Chapter Six
The cottage was quiet when Cat awoke, but downstairs the kitchen was warm, and the fire was burning with fresh logs in the hearth. The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread. A folded note sat propped by the sugar bowl in Rhys’s neat handwriting.
At the house. Working in the study this morning. Back after lunch. The girls are yours until then. – R.
Cat reread the line, The girls are yours, thinking that those words were both reassuring and terrifying and poured herself a cup of coffee, bracing herself for the day.
Olivia padded in first, hair wild, wrapped in her blanket like a cape. “It’s snowing!” she cried, rushing to the kitchen window.
Cat had milk for morning hot chocolate already warming on the stove. “I saw,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and watching Olivia at the window. It was easy to like the young girl, easy to be around her. “It’s supposed to snow for the next couple of hours.”
Jillian appeared moments later, already dressed, her braid perfect, and expression guarded. “Where’s my father?”
“Working up at the big house,” Cat said. “He left early.”
Jillian made a small sound that might have been agreement, might have been disapproval, and sat across from her sister.
“The hot chocolate is just about ready. Are we doing marshmallows or no marshmallows?”
Olivia pulled out a chair at the table “Marshmallows.”
Jillian struggled to answer. “Fine. Whatever.”
“But you like marshmallows, Jilly,” Olivia said before looking at Cat. “Give her a lot. That’s how she likes it. More marshmallows than chocolate.”
Cat gave the child a warm smile and carried the mugs to the table. For a few minutes, the only sounds were the soft clink of spoons and the low hum of the Aga.
Then Olivia glanced to the window again. “Do you like snow, Cat?”
Cat hesitated. “That’s a complicated question.”
Olivia wrinkled her nose. “How can snow be complicated?”
“Well,” Cat said, smiling, “I’m from Michigan. Snow there isn’t pretty and polite like this. It’s bossy. It moves in for the season, and you don’t see grass again until Easter. I spent half my childhood bundled like a snowman.”
Olivia giggled. “That sounds fun!”
“Fun for about ten minutes,” Cat said. “Then your nose freezes and you start to rethink all your life choices.”
Jillian smirked. “You talk like snow’s a person.”
“Snow and I have history,” Cat said. “It’s a long story.”
Olivia tilted her head. “Where’s your grandma now? The one who made baked beans with hamburgers?”
Cat’s smile faltered for the briefest second. “She’s gone. Passed away a few years ago.”
“Oh.” Olivia’s voice went soft. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Cat kept her tone light. “She loved winter, though. Said snow made the world feel fresh and new again.”
Jillian gave a sharp little snort. “That’s silly. Snow doesn’t fix anything. It just hides the mud.”
Cat looked at her across the table, eyebrows lifting slightly. “That’s a very practical observation.”
“It’s true,” Jillian said, lifting her chin. “Dad says everything looks perfect until it melts, and then you see what’s really underneath—and it’s not always very nice.”
The last words hung in the air, sharper than she probably intended because suddenly Jillian jumped up. “I’m done. I don’t want breakfast. I’m going to go back to my room.”
“Hold on,” Cat said, startled. “You can’t skip breakfast—”
“But I am.”
“I’d like you to eat something. Just hot chocolate won’t sustain you very well. One egg and one strip of bacon—”
“No.”
“Jillian.”
Jillian’s jaw tightened. “You’re not my mum.”
Cat drew a swift breath. “I’m not, no, but I’m the one here right now.”
Jillian’s eyes flashed—anger and grief and something else tangled together—and then she grabbed her mug only half drunk and poured it down the sink. “Happy now?” she said, voice trembling with fury.
Cat swallowed hard. “No. Not happy.”
Jillian glared at her for one long heartbeat, then stormed out of the kitchen, flinging the words, “This is why no one likes you,” before dashing up the stairs.
Silence filled the room again, thick and uneasy.
Olivia stared down at her cocoa. “She didn’t mean it,” she said softly.
Cat forced a small, reassuring smile. “I know.” But as Cat glanced toward the window, watching the snow fall steadily beyond the glass, she couldn’t ignore the sting of Jillian’s words.
The girl had meant to hurt her—and she had.
Or as Jillian had put it so poetically, sometimes, when the snow melts, what’s underneath isn’t nice at all.
“Cat?” Olivia asked quietly.
Cat jumped, startled, and turned to the little girl. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can I have an egg and some bacon?”
“Absolutely. Let me get right on that.”
After clearing away the breakfast things, Cat wiped her hands on a tea towel and headed upstairs.
It was time to get the girls moving. She tapped lightly on their door and told them to dress warmly—they were going outside.
