by Wolf, Bree
Thorne brushed a hand over his face before he, too, headed out.
“Wait!” Christina called, hastening to catch up with him. “I’ll come, too.”
Together, they walked through the darkened forest, their torch illuminating the path ahead. “We should move to the back of the cabin!” Thorne called to the others. “For she slipped out the back window.” Murmurs drifted to his ears, and he spotted the others turn in a similar direction, the soft glow of their torches pointing them out. “If she’s nearby though,” Thorne whispered to his wife as she clung to his arm, “why is she not answering?”
For a moment, Christina remained silent. Then she looked up at him. “We don’t know how long ago she slipped out the window, how much ground she managed to cover.” She inhaled a deep breath, one that rang with hope. “Perhaps she simply cannot hear us.”
Thorne nodded, his eyes sweeping from side to side and down to the ground as though he were afraid he would accidentally step on her. Where could she be? His gaze drifted to the horizon…or to where it should be. The night was far too dark, not even a sliver of light granted by the night sky as it lay hidden from them by the thick foliage of the forest. Only their torch illuminated the next few steps ahead. Where could she be?
Suddenly, Christina pulled up short, and he jerked to a halt as well, turning around to look at her. “What is it?” he asked as he held the torch higher to see her face.
In the warm orange glow from the torch, he could see a strange look come to her face. It was somewhat hesitant, and yet he recognized the whisper of awe that touched her eyes. “Fairies,” Christina whispered, and the corners of her mouth tugged upward as though she wanted to smile.
Thorne frowned. “What?”
Her eyes moved to him, and this time, she did smile. “Fairies.” Her right arm stretched out and pointed up ahead, her eyes following. “Look!”
Moving his attention from his wife to the terrain up ahead, Thorne paused, for a moment confused as to what she was pointing out to him. What had she seen? There was nothing there but darkness. He was about to turn back to her and ask for an explanation when he paused.
Up ahead, in the far distance, he thought to see…a light. Not only one, but many. They were dancing, fluttering about like…fairies. “Fireflies.”
“Yes!” Christina exclaimed beside him, her arm squeezing his ever tighter. “In the dark, she would’ve seen them, would she not?” She looked up at him, and he turned to meet her eyes. “Perhaps she remembered my story.”
Although he was fearful to allow it, Thorne could not help the hope that surged through his heart at her words. “Perhaps she went in that direction. Come.” Pulling his wife closer, he held up the torch, and together, they moved toward the dancing lights.
Chapter Forty-Six
A Timely Reunion
Christina’s heart beat wildly in her chest as she kept her gaze fixed on the small flickering lights. They looked precisely the way she had always imagined them, precisely the way she had spoken of them to Samantha. More than once, her daughter had asked her to repeat that story of a young girl who had gotten lost in the forest, who had run away from home because of a misunderstanding, only to find that she did not know the way back.
And then the girl had stumbled upon a place where fireflies danced at night. She had been drawn there by the light, only to find that what she had thought to be fireflies had been fairies instead.
In Christina’s story, the fairies had led the young girl home again and helped reunite her with her family. Had the sight of these lights reminded Samantha of that story? Had she seen them and then walked toward them?
Moving slowly, the two of them found their way through the thicket of the forest. The farther they moved along, the more her heart began to beat with impatience. Eventually, though, the thicket grew thinner, and they were able to walk with greater ease, finding their way around trees, left and right, until they stepped out into a clearing.
No more than a sliver of moonlight shone overhead: yet it reflected upon the still waters of a small lake. Tall trees grew on the opposite side of it, and Christina drew to a halt when her gaze fell on countless little lights dancing upon its banks.
Never in her life had she seen anything more beautiful. Was it possible that Samantha was here?
Slowly, they made their way along the edge of the lake, their eyes sweeping over the little lights nearby. “Samantha!” They took turns calling, though it felt wrong to disturb the silence of this place. “Samantha!”
“What if she’s not here?” Thorne asked, his voice tense and full of fear. “What if she went a different way?” He raked a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched as his eyes continued to search their surroundings.
Christina could not explain it, but, somehow, she was certain that Samantha was nearby. Her gaze swept over the many lights and began to linger where a couple of them seemed to cluster together. Slowly, she moved closer, her gaze dropping to the ground, running over the tall grass toward an old, gnarled oak tree. She felt a tug upon her heart as though something was urging her to keep going, to move closer.
And then she saw her.
Curled up into a little ball, Samantha lay at the base of the tall tree, two of its large roots seemingly circled around her as though trying to hold her, shield her. Fireflies danced above her head like a marker, pointing their way to the most precious treasure they had ever known.
“Thorne!” Christina called in a hushed voice, slowly moving closer, her eyes fixed upon Samantha, her own breath evening out as she saw the little girl’s chest rise and fall in slumber. “Thorne! She’s over here!”
In a flash, her husband was beside her. She could almost feel his relief as they both fell to their knees beside their daughter. Tears stood in his eyes as he reached out a careful hand to place it upon her shoulder. Christina, too, felt the need to reach out, to feel her warmth and know that she was alive, that she was well.
