Eventide

by Sarah Goodman

  I dredged up a smile full of lies. “I’m having a harder time settling in than you are. That’s all. But I’m glad you’re happy.”

  She sighed, and I felt her tension ease a little. “I’m hungry,” she said. “I think I’ll go get something to eat.”

  Lilah tried to leave, but I gripped her shoulder. The thought of letting her skip off to Miss Maeve made me ill. “What are you doing?” Lilah asked, annoyance mingling with concern in her voice.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving me to work alone,” I said, forcing a teasing tone as I took up the stirring again. “Some sister you are!”

  She bounded away, braided pigtails bouncing, dauntless as always. “I’m the best sister ever. And you know it!”

  “I think you mean you have the best sister ever,” I called after her. Lilah ignored me and hurried into the house as Jasper came out the front door.

  “Hettie saved you a sandwich and a couple molasses cookies,” he said. “Hurry, though, before Katherine takes them. You’d never guess it, but that girl eats like she’s got a hollow leg.”

  “I can be pretty scrappy if cookies are on the line,” I said, handing over the paddle. “No one keeps me away from dessert.”

  Jasper cleared his throat. “So that means you’re coming with the Weatheringtons to the ice cream social?” He was suddenly intent on scooping an invisible bit of nothing from the pan. “If you are, I was hoping you might like to be my guest?”

  I hesitated, and in the awkward pause, sounds of conversation wafted our way from the house. Abel, Della, and Katherine clustered together on the porch, talking. Della caught my eye and, with a knowing smile and a head tilt toward Jasper, leaned in to whisper something to Abel. His eyes found mine for a single heartbeat before he looked away.

  “If you’d rather not … I mean, I hope you will, but…” The tips of Jasper’s ears reddened. I could see no way to decline the offer without hurting his feelings. Later, I’d make sure Abel knew that I had no interest in Jasper, although I doubted he could think such a thing after our encounter the night before.

  “A friendly outing?” I asked.

  Jasper’s answering smile was close-lipped, but not entirely discouraged. “Certainly. Meet me by the ice cream churns. I’ll give you a tour of the finest sweets you’ve ever tasted in all your born days.”

  “I’ll hold you to it,” I said, moving away as quickly as good manners would allow.

  Della bounded off the porch, intercepting my path. “He asked you to the social, didn’t he?” She beamed in a way that made me worry she was silently choosing names for my and Jasper’s firstborn child.

  “And I agreed to go—as friends.”

  “You’re so bashful about boys, Verity.” She laughed. “You’ll have to get a little braver if you ever want to find a beau.”

  I thought of my lips on Abel’s, and realized I was rubbing the back of my neck just the way he did when he was flustered. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, tacking on a little smile.

  “The best romances start as friendships, I think,” Della added. My smile splintered. I knew her feelings for Abel were beyond platonic. Although he didn’t return those feelings, it would hurt Della when she learned of what had grown between Abel and me. I needed to bite the bullet and tell her. As soon as we had a moment alone, I would. I didn’t want Della to feel I’d deceived her in any way. She’d been too good a friend for that sort of treatment.

  Della sighed. “I guess I should get back to work.” Her gaze drifted to where Abel leaned against the white porch railing before she walked away. Katherine rose from her perch on the top step and came toward me with a hostile look, but brushed past without comment to join Della.

  At last I could speak with Abel in private. I hurried over, noticing his guarded expression.

  “Looks like you’ve been having some important conversations,” he said, taking a drink of the tonic we’d brought from Granny Ardith’s and returning the bottle to his pocket. “First Jasper, then Della.”

  I propped myself on the railing beside him. “I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings, Abel. Jasper asked me to—”

  “Thank you again for dinner, Hettie.” Miss Maeve stepped onto the porch, Hettie and Lilah following. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I couldn’t stand not seeing for myself that Abel is recovering. I still feel guilty for—”

  “It’s nobody’s fault,” Hettie cut in.

  Miss Maeve laid a delicate hand on Hettie’s forearm. “It means a great deal to me, hearing you say that. And Abel…”

  I hoped I was the only one who saw his jaw tense before he spoke. “You have nothing to apologize for.” Miss Maeve’s eyes clouded with tears.

