As the meal wound down, Lilah shoveled in the last forkful of cobbler and wiped her berry-stained lips. “I want to show Verity the arbor. May I?”
“That would be all right,” Miss Maeve said, loading a tray with a coffeepot and cups. “We’ll move to the back porch. Della, would you mind helping me carry everything?”
Della darted a look at Abel, but rose from her seat with a gracious smile. “Of course.”
“You can come with us,” Lilah said to Abel, as if he’d just been invited to visit with royalty.
Abel inclined his head solemnly. “Thank you most kindly.”
The arbor rested at the edge of the lawn near the woods, its domed roof supported by sturdy white columns. Lavender blooms clustered on rich green vines so thick they formed solid, living walls. “This is as far as I’m allowed to go in the yard,” Lilah said. “I’m not supposed to get too close to the woods. Nobody will tell me why, though.”
She bounded up the three steps leading into the arbor and disappeared behind the curtain of pale purple flowers. I pushed back the fall of blooms and ducked into the shade, Abel at my heels.
He settled on a stone bench. “Here’s what I’ve heard from some of the old folks.” He pitched his voice lower, and took on the rhythm of a fairy tale. “Once upon a time, maybe a hundred years ago—”
Lilah interrupted, “‘Once upon a time’s are supposed to be long, long ago. When there were castles and queens and things like that. A hundred years ago isn’t far enough back to make a good story.”
“Hate to disappoint, but when it comes to tales about the woods, about a hundred years is as far back as the stories go. That was when some settlers came over from Ireland, looking for farmland. When they got here, they found a well in the woods. Nobody knows for sure who built it, but it might’ve been the French fur traders who passed through in the seventeen hundreds.”
“Or maybe it was always there,” Lilah said, pleased by this potentially mystical origin.
“Maybe,” Abel allowed, hiding a smile. “Regardless, the Irish brought their stories from the old country, about how there are certain places where the earth’s magic congregates. And when you go near one of those places, you just feel like you’re close to the edge of something big. Sort of like if you stand on a cliff with your eyes closed. You can’t see it, but you can sense the open space before you. It feels big and grand, but also dangerous.”
“Powerful,” I said, quietly. Being near the well felt like standing outside before a lightning storm, when the air was charged.
Abel nodded. “The settlers decided not to use the well, and to steer clear of the woods altogether. The whole place gives me the creeps, so I don’t blame them. Nowadays people sometimes see weird things in the woods. Like glimpses of something white moving through the trees, or a cold fog even on the hottest days.”
“Maybe someone should properly investigate. There’s a scientific explanation for everything, if we only know where to look for it,” I said.
Abel’s eyes were bright. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’” On seeing my puzzled expression, he laughed. “Don’t tell me you never read Hamlet in school? I’ll gladly hand over my copy.”
“Anytime we’re together, I end up with a reading assignment,” I said.
A bee flitted through the blooms, industrious and unworried, its fat body flecked with pollen. I watched its progress, lost in thoughts of fog and cold and legend until Lilah’s voice pulled me back as she fired a question at Abel. “Are you and Della sparking? I saw you two talking at dinner.”
“Lilah,” I snapped. “That’s hardly your concern.”
Her retort was drowned out by Abel’s surprised laughter. “I talked to Verity, too. Does that mean we’re sparking?”
Lilah put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “Mama answers my questions with other questions, too.” I cringed inwardly, as I did each time she called Miss Maeve her mama. “Are you and Della sweet on each other or not?”
Miss Maeve’s voice floated over the sultry air. “Lilah, Della and I need your help.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lilah called over her shoulder. She gave Abel a look that said “you haven’t heard the last of this” and dashed away, strawberry-blond hair flying. Miss Maeve had terrible timing. Despite what I’d said to Lilah about minding her own business, I was just as curious as my sister to know whether Abel was taken with Della.
“That girl’s a pistol,” Abel said, strolling over to sit beside me. The familiar sun-warmed-straw scent clung to his clothes. He pulled a mint leaf from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth.
