by Keary Taylor
My voice cracked and then trembled on the last sentence.
And just like I never would have anticipated my mother’s disappearance, I never would have anticipated it when Nathaniel rose from his seat and crossed to me. He pulled me to my feet, and with more warmth than I ever would have anticipated, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling my cheek against his chest.
And…it felt…good. So good.
I let it all out in a breath. My dread and resentment toward my mother slipped out of my chest with toxic release.
I wrapped my arms around Nathaniel, holding on to him tight, as if he could somehow save me from my own fear and worry.
He wasn’t as thin as he looked. Through his linen shirt, I could feel strong muscles. In his arms, wrapped around me, I could feel agility. In his hands, I could feel strength.
“Our pasts build us as people, brick by brick,” he said. “The experiences are difficult. We might not want them. But they make us strong. I barely know you, Margot. But I can already tell there’s more strength in you than most others.”
I looked up at him, craning my neck. He was a good seven inches taller than me. “Funny, I could say the same thing about you.”
I could see it, bit by bit, I was breaking through Nathaniel’s tough exterior. His serious and stoic demeanor was a façade. A defense. And who could blame him? He’d been cast aside since he was a toddler, seen as a financial burden and a case file.
I didn’t want everything in his life to be heavy and hard.
We all deserved happy and light memories.
I let a smile crack through on my lips. I grabbed his hand and reached for the bag with the blanket. “Come on,” I said, tugging him back toward the door we’d come through. “Enough with the serious and sad past. It’s a beautiful day and I meant what I’d said about spending it at the beach.”
I loved that I could do it. Nathaniel let a little chuckle slip through, and I looked back to see a smile cracking on his face as I pulled him back outside.
I didn’t let go of his hand as I pulled him down the questionable stairs and started racing out toward the ocean. Sand sprayed everywhere and a flock of seagulls took to the sky with loud outcries.
Nathaniel dug his heels in just five feet from the water.
I didn’t stop, though. I dropped the bag and I let go of him, because I’d pushed him far enough. I raced straight out into the water on my own.
I gave a screech of elation and shock as the water came up to my calves, then my knees. The water soaked the bottom two inches of my white dress.
“It’s so cold!” I screeched. I turned back to shore, finding Nathaniel standing safely out of the ocean’s reach.
“This is Massachusetts,” Nathaniel said with a chuckle and the shake of his head. “Not California. Stay out there too long and you’ll catch your death.”
“You’re no fun,” I said, reaching a hand into the water and splashing in his direction. I didn’t even get close and he easily stepped out of the danger zone.
But he smiled, and that was all I was going for.
I really was freezing, though. So, slowly, I walked back to shore. “I’ve never been to California,” I said as I walked up to Nathaniel. “I’ve always wanted to go. Really, I’d love to see any of the West Coast.”
“Are you trying to tell me that secretly you’re one of those hippies who wear beads in their hair and sit around a fire singing songs?”
That’s when I knew I’d really done it. Gotten in.
He was cracking jokes with me.
“And what’s wrong with that?” I teased back, raising my chin just a little.
He gave me an incredulous look, but there was a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “You’re a born and bred East Coaster. It’s simply not in your blood, Miss Bell.”
I laughed, shaking my head. As much as I might dream, I knew he was right. I might let go and play and enjoy the sunshine when I’m very nearly alone, but when it came down to it, I was indeed a New Englander.
“Well, well, if this isn’t the surprise of the century.”
I jumped at the voice from behind us and turned to see a group walking down the beach, wearing swimming trunks and sleeveless shirts.
The Society Boys and a flock of their girls.
“Nathaniel Nightingale with a real, live woman.” David Sinclair walked up, a snake smile on his face. His boys stopped on either side of him, Borden Stewart, and James Richards. “You alright, dear? I wouldn’t put it past this library gremlin to force a woman into his company against her will.”
I looked over at Nathaniel, who stared at David like he could melt him into glass on the sand. But he said nothing.
I turned cold eyes back on David and stepped closer to Nathaniel. “Well, we were having quite the afternoon before you and your lackies showed up. Though I guess I should be grateful you showed up now instead of later. That would have been a little embarrassing. Things were about to get a little less clothed, if you know what I mean.”
This got quite the reaction from the crowd. Several ‘ohs!” and snickers. Other noises of disgust. But mostly shock.
To my intense pleasure, David just glared at the two of us, at an utter loss for words.
“Come on, Nathaniel,” I said, taking his hand and handing him the bag. “We can do it inside today. Last time it took me forever to wash the sand out of everywhere.”
Nathaniel still said nothing as I started pulling him back in the direction of Alderidge. He simply glared at David and Borden and James.
I hated that he didn’t know how to speak up for himself against stupid bullies like the Society Boys.
So, I would do it for him.
Someone behind us made a coughing noise but worked in the word whore. The other girls giggled stupidly. I heard James whispering something to one of the others.
But I didn’t look back at them. I looked up at Nathaniel, leaned into him for show, and kept walking down the beach.
“Don’t you realize what you’ve just done?” Nathaniel said once we were well out of ear shot.