Their eyes met in the dim light, and they breathed out as one. “We found her,” Christina whispered, reaching out her other hand toward her husband, who grasped it with a smile.
“Your story saved her,” he whispered, his eyes glowing in the soft light emitted by the dancing fireflies around them. “She knew to come here because of the story you told her.”
Christina’s eyes misted with tears, and they both looked back down at their daughter the moment Samantha slowly began to stir. Her eyelids began to flutter, and her little arms and legs began to stretch. “Papa?” She blinked, and then opened her eyes.
Thorne smiled down at her. “We’re here. We’re here.” His hand settled upon her shoulders as he waited patiently for her to wake up fully.
Samantha blinked a couple of times before a wide smile spread across her face. Then she surged upward and threw herself into his arms. “Papa! The fairies brought you to me.”
Christina laughed, a deep sigh following as she watched father and daughter. Thorne pinched his eyes shut as he held Samantha close, savoring the moment, only too aware of how close they had come to losing her.
Looking into her father’s face, Samantha frowned. “Why are you crying?”
Thorne wiped the tears from his eyes. “I was worried we wouldn’t find you,” he whispered gently, brushing a curl behind her ear. “Are you all right? That man…” He swallowed hard. “Did he hurt you?”
Samantha’s nose crinkled, and a slight shiver went through her. “I did not like him. He was very mean. But Ellen told him not to hurt me, and when he fell asleep, she lifted me out the small window and told me to run.” Her eyes moved to Christina, and she held out her hand to her.
Christina grasped it gently, surprised how warm her skin was. “And then you came here?”
A small smile flickered over Samantha’s face. “I did not know where to go. Everything was dark. I almost went back.” Her smile stretched wider. “But then I saw the lights, and I knew it had to be fairies.” She squeezed Christina’s hand. “I remembered your sto
ry, and so headed toward them.” She lifted her gaze to look upon the little flickering lights around them. “Are they not beautiful? And they brought you to me.” Again, she looked at Christina. “I always knew your story was true. Always.”
Thorne chuckled, still hugging his daughter to his chest. “I suppose that seals it.”
Christina frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is,” he reached out and grasped her free hand, “that after such a glowing review, you have no choice but to publish, to share your gift with the world and delight more children with it.” Warmth rested in his eyes as he looked at her. “Do not hide talent like yours.”
Christina felt her heart pause in her chest. “You cannot mean that.” She shook her head, and suddenly felt like that thirteen-year-old girl once more who had eavesdropped upon her aunt’s conversation with her parents that night long ago. It had shaped her in more ways than she could have foreseen in that moment, and yet her grown self counseled that she was the master of her own fate after all. She was not her aunt, nor was Thorne the same man as her aunt’s husband had been. They were who they were, and they needed to make their own decisions.
Free of the past.
“Of course, I mean that,” Thorne confirmed, his hand squeezing hers for reassurance. “Don’t you think I would delight in boasting about my genius wife, capable of creating such wonderful stories?” He grinned at her in that way of his.
Christina stared at him, not daring to believe. “You truly would not object? You truly mean that—”
“I always mean what I say. Still, ultimately, it is your decision. Do what makes you happy because that is precisely what I want for you. To be happy.”
Samantha had been looking back and forth between them. Now, she joyfully clapped her hands, a wide smile upon her face. “Does this mean more stories?”
They both laughed. Then Christina nodded. “Yes, I suppose it does.” She hesitated for a moment but then leaned forward and whispered, “Truth be told, I have countless notebooks still at home, filled with story after story.”
Grinning at her, Thorne leaned closer as well. “Truth be told, I thought you might.”
Together, the three of them laughed as the fireflies continued to dance around them.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Truth Be Told
The house was silent as Thorne left his study. Shadows clung to every corner, and he could not help that eerie feeling that crawled down his spine. The dark reminded him of the previous night as they had gone after Samantha, and he wondered if it would forever be thus.
No sound drifted to his ears as Thorne began to climb the stairs to the upper floor. Everyone had retired to their chambers, exhausted from the events that had transpired not long ago.
Thorne smiled at the memory of how the Whickertons had welcomed Samantha back. All of them had feared for her, and all of them had rejoiced at her return.
She was one of them now.
As was he.
It was a feeling like no other, and Thorne was most grateful for it. Samantha and he had always been a family from the first, but it felt wonderful to have others to join in their lives, in their joy as well as their sorrow.
Others to count on.
Others to turn to.
Others to love.
Thorne knew that Mrs. Miller longed for the very same thing. She loved her son beyond hope, but it was only the two of them. It made life hard for her and for Owen as well.
After they had returned to Pinewood Manor, Mrs. Miller had shared with them the details of how she had learned of Samantha’s existence. It had been by sheer happenstance.
Only a few months ago, Samantha’s true mother had passed away after a long illness. Mrs. Miller had been the one to tend to her in her final days. They had never known each other well, and yet Samantha’s mother had spoken to her of the little babe she had left upon Thorne’s doorstop all those years ago. Tears had stood in her eyes as she had spoken of her precious child and the longing she had felt for her all this time.
