Chapter 35
Penny
Ikept Kit in the barn far longer than he wanted to be there.
He was terribly sweet about it, despite his sorry, soggy state.
We curled up in the hay and sat quietly until I’d mentally revisited what felt like every moment of my life.
And I cried. I cried so much and so hard that when I woke the next morning, my eyes were puffy and red, and my voice had gone hoarse.
Sun streamed in my bedroom window, but I didn’t rouse Kit. He’d earned every bit of rest he could get, and there was so much yet to do. As glad as I was not to have Merrick dogging our steps, that was one less pair of hands to lighten the workload that seemed more crushing than ever.
Failing this planting season would mean failing my father, my mother, and myself.
Kit had claimed he wouldn’t mind if I had nothing, but I remembered it was this farm that swayed him to see my worth in the first place.
It was my greatest asset. According to many people, my only one.
Without it, I worried Kit might come to see me as a less than ideal match. Less of an equal. Less of a man.
So, I was up with the dawn, bleary eyed and teetering on the edge of an emotional spiral. It took every bit of the courage I lacked the night before to dress, then drag myself into the living area to face whomever I found there.
I’d seen Sayla on the couch when Kit and I snuck back from the barn, so her presence was a given. She was awake and alone, stoking the logs in the fireplace to get the daily fire going. Finding no sign of Mother, I heaved a sigh, which was enough to catch my sister’s attention.
Sayla turned, and her green eyes went wide, then soft with sympathy. She set the fire poker aside and offered a smile.
“Morning, Pen.”
I hugged my arms around my middle and grunted in response. My throat hurt too much to talk, and if I opened my mouth, I feared I’d start crying again.
Sayla’s mouth curved downward, and her brows followed suit. “What’s all this? First you hide from us; now you look apt to run away.”
I couldn’t begin to explain without falling apart, so I simply nodded and started toward the kitchen. Breakfast needed to be made. The least I could do was make sure Kit wouldn’t have to work on an empty stomach.
“Penny…”
My sister’s voice chased me, and I turned in time for her to crash into me with a fierce hug. A sob bubbled up from my gut as I worked my arms free enough to loop them around her, then buried my face in her blonde curls.
“This doesn’t change us, you know,” she mumbled into my shoulder. “Doesn’t change you.”
It wasn’t true, but I wanted to believe it so badly that I didn’t argue. Instead, I nodded again, then pulled back and indicated the kitchen. She followed me, and we pulled on aprons and started rummaging in the cabinets and pantry to prepare the morning meal.
Sayla mixed batter for biscuits while I cracked eggs into a skillet. I stared at the whites and yolks piling up and chewed my lip until I could no longer contain the question that had haunted me since dinner.
“How did Mother take it? Kit said you told her about”—I swallowed dryly—“things.”
Sayla straightened and rested her spoon against the edge of the large bowl. “It was probably a good thing you gave her some space,” she said. “And time.”
Our joint glance toward the bedrooms indicated the time Mother was taking even now. I’d never known her to sleep past dawn, and she wasn’t the type to tarry in her bedroom once the day had begun. She was avoiding me.
“I would’ve stayed in the barn all night. Maybe forever,” I mumbled, then sighed. “Kit wouldn’t let me.”
Picking the spoon back up, Sayla stabbed it into the batter. “I really do like him, Pen.”
“It’s not his fault.” I wouldn’t see Kit blamed for a godsdamned thing, but I knew even as I said it that my sister was not the person I needed to convince.
Sayla’s gaze cut over. “I know that.” Her expression soured, nose and forehead scrunching together as she added, “It’s Merrick’s.” With a harrumph, she returned to the biscuit dough, stirring more furiously than before. “How I wish to not share a drop of blood with that man.”
I bounced my brows in agreement, then moved the pan of eggs to the cooktop.
“Do you really think he did it?” Sayla’s voice carried from over my shoulder.
I glanced at her.
“Killed Father,” she clarified. “Poisoned him.”
It seemed an odd thing to question considering Merrick had all but confessed to the crime, but I understood her disbelief. After all I’d seen in Ashpoint, I shouldn’t have been surprised by the news, but it still had me reeling.
“I wouldn’t doubt Merrick is capable of all kinds of despicable things. Like he said, he gave me hemlock too. More than he should have.” I heaved a sigh that made my chest rattle. “I’m not entirely well.”
When I looked at Sayla, her eyes were round and sad.
“Is that why you were in the barn yesterday? Inventorying the”—a hint of humor crept across her face—“seed stores?”
I groaned. “It was misery, Sayla. I told Warren to familiarize himself with the farm equipment. Study the shovels or something. I haven’t been this bored since—”
“Last planting, I’d imagine,” she quipped, too quick and too true for me to miss.
Silence ate up the air between us, and I watched the eggs turn bright white and sunny yellow over the stove’s heat.
“How long will it last, do you think? Your infirmity?” Sayla asked at length.
My shoulders rolled in a shrug. “Maybe forever.”
I cleared my sore throat and gave a cough that prompted Sayla to side-eye me. Kit did the same at every wheeze and gritty gasp. I really didn’t want anyone else looking at me like I was broken, so I reached into my thoughts for the one thing most apt to distract her.