The cold tone of his voice pulled my eyes back to his and I looked up at him with furrowed brows.
“I just turned that around,” I said. I didn’t like the cold tone of his voice. “I just kept David Sinclair from trying to humiliate you.”
Nathaniel pulled us to a stop and fixed hard eyes on me. “You think I give a damn what they think about me? Those boys have been trying to make my life hell since my freshman year. I can handle the Boys.” He leaned just slightly closer, and I saw something soften in his eyes. “But you’ve just given them a reason to put a target on your back, Margot. They won’t just let this slide.”
I pulled my hand out of his and took half a step back. I blinked three times, trying to gather my thoughts, trying to form my next words carefully. “I’m not some fragile little girl, Nathaniel. I can handle the Society Boys, too. I’ve been avoiding their cat calls and their leering stares since I was fifteen. I’m not afraid of them, either.”
I took one step closer to Nathaniel again. “Today’s been pretty wonderful,” I said, my voice dropping low. “I’d made my decision, that I want you as my friend. But there is something you need to know about me. That I won’t be pushed around. That I won’t be afraid, of anyone. Not the Society Boys, and not you trying to tell me how to act. So, you think about that. And if you can handle it, come and find me, and I’ll decide if I made the right decision.”
I grabbed my bag out of his hand, turned, and walked back down the beach, alone.
Chapter Five
I didn’t see Nathaniel for the next few days. And that was perfectly okay.
I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t. But I didn’t need a man in my life who was going to coddle me and act as if I couldn’t stand up for myself or make my own decisions.
I didn’t think Nathaniel was that kind of man. But I was going to step one little toe in that direction if there was a chance that he was.
So, I foc
used on my classes. I got an A on my Latin paper. I completed my first writing assignment. I aced my first Social Studies test. I got well prepared for my first World Geography test. And I did my best in Physical Education.
Dad and I went out to dinner on Friday night and got lobster. It was a once-a-year thing, we wouldn’t do it again until next year.
I put Nathaniel out of my mind, and I went about my life.
I passed Borden Stewart in the hall once. I held my chin high, gave him a tiny bit of a coy smile, and walked along my way.
On Friday, I walked into the bathroom at the exact same time David Sinclair was walking into the men’s room.
I met his eye, let the coldness seep into my stare, and I walked into the women’s room.
If he was going to start rumors about me, about what happened on the beach, let him. I’d find a way to deal with it, with him.
But nothing was whispered. I’d heard nothing in the halls. There were no suspicious looks tossed my way.
So, I went on with my life, just like I did any other day.
My birthday was approaching on Sunday, and Dad and I made plans to go up to Boston. I wanted clam chowder and more than anything I just wanted to wander the city and go to the Boston Public Library.
As much as I loved Harrington, I really loved Boston. Not to live in. There was just a feeling there in our neighboring city. I loved the old churches and the brownstone homes, the cobbled streets of Beacon Hill.
But on Saturday, I set off toward the library. I’d finished my book this morning, an old love story between a pirate and a proper lady. It had ended tragically but I’d still loved it. I was in the mood for another love story.
As I crossed the lawn to the University doors, I heard my name called. Looking out toward the north end of the building, I saw Nathaniel.
He stood alone, his hands in his pockets. The sun was most of the way down, casting a brilliant golden sunset across the entire sky. It made him look ethereal. Like something from one of the books I was after tonight.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked, his tone open and vulnerable.
I stood there in the grass for a solid eight seconds, thinking and considering.
And in the end, I stepped toward him. I held his eyes as I approached, and bit by bit, I let my defenses loosen just a little bit. In his eyes I didn’t see any signs of a war or a fight. No rebuking. Just openness.
“I’d like to show you something, if that’s okay?” he asked when I was two steps away.
I just nodded.
He set off across the grass and I followed him without saying a word.
He pointed us toward the north end of the university, the end that had been damaged in the storm and the fire. The end that was being overgrown by trees and wild nature. We cut along a stone fence that ended the manicured, cared for lawn, and then Nathaniel pushed a creaky gate open, letting me inside.
Because Nathaniel did, I ignored the signs stapled to the gate. Danger: Unstable Ground. Keep Out.
We entered into a garden, or at least I thought it had been at one point. There were overgrown rose bushes everywhere. Brilliant red roses grew in every direction, but I wouldn’t dare try to claim any of them. I could see the thorns without getting too close. There were rows of garden boxes, though most of them were overgrown with wild things now. There was a statue of a colonial general in one corner, covered in bird droppings, and another of a pilgrim family up against the building, overgrown by the roses.
I’d lived here my whole life and I’d never once considered coming to this area. There were always warning signs along the fence that blocked off this garden. And the area did look unstable. The damage to the building was apparent. But still, I followed Nathaniel down a cobblestone pathway that looked surprisingly well-traversed. Deeper into the garden we went, passing other statues, some with missing limbs or heads, past a water fountain that had moss growing in it.
And then the wild garden opened up, and it was tame and manicured. And to the left, there was a solarium, attached to the long forgotten north wing of the university.
