Chapter 18
After a day of being cooped up with her embarrassment and the feeling of wanting to come out of her skin, Imogen decided to take the goats and Chestnut to the family farm.
The goats seemed just as eager for the chance to stretch their legs, and so, with the ground almost dried out from the storm, they made their way toward Granach.
The sun was especially bright, reflected in all the pools and puddles left by the rain.
Their path was nearly obscured by the thick mat of fallen leaves, the storm having knocked down most of the remaining autumnal foliage.
Her boots squelched over the layer of leaves and snapped the occasional twig.
Shadow had his choice of sticks, although Chestnut didn’t let him fully enjoy the assortment. Perhaps sensing her mistress’s disquiet, Chestnut was especially nippy and bossy along their journey, keeping everyone in line.
It was for the best, really, as Imogen could hardly pay attention to the few steps in front of her. She walked homeward by rote, trusting that Chestnut would keep everything under control.
Even with the bright sunshine on her face and a fresh breeze teasing her cheeks, Imogen couldn’t get out of her own head.
Usually she was perfectly content with her own company, but lately…her mind was its own kind of prison, one she wished to break free of. She’d heard of people losing themselves to feelings—to pleasure—and Imogen wanted to know what that felt like.
But what if I can’t? What if I’ve been alone in my head too long?
She’d never doubted or regretted moving to her cottage, enjoyed the peace and quiet, found fulfillment in her work and caring for her animals. Why, then, had she had this sucking feeling just below her heart lately? Like there was an emptiness there that needed filling?
She wished she could press a finger inside it, stopper the ache, but nothing she did made it feel any better.
Frustrated tears stung her eyes as they skirted the edge of Granach. This is his doing. While she’d had her moments of loneliness before, never had Imogen so keenly felt her own isolation. Never had she questioned her decision to live away from others or eschew company.
Now, she questioned all of it, and she didn’t like the feeling.
A quagmire had opened up beneath her feet where it’d been solid bedrock before, and she couldn’t help resenting that.
I didn’t ask for this.
All this courting business had done was shove her face in her own lacking. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.
Taking a deep breath of fresh, clean air, Imogen did her best to put away the worst of her hurts.
She brought them to Neomi, yes, but that didn’t mean she needed to show up moodier than a thundercloud.
When she’d closed the gate behind Chestnut and the goats, giving them use of the lower pasture, Imogen hiked up the slope to the house.
She didn’t see Collin anywhere, and when she entered the house, she didn’t initially find Neomi, either. It took a bit of searching, Shadow dogging her heels, to finally find her sister in the back washroom.
Up to her elbows in suds, an array of washing was already strung up around Neomi. Her color was high, and her forehead was damp with sweat and steam.
“Here you are,” said Imogen.
Neomi blew out a breath. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s all right. Wash day?”
Neomi shook her head. “Worse. Collin’s parents are coming tomorrow for luncheon.”
“Ah.” As Imogen understood it, Collin and Neomi were usually summoned to his parents’ home for a weekly dinner. She hadn’t heard of his parents deigning to visit the farm before.
Looking about, she realized that what’d gotten washed and scrubbed were the nicest set of table linens. Every tablecloth, runner, placemat, napkin, and doily had been washed and starched, the lace hems making the smaller linens look like snowflakes hanging on the line.
“So everything had to get washed?” She couldn’t imagine it was that dirty from sitting in the cupboard.
“Yes,” Neomi grumbled. “Everything has to be perfect for Ada.” Collin’s mother, a forbidding woman. Although Neomi and Collin had been married for years now, and Neomi was usually a ray of sunshine bottled up in a human body, his family still hadn’t warmed to her.
Feeling her mood darkening again on Neomi’s behalf, Imogen reached out. “Here, I’ll help.”
“No!” Neomi yelped, snatching away the napkin Imogen had picked up. “You’re muddy from the road and smell of goat. The cloth is still wet and will soak up the smell.”
Imogen looked down at herself and flushed. She was indeed muddied from the road, had tracked in a bit of dirt all the way from the kitchen.
Neomi saw it too and sighed. “At least I haven’t mopped yet.” Pointing at the doorway, she ordered, “Back to the kitchen. And wet dogs go outside.”
Properly scolded, Imogen did as she was told, retreating back to the kitchen. There she found more tracks, little brown imprints already drying. With a sigh, she hustled Shadow back out the door, offering an apologetic grimace and a bit of dried meat before closing the door on his confused face.
