by Delia Parr
“Yes, I suppose I do, but—”
“But you’re not the one who has to heal that girl’s broken heart. Only God can do that, Emma. Be His instrument. Nothing more. He’s brought Wryn into your life for a purpose, but you have to trust Him to guide both of you along the path He’s set out. Don’t let her complicate your life to the point you forget that He’s happiest when we accept all the gifts He’s brought to our doorstep—including the love and companionship of a caring spouse, which I think Mr. Breckenwith is offering to you.”
Reminded yet again of how precious this woman was and touched by the wisdom she was sharing, Emma blinked back tears. “I’ve missed having you and Reverend Glenn with me at Hill House so much,” she whispered.
“We’ve missed you, too, but this is where we want to be and where we need to be. Reverend Glenn and I aren’t very far away from you at all, and we’re always here to help you.” Aunt Frances caressed the back of Emma’s hand.
“Thank you,” Emma replied, glancing at the lace shawl lying across the back of Aunt Frances’ rocking chair.
Aunt Frances followed her gaze and let out a sigh. “But right now, you’re troubled by something a bit more immediate. Maybe it would help if I told you that I’ve been terribly careful handling the shawl. I don’t think you’ll have much trouble returning it to Mrs. Delaney’s Boutique.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Why would you suggest . . . ? But how could you know . . . ?”
“I’m eighty-one years old, Emma. I may have only been stitching on cotton and linen with these old hands of mine for most of those years, but I can surely recognize expensive imported lace when I see it. I also know Wryn couldn’t possibly afford to buy that shawl for me, along with the rest of the gifts she had for us, as soon as I laid eyes on it. I’m not certain how she managed to get her hands on those things, but I do know that even if she saved every coin she could earn for herself for the next fifteen years, she still wouldn’t have enough to pay for them.”
“Unfortunately, you’re not the first person today to reach that conclusion,” Emma said.
“Maybe not, but I can make it easier all around if I just return everything to you. I don’t want to hurt Wryn’s feelings, so once you all leave, I’ll wrap up everything she gave us real good so it’ll be ready for you to take back whenever you decide. Except for the beef jerky. I’m afraid Butter found it and devoured it, along with half a crock of my butter, which is why he’s fast asleep on the floor right now. He’s so full he can’t move.”
Emma laughed out loud, picked up the tray, and nodded toward the kitchen door. “If and when I decide what to do with Wryn’s purchases, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, maybe you could open that door for me so I could carry the tea into the parlor.”
When Emma followed Aunt Frances into the other room, however, Butter was the only one still in the same spot. Reverend Glenn and Zachary had both donned coats, hats, and gloves and stood by the door, about ready to leave. Mark and Wryn, however, were not there at all.
“Where are Mark and Wryn?” Emma asked.
“Where are you going with Mr. Breckenwith?” Aunt Frances asked her husband, almost simultaneously.
Reverend Glenn smiled. “While you two ladies were busy in the kitchen, Mark grew worried about leaving Catherine alone with the babies for too long, and he didn’t want her to worry about Wryn. So he decided they should head back to Hill House. On their way out, they met Mr. Hooper, who stopped on his way to fetch the doctor. It appears Mrs. Hooper has taken a turn for the worse. I promised to meet him back at his house since Mr. Breckenwith offered to see me there and back again,” he explained, answering both women’s questions.
“What about your tea?” Emma asked as she set it on a side table.
“I’m sorry you both went to all that trouble, but I really shouldn’t dawdle, especially since I don’t walk so fast anymore. The two of you can likely finish off that pot of tea by yourselves,” he teased.
Aunt Frances took the cape Emma had worn from a peg near the door and handed the garment to her. “Don’t worry about the tea. I know how anxious you are to go home and spend time with Mark and his family. We’ll visit together again soon.”
“Don’t you want me to stay to keep you company?”