  Hettie jerked her head in the direction of the sorghum mill. Abel clomped down the porch steps after her, work boots thudding on the wood planks.

  “Lilah, we’ll be going soon,” Miss Maeve said, her voice wavering. “Would you go ask Mr. Weatherington if he’d come start the car for us?”

  I waited until Lilah was out of earshot, then drew a furious breath. “You can drop the act now. It’s just the two of us.”

  Miss Maeve’s reply was a choked sob. A tear fell dark against the dusty boards. “Oh, dear. Where is my handkerchief?” she murmured.

  She withdrew a balled-up handkerchief from her skirt pocket, and I recognized the monogrammed letter M at the handkerchief’s edge. Now washed a snowy white, it was the same one I’d pressed against Abel’s torn skin as his blood spilled over my hands and spattered the ground.

  Fury washed over me. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?” She stepped closer, her face a picture of bewildered innocence. She pressed the handkerchief into my hand. I shuddered, but couldn’t pull away as she leaned in and whispered, “There’s a gift for you inside.”

  I wanted to fling the thing away, but I had to know what she meant. Slowly, I unfolded the balled-up cloth.

  29

  A lock of hair the same midnight shade as a raven’s wing rested in the center. The color gave away its origin. I pushed forward, my face inches from hers. “Don’t you dare hurt Della. It’s me you’re angry with. Leave everyone else alone.” My voice shook, but my fist around the handkerchief held steady. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

  “That’s up to you,” she answered. “I only wanted to remind you that I have … options, should you choose to disregard my request.” She spoke gently, with precise calm, as though I were the unstable one.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Hysteria crept into my tone. “How could I forget after what you did to Abel?”

  She moved as if to grab my hand. “Don’t touch me!” I shouted, reeling back.

  It was then I saw Hettie across the yard, watching from beside the sorghum mill. She started toward us with hesitant steps. “Y’all ok?” she called.

  Miss Maeve looked to me, her eyes still damp and red-rimmed from her earlier display, then to the handkerchief I clutched between us. “Best put that away. You can’t explain it without sounding like a deeply troubled young woman,” she whispered.

  I shoved the cloth in my skirt pocket as Hettie drew near. “Good girl.” Miss Maeve’s lips peeled back in a grin. “We don’t want the Weatheringtons to think your daddy’s problems are showing up in his daughter, now do we?” My blood went chill in my veins.

  Miss Maeve wiped her grisly smile away in a blink and turned to Hettie. “Verity is a bit overwrought, that’s all.” She glanced my way, her lovely face full of pity. Adding a hint of uncertainty to her voice, she said, “I’m sure that’s all it is. She’s had so many changes recently. I don’t doubt any young person in her situation would find herself a bit…” Miss Maeve pursed her lips. “… off-balance.”

  Hettie nodded, wary. “Verity, maybe you ought to go inside and rest?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, iron in my tone.

  The background clatter of Big Tom trying to crank the car ensured that he and Lilah hadn’t h
eard my confrontation with Maeve, and it seemed Jasper, shoving wood into the fire, hadn’t noticed either. But despite the noise that muffled our words, Katherine, Della, and Abel stood stock-still by the sorghum press, watching.

  Even from across the yard, I could read Abel’s stunned expression. He said something to Della, who shook her head, then shot me a worried glance. Katherine took it all in with a cold stare. The three returned to their work, but not before Abel cast one last troubled look my way.

  Overhead, thick clouds rolled in, shadowing the farmyard. “Looks like a storm is on the way. I think it’s time for us to leave,” Miss Maeve said. She placed a gentle hand on my arm. “You take care, Verity.” Fury and fear roiled in my stomach.

  Miss Maeve called back to Jasper and Katherine. “Y’all can put your bicycles in the back seat and ride with us. I’d hate for you to get caught in the rain.”

