge of the bed near Johanna’s trundle. “Your mother tells me you are feeling better.”
“A little bit.” Even her voice sounded stronger.
“Has Susannah continued with your lessons?”
Johanna nodded. “I don’t learn fast, but I’m working hard.”
“I’m certain you are.”
Mrs. Crossley pulled a rocking chair close. “I’ve given some thought to what tha said about us stories, Miss Blake. It’d be a shame not to finish ’em.”
“I agree.”
“If you’ve any paper with thee, we could work on it a bit now.”
A surge of disappointment spread over her. “I don’t have any.”
“I’ve my slate,” Johanna offered.
“Oh, Johanna.” Evangeline set her cup of tea on the chest at the end of the bed. “Would you allow me to borrow it, just so I can write down your mother’s stories? I will make certain Susannah brings you another tomorrow.”
Johanna’s gaze turned hopeful. “Can I bahn to school and get it for missen?”
“You’d like to come yourself?” Evangeline looked at Mr
s. Crossley. “Could she?”
“Could I?” Johanna pleaded.
Mrs. Crossley held her arms out. “Climb on us lap, little one. Tha can listen while I tell Miss Blake a story.”
Johanna slowly pulled herself onto her mother’s lap. Mrs. Crossley wrapped her arms around her daughter. “If tha is well enough tomorrow, I’ll fetch thee to school.”
Johanna leaned against her mother. “I’ll be well. I know it.”
Mrs. Crossley stroked her daughter’s hair. She looked at Evangeline. “T’ slate is in t’ trunk.”
Evangeline pulled it out, along with the bit of chalk set carefully beside it. She resumed her place on the edge of the bed. Excitement bubbled up. This was more than merely a continuation of their earlier project. In that moment, she knew she had not lost Mrs. Crossley’s friendship. She had been forgiven, and she still had a place in this town.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lucy joined Evangeline in the school room Monday morning. She stood a bit apart, watching the students fill the benches. Her stiff posture spoke of deep discomfort. Lucy had ever been a quiet and uncertain girl. Susannah, however, hadn’t a timid bone in her body, neither was she one to give up easily.
Evangeline watched in mingled awe and gratitude as Susannah patiently and kindly pulled Lucy into the circle of students, asking her help, insisting she was wanted and needed. By the time they took their afternoon tea, Lucy had tentatively taken up the tutoring of a small handful of students. She grew more comfortable as the day wore on, and, by the time the students began filing out for the evening, several paused to hug her as they left.
Amazement and happiness filled Lucy’s expression. All Evangeline could do was smile her understanding.
She put an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “You were wonderful today, darling. Simply wonderful.”
Spots of embarrassed color touched Lucy’s cheeks. “I didn’t always know what to do.”
Evangeline met Susannah’s eyes. “A common feeling, is it not?”
Susannah laughed. “Aye. It’s allas like ’at.”
“But,” Evangeline said, “that makes every moment of progress even sweeter.”
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