Maybe his nearness addled my reason, but the words were out before good sense had time to wrestle them down. “I think Della would like it if you two were an item.”
Abel leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. A lock of blond hair slid forward. I couldn’t see his expression, only a tense flicker of muscle in his jaw.
“I’m sorry,” I said hastily. “That’s none of my concern.”
“It’s all right. If you assume Della and I are a couple, you’re like ninety percent of the town. There’s always been ‘Della and Abel.’ I hardly remember a time when we weren’t side by side.” He studied the leaf-strewn ground. “How could anyone not love her? She’s kind, and thoughtful. Easy to be with.”
Abel lifted his head, and I felt him shift slightly to look at me. I stared down at my hands in my lap, wishing I hadn’t pried. Of course he had feelings for Della, his lifelong friend who’d grown into an attractive, good-hearted young woman. The realization sent an unexpected twinge through my chest.
Abel stretched his long legs and crossed his boots one over the other. His right hand rested on the bench between us, square and strong, tanned by hours in the fields.
“Do you plan to farm all your life?” I asked. Della said he’d wanted to teach, and I found I could picture him in that role.
He looked surprised by the tangential question. “I don’t think I’ve got the luxury of making plans. I really loved English in school. If things were different…” He paused, shook his head. “Life runs in a pretty deep rut around here. You find a girl, you get married, raise a family, and do whatever your father did.” His light brows lowered into a frown. “Except I won’t follow in my father’s footsteps. Drunk and gambler aren’t exactly reliable professions.”
“Not exactly,” I agreed.
Abel’s eyes on mine were rueful, with a hint of real loss behind them. “Everyone needs me. Mama and the other kids, Big Tom and Hettie. I’m not sure it really matters what I want.”
I’d heard the same bitterness in my own voice when I’d told Lilah we would be leaving New York, and no, we didn’t have a choice.
“It does matter, Abel.” Without thinking, I reached for his hand. My fingers rested atop his, the heat of his skin matching the warmth in my voice. “If there’s something else you want, you can find a way to have it. I know you can.”
Abel’s eyes dropped to where my hand lay over his. I pulled it away, embarrassed by my outburst. “I didn’t mean to be forward,” I said. “But I hate for you to think you have no options. It’s a terrible feeling.”
A mockingbird lit on the arbor steps in a flurry of white and gray, singing its ever-changing song, a mimicry of other birdcalls. We listened to it for a few minutes, both lost in our own thoughts. “They don’t just sing the songs of other birds,” Abel noted, rising to his feet. “They have their own unique sounds, too. Most people just don’t listen long enough to recognize them.”
“Let’s go to the porch, before Lilah comes back out here,” I said. “With Miss Maeve nearby, she won’t pester as much.”
Abel chewed his mint leaf, pushing back the curtain of wisteria. He leaned down, bringing his lips close to my ear. “I’d offer you my arm, but we’d never hear the end of it from a certain little sister.”
I whirled and hastened toward the group on the porch, thankful
the high collar of my dress hid the flush creeping over my skin. Abel strode beside me, the ghost of a smile lingering on his face.
12
As we drew near the house, Miss Maeve looked between Abel and me with a knowing expression that vanished so quickly, I wondered if I’d imagined it.
I plunked down in the porch swing next to Lilah. Miss Maeve handed round coffee, then joined us on the swing. She opened a fan to wave in front of her face. “Uncle Reuben has gone inside to rest. He often does during the heat of the day.” She worked up a false smile, and I suspected Mr. Lybrand simply couldn’t be bothered to socialize. I wondered, not for the first time, how she’d convinced the ill-tempered man to let a child come live with them. “Lilah, why don’t you go find your new doll? Verity might like to see it.”
Lilah leapt up, sending the swing rocking on its chains. “You’ll love her. She’s got a porcelain face and hands, and real leather shoes.…” She disappeared into the house, still talking.