  “I think I’ll help finish up here and head home after the storm,” Della said, quickly, before anyone could formulate a plan for her to fit into the car. Jasper and Katherine crammed in beside their bikes. Jasper gave me a wave and a smile. I couldn’t fathom how he didn’t notice the tension that crackled around me like heat lightning. Lilah dashed back to where I stood for a final hug, then fell in step with Miss Maeve.

  Lilah settled a pair of driving goggles over her eyes as Miss Maeve wheeled the car around. I could only lift my hand in farewell as they jostled onto the dirt road, sure the anxious tremble in my limbs would show in my voice if I spoke.

  I forced myself to walk calmly to the sorghum mill, where Della ladled syrup into jars. “Help me carry some of these to the kitchen,” I said, gathering the full ones and spinning round before anyone could ask questions.

  “What just happened with Miss Maeve?” Della demanded in a low voice when we were out of earshot. “You seemed … angry.” I knew what she really meant: I’d sounded unhinged. I’d played right into Miss Maeve’s hands.

  “She gave me a warning,” I said in a low voice, trying to appear casual in case the others were watching. “It had to do with you.”

  Della’s steps faltered. “Is she going to come after me next, like she did Abel?” Fear limned her words.

  “She’s not going to do anything to you.” I pushed as much conviction into my voice as possible. “Just be on guard, and keep your head down until Miss Pimsler arrives. Once she hears what we’ve found out, and about Miss Maeve’s threats, she’ll make your father understand the danger. There’s no way Miss Maeve won’t end up in jail for what she did to Abel.”

  “All right.” Della didn’t sound convinced. “It’s strange. I know you’re telling the truth, but I still find myself wanting to think none of it’s real and Miss Maeve is who I always thought she was.” The wind picked up, flinging grit into our eyes.

  We ducked our heads against the gusts and carried our jars of sorghum into the house.

  Sometimes people could tell you the unvarnished truth about themselves, and you’d still hope that, somehow, they lied.

  * * *

  An hour later, we twisted the lids in place on the final jars of sorghum. Della looked up at the thick clouds, their underbellies shot through with streaks of lightning. “I think I’ll stick around for a little while and see if the rain misses us,” she said. “I’m not about to get caught in a downpour and have to take cover in the woods.”

  Reflexively, we both glanced in the direction of the wind-lashed trees. I’d taken to searching their perimeter after I did my daily check around the farm for any hints of my father’s presence. I wondered if he had lingered among them long enough to encounter the little girl. Ghost, I corrected myself.

  After everyone washed up from the hot, sticky work of the day, we settled down to supper in subdued silence. Thunder jarred the kitchen window. Shadows clung in the corners. I felt sure Hettie had mentioned my outburst with Miss Maeve to Big Tom. I caught the huge man studying me, worry tugging down the corners of his mustache. Hettie, never one for small talk, tapped her foot nervously.

  Abel was quiet and withdrawn. He took an extra dose of his pain tonic. For her part, Della seemed determined to fight the oppressive feeling in the room. As the meal progressed, she managed to tease a laugh from Abel. She knew just the story to tell, the right memory to evoke, to draw him out. That only added to my jittery unhappiness.

  “I need to go to the barn for a minute,” I said, pushing back from the table and glancing outside. The rain had begun, light drops falling softly to darken the dust.

  “I’ll be there in a minute. It’s my turn to feed Edward,” Abel said. His words were for me, but his eyes fixed on Della as he spoke, with an expression I couldn’t quite identify. “I think I can do it, even with the cast on. He’s much gentler now.” He looked my way at last, and must’ve seen the agitation in my manner. “Is something wrong?”

  I shook my head and pushed open the screen door. A sudden gust snatched away Abel’s next remark as I jogged toward the barn. Inside, the patter of rain on the tin roof grew louder. Jagged lightning shredded the air, followed by growling thunder. From his stall, Edward lowed softly. “Shhh,” I murmured, leaning over the gate to stroke his forehead. “The storm will pass soon.”

  But the wind and rain raged on for what seemed like an age, just like the unwelcome thoughts battering my mind. I couldn’t shake the image of Della sitting on my mismatched stool beside Abel. I envisioned my father, somewhere alone in the driving onslaught, and the picture changed to Miss Maeve’s wicked smile as she delivered her warning.

