Chapter 26
The lake lay flat and heavy, only a faint ripple where a fish turned and settled. Erica matched her mother’s pace, slow and steady, hands clasped in front of her to keep from picking at her nails.
They walked for a while without words. The silence carried the weight of them both. Her mother’s shawl moved with each breath, and Erica watched as the hem and fringe tapped against her skirt. She had slept poorly and felt the dull ache of it behind her eyes.
“I daenae ken what I want,” she said at last, her voice thin. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I daenae ken.”
Her mother did not stop. “That is different from not kenning what ye need.”
Erica bit the inside of her cheek. “I need to be safe,” she said. “But I also…” She felt the rest catch. It would not come free without tearing something. “I want more than that. I never thought I would feel this way, but I do.”
Her mother slowed down and turned to her. The lines at the corners of her mouth were deeper than they had been a year ago. “Daenae mistake safety for happiness, me love. One keeps ye alive, the other makes life worth living.”
The words landed clean and hard. No softness to them, only truth.
Erica looked out over the water to avoid her mother’s eyes. The far bank was a dark strip. A gull slid across the surface and rose. She could almost picture Alex in the water as he had been that night.
A shiver ran down her spine.
“I ken,” she said, though she did not, not fully.
Her mother stepped close enough to touch her sleeve. “Ye are young,” she said. “Ye can choose more than fear.”
“I am tired of choosing,” Erica sighed. “Each choice feels like it asks a price I cannae pay.”
“That is what choice is, dear,” her mother answered. “Ye pay now, or ye pay later. But if ye choose to overcome yer fear, ye may throw away the thing that would have kept ye warm.”
When the yard appeared, her mother touched her elbow. “Come find me at dinner,” she said. “Tell me what the day gave ye.”
“Aye,” Erica said, though she had no idea what that would be.
She watched her mother go ahead and then followed, slower, carrying the words like a heavy bundle she could not put down.
The next morning came soft and bright. Erica did not seek Alex. She went to the girls instead.
Bettie and Katie met her in the yard, with their hair half done and ribbons in their fists.
“We want to use the blue one we got from the market,” Bettie said at once.
“And the red one,” Katie said. “The strong red. Like the berries.”
“We can have both,” Erica said. “But ye willnae fight me for it.”
“We never fight,” Bettie said.
Katie snorted. “We always fight.”
Erica held out her hands. “Give me the ribbons. If ye fight, I will keep them.”
They handed them over at once, mouths pinched into thin lines to keep from laughing.
Erica untangled the lengths, measured them with her forearms, and handed them back in equal shares.
“Now,” she said, “we will go cut flowers.”
They took her to the low slope by the east wall, where the sun reached early. Since her arrival, the ground now held thick patches of wild thyme and small purple heads that Leah always called by a Gaelic name Erica could not remember, no matter how hard she tried.
The girls dropped to their knees, and Erica did the same, ignoring the dirt that clung to the bottom of her dress.
“Nay, nae that one,” Katie said, swatting at Bettie’s wrist. “It is too short.”
“It is perfect,” Bettie said. “She likes the small ones.”
Erica said nothing. Instead, she bent the stem clean with her fingernail and added it to the bunch in Bettie’s hand.
“We can use height to show the small ones better,” she said. “Put the tall white behind, then the purple comes forward.”
Bettie squinted. “Like the way Grandmamma sits in the chair and we stand in front.”
“Aye,” Erica agreed. “Like that.”
They moved along the border, choosing and rejecting and choosing again. When they found a stand of buttercups, Katie held one beneath Erica’s chin and narrowed her eyes. “It says ye like butter,” she said.
“I do like butter,” Erica said.
“That is why ye have soft arms,” Bettie said, solemn as a priest.
Erica barked a laugh before she could stop it. “Is that so?”
“Aye,” Bettie said. “Soft is good. Hard is for rocks.”
“Grandmamma’s cane is hard,” Katie remarked. “She hits the floor with it when we shout.”