Miss Maeve planted a delicate foot on the porch to calm the swing’s motion. “Lilah is a darling girl,” she said. I smirked at her choice of adjective, and Miss Maeve’s laugh bubbled like spring water. “Oh, she’s spirited, to be sure. But she’ll mellow, in time. We have many happy years ahead of us.”
I pressed my lips together to trap a hasty reply. Had Miss Maeve been more insistent with her uncle and Miss Pimsler, perhaps I’d be here with my sister, together, as family was meant to be.
And perhaps it was this thought and the persistent bit of anger I couldn’t quite bury that spurred my confession. “Miss Maeve, I don’t want to sound unappreciative, but I plan to take my sister back one day. When I’m eighteen, my indenture will end, and I’ll return to New York.” I looked hard into her pale eyes. “There’s no way I would ever leave her behind for good.”
Across from us, Abel and Della exchanged a nervous glance. Miss Maeve studied my face. Absently, she toyed with something at her wrist. A bracelet peeked out from under the edge of her frilly sleeve. Made of brown, twisted vine, it didn’t fit with the woman’s otherwise elegant outfit. A closer look showed a lock of rich auburn hair entwined in the strange jewelry. It must’ve been a superstitious charm, like the one Hettie wore.
Maeve’s fingers worried a tiny bit of polished gold that hung from the braided vines. “I’m not surprised that you would have such hopes,” she said. “But life has a way of deciding matters for us. Fewer things are in our power than we think.”
The muscles in my shoulders tightened. “I’ve never adhered to the ‘things will work themselves out’ school of thought.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Miss Maeve held my gaze, her expression unreadable. I shifted on the hard swing. Why did the woman speak as if she knew me well enough to predict my attitudes and plans?
The front door opened, breaking the strangeness of the moment. Instead of Lilah returning, Mr. Lybrand stepped out. “Ladies, I’ll be taking you both home now.” He went off toward the car without waiting for our agreement.
Della sighed, rising from her chair. “Thank you again for having us, Miss Maeve.”
“There’s really no need for Mr. Lybrand to drive Verity all the way back,” Abel said. “We can both ride Merlin.”
The cacophony of metal gears spinning and the engine backfiring announced that Mr. Lybrand had the Ford cranked and running. “I suppose it’ll just be Mr. Lybrand and me, then,” Della said.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed.
“I won’t pitch a fit for you to ride with me, but you owe me,” Della leaned in to whisper. I laughed nervously, wondering at Della’s unconcern that I’d be riding alone with Abel. Either she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body, or I wasn’t worth thinking of as a threat. Did I suddenly consider myself a rival for his affections?
Della took her leave, climbing into the front seat beside Miss Maeve’s dour uncle with a tragic look in my direction.
“I’m going to tell Lilah goodbye,” I said to Miss Maeve, not stopping to ask for permission to reenter her home. I stepped into the foyer, stilling at the sound of Lilah singing somewhere far above. My fingers trailed against the silky wood of the banister and, as I climbed, the words of the song became clearer.
“Abide with me, fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens
Oh, with me abide…”
The sad, strange lullaby drew me onward. At the top of the stairs, I pushed open a door and peered inside a spacious, airy bedroom. A white wrought-iron bed, draped in layers of frothy, gentle pink fabric, sat against one wall. Brimming shelves of trinkets and overflowing toy chests ringed the rest of the space. In one corner stood a little writing desk. In the center of the room sat a white rocking chair with a high, intricately carved back. The faded velvet of its cushions looked worn, and the braided rug underneath showed signs of heavy wear.
Lilah leaned over a crib, gently untucking crocheted blankets from around her doll. “I was just about to come outside,” she said, noticing me for the first time. “But since you’re here, come see Winifred.” I oohed and aahed over the porcelain doll while Lilah turned the handle to a silver music box. The eerie song she’d been singing filled the air.
“That’s a bit melancholy, isn’t it?”
“It’s a hymn from church. It’s supposed to be about God abiding with you, but Mama changed the words just a little, so now it’s about us.” Lilah plunked down into the thronelike chair. “I told her she didn’t have to sing to me. Eleven is too old for lullabies.”