Only life had prevented them from ever knowing one another, and Thorne wondered how things might have gone differently if she had not simply left Samantha but come to him for help…for the both of them. How would life be different?
He would never know.
Mrs. Miller had meant to free herself of her dependence upon Mr. Sullivan. By pretending to be Samantha’s mother, she had hoped to gain entrance into Thorne’s home. She had been the one to take the silver letter opener as well as a few other things, wanting to begin a new life with her son.
One where she did not have to fight to put food in her son’s belly day after day. She had seen a chance, and she had taken it.
And then Mr. Sullivan had found her.
Only it seemed that Mr. Sullivan had not acted upon his own volition. He said this would be easy. The words Mrs. Miller had heard him mutter again and again continued to echo in Thorne’s head, and he wondered if perhaps there was still someone out there who was a threat.
If only he knew; yet what he did know was that although Mrs. Miller had made mistakes, she was another victim of this world. She was the kind of person whom Thorne had sworn to fight for, to protect.
After all, he felt absolutely certain that he himself would not have acted differently had it been Samantha’s welfare at stake; and so, Thorne had assured Mrs. Miller that she and her son would always be safe from now on. He would make certain of that. And he would travel to Whickerton Grove in a few days in order to meet with other lords of the realm and seek to persuade them to work with him to improve living conditions for those who suffered most.
“You have yet to speak to her, have you?” came Grandma Edie’s voice before she hobbled into the light a moment later, her pale eyes seeking his.
Thorne drew to a halt, surprised to see her. “I thought everyone was abed.”
The old woman chuckled. “I was waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“To release you from your promise.” Her gaze held his, and she nodded slowly. “You have yet to speak to her?”
Thorne bowed his head. “I’ve tried,” he admitted, lifting his gaze once more. “I’ve said as much as I dared, but I wonder how she will feel when she learns the truth.”
A warm smile came to Grandma Edie’s face. “She will not close her heart to you, of that I am certain.” Lifting her cane, she pointed at Christina’s door. “Go and speak to her. Sleep will not be yours until you do.” Then she cast him a last smile and hobbled away.
Thorne inhaled a deep breath, knowing that she was right. He approached his wife’s door, and then knocked, hoping that she was not yet asleep.
Thorne was surprised that her bid for him to enter came quickly, the sound of her voice muffled by fatigue. Was something keeping her awake as well?
Stepping inside, Thorne found her standing by the window, gazing out at the darkened lands. She turned to him then, a soft smile upon her lips. “I had hoped you would come to me.” She breathed in deeply before her gaze moved down to a sheet of parchment clutched in her hands. “I received a letter from Sarah today.”
Thorne had been about to move toward her, but now paused. “Is she angry with you?” he asked, sensing that something was not right. The look in her gaze held something vulnerable, but a spark of anger seemed to simmer in her veins, held at bay by sheer will alone.
Christina closed her eyes. “I’ve been blind not to see it.” She shook her head slowly. “I always knew how egotistical her parents were, and yet” her eyes opened and she looked at him, something deeply apologetic in her gaze, “I never thought they would go to such lengths. Never.”
A sense of worry snaked up Thorne’s back, and he stepped toward her, pulling her hands into his own, the sheet of parchment still clutched in them. “What is it? Tell me.” He searched her eyes, feeling his unease grow.
Christina swallowed hard, and her lips pressed into a hard line. For a moment, she seemed close to losing her temp
er, but then managed to rein it in at the last second. “Sarah wrote to warn us.” Her jaw tensed.
“Warn us? What do you mean?”
She pulled her hands from his, the sheet clutched in one fist. “She overheard a conversation between her father and someone she did not know. From what she could gather, she fears that her father might be attempting a kidnapping.”
Thorne felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. “Sam.”
His wife nodded, tears misting her eyes; only the pulse in her neck still hammered angrily. “Yes, Sam.” Her lips pressed into a thin line before she inhaled a deep breath and spoke. “What happened was my fault. If I hadn’t—”
Thorne grasped her hands. “No! Don’t do this! Don’t do this because it isn’t true!”
“But if we hadn’t gotten married—”
“Then Sarah’s father would have hurt someone else in order to get what he wanted,” he told her vehemently. “This is not your fault.” He pulled her into his arms and held her close. “Sam is fine. She is fine, and she will be for all the days to come.” He smiled down at her, equally shaken by the thought of any kind of harm befalling his little girl. “We will make certain of that.”
Christina nodded, her blue eyes aglow with a fierce determination that reminded Thorne of a mother bear. “Yes, we will.” She inhaled a deep breath and stepped back, her gaze once more drifting down to the crumpled sheet. “Sarah wrote that she had to bride a maid to smuggle this letter out because her father forbade her to write to me.”
“There,” Thorne said, sensing how deeply the loss of Sarah’s friendship had weighed upon his wife’s heart. “You have your answer, do you not? She was never angry with you or upset, was she?”
A tentative smile came to Christina’s face. “No, she wrote that she wishes us all the happiness in the world.”
“She is a good friend,” he said with a warm smile, relieved to see his wife breathe easier.
