Chapter 24
Days passed. Cyril sat with his mother, watching his father’s chest lift with shallow rises and falls. He blinked fatigue away from his eyes and sat up, giving them a rub. He checked his watch by the lamplight.
Three in the morning. He’d spent his hours between intense focus on his father’s wavering condition, seeing to his family’s needs, concern for the future, and replaying those moments, those words in the tower with Violet.
The memory of their kiss, and the passion in it, crept up on him unexpectedly and repeatedly.
It was infuriating, as he’d find himself flushed and under scrutiny by a sibling or two.
He’d no sooner banish Violet from his thoughts than she’d come sneaking up on him, as if concern for his father weren’t enough to fill his mind and heart with anxiety.
Her words when he’d asked her what she wanted haunted him, bold and unrepentant.
I’m not sure I’d be allowed to voice it if I did.
He knew that prison. Had felt it to his core the moment he’d first pressed his hand to his pounding heart after a girl with honey hair and freckles had said something nonsensical and likely inappropriate.
Had bested him at darts when she’d touched a feather to his ear and his aim had gone wide.
When he’d painstakingly torn up a letter he’d poured his heart into as he’d ridden the train to university, after leaving her there in that meadow. Their meadow.
A touch at his shoulder brought him out of his tangled memories. He found Ruby at his arm, sitting in the other chair on his side of the bed. Several had been brought around so they could have turns being near the man they all adored so well.
Ruby leaned into him and spoke softly. “How are you holding up, brother?” She pulled her shawl more tightly around her.
“Are you cold?” he asked, ignoring her question. He took his own discarded coat from the back of his chair and settled it over her shawl.
Her gaze was already drawn to their parents. Mama had fallen asleep, her head on a small pillow, her hand over her husband’s. “Do you think we shall find love like that?” Ruby asked.
The question settled deep in his core. He frowned in thought. “As a boy, I was certain of it. Like the sun rising.”
She turned to him. “Truly?” she asked quietly. “Until two or three years ago, I’d have shuddered at the notion of giving my heart to a boy.”
“I believe the blame for that lies with each and every one of your siblings.”
She smiled at him and nudged his shoulder. Her smile, though, was fleeting. “You were certain then, but what about now?”
“I am certain, my dear sister, that you shall find a love to rival theirs.” He nodded to their example of holy matrimony.
“And I am certain, dear brother, that you are avoiding answering my questions about yourself.”
“Obvious, am I?”
“Painfully. Do you not want what they have? Even at a time such as this?”
“Of course I want anything close to what they have. I only said I was no longer certain of it.”
“But why, when the person who brings you closest to it is within your reach?”
He froze in his chair, not daring to encourage this turn of conversation.
“You know that old saying,” she said, “‘turn a deaf ear’?”
“Mmm,” he replied.
“The person who made that up did not have a sister.”
When he said no more, she leaned forward, her voice still a whisper. “I know you love her, Cyril.”
His pulse began a gallop even as his face warmed. He dared not ask who, as that would insult both of their intelligences. Instead, his defenses rose. He breathed in and out his nose. “What do you know of it?” He wasn’t certain he knew of it. And, if he did, he wasn’t allowed to voice it.
Her own voice gentled. “I know that you are a match. Like salt and pepper shakers. And, like salt and pepper shakers, when one is found without the other, it is … disconcerting.” She looked to their parents again. “Once together, it is impossible to imagine them apart.”
She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.
“It is more complicated than that, Ruby,” he whispered. The frustration of those complications constricted his lungs.
“What are complications,” she said on a stifled yawn, “when she loves you as well?”
As his brain grappled for a retort, his jaw clenched on words he would not mean. Perhaps for the first time since the day Ruby was first laid in his arms, wrapped in a tiny bundle of linen and white satin, his sister had rendered him speechless.
Just when he was certain Ruby finally slept, she shifted.
“I know you believe you don’t deserve her, brother. But the truth of it is neither of you deserved so many years apart. You need your pepper shaker.”
His brow twitched. Of course she would assign Violet the pepper.
His too-observant sister settled further onto his shoulder. “And she needs her salt.”
For the next half hour, Cyril could think of nothing but days, moments he’d spent by Violet’s side and of the new reverence he felt for the couple before him who had spent years cultivating a friendship, a partnership, and a deep, abiding love.
He knew, as sure as he knew anything, that neither of them were ready to separate. Not in this life.
The prospect brought his emotions to the surface, and he exhaled rather sharply.
His mother stirred. “Hmm? Cyril? What is it?” Her sleepy gaze turned toward her husband. “Has something happened?”
Cyril shook his head, swallowing hard. “No, Mama. I’m sorry if I woke you. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you, dear.” She reached to brush his father’s hair off his brow. As her fingers gently moved across his forehead, they heard a sound they’d not heard in a great while.
“Mmm.”
Ruby lifted her head at once, blinking hard. She and Cyril stood at the same time, their chairs making the same low screech on the hospital’s tile floor.
Mama leaned closer to her husband. “Benny? Ben, my darling?” His mother continued her ministrations as she threw Cyril a look of hope.
Benjamin Burke’s chest then did a most excellent thing.
It rose. And rose.
Cyril held his breath, waiting for the imminent coughing that would follow. Ruby tightened her grip on his arm.
“Mmm.”
“That was not a cough,” Cyril whispered. He met his mother’s gleeful grin. “That was not a cough!”
“Indeed, it was not!” she exclaimed, and watched again as his father filled his lungs and sighed a clear, restful exhale.
“Mmm.”
Mama barked a laugh and caught it with her hand over her mouth.
“Oh, please,” Ruby whispered.
Papa blinked his eyes open and cleared his throat. Cyril turned to the side table and poured a glass of water. Mama helped him sit up, and Cyril steadied the glass as his father sipped, then drank thirstily until it was finished.
As Cyril returned the glass, his father spoke in his soft baritone, rough with disuse. “What is so amusing, then, my Rosy?”
Cyril turned to find his mother throwing her arms around her husband, her face awash in laughter and tears. “You’ve come back to me! Oh, my love, you’ve come back to me.”
Papa lifted a weak hand to his wife’s arm. “And that is amusing?”
Mama kissed his forehead, his cheek, his mouth. “It is wonderful.”
Ruby had rounded to the other side of the bed and now held Papa’s hand to her cheek, tears glistening there as she smiled and laughed.
Cyril moved to leave the room, wiping his own tears and chuckling to himself. He would ask for a doctor and relay the news to his other siblings.
“Son?” Father’s voice was faint but clear.
Cyril turned. “Yes?” He retraced his steps as Father beckoned with an outstretched hand. “I was summoning the doctor.” His gaze skipped between the look of blissful relief on his mother’s face and the battle-worn peace on his father’s. He took his father’s hand, warm and rough and familiar.
“That can wait a moment,” Father said. “You left the school.”
“Of course I did. You were—” Cyril shook his head. “Of course I did.”
“Thank you for being here with your mother.”
“It was the least I could do. All of us are here, though some are sleeping, I suppose. The lot of us are the talk of the hospital, I assure you. Oscar and George have charmed every nurse, of every age.”
“Shameless,” Papa said with a crook of a smile.
Where exhaustion and resignation had ruled Cy’s movements only moments ago, hope and vigor coursed through him now. “You’ll wish to see them, of course.”
“Of course, but—” He sighed. “Oof, I feel like I’ve been dragged behind the Central line from Bank to Shepherd’s Bush.
No matter.” His grip tightened, and the sensation did more to reassure Cy of his father’s survival than anything else.
His gaze narrowed on Cy, green and penetrating.
“Go back to her, son. Go get her …” He breathed out. “And never let her go.”
Cy’s breath hitched, and he glanced between a very smug Ruby and back to his father. “How— Ruby, just earlier—”
Mama only grinned, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“Yes, well,” Papa said, filling his lungs again, “we all know Ruby is the most intelligent of the batch.”
His jaw dropped.
“Son.”
He looked to his mother, who wore compassion like a tiara.
“I’ve watched you try to forget what it was like to have your other half by your side.
I’ve watched you believe you’re doing what’s best for everyone else.
But it’s time to think of what is best for you.
Go,” she said. “I’ve a notion you won’t have need of Little Oakleigh, nor Eventide.
” Her eyes sparked with mischief. “Though, perhaps one day soon, you may have need of our nursery.”
Heat crept up his neck. He glanced at Ruby, who bit her lip and grinned.
“Daughter,” Papa said, reaching for Ruby’s hand now and giving her a sideways glance. “Your brother might be in need of help. I believe your friends are perfect for the job.”
“I could not agree more, Papa.”
Finally, Cy found his tongue. “Father, she … Violet …” He swallowed. “She asked me to give you her love.”
Papa nestled back deeper into his pillows, studying Cyril intently. “Well then. I must ask you to give her ours.”