What could Evangeline say to that? To an extent, the inquiries were partially her fault—she had told Grandfather what she’d heard of the mill, after all. She was not obligated to respond as, in that moment, Dermot did, having apparently arrived in the doorway.
“Mr. Farr’s questioning of your husband can be laid at the feet of a few people, though the necessity of it lies firmly with his own self.”
Aunt Barton spun about. Her surprise quickly gave way to displeasure and a narrowing of her eyes. “You make yourself quite free here, walking in unannounced and unbidden.”
“The door was open,” Dermot said. “Your disparaging remarks would’ve brought any decent man in to defend an innocent lady such as your niece.”
“Your niece.” Aunt Barton flung an accusatory glare at Evangeline. “You have been telling people of our kinship? That was a specific requirement of your living and working here. This is grounds for dismissal and eviction.”
“She told no one.” Dermot stepped further inside. “Mr. Farr did. He referred to her as his granddaughter within the hearing of one of her students, though I believe the knowledge has grown more general since the dinner Miss Blake took in your home—
a more subtle revelation but, again, one brought about by Mr. Farr. If you mean to rake anyone over the coals for this, it’d best be him, though I’d pay a year’s salary to watch you try.”
“You would speak so flippantly to the wife of your master?”
“I have no master, and I work for no man.” Dermot eyed her for a long, unhurried moment. “What’s more, Miss Blake does not work for you, either, nor does she work for your husband. She’s employed by the school board, of which you’re not a member and of which your husband is only acting head. Mr. Farr’s opinion is the only one that truly matters. I saw him here Saturday. Her position seems quite safe. Yours and your husband’s, however . . .” The thought dangled unfinished.
Aunt Barton’s lips pursed into a tiny bud of anger. “Very brash words for one of your birth.”
“And very uncouth words for one of yours.” Dermot did not shrink in the least.
Evangeline didn’t bother hiding her pleasure at being so fiercely defended. “I need to assist my student in gathering his supplies, so I am no longer in a position to receive visitors. Good day to you, Mrs. Barton.”
Aunt Barton crossed in front of her, slowing long enough to whisper in menacing tones, “This day’s work will cost you your sister’s company. Mark my words.”
“You do not frighten me,” Evangeline answered in full voice. “I have every confidence that Grandfather took your measure long ago, and I believe he is fully capable of taking mine.”
No more was said, though Evangeline felt the truth of her words. Her grandfather was not one to be swayed by petty resentment or vindictiveness. He might not side with Evangeline in the end, but she did not believe that would be the result of anything her aunt said or did.
Aunt Barton left in a huff.
“Come along, Ronan,” Dermot said. “We’re for home.”
He faced Ronan, his back to her. His tone was colder than she was accustomed to.
“Are you still angry with me?” Evangeline asked.
“I was never angry with you, woman. Frustrated and disappointed, yes, but not angry.”
Her heart sat heavy in her chest. “And now you mean to treat me differently as well. The whole town does.”
“’Tis difficult to know how to act around you when none of us is entirely certain who you are anymore.”
“I’m still the same person,” she insisted.
“Aye, but none of us knew the whole of that person. You lied to us.”
Long after he’d gone, his words hung heavy in her mind. “You lied to us.” She hadn’t wanted to, but what choice had she had? She would have lost her position. Aunt Barton had been quite clear that Grandfather had insisted—
The truth of things struck her quite suddenly. Grandfather had not hidden their connection. His invitation to supper had been one way the town had learned the truth. Yet Aunt Barton had insisted the secrecy was his requirement. Evangeline had been misled from the beginning. What else had been a half-truth at best?
She had lost Dermot’s good opinion over a lie—two lies. The one her aunt had originally told, and the one she herself had maintained in the months since. She had come to Smeatley alone and now feared she would return to that isolation.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Mrs. Crossley.” Evangeline hurried down the path from the schoolhouse, barely catching the woman before she stepped out onto the street. “Forgive me if this is an impertinence, but I had hoped you might have a moment or two to continue the stories we were writing down.”
Her request was met with the same polite distance with which most of her students’ parents had treated her the past few days. “I’d not deny thee, miss, but my days are right busy.”
“Of course.” Her heart dropped, but what could she say? She had been less than forthright with her neighbors, her students, their families. What right had she to expect them to still be on friendly terms with her? And, yet, how could she simply stop trying? “Perhaps you could tell me one bit of the story each time you are here. The process will take longer but will be worthwhile.”
She thought for a minute before nodding slowly. “Next time I come, I’ll tell thee a little more.”
“Thank you.” That was all she was able to say before the family slipped away. She’d not asked how they were, if Mrs. Crossley had found work. I ought to have asked that first. How selfish to have begun with her own concerns when theirs were so much weightier.
It was little wonder she now spent her evenings alone. Though she had hoped to have made a difference in the lives of her students, she was not truly a part of their lives. She was not really a part of anyone’s.