She didn’t enjoy being bossed about, and this was still somewhat her home, too. But Neomi could be waspish when her nerves were frayed, and so, rather than make it worse, Imogen did as she asked.
After filling the kettle and setting it on the stove to boil, Imogen pulled a broom from the closet tucked away on the far side of the kitchen and began sweeping up the dirt.
Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Neomi had enough on her mind. But Imogen needed to speak with someone, to be told she wasn’t mad or unreasonable. There were too many thoughts in her own mind for her to parse out herself.
When Neomi joined her in the kitchen, the floor was swept and the tea had steeped. Neomi took the cup Imogen offered her with a nod of thanks, blowing off the steam before downing most of it in two great gulps.
“No time for breaks, if you want to talk, it’ll be on the move.”
Grumbling, Imogen had no choice, following Neomi along through the house and her chores. She provided an extra set of hands when Neomi needed it, holding this, folding that, but she also made herself speak.
She told her sister everything that had happened.
How she’d gotten used to Balar but had been surprised and overwhelmed by having him in the cottage with her for hours and hours.
How kissing didn’t make her lose her head but made her thoughts echo even louder inside it.
That she worried it would always be like this, that she wasn’t meant for courting or kissing or companionship.
Neomi listened—at least, Imogen thought she did—although her focus remained mostly on her tasks, a mild frown marring her face.
Imogen had finished speaking for a while, and yet Neomi didn’t say anything.
“What do you think?” Imogen muttered.
Neomi sighed. “I think you overreacted.”
Imogen’s throat ran dry. “You think?” She’d suspected that herself, but hearing it said, and so irritably, too, made her wince.
“Yes. Gen, I love you, but these are things we were worrying about as girls.”
Imogen frowned. “Maybe you did. But this is new for me. Everything…this hasn’t happened for me before.”
“And who’s fault is that? Avoiding everyone all the time, moving into the middle of the forest to avoid them even more. Honestly, Gen, you’re incredibly lucky that a nice man showed up literally at your doorstep wanting to court you. The rest of us didn’t have it so easy.”
There were truths in there, but Neomi said everything so flippantly, Imogen had a hard time hearing past her tone to think on them. Each word stung more than the last, leaving Imogen to lift her hand to her chest and rub the place over her heart.
Fates, that hurts.
“This hasn’t been easy, Neomi. Nothing has for me.” The idea that anything in Imogen’s life had been easier than for her beautiful, personable sister was, frankly, laughable.
For the first time in a while, Neomi’s gaze fell on Imogen, pinning her with a squint. “This is about your birthmark, isn’t it?”
Yes. No. Is it?
Imogen flushed.
Neomi nodded, turning back to where she sat polishing the nice silverware. “Thought so. It’s always about the mark.”
Imogen hated the rush of angry tears that sprang to her eyes. “That’s not true.”
“Yes it is.” Neomi rolled her eyes. “It’s just how your face is, Gen. Why torture yourself about it still?”
“I’m the one who has to live with it. Every day. You wouldn’t understand—you’ve always been beautiful.”
Glaring up from her seat, Neomi said, “Other people have problems, too, Gen.”
“Oh, yes, right, I’m so sorry you have to have luncheon with your horrible in-laws. How terrible for you.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Neomi sneered her words back.
“No, how could I understand such a heavy burden? My life is so easy compared to yours.”
“Grow up,” Neomi scoffed. “You choose to be the wounded one. The only person who cares about your birthmark anymore is you. I’ll bet your manticore doesn’t care one bit.”
I know he doesn’t, but I—
“You don’t get to decide when I get over something, Neomi. This is my face. I can’t just leave it at home when I don’t feel like having it.”
“No, but you can decide not to care about what others say.”
Imogen snorted, gesturing at the myriad of spoons and forks Neomi was polishing. “That’s rich, Neomi. Why do you care so much about what Ada thinks?”
“That’s different,” Neomi growled. “She’s my family.”
“And I’m not?”
“I didn’t say that.” Neomi threw up her hands. “You’re impossible to talk to sometimes, you know. Always coming to me with problems you refuse to fix. I have problems of my own, Gen.”
“If Collin’s such a problem, why marry him? I told you he and his family were horrible—”
“Stop it, Imogen. That’s not what I said. You just refuse to accept Collin.”