Chapter Nineteen #2
Effie’s warm, familiar presence filled the threshold, flour dusting her sleeves and hair escaping its pins. The moment her gaze landed on Anne, her expression shifted from welcome to alarm.
“Oh, saints above…” Effie stepped forward immediately, grasping Anne by the shoulders and guiding her inside before she could protest. The interior smelled of ground grain, warm bread, and the faint sweetness of honey stored somewhere nearby.
The heat from the hearth wrapped around Anne, loosening something inside her that had been held too tight.
“What happened?” Effie demanded, voice pitched high with worry. “Gowan?”
Anne shook her head, unable to speak past the swelling in her throat. “Gowan is well.”
The words barely escaped before her composure cracked.
Effie steered her toward a chair and pressed her down into it. Anne’s fingers clutched the edge of the table, the worn wood smooth beneath her palms, anchoring her as the world threatened to spin away again.
“Anne,” Effie said more softly now, kneeling before her. “Tell me.”
Anne tried. She truly did. But the moment she opened her mouth, emotion surged forward like a breached dam. Tears spilled freely, her chest hitching as she bent forward, pressing trembling hands to her face.
“I went…” she managed between breaths. “Freckles came… said ye sent for me… past the mill… the shack…”
Effie frowned. “I sent no one.”
Anne’s shoulders shook harder. She swallowed painfully.
“Moyra was there,” she whispered.
The name alone tasted bitter.
Effie’s hands tightened around hers. “And?”
Anne squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the memory out despite the ache it carried.
“She came out laughing… speaking to someone inside. I waited… I thought…” Her voice broke, fragile and raw.
She forced herself onward.
“I looked through the window.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Camden was there.”
The confession shattered the last of her restraint. A sob tore free as she bowed her head, tears falling unchecked.
“He was dressing… beside the bed… and she had just left…”
The words dissolved into broken fragments.
“I thought… he promised… he said…”
Anne covered her face again, grief and humiliation crushing through her.
“I feel such a fool,” she choked. “I believed him, Effie. I believed every word.”
Effie rose slowly and drew Anne into her arms. The embrace was firm and steady, flour and warmth and familiarity wrapping around her like shelter.
Anne clung to her, finally surrendering to the storm inside her, sobs shaking her frame as the weight of heartbreak poured free.
“I didnae even stay,” she whispered hoarsely against Effie’s shoulder. “I could not bear it. I left before he saw me.”
She pulled back just enough to meet Effie’s eyes, searching for sense, for comfort, for anything to quiet the ache