“No, Emma dear. Reverend Glenn could be gone for hours. I have my stitching to keep me busy,” she said and caught Zachary’s gaze. “If Emma walks along with you now to the Hoopers’ to make sure Reverend Glenn arrives safe and sound, will you walk her to Hill House, as well? You’d still be back to the Hoopers’ again long before Reverend Glenn is ready to come home again.”
“Even if I’m ready sooner than we expect, I’ll simply wait for you,” her husband added.
“Then I can’t see any reason why I shouldn’t take Mrs. Glenn’s suggestion, can you?” Zachary asked, gazing directly at Emma.
Hard pressed to think of a single logical reason why she should not leave now and let Zachary escort her home, she smiled in response and slipped into the oversized cape. Avoiding Zachary’s questions about Wryn was unavoidable.
Besides, if Wryn’s visit to Candlewood thus far was any indication, Emma might expect Sheriff North eventually to show up on her porch looking for Wryn. When he did, she had no doubt she might need a lawyer . . . which made marrying one sound like a very good idea.
After Emma and Zachary had Reverend Glenn safely delivered to the Hoopers’, she had the opportunity to speak to Zachary alone and broach the subject of Wryn. By the time she had recounted her conversation with Mark and detailed Wryn’s misadventure along Main Street, they were starting up the hill toward her boardinghouse.
Anxious to learn his reaction to her news, Emma drew in a long breath and studied him carefully. As she expected, his expression had hardened, but she was not prepared for the coldness of his response.
“I should expect you told your son that taking on responsibility for this young woman is out of the question.”
She stiffened. “Actually, I told Mark I would consider it.”
He paused, forcing her to stop, as well. “You’d consider it,” he repeated, as if he could scarcely believe he had heard her correctly. “When you were talking to your son, did you happen to mention that you’re considering a proposal of marriage and that you might be starting a new, very different life for yourself?”
She swallowed hard. With his squared shoulders and determined gaze, he made it very clear to her that Wryn’s presence in her life might make him reconsider his proposal. “Of course I did,” she managed, barely able to hear her own words above the pounding of her heart. “I haven’t given Mark an answer yet simply because I haven’t had time to talk with Catherine or Wryn yet—and I’m not convinced Wryn needs to remain here at all. But if she did, I wouldn’t even consider taking any responsibility for her, even temporarily, without talking it over with you first.”
“Would you be discussing it with me as your lawyer? Or as your future husband?”
“Both,” she admitted.
Apparently satisfied, if only for the moment, he nodded and started them toward Hill House again without saying another word. But Emma sensed they were no longer walking alone.
Wryn now walked between them, as surely as she had walked between her mother and stepfather, and Mark and Catherine.
7
I DIDN’T RUN OFF, and you should have known I didn’t run off, because I didn’t leave a note. I always, always leave a note because that’s how it is done. When you run away, you must leave a note.”
With a toss of her head, Wryn folded her arms across her chest and let her words echo in the library. With her lips pursed, she sat straight and stiff, with her back to the fireplace, where a softly burning fire chased the early evening chill from the room. Framed with the glow from the fire, she appeared almost angelic; hardly the image that suited her at the moment, considering her behavior for the day.
Seated a fair distance to Wryn’s left, Emma held silent, as well, which
was no small accomplishment for her. As proprietress of Hill House, she was not accustomed to relinquishing authority when confronted with disagreements between guests, but Mark and Catherine and Wryn were not guests. They were family, although Wryn’s relationship to Emma was dubious.
Still, she was careful to keep to the boundaries she had set for herself as merely an observer before this family meeting had begun. Unless Mark asked her a direct question or specifically asked her to intervene, she was not going to say a word. Mark was no longer a child. He was a grown man, a husband and a father, and she needed to allow him to exercise his authority as the head of his family, particularly where Wryn was concerned.
“Forgive me for jumping to an erroneous conclusion that you had run away,” Mark snapped, clearly frustrated by the way Wryn had spent the past twenty minutes cleverly twisting his words to suit herself and manipulating the conversation to confuse the very issue that had brought her here. “I wasn’t aware there were rules surrounding exactly what a fifteen-year-old was supposed to do if and when she decided to run away.”
