Chapter 5
Cressida left the clothing on the foot of the bed, Ronan’s soft snores filling the room. She stared at him for a moment, taking in the faint scars that laced his skin once more, the way his dark hair fell over his forehead.
Warmth spread through her just thinking about the way his deep brown eyes seemed to see into her soul. It had been like he was trying to figure her out, like he was trying to put together all the pieces of who she was in that moment.
He won’t find much if he keeps looking.
She didn’t even know who she was these days. It would be much harder for someone else to figure that out.
Easing the door shut, she left the room again, wanting to give him time to rest.
Cressida went into the kitchen, taking out some bread and finding a bit of cheese and smoked meat. She suspected he was going to be hungry when he woke up, and she wanted to have something ready for him to eat. And staying busy was enough to keep her mind from spiraling entirely out of control.
As she sliced the meat, she glanced out the window, seeing Etta sitting in the grass, an old quilt spread out beneath her. Tobin was down at the barn, going in and out with pieces of wood.
When did he even have time to get wood to replace what’s in the barn?
Shaking her head, she made another sandwich. Tobin would need something to eat if he was going to keep up the work, and the least she could do to thank him for the labor was to make him a bit of food.
When the sandwiches were made, she took one down to the barn, stopping long enough to hand it to Tobin.
He barely looked up from the board he was nailing to the wall, offering her a smile and a quiet “thank you” before returning to his work.
And now that she was back at the house, gathering all the rags that needed to be washed after last night and that morning, she felt like she could hardly breathe.
Taking care of Ronan would be one more task on her list of things to do, but at least that would only take a week, and then he would be on his way.
After that, she could go on living her life and dealing with the other million things there were to take care of.
As she was loading the last of the rags into the basket to take outside to wash, there was a knock on the door. She propped the basket on her hip and went to the door, pulling it open to reveal Mrs. Agatha Vale.
Though Cressida had called her Mrs. Vale when she was younger, the older she had gotten, the more Mrs. Agatha had insisted on being called by her first name. She had always said Mrs. Vale was too formal, but the Mrs. had always stuck.
Mrs. Agatha gave her a warm smile, her basket of baked goods on her arm. “Did I catch you at a bad moment?”
“No.” Cressida shook her head, already feeling a tinge of guilt. “I forgot that it’s a Thursday. Forgive me.”
Laughing, Mrs. Agatha stepped inside, following Cressida to the kitchen. “I know you have a lot to deal with, especially with the rumors floating around town.”
“There’s never so much going on that I should be forgetting our weekly visit.” Cressida put the basket on the table in the center of the kitchen. “Thank you for bringing these. Etta is going to be thrilled to see that there were some of those amazing carrot muffins this week.”
Mrs. Agatha glanced at the laundry in the basket. “What’s going on here?”
Etta entered the kitchen then, humming to herself before she saw the baked goods. She broke into a smile that threatened to crack her face in half. “Oh, these look delicious! Thank you, Mrs. Agatha.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” Mrs. Agatha eyed Cressida with that look only mothers knew how to give. “Your sister was just about to tell me why there are bloody rags.”
While Mrs. Agatha wasn’t their mother, she was the closest thing Cressida and Etta had to one in years. She came by weekly with things from town, often staying for hours and helping Cressida with the chores or sitting and sewing with Etta.
Mrs. Agatha’s blue gaze turned to concern as she glanced at Etta. “It has nothing to do with you, does it, dear?”
“No,” Cressida said, her stomach turning at the thought. “I found a man who had been beaten in the woods last night. Another man was with him and trying to help him, but he was bleeding out. We brought him here and I’ve been caring for him since last night.”
“Goodness!” Mrs. Agatha’s hand flew to her chest, her mouth dropping open. “The man will be all right, won’t he?”
“Yes.” Etta smirked as she plucked one of the carrot muffins from the basket. She nibbled at the crispy edge. “He’s in the bedroom down the hall. He’s quite handsome, though I think his friend is much more handsome.”
“Girls,” Mrs. Agatha said, like Cressida was sixteen instead of twenty-eight. “I know that you want to do good, and it is admirable to care for strangers, but have you considered what the town might say about you having two men out here with you?”
Cressida grimaced, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms. “Of course.”
Etta shrugged, nibbling more of the muffin. “I don’t know why any of them would care. It’s hardly any of their business.”
“And people hardly ever mind their business,” Mrs. Agatha said gently. “I don’t want to offend either of you because I know the kind of women you are, but there are people who will hear about this and wonder if your reputations have been compromised.”
A pit opened in the bottom of Cressida’s stomach. “Are you sure there’s a risk of that?”
“Do you remember when you were fourteen, maybe fifteen?” Mrs. Agatha looked at her, her eyebrows pulling together, the sunlight glinting in the window and making the lighter strands in her gray hair shine bright.
“Not really.” Cressida bit the inside of her cheek, worrying about what the worst that could happen would be.
She hadn’t considered the implications of allowing the men to stay with them without another man in the house. It had been her and Etta for long enough that she didn’t consider what society would consider proper anymore.
“There was a woman, and her reputation got ruined. I won’t go into more details than that, but she was unable to get married here.
She had to leave and start over somewhere else.
” Mrs. Agatha’s eyes misted with tears as she looked between Cressida and Etta.
“I don’t want that to happen to either of you. ”
Etta looked at Cressida, her tongue pressing against her cheek for a moment before she looked away. It was her tell for when there was something she was hiding.
Cressida didn’t know what Etta might not want her to know.
Unless…maybe she did want to go somewhere else and get a fresh start.
The thought of not having Etta at home was enough to make the room feel smaller around her, the air harder to breathe.