  Worry soured my stomach until I felt like I’d swallowed ruined milk. Abel should’ve come out to help long ago. His brooding quiet at supper nagged at me. I mixed Edward’s bottle and fed him myself, then paced and stared out at the sheets of rain gusting across the farm. I had to get back to the house, despite the storm. I needed to see Abel, even though Della was still there.

  With an empty feed sack held over my head as a makeshift umbrella, I ran out into the storm. Puddles gathered in the uneven hollows of the ground, and I splashed through them. Muddy water soaked my stockings. I pelted across the yard, my face turned down against the stinging rain.

  Through the torrent, I made out the hazy outline of the farmhouse. Wind ripped away the useless feed sack from my hands. A bone-rattling clap of thunder reverberated through my chest as a lightning strike dazzled my eyes. With water pouring down my face, I passed under the eaves into the shelter of the porch.

  Blinking away the lightning’s afterimage, I saw two figures silhouetted together just inside the screen door.

  Abel spoke in a low, insistent tone, his words tumbling over each other. Della looked up at him, her expressive face still. A roll of thunder, and then her chiming laugh rang out, and she threw her arms around Abel’s neck. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer. Della lifted her face as Abel pressed a hand against her cheek.

  I backed away, brushing the wards that were meant to fend off bad things, moving from under the shelter of the porch back into the rain. I knew what was coming, felt the approach of the train on the tracks, the screech of brakes that would utterly fail to stop the collision.

  Their lips met.

  I stood ankle deep in mud, unable to look away as the kiss ended. They stayed entwined, Della looking up into Abel’s face. He rested his forehead against hers. Pain flared in my chest.

  I was frozen for a moment, rain streaming down my face. My tears mingled with the storm, until I turned and fled back to the barn with the taste of salt on my lips.

  30

  After the storm tired itself out, I’d heard the wagon leave when Abel drove Della home. He never came to feed the calf, and for that I was grateful. I couldn’t bear the thought of him finding me there in the loft, red-eyed and stunned.

  Every encounter we’d had replayed in my head. He must have started second-guessing our kiss. A kiss that came just before I’d told him the grim injury to his arm was because of me, before I’d seen a fire that wasn’t
there. Later, with Della’s steady, comfortable presence close by, it seemed Abel had spread out the cards, and decided I was a risky bet he wasn’t willing to make.

  I shifted onto my back and stared out the window high above. The hard, distant stars glittered in the black sky. Their silver light, so bright and cold, reminded me of Miss Maeve’s eyes.

  As night began to lighten to dusky dawn, I went to the smaller barn that housed the milk cow. Dragging the stool into place, I settled in and got to work. The rhythmic shing-shing-shing of milk hitting the tin pail filled the quiet barn. I finished faster than ever. My days here were numbered, and I had to hash everything out with Abel before Miss Pimsler came to rescue Lilah and me.

  Gathering my pail, I headed across the yard to the house, pulse pounding hard enough to feel in my fingertips. Abel would return from his pre-breakfast work soon, and I had to find a way to speak to him.

  The clatter and bang of cast iron on the cooktop greeted me in the kitchen. Hettie, her back to me, scrambled eggs with agitated vigor. “Got the milk in early, I see. We’ll churn some butter later,” she said, half turning in my direction. A troubled frown flitted across her face.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee from the percolator on the stove. “Have you seen Abel this morning?”

  “He’s gone into town.” Hettie seemed even more taciturn than usual, but I decided against asking about her mood. She continued to scramble the eggs as though she wanted to disintegrate their very molecules. When Big Tom entered, we ate in silence, and I caught a few odd glances between the couple. After we finished, I cleaned the kitchen and went out to weed the kitchen garden.

  I worked under an overcast sky, glancing at the road over and over, waiting for Abel’s return. At last he came into view, riding Merlin at a jaunty pace. His crisp white shirt, with one sleeve rolled up over his cast, nearly glowed in the morning sun, and his trousers were creased sharp enough to cut. A little fancy for early-morning errands, I thought. The trill of a whistled tune spun through the air around him.