She dragged herself back to the schoolhouse, watching the factory families’ children play in the yard. The day would end just as it always did. Their voices would fill the air for a time, then the schoolyard would fall silent. Dermot would take Ronan home. She would remain behind with nothing but a framed photograph for company.
Cecilia Haigh and May Palmer were playing hopscotch. George Palmer and Jimmy Sutcliffe chased each other around the yard. Matthew Bennett circled a nearby tree, his hand rubbing its trunk as he spun. The children, at least, seemed happy. While at school, they were free to be children, playing and running and leaving behind the many, many cares of the world. She was grateful for that.
She didn’t quite make it all the way inside before Jimmy called after her. “Miss Blake. Someone’s come for thee.”
Daniel Palmer, Hugo’s cousin, came quickly up the walkway to where she stood and handed her a folded bit of paper. He dipped his head and left as swiftly and quietly as he had arrived. She hadn’t even time to thank him.
She unfolded the paper and saw a coat of arms and the words “Post Office Telegraphers” emblazoned at the top. She had never before received a telegram.
It was from “H. Farr” in Leeds. Grandfather.
The message was not long. I wish for you to come live with me in Leeds. Arrangements can be made as soon as you are ready. That was all he’d written, a mere two sentences.
He wanted her to come to Leeds. That was precisely what she had hoped for months earlier. Being told she had to remain in Smeatley, working and living on her own, and attempting to prove her worth to her grandfather from a distance had dealt her such a blow. Yet, the offer now left her entirely upended.
She peeked inside her living quarters. Ronan was practicing his reading, something he preferred to do alone. The children outside were happy and content in their play. She remained in the entryway and sat on one of the lower steps of the staircase, the telegram still in her hands.
“I wish for you to come live with me in Leeds.” She reread the sentence in
a confused whisper. He wanted her to come. He hadn’t commanded or insisted, something she appreciated after having been browbeaten so often since her family had passed on. Perhaps Grandfather had decided she was capable of choosing her own path in life.
Except his telegram hadn’t truly asked her to come nor inquired as to her desires for her future. He might not have ordered her to move to Leeds, but he’d come worryingly close.
Still, she had held firm through the few disagreements they’d had during his recent visit. That must not have bothered him or he would not have offered his home to her. She likely need not worry that she would be living under his thumb.
And she would be near Lucy. Perhaps she could even convince her grandfather to allow Lucy to live in his home as well, away from the school where she was so unhappy. They would be together at last. She would not be living in her own home, but she would be with her sister.
And without her children. Without her independence. Her home. Ronan. Dermot. Her dear, darling, beloved Dermot.
She folded the telegram between her palms and rested her hands on her lap. What was she to do?
She needed someone to talk to—not to make the decision for her, but to listen and help her sort out her own thoughts. How often Dermot had done precisely that for her. He listened. He offered his viewpoint. But he never forced his ideas on her. Of all the people she had known since coming to Smeatley—even before then, if she were being entirely honest—he alone had never seemed to doubt her ability to make her own choices, and he had never insisted she was meant to simply do as she was told without question or argument. And when she had first come to his door and confessed that she could not cook or clean or do any of the things necessary for looking after herself, he’d never treated her like an imbecile or a child.
She had returned that confidence by not telling him the truth. That had been wrong of her. She ought to have trusted him enough for that.
When he arrived to fetch Ronan that evening, she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. Regret rendered her silent.
Dermot didn’t make the swift exit he’d taken the past few days. “What has you as quiet as a mouse?”
“I am mulling over something.” She busied herself pretending to straighten her small stack of papers.
“Are you needing a listening ear?”
She shook her head. Though she would have liked to talk over her many concerns with him, trusting his judgment as she did and knowing he would truly listen, she didn’t feel she deserved his generosity. Hours trapped in her own spinning thoughts had left her spirits rather dismal.
Dermot moved closer to her. “What’s happened, Evangeline?”
She met his gaze at last. The kindness and concern she saw there nearly undid her. “I’ve had a telegram from my grandfather.”
“Have you?”
She nodded. “He wants me to come to Leeds.”
“For a visit?”
She shook her head. “He wants me to live there with him.”
Nothing of Dermot’s thoughts were visible in his expression. “How do you feel about his offer?”
His gentle inquiry opened the floodgates. “I don’t know how to feel or what to think. On the one hand, I would be near Lucy, perhaps could even arrange for her to live at my grandfather’s house as well.”
“That would remove her from the school where she is now,” Dermot said.
“Precisely. And my grandfather’s home, as I understand, is a pleasant place with many of the comforts my sister was once accustomed to.”
Dermot nodded. “You were once accustomed to them as well.”
“Part of me longs for that bit of my old life again, not having to cook every meal or clean every corner of my house, to live with some comfort and ease.”