Olivia lit up instantly, bouncing off the bed with a delighted squeal about snow.
Jillian groaned and rolled her eyes, muttering something about being perfectly fine indoors.
But Cat held her ground. Fresh air would do all of them good, and today, they were going together.
“It’s too pretty outside to waste a morning like this,” she said, pausing next to Jillian’s bed and looking down at the top of her head. “Because we all know what it will look like when the snow melts.”
Jillian’s chin jerked up, but she otherwise gave no indication that she’d heard. Smiling faintly, Cat left the room to go change. Maybe it was time to start fighting fire with fire.
Ten minutes later they were all outside bundled appropriately for the weather. Snow in Michigan was different from snow at Langley Park. The great house rose in the distance like something from a dream—beautiful, magical, untouchable.
The girls headed toward a cluster of bare trees at the edge of the meadow. Jillian’s stride was brisk, purposeful.
“Not too far,” Cat called. “Stay where I can see you.”
Jillian didn’t look back.
For a while, it was almost peaceful. Cat and Olivia worked together to build a snowman, and Jillian went to gather sticks for the snowman’s arms. It took Cat a little bit to realize that Jillian hadn’t returned.
“Jillian?” she called, straightening. “Jilly?”
No answer. Just the wind through the trees and the faint crackle of branches shifting under snow.
Olivia looked up, eyes wide. “She said she was going to get sticks.”
“I know, but it’s been a while.” Cat smashed her anxiety and the anger that quickly followed. Enough was enough. Jillian had to stop disappearing like this. “Which way did she go?”
Olivia pointed toward a small rise near the stone wall. “That way, I think.”
Cat’s pulse quickened. “Stay here with our snowman, make sure nothing happens to him. I’ll be right back.”
“I won’t go anywhere,” Olivia said.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Cat swiftly climbed the rise, boots slipping a little in the wet snow. On the other side, the land dipped toward the frozen stream that bordered the estate. And there, perched on a low stone wall, was Jillian—arms crossed, chin high, like she’d been waiting to be found.
“Jillian,” Cat said, forcing her voice to stay calm. “You can’t just wander off like that.”
“I wasn’t wandering,” the girl said coolly. “I wanted to be alone.”
Cat walked closer, stopping a few feet away. “I understand. But it scared your sister.”
“She’s fine.”
“She’s ten,” Cat said evenly. “And this is hard on her. You’re the big sister. You’re supposed to protect her.”
Jillian shrugged, eyes on the snow. “I thought that was why you’re here. Isn’t that your job?”
Cat hesitated, the air sharp in her lungs. “Maybe she just cares about you.”
Jillian’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know anything about us.”
The words hit like a slap.
Cat swallowed and struggled to keep her temper in check. “You’re right. I don’t. Not yet. But I’m trying. And I wish you would try too.”
Jillian glanced up at her then, eyes bright, her features tight with emotion. “Why? Because you’ll be gone soon anyway. At least I hope you’ll be gone. Just because you’re American doesn’t mean Dad will fall for you, too.”
Stunned, Cat took a step back. Had there been another nanny?
Or did something inappropriate happen? “I don’t understand.”
“You think because you’re American my father will fall for you but you’re wrong. He still loves Mum. He’ll never love you.”
Cat felt that one in her chest. “I don’t … Jillian. What on earth are you saying? I am so confused. Who else is an American?”
“Mum.”
“Your mother is American?”
“From Texas. Houston.”
“I had no idea.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Jillian jumped down from the wall, brushing snow from her coat. “You’ll never meet her. You’ll never have the chance. Charlotte will be back soon, and you’ll be long gone.” Then she turned and walked back toward the cottage, steps fast and furious.
Cat stood for a long moment, her eyes burning, the wind biting at her cheeks, her thoughts running wild.
She liked to think of herself as intelligent, someone good at solving problems and untangling messy histories.
But this family … this tangle of grief and hope and fear …
was a bruising knot she hadn’t been prepared for.
After a moment, Cat swallowed hard and pulled herself together. Olivia would be waiting by the snowman, bright-eyed and trusting and there was no way Cat would expose Olivia to the hurt.
Cat and the girls returned to the cottage. Jillian hung her coat neatly on the peg and went upstairs without a word. Olivia followed quietly, unsure what to say. For that matter, Cat didn’t know what to do with herself.
“Do you want to do a puzzle with me?” Cat asked Olivia a few minutes later, after spotting the girl sitting on the couch looking small and sad.
“No. I just wish Mum was here.”
Cat joined Olivia on the couch. “I’m sorry she’s not here too. It’s really hard without her, isn’t it?”