Glass walls rose up from the well-tended bushes and then angled up, attaching to the stone walls of the university.
“Come inside,” Nathaniel said, inclining his head toward a wooden door on the side of it.
I didn’t realize it until then, but a smile filled with enchanted wonder had broken out on my face. I stepped forward, following him to the door.
We walked inside, and I actually covered my mouth with my hands to contain the glee that filled me.
The north end of the university had been destroyed once. It had been abandoned for a few decades.
But inside this solarium, it was well loved and beautiful.
The wood floors showed signs of the fire, scorched along the wall shared with the university. But they’d been sanded and polished, gleaming beautifully.
Along the back wall, there was a hand-built bookshelf, rising with the angle of the glass roof. And it was filled nearly three quarters full with different titles.
An old wood desk was set at an angle from it, an old school chair pushed underneath it. An old leather couch ran along the stone wall. There was a fireplace against one wall and through an open door, I could see a bathroom. Against the glass wall that was covered by the rose bushes, was a queen-sized bed with a random array of bedding and pillows.
“You live here,” I said. I should have formed it as a question, but everything in this room of glass screamed Nathaniel Nightingale. I could even smell him, like leather and old books and sandalwood.
“I found it my freshman year,” he said, looking around at his space as I gaped at it in bewildered amazement. “It took me that entire year to fix it up, make it livable. But no one has bothered me here in the years since.”
I turned back to face him and knew my eyes were bright, my smile growing on my face. “I love it,” I said with the shake of my head. “It’s…it’s really wonderful.”
And I hadn’t realized I’d missed it until it was there again, but Nathaniel smiled. This one was real. Relaxed. Genuine.
He shrugged and looked around once more. “It’s home. The only one I’ve really had.”
I stepped forward, running my fingers along the arm of the tufted leather couch. It was well worn, but I could tell he’d taken care of it as best he could. I walked across the room to his table. It was probably a dining table, considering its size. But his school papers were spread across it, assignments nearly or entirely completed. There were two books laying open, one a history book, one in what I was fairly certain was French.
Next, I stepped up to the bookcase. Much like my father’s habits, there was an array of different books there. Mostly history, which I wasn’t surprised by. But there were also books about physics and chemistry. Science fiction and love stories.
“Have you read them all?” I asked, picking out the few titles that I’d read.
“Yes,” he answered simply.
I smiled again and shook my head. Suddenly, I was jealous. Yes, I understood that Nathaniel didn’t have a family, that he’d been truly alone his whole life in a way I could never understand. But he had this space and had made it one hundred percent him. He’d claimed it as his own. He was independent. He was becoming his own person and adult in a way I still felt years from.
“Thank you,” I said, meeting his eyes again. “For sharing this with me.”
He nodded and walked forward, his eyes fixed on the bookcase. I could tell he knew exactly what he was looking for, because he walked directly, reached for a particular book, and plucked it from the shelf. Briefly, I glanced at the title. It was a history of the state of Massachusetts.
“Did you know that while the Salem witch trials were the last and only here in America, that there is still official litigation against witchcraft in parts of the Middle East?” With those long fingers of his, Nathaniel opened the book and flipped a few pages. He opened to a section and handed me the book, pointing to a par
ticular passage. My eyes scanned it, searching for what he wanted me to see.
It was a list of the names of the men and women who were killed at the Salem Witch trials. And there, almost to the bottom, was the name of Mare McGregor.
My blood chilled, seeing her name there, listed among the accused and executed. I knew her name. I knew her story, as much of it as had been recorded by her son, my great-something-grandfather, Collin. But it was always so stark, the reality that she’d been hung. Killed.
“The entire world has a history of witch hunts,” Nathaniel said, turning to the bookshelf again. He grabbed another book, opening it to a section. “Egypt and Babylonia.”
He took another book, opening it and laying it on his desk. “Across the Holy Roman Empire.”
My heart rate picked up. Sweat broke out on my palms.
Still, Nathaniel grabbed another book and another. “Russia, India, and even Africa to this day.”
I watched Nathaniel, who stood with his back to me. His shoulders were tight. His head was bent low. His words were growing lower with each one spoken.
Gingerly, almost reverently, he reached for another book. The red binding was worn, and there were no words left. Gently, he grabbed it, and he held it to his chest, his arms carefully wrapped around it.
“It is estimated at around 60,000 people were killed for being witches over the course of three hundred years, in western Europe and central Europe alone. Tens of thousands more in Asia, countless more in Africa. Miraculously, only nineteen here in America.”
There was a deep sound rushing in my ears and it took me a moment to realize it was the sound of my own blood. There was a heavy feeling of anticipation and uncertainty in my gut.
Nathaniel turned back toward me, and in his eyes, I saw something big.
“I cannot confirm that I am a direct descendant, but there was a William Nightingale killed during the Lancashire witch trials in England in 1612.” His eyes were fixed on me, but I could tell, he wasn’t seeing me. He had fallen into history, into ancestry. “There are thousands of stories of accusations and trials and deaths.”