“Congratulations on your engagement.”
The silver chain glittered on her wrist. So finely made, and Warren had been so proud to present it.
I hoped he didn’t regret his proposal, and that my trouble didn’t leave a stain on my sister’s good name.
Till now, I hadn’t considered that Kit might not be the only man who should question tethering himself to the Oliver family.
Sayla touched her wrist while wearing the sweetest smile.
It was a relief to see the happy event hadn’t been entirely ruined, in her mind at least.
“Will he be back?” I asked, hedging around my larger concerns. “To help with… planting?”
She laughed. “Yes, Pen, I believe he will. Unlike you, he takes some enjoyment in these things. He has a good head for—”
“Monotony?” I interjected.
Sayla rolled her eyes. “I was going to say business. Practical things.”
I hummed acknowledgement while she scooped biscuit dough into a second skillet, crowding the lumps together in a tight spiral.
“You aren’t practical, Pen,” she continued. “You never have been. But, as for Warren’s return, I expect him any minute. I invited him to breakfast.”
Frowning, I counted the eggs in my pan. I hadn’t paid much attention to the quantity before, but I hoped it would be enough.
With the biscuits portioned, Sayla squeezed in beside me to tuck her pan into the belly of the stove. “Don’t fret. Kit seems plenty practical for the both of you, and I don’t think he minds that you’re not.”
“I hope you’re right,” I replied.
Sayla dusted her hands down her apron, then tugged it off over her head. As she returned it to the hook on the wall, she shot back, “I am right. Nearly always. But I do think he’s been good for you. Anyone who helps you stand up to Merrick the way you did at dinner must be good.”
“He’s good to me too,” I murmured, forgoing the eggs to touch my own bracelet, the leather soft against my skin.
The scuffling of footsteps announced Kit’s approach.
I turned toward him with a shy smile, finding him looking fresher after a night’s rest, and quite a bit cleaner.
That was not to last, though. The rain had let up, but the ground outside was still wet and boggy.
It was bound to be a hard day of work for us both.
He padded over to me, still a bit drowsy with his typically sharp eyes half-lidded.
Sleepy morning Kit was a rare sight, since he usually rose hours before I did, so I cherished this soft, dreamy state.
His arms wound around me, and I nosed into his neck, feeling his body heat and sniffing at his skin that smelled like soap from his midnight bath.
“Mister Mosel, we were just talking about you,” Sayla chirped.
“Oh?” Kit mumbled, then turned to kiss my cheek.
Sayla bobbed her head. “Only good things.”
Gradually, Kit pulled away, letting his arm drag across my back. He would be wanting coffee, but I caught his hand to keep him by my side, hungry for a few more moments of proximity. Of comfort.
“Can I help?” He motioned to the stove and the pan of eggs.
“No need,” Sayla replied before I could. “Pen and I have things well in hand. Your only concern should be feeding those muscles. Gods know we’ll be putting them to use.”
Kit huffed what might have been a laugh, but he stayed in place beside me, unmoving until a knock at the door startled us all.
Cold shot through me at the sound, and my heart dropped into my feet. I looked toward the entry, imagining any manner of unwelcome visitors waiting outside.
It could be Merrick. Or the militia. Or Merrick with the militia, armed with enough evidence to arrest Kit and me on the spot.
I didn’t speak, but my grip on Kit’s hand turned vice like.
I would have begged him to ignore it, keen as I was on hiding from my troubles lately, but we couldn’t very well leave anyone standing on the stoop.
Besides, if it was the militia, they would break the door in if we didn’t open it for them.
“I’ll get it,” Kit said, like I knew he would. Even here, he insisted on being first to face the world and its dangers. And, I knew without him explaining, giving me time to escape them.
While he walked the short distance to the entry, I wondered if he thought I would run.
Given the chance, would I dash out the back door and into the fields?
Hide in the barn? Or bolt out into the distant woods and never look back?
Was it better to live a coward, alone and afraid? Or face a deadly punishment?
I knew Kit’s answer to that. He’d given it back in Ashpoint after our second meeting with the resistance.
In many ways, his joining me in the first place was an answer too.
He’d lived many years running and hiding and had decided against it.
If he could face his past, the least I could do was accept my present.
I held my breath as Kit pulled the door open inward. I might have even flinched before I saw the faces of our visitors, and before I recognized them.
Warren stood at the front of a small group of men. As Sayla predicted, he’d come for breakfast, and he’d brought his father and brothers.
Warren drew up at the sight of Kit, who couldn’t have missed the fresh edge of fear in the younger man’s eyes.
He was wary, and he hadn’t been before. Afraid of the potential threat Kit represented.
A former cultist. The man who’d taken me from here and brought me back changed, even if Sayla didn’t think so.
It wasn’t Kit’s fault.
Warren’s trepidation was not shared by his family members, who barreled through the entry in a series of handshakes and hasty introductions.
Tailing after them and leaving Kit to close the door, Warren smiled sheepishly at Sayla and said, “I hope you made plenty of food.”