“I didn’t say there were rules. I said that I always leave a note when I run off, which you would have known if you had taken the time to speak to my mother about it. You obviously didn’t cover the topic well, which surprises me because you seem to know practically everything else I’ve done. Unless she deliberately didn’t tell you, which wouldn’t surprise me at all. She’s good at hiding things. She’s good at lots of things that aren’t—”
“Don’t be disrespectful when talking about your mother,” Mark cautioned in the sternest voice he had used so far.
Catherine placed her hand on her husband’s arm and addressed her niece for the first time. “Mark and I were very worried about you,” she said gently. “Uncle Mark clearly asked you to remain in your room. When we found you weren’t there later, we had no idea that—”
“That I might not have run off and that I might simply have wanted to see the town for myself? Or that I might want to have something to give to everyone here? You were so busy getting ready to come for this visit and to make sure you had something special for everyone, you never once thought that I might want to have something to give them, did you?” Wryn said, once again diverting fault from herself to Mark and Catherine.
“No, I . . . I suppose I didn’t,” Catherine murmured, clearly as frustrated as her husband.
Emma held tight to the keepsakes in her pocket. Unfortunately, Mark and Catherine were apparently so unaccustomed to handling conflict, unless it was between a pair of two-year-olds, they were falling into the verbal and emotional traps Wryn was setting for them. Emma, however, could see exactly what Wryn was doing, and she did not like it. Not one whit.
Whether it was her status here as an observer, the experience she had had raising her own children, or settling disputes with patrons and guests that gave her the advantage of insight during this convoluted conversation was irrelevant. What mattered most was that Wryn admit to her misdeeds and be held accountable for them, but Emma would not be able to help make that happen unless Mark invited her to do so.
Mindful of Aunt Frances’ advice to let God’s plan for Wryn unfold, Emma listened and prayed as the conversation continued to stray off course.
“I won’t. I won’t take back the gifts, and I won’t apologize to the store clerks for misleading them. I won’t.”
“Yes you will.”
“No I won’t.”
“Yes. You must,” Mark insisted.
“No I don’t.”
He glared at Wryn and turned to his mother. “Maybe you can do this better.”
Emma noted the flush on her son’s cheeks, but when she saw he was clenching his jaw, she knew he had gone as far as he could go without losing his temper, a rarity for this gentle son of hers. She whispered yet another silent prayer, this time for wisdom and guidance, but she knew exactly where to start: at the very, very beginning.
Borrowing from a page in Zachary’s book, which she knew only too well because he had gone to that same page often enough when he had first become her lawyer, she nodded to both Mark and Catherine before she turned her attention to Wryn. “I only have a few questions, but I’d like you to be succinct when you answer them. A simple yes or no will do. That’s not a negotiable request, but it’s a necessary one if we have any hope of resolving what happened today within the privacy of Hill House,” she said.
She paused for a moment to get up and turn her chair for a moment to be able to look at Wryn more directly, yet still have eye contact with Mark and Catherine. When she sat down again, she continued. “As a courtesy, when I’ve finished with my questions, you’ll be able to ask questions of your own, and I’ll follow that same rule when I give my answers. If, however, you refuse to adhere to this rule, if you’re uncooperative or dishonest with me, then you’ll give me no recourse but to send for Sheriff North immediately and have you arrested for theft by deception,” she warned, hoping she had used the right term to describe Wryn’s crimes.
Wryn’s eyes widened, and her cheeks flamed with outrage. “But—”
“ ‘But’ is not an answer open to you,” Emma snapped, quick to stop the young woman from saying more than a single word. “Yes or no?” she asked sternly. “Will you answer my questions?”
With defiance flashing in her eyes, Wryn pressed her lips together.
“Good. I’ll accept your silence as a yes, which means you’ll have to speak to me eventually if your answer is no,” Emma said and immediately formed a question that would have a response Wryn would have to voice. “Did you deliberately let little Jonas wander off today while his parents and little brother were still sleeping?”
