Chapter 21 #2
“There,” she said, extending her arm and pointing toward McNaren’s Hill. “On the other side.”
She took a step away from him as if to distance herself from her memories. For several long moments, she didn’t say anything, afraid she couldn’t speak over the sudden constriction of her throat.
“Must we go there?” she finally asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I’d rather not,” she said softly. “Please.”
“I’m working on a way to guide my airship, Veronica,” he said. “Until then, we’re at the mercy of the wind.”
She nodded her understanding, facing forward again. This time, when he came to stand behind her, he didn’t wrap his arms around her. She stood alone, watching the approach of McNaren’s Hill, feeling herself grow colder as they neared her home.
Whether or not she saw her house, that night was forever emblazoned in her mind. All she had to do to relive it was allow herself to think about it. Normally, she pushed away the memories the moment they came. Otherwise, she’d be immobilized by pain.
There, the lane leading to the house. Another signpost, the tree struck by lightning when she was seven. The creek, the grove, all landmarks she’d known from her childhood.
The only sign a two-story house had once stood in that spot was a soot-darkened brick half wall and the remnants of the kitchen fireplace. Saplings poked up through the blackened earth, as if the forest was attempting to reclaim the spot, healing it with new growth.
A swift breeze skittered across her face like an icy hand.
Veronica closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe calmly, slowly, deeply.
“What happened?” Montgomery asked.
She didn’t open her eyes.
“A fire.”
She would have stepped away from him had the gondola been larger.
He didn’t speak, didn’t pry, granting her the privacy of her past she’d denied him. They hovered over the site until a gust carried them eastward. In those moments, it felt as if God were testing her. As if He wanted her to feel everything she’d successfully hidden all this time.
Because she’d been so insistent that Montgomery share his secrets with her, could she do otherwise?
“My father woke me,” she said, pushing the words free. “He was shouting. He put his strongbox in my hand and said something, I never did understand what. Then he went back inside to get my mother.”
Montgomery remained silent.
“They never came out. I tried to get to them,” she said, glancing down at the scars on her palms. “I couldn’t get the door open. I stood there and watched as the house burned, and I couldn’t do anything.”
She’d stood there for hours and hours, waiting for her parents to appear.
They never had, and when the roof had fallen, she’d known they were dead.
When three of the four walls caved in, she’d remained there, clutching the strongbox tightly as if her father’s spirit were trapped inside.
Finally, a few of the villagers had urged her to come away, and she had.
She’d seen to it that they were buried in the churchyard only days before Uncle Bertrand had arrived to take her to London.
Her heart felt as if it had been carved open by a spoon.
Montgomery put his hands on her shoulders, moved closer.
She didn’t want his pity or even his comfort. If he was kind to her, she’d begin to cry. Everyone had wanted her to be so strong, and she had been. Her uncle considered excessive emotion a character flaw, announcing that tears would not honor her father or her mother.
At her uncle’s house, there had been few opportunities for her to give in to her grief. But seeing what was left of the house nearly overwhelmed her.
She lowered her head.
“I’m sorry, Veronica.”
She nodded.
He squeezed his hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes on her tears, felt the sway of the gondola in the wind. God Himself might have been cradling her in apology for His earlier test.
“My parents died of fever,” he said. “I still miss them.”
She nodded, wanting to thank him for sharing that information with her. The reason he did so wasn’t hard to understand. He’d seen her grief and wanted to ease it. But it wasn’t just grief she felt.
“It was Cook’s half day,” she said, her voice flat. “By afternoon, she still hadn’t returned. I wanted a cup of tea, so I put the kettle on. I don’t remember if I took it off the stove.”
He nodded, his chin brushing against her hair. “So all this time you’ve thought you were responsible for the fire.”
She nodded.
“You’ll never know, Veronica.”
She nodded again.
“We all feel guilt for something,” he said. “Regret for acts done or undone. Or for a word spoken in cruelty or kindness.”
He extended his arms around her again, and she laid her head back against his shoulder, trading her view of the land for that of the sky.
She wanted to thank him for his attempt to ease her grief. Thank him, too, for the gift of this day, this perfect experience of flying.
“The sky is darkening toward the south,” he said, after a few moments of silence. “It might be an approaching storm. We should put down.”
Montgomery reached up and grabbed one of the ropes. A second later, the gondola lurched to the left.
She closed her eyes and began praying.
“It’s all right, Veronica,” he said, amusement threading through his voice. “It’s nothing unusual. It’s just the air leaving the envelope.”
She opened her eyes, looked up at him. “Then I shall attempt to be a little more courageous. You’ll tell me if anything goes wrong?”
He nodded. “What do you think of your first voyage?”
“It’s been wonderful,” she said, and meant it.
“Does that mean you’ll go flying with me again?”
“I should like to, very much.”
“You’re a constant surprise,” he said, smiling at her, dimples leading the way to his beautiful blue eyes.
She was stunned by the feeling suddenly sweeping through her. She’d never considered that love might slip up on her unawares, that she might feel her heart open in the span of an instant.
He frustrated her, worried her, and could make her angrier than anyone, including Amanda. She’d felt ecstasy in his arms, and now excitement in his balloon. But she’d never thought to love him as easily as this, as instantly as this.
“What is it?” he asked.
She shook her head and moved to stand beside him. He extended an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, and she wrapped one arm around his waist, surveying Scotland spread before her.
When she was a little girl, she’d loved gloaming, the time just before darkness bathed the earth. The air grew misty, as if seen through gauze. This morning, turning to midday, was even more perfect.
Saturated with emotion, nearly giddy with it, she laid her cheek against Montgomery’s chest as they began to descend.
“We’ve visitors,” he said, his tone suddenly cold.
She peered over the edge of the gondola to see three carriages, each of them horribly familiar, and felt her heart sink to her toes. Three carriages: one for Uncle Bertrand and the boys; one for Aunt Lilly and the girls, and the third for all their trunks.
“Uncle Bertrand,” she said.
“And the entirety of your family,” Montgomery added.
She turned helpless eyes to him. “I’m very much afraid you’re right.”
They exchanged a glance.
“Can’t we just stay up here?”
His mouth quirked in a smile. “For a little while, but we have to land eventually. We might as well face them.”
“I would much rather stare fear in the face, Montgomery,” she said. “Than the whole of my family.”