There wasn’t a world in which she would think Etta would ever be away from her, but maybe it was a possibility she had never considered before.
Maybe it was one she should have been considering.
Mrs. Agatha sighed. “Can this man travel?”
“The doctor was here this morning and advised against it for the time being.” Cressida glanced at Etta as she took another muffin before leaving the room.
Cressida sighed, shaking her head. She ran her hands down her face, seeing what she was doing in another new light. She let out a wavering breath and looked up at Mrs. Agatha.
“How long will he be here?” Mrs. Agatha asked gently.
“At least a week.”
“Well then, we simply need a story that the town will believe. One that will keep you from both being ruined.” Mrs. Agatha paced back and forth across the kitchen.
Cressida tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling, letting out another wavering breath and trying to hold back the tears that burned at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t need her life to be more complicated than it already was.
When she looked at Mrs. Agatha again, the tears were gone, but the tightness in her chest still lingered.
“The injured man is easy enough to explain. It doesn’t look good, but if he’s not well enough to travel to town, then perhaps people would take pity on you and your reputation. It’s the other man that presents the problem.”
“He could be the cousin of the injured man. He stayed in the barn last night. I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight, but if he stays again, the men could be cousins. Tobin is going to be doing work in the barn for the rest of the day. Maybe he could be hired help as well?”
Mrs. Agatha clasped her hands together in front of her. “It might not be good enough. Perhaps you could claim that Tobin is your cousin.”
“I don’t see that working well.” Cressida looked out the window again, seeing Etta making her way down to the barn.
Etta would be in pain later. She wasn’t supposed to move around this much, and yet she was.
“Why?” Mrs. Agatha picked up a cookie from the basket, breaking it and offering Cressida half.
“Etta has her eye on him. I don’t think it’s anything more than a fleeting curiosity, but you know how she can be once an idea gets into her head.”
Mrs. Agatha sighed. “He will need to be a cousin. The injured man—”
“Ronan,” Cressida supplied before finishing her cookie.
“Ronan will be Tobin’s friend, traveling with him. It will be a good enough story for anyone who might ask or get any thoughts in their head, and if I hear anything in town, I will be sure to set the record straight.”
“Thank you,” Cressida said, feeling a tiny bit of relief. “I truly do appreciate all you do for us.”
Mrs. Agatha cupped Cressida’s cheek. “You carry enough weight on your shoulders. If it’s within my power to ease some of that burden, then I will.”
“I know.” Cressida smiled, but there was still a part of her that hated needing the help.
“I’ve got to be going, but I’ll see you in church on Sunday?”
“Yes.” Cressida bit the inside of her cheek, knowing it would mean leaving the men at her home alone, but she needed to make an appearance in town and hold her head high, especially if news of the men started spreading around town.
People would need to see that she didn’t think there was anything to hide, because there wasn’t.
She walked Mrs. Agatha to the door, shutting it behind her before slumping against it.
After taking a moment to quiet all the thoughts racing in her mind, she strode back down the hall, knocking on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” Ronan’s deep voice called from the other side.
She stepped into the room, relieved to see him dressed properly. “Do you mind if we speak for a moment?”
He nodded, getting up from the bed. “Is there something the matter? I really am feeling better. I can be out of here before nightfall.”
“Walk over here then,” she said, taking a couple of steps back and crossing her arms, arching one eyebrow and daring him to try.
It took him a moment, as if he was trying to gauge if she was serious or not.
Cressida tapped her foot against the hardwood floor.
Finally, he took a few steps forward, grimacing, his hand going to his side.
“That’s what I thought,” Cressida said, her arms dropping to her side. “While you’re staying with us, Tobin is our cousin, and you are his friend. I don’t want the town getting any ideas that could ruin Etta’s chance at a future, understood?”
Ronan nodded, his gaze bright, like some of the life was coming back to him, his hand reaching up to run through the short hair on his jaw. His stomach growled, breaking the short-lived silence in the room.
“I have sandwiches ready, if you’re hungry.” Cressida tipped her head in the direction of the kitchen.
“Thank you.”
She turned and led the way down the hall, stopping in the kitchen to grab a plate of sandwiches. After handing it to him, she leaned against the counter, eyeing him.
“You said you have a home near town?” she asked, trying not to stare as he ate the first sandwich quickly, taking large bites like a man who hadn’t had a good meal in a long time.
She resolved to cook a good supper that night. One that would stick to his ribs and take a bit of the gauntness out of his cheeks.
“I do.” Ronan paused between sandwiches. “It’s supposed to be at the bend in the river I was following.”
Cressida swallowed hard, glancing away from him, unsure why there was a slight fluttering in her chest. “That’s the property beside mine.”
“Is it?”
“Old Man Wilcox’s farm.” Cressida tipped her head to the side slightly. The man in front of her didn’t look a thing like Old Man Wilcox.
Ronan took a large bite of his second sandwich. “An uncle.”
“I was sorry to hear about his passing.”
“Thank you.” Ronan swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. “Knowing that it’s right there, I really could leave.”
“It’s better that you don’t. The last thing you need to do right now is aggravate your wounds further.”
And to be honest, she was almost looking forward to having someone other than Etta to talk to while she went about her days.
As much as she loved her sister, staying home and caring for her was nothing like the life Cressida used to have.
For one horrible, awful moment, Cressida wondered if she could ever go back to the life she had in. Or perhaps if she could craft something similar out of the rubble of what her life had become.
The thought was gone as quickly as it came, guilt eating at her.
She would do whatever it took to care for Etta, even if it meant her own life slipped through her fingers.