“But not too old for dolls?” I joked.
Lilah’s skin pinked under her freckles, and I felt instantly ashamed. Lilah had missed out on many typical childhood things when she was younger. If she wanted to dote on a special plaything now, what did it hurt? This life with Miss Maeve would be the first time Lilah had ever been truly mothered. I’d done my best, but I’d been just a child myself.
“Mama says I shouldn’t rush to grow up,” Lilah said. “But I’m practicing for when I’m a lady. I’m going to be a mother one day.”
“And a writer,” I added. I moved to the writing desk and rolled her shining gold fountain pen under my finger. “Don’t forget that.”
Lilah took the pen and spun it deftly between her fingers. “I’m going to do both,” she said with such certainty I knew she would.
“Good. And I’m sorry I teased you about the doll,” I said. “I’m glad you have Winifred.” Absently, I opened the closet door. “And such a lot of lovely dresses.”
“Let me show you the one I’m wearing to the ice cream social on Saturday. Are you going to be there? Mama’s head of the Ladies’ Aid Society, so she’s in charge of everything. If you come, wear that white dress from our trip down here. It’s your best one by a mile.”
“I’ll try to be there, but it depends on what needs doing on the farm that day,” I said. Lilah shoved aside dresses with abandon until she laid hands on a sea-foam voile creation. She held it against herself, admiring the effect in a cheval glass.
“You’re getting to be quite a fashion plate,” I said. “That’s a pretty color on you. It brings out the green in your eyes.”
Lilah looked bashful at the compliment. She hung the dress hurriedly, then whirled away to rummage in a chest of drawers. “I’ve got a ribbon to match somewhere.”
The frock slipped from its wooden hook. I bent, then shifted the tightly packed clothes aside to rehang the dress. A glint of metal caught my eye.
“Lilah, what’s this?” I asked, running a finger along a hinge in the closet’s back wall. “Where does this door go?”
Lilah turned, a clump of ribbons twining through her fingers like snakes. “Mama said it’s a room where we can be safe, if we ever need it. She keeps it locked.” Her eyes sparked with their usual mischief as she stooped and flipped up the edge of the rug to reveal a brass key. “But she’s not very good at hiding things.” With a flourish, she inserted the key in the lock.
“Why on earth does Mi
ss Maeve think you might ever need to hide in your own home?” I felt my heart go heavy. Did Miss Maeve think her uncle was dangerous? Or was some other threat lurking near their home? I glanced out the window to the woods.
“Mama’s a worrier, just like you. She says it’s best to be prepared,” Lilah said as the door glided silently open under her fingertips and we passed single file into a dark, windowless room.
I blinked around at a space nearly as large as the downstairs parlor.
“Nothing much to see,” Lilah said, stepping over a pile of newspapers. “I think she puts old, broken stuff in here, mostly.” She nudged a cracked terra-cotta flowerpot with her toe, sending a shower of blackened leaves raining down from the withered plant inside. A plain worktable stood against the wall to the right, a cluster of empty glass bottles and unused candles neatly arranged on its surface. A little Primus stove squatted nearby. Hints of something earthy mixed with the sharper scent of recently burned kerosene. I wiped sweat from my upper lip, wondering at why Miss Maeve needed extra heat in the stifling upstairs room.
“You’re probably right. Miss Maeve is just overly cautious,” I said, recalling that I’d had bolt-holes scoped out at a few of the places we lived in New York. “But if you ever feel unsafe, tell me right away. Deal?”
Lilah exhaled sharply through her nose. “I will. Now stop worrying.” She turned and pushed back through the dresses and into her bedroom. I carefully shut the door to the strange room, unease nagging at me.
“Would you like to have a tea party? Mama got me a nice set of china all my own. Della and Abel can join us,” Lilah said, locking the door and slipping the key back into its hiding place. “I like Abel a lot,” she added. “He has nice teeth.”
I relaxed in spite of myself. “He does, doesn’t he? But we can’t stay. Mr. Lybrand wants us to leave. I came to tell you goodbye.”
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