He indicated they should sit on the bench near the fire. She didn’t object. She felt burdened enough to remain still for days on end. He sat beside her. He hadn’t done that in days. She pushed down the surge of hope that rose up inside. She would not allow herself to contemplate that he intended anything but kindness.
She pressed on. “Coming to Smeatley and working as a teacher was not my choice. Living in this dim, cramped room with no warning and no prior experience of all the many things I needed to know to be successful was not a welcome challenge, I will admit.”
Dermot sat, patiently listening, just as she’d known he would.
“But I have come to love this schoolhouse and the children I teach and this town and all of the challenges that come with it. I don’t know that I could abandon any of that now.”
“Are you speaking out of obligation to a commitment or out of a personal connection?” he asked. “I think you need to know which it is. You’re deciding on your entire future.”
There was a great deal of truth in that, though she wasn’t certain of her answer. If she stayed, would she be doing so because she felt it was expected of her? If she chose to go to Leeds, would she be doing so for similar reasons?
“If I stay, I might never have Lucy with me again,” she said.
“That is possible.”
“But if I go, I would lose my sense of purpose. I am doing so much good here, Dermot, and I don’t think it is arrogant to say so. I have seen the difference I have made in these children’s lives. Who is to say the teacher hired to take my place would care for them personally? How many might fall by the wayside because they were seen as merely a name on a ledger rather than the dear, lovely children they are?”
Dermot nodded. “A sound argument, that.”
“But Lucy is in Leeds,” she countered.
“Another sound argument.”
“What am I to do?” She stood and paced away. “How can I possibly pick between them?”
“Pick a third option.”
She turned back to face him. “What third option? I was only given two.”
His smile was gentle and kind. “What you were given and what is available to you are not always the same thing, my dear. You needn’t resign yourself to only what you’ve been offered.”
“A lady is meant to do as she’s told and not to argue.”
He folded his arms across his chest and eyed her with one arched brow. “You’ve grown fiery in the weeks you’ve been here, Evangeline Blake. Don’t turn fainthearted now.”
She had grown fierce. At first she’d been almost ashamed of her boldness, but the change had been necessary. “Being firm has proven far more effective,” she admitted. “And I don’t think it has made me a bad person.”
“Far from it,” he said. “And firmness is just what you’re needing now. Think on it. I’m certain there’s a third choice you’ve not stumbled upon yet.”
She wanted to believe it. But what possible extra choice could there be? Lucy was in Leeds. Evangeline’s work and her students and the life she loved were in Smeatley. How could she have her sister with her without leaving her entire life behind?
“What if—” She paused, wanting to make certain the thought taking shape had the substance she hoped it did. “What if Lucy came here?”
Dermot didn’t respond or interrupt. Bless him, he meant to let her sort it out.
“That was what I had hoped for from the beginning,” she reminded herself. “That was what my aunt said would happen—at least, she hinted at it enough to make me believe that was the outcome. Why should that change now?”
She pressed her palms together and set her fingertips against her chin. Lucy coming to Smeatley. That was not an outlandish idea. Dermot, however, had once been quite set against it.
“You do not think that life here would be a misery for her?” she asked.
“It’d not be easy,” he answered, truthful as always. “But she’d have you, which’d help a great deal. And I believe the town would look out for her, being fond of you as they are.”
She sighe
d. “They are not so warm as they once were.”
“They’re worried. The Bartons have not been kind to the people of Smeatley, although Mr. Barton is better than his wife.”
Evangeline could acknowledge the truth of that.
“Knowing you’re family to them, the Smeatley folks are worried you’ll turn against them in the end.”
How could they believe that of her? “I never would.”
“I know it, and I think deep down they do as well, but there is the worry all the same.”
“What can I do to convince them of my heart?”
“I believe time will tell. They’ll see that you’re still the kind and generous person they’ve seen you to be, and they’ll learn to overlook your family relationships.”
The hope he offered fell short of what she truly needed to hear.
“What of you, Dermot McCormick?” she asked quietly. “Could you ever learn to overlook it?”
He shrugged. “The connections don’t bother me too much. We can’t choose our family, after all.”
“You chose yours.” She indicated Ronan, sleeping in the rocking chair nearby.
“We choose who we keep,” he said.
If only he would choose to keep her. “You’ve hardly spoken to me in days.”
He rose and crossed to her. “I’m only human, you know. I make a show of being hard and unfeeling, but I’ve vulnerable spots as well. You hit one, I’m afraid.”
“I am sorry.”
“I’ve had almost no one I could fully trust in all the time I’ve been in Smeatley. There’s always been a barrier. But you seemed to have bridged that lonely gap. ’Twas a blow to know you’d lied, however indirectly.”
“I’ve spent the past months making decisions based on fear.” Her voice broke, but she pushed forward. “I have nearly forgotten how to be guided by hope and trust and—” She tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t entirely manage it. “I shouldn’t have kept such a crucial part of my life a secret from you.”
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