Wryn blinked hard, as if surprised by the question. “No,” she whispered, but it was difficult to tell if she was upset by the nature of the question or the fact that she had to answer the first question Emma posed to her.
“Were you upset when Uncle Mark sent you to your room instead of allowing you to continue to look for Jonas?”
Wryn pursed her lips.
“Apparently yes,” Emma offered. “Are you sorry that you didn’t keep a closer eye on my grandson?”
With a nod, Wryn answered silently, the defiance and wariness in her eyes now beginning to dim just a bit.
Satisfied with their beginning, Emma shifted to more difficult topics. She kept her voice low and even and her posture relaxed. “When you left Hill House earlier today, did you intend to run away?”
“No,” Wryn said, reiterating her earlier claims.
“Did you think that Uncle Mark and Aunt Catherine might think you had run off and worry about you?”
Another set of pursed lips. Another flash of defiance in her eyes.
“So you did,” Emma said, folding her hands together and resting them on her lap. “Did you ever once mention to them that when you had run away while living with your mother you had always left a note?”
Wryn chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, as if torn between telling the truth, which would deflate most of her earlier argument with her uncle, and lying.
Emma waited patiently, sent a reassuring glance to her son and his wife, and rested against the back of the chair. If Wryn did tell a lie, Emma may or may not be able to detect it, but she hoped the threat of involving the authorities would be enough to deter the young woman from lying. She also hoped the young woman did not know how reluctant Emma was to involve Sheriff North at all.
Eventually, Wryn voiced her answer, but she was so soft-spoken, Emma could scarcely hear her. “I’m sorry. Would you speak a bit louder please?”
Wryn clenched her jaw again. “No. I said no.”
“Then it would be fair to say that neither your uncle Mark nor your aunt Catherine, nor anyone here at Hill House for that matter, leaped to any sort of illogical conclusion when they thought you might have run off because you thought you’d been punished unfairly. Wouldn’t it?” she asked, unwilling at this point to let this girl know that Emma had bee
n the one who had rejected the idea that Wryn had run away in the first place.
A long sigh.
“That’s a yes,” Emma said, closing the issue of Wryn’s first mistake today. She quickly changed topics, as well as her tactics. Instead of starting at the beginning of Wryn’s misadventures up and down Main Street, she needed to pose a question that went right to what she thought might be the heart of the matter.
A question that might shed light on why Wryn had been so flippant when Emma first met her in the kitchen, and why Wryn was so anxious to turn Emma completely against her.
A question that was difficult for Emma to ask because she was not certain yet in her own mind of what Wryn’s answer would be.
Emma took a deep breath. “Did you have all your purchases today charged to my account, which you clearly knew was wrong, because you wanted to make very sure that I would not agree to have you stay here to live with me at Hill House when Uncle Mark and Aunt Catherine returned to Albany?”
Mark’s eyes widened.
Catherine paled.
Wryn tilted up her chin. When she answered, her voice was loud and clear, even though her gaze darkened, as if angry that Emma had been able to cut straight through the shell of her defiance to the hurts she kept deep inside. “Yes,” she said, turning to her aunt and uncle and narrowing her eyes. “You didn’t think I knew, did you? Well, I did. I overheard you. I heard what you both were planning. And I—”
“The fact that we understand the reason why you committed your misdeeds today doesn’t mean that you won’t be held accountable,” Emma said, effectively interrupting the young woman. “Uncle Mark and Aunt Catherine need to discuss that with you, of course,” she said and turned to face her son and daughter-in-law. “Would you like to do that now?”
Mark took his wife’s hand into his own and shook his head. “I’d like for us to think about that until morning,” he replied. “Until then, Wryn, I’d like you to stay confined to your room. While you’re there, since you’re so fond of writing, I’d like you to write an apology to me and your aunt Catherine and to my mother. You should also compile a list of things you could do to make amends to my mother for what you’ve done today.”