“Then let’s nae shout,” Erica said, and tried to look stern.
It only lasted two heartbeats before they dissolved into giggles.
By midmorning, their fingers were green and their baskets too full.
Erica taught them to twist three stems into a braid and tie it with the end of a ribbon so it would hold. They concentrated so hard that their tongues poked from the corners of their mouths.
When Katie’s braid slipped, she made a small noise of frustration and flung it down. Erica picked it up, tightened the twist, and handed it back.
“Try again,” she said. “Things hold when ye keep the pressure even.”
“Like tug of war,” Bettie said.
“Aye.” Erica nodded. “Like that.”
They wove crowns and garlands and then abandoned them to race to the courtyard and play with the shiny rocks. The girls hopped across the stones, arms windmilling, squeals sharp and happy.
Erica followed with slower steps. When Katie slipped and caught herself with a palm, Erica reached out and steadied her, thumb circling her small wrist without thinking.
“Thank ye,” Katie said, cheeks hot with the thrill of almost falling. “Da says ye watch where ye put yer feet.”
“He is right,” Erica said.
“He is always right,” Bettie said, with the confidence of a child who had not yet seen him fail.
Erica smiled and did not argue, even though every bone in her body urged her to say, Nae about everything.
They took a break on the warm bench near the wall, and at that moment, Leah came with a jug and cups. She poured and stood a little away, watching them the way maids would watch when they wanted to make sure all was well without intruding.
Erica held a cup for each girl and then drank from her own, slow and careful, the cool liquid sliding down easily.
“What dress will ye wear for the cèilidh?” Bettie asked, studying her face as if the answer were a secret worth gold.
“The blue one,” Katie said. “Then ye will match us.”
“Nay, wear the green one,” Bettie said. “Because ye look like the yard in spring.”
Erica pressed her lips together. “I will decide later.”
“Now,” Bettie said. “We should decide now.”
“Later,” Erica said, gentle but firm.
They groaned in unison.
Erica could not help it; she laughed again.
Laughter came easily whenever they were near. It also left fast. Each time it left, something in her chest would twist. She found herself counting their breaths as they bent over a patch of clover. She pictured their small feet on the steps.
She thought of the way they always looked at the door when Alex entered a room, how their backs straightened and their hands stilled.
She had learned their patterns without meaning to. She could find one by sound alone now. She could braid hair without a mirror. She knew Bettie’s habit of tucking her lip between her teeth when she read. She knew Katie hummed under her breath while she drew.
The thought came sharp and sudden.
What would they do if she left? Would they stand at the top of the stairs and watch the door and wait for no one? Would they ask for her and be told she was gone? Would they forget her quickly, the way children did?
A part of her prayed for the last option because it was easier on all of them.
“Are ye all right? Ye went quiet,” Bettie noted.
“I am thinking about the order of the flowers,” Erica lied.
“We should put the red flowers near the white ones,” Katie said. “Ye said that once.”
“I did,” Erica said, grateful for the easy rescue. “Let us do that now.”
They set to it again.
Some time later, the nurse called them in to wash and eat. In the small foyer near the kitchen, the girls scrubbed their hands in a basin, while Erica stood with Leah and wiped dirt from her own fingers.
Leah leaned in, voice low. “I see ye have done more work around the garden beds. Ye really are making it hard for folks nae to like ye.”
“If only that was why I was doing it,” Erica said. “I just enjoy spending time with the lasses.”
“Well, I am certain they enjoy spending time with ye too,” Leah said. “Nay other person, except the Laird himself, has been able to make them light up as ye have.”
The words slid under Erica’s skin, and she tried to shrug them off.
Of course, Leah meant it as a compliment. There was no denying that. But this only made the brief thought she had earlier even more painful.
The children would be devastated once she left.
She didn’t know how to deal with that. So instead of responding to Leah’s compliment, she made a sound in her throat that might have been agreement. Leah gave her a quick smile and returned to the girls.
Later, they ate bread, broth, and hard cheese at the long side table. Katie told a story with her hands about a frog that had escaped from the barrel. Bettie corrected every detail and made it worse. Erica took small bites and watched the door, even though she had sworn she would not.
After the noon meal, the girls wanted to play with more ribbons and sort them out for some reason.
Erica sat cross-legged on the floor and let the pile cover her lap. Katie climbed onto her knee without asking and stayed there while she tied a bow. Bettie, on the other hand, leaned against her shoulder.
Their weight made Erica’s throat close up. She held very still so they would not move away.
In the late afternoon, they begged to go back outside, so Erica took them to the narrow path beside the castle’s tower. They played a game of pretend market, trading pebble coins for bundles of thyme.
“Ye are a soft seller,” Erica said at some point when the girls handed her everything she wanted for the smallest of rocks.
“I am a kind seller,” Bettie said. “People come back to kind sellers.”
“Aye,” Erica said. “They do.”
When the bell sounded for the evening meal, the girls groaned again and began to gather the mess they had made.
Erica stood and shook bits of crushed stem from her skirt, ignoring the way her fingers smelled of green and earth. She looked at the marks the day had left on her palms and thought of turning the lock of her chamber door, only to find it empty of the hopes she had left there in the morning.
On their way inside, Katie slipped her hand into Erica’s and swung it twice. “Will ye sit near us tonight?”
“If I can,” Erica said.
“Ye can,” Bettie said with confidence.
Erica smiled and let them pull her along.
That night, the quiet came back hard. It always did.
The sounds of the castle after the girls retired to bed were different.
She let down her hair, sat by the small window, and listened to it all like a woman listening for a cart on the road.
The laughter from the afternoon was still close enough to touch. It also felt borrowed.
The second day went pretty much the same. Erica taught them to string the small white blossoms on cotton thread to make tiny garlands for the handles of their baskets. They scolded her for pricking her finger, and she pretended it hurt more than it did so they would feel brave.
Leah, once again, brought out a blanket and a pot of jam. They ate so much of it that Katie got a smear on her cheek. Erica wiped it with her thumb and felt the swing of the world again, off and then on.
The third day, talk of the cèilidh grew louder in the halls.
Grandmamma stood by the kitchen door and inspected every meal like a general surveying troops.
The girls begged Erica to practice a dance, and she let them pull her into the center of the yard, stepping and turning and pretending not to look toward the gate.
That night, she slept a little and woke up with the knot still there. She and Alex stood miles apart, and for some reason, it felt like the gap continued to widen with each passing day.
By the fourth day, the crowns they had made hung from pegs to dry.
Katie named one for every person she loved.
Bettie, on the other hand, tried to name one for every person she wanted to love her.
Erica said they could not do that. They did it anyway, and the names they chose made her laugh and then swallow hard.
Each night, the quiet returned and settled on her shoulders. She would lie on her side and think about the girls’ warm weight on her lap and then think about the door closing behind her.
She tried not to think about the other door. The one in her chest.
On the sixth morning, the girls raced into her room before the bell and climbed onto her bed.
“We have decided,” Bettie declared, breathless. “Ye will wear the green dress.”
“The blue one,” Katie said at the same time. “Because of the lake.”
Erica propped herself on her elbows. “I will see what is more appropriate.”
“Everything is appropriate,” Bettie said. “Da said so.”
Oh, did he now?
Erica laughed and let them win the point.
They burrowed under the blanket and chattered about ribbons and which shoes they would wear. She listened and stared at the ceiling beam and counted the days behind her. She tried to picture the ones ahead and found she could not.
When the girls left to wash, Leah lingered by the door. “Do ye need anything, me Lady?”
Erica shook her head. “Nay.”
Leah’s mouth softened. “I will be around if ye do. I will go attend to the children now.”
Erica nodded and watched her maid go.
When the door shut, she let out the breath she had been holding since the lake. She then rose to her feet, went to the chest, laid the dresses side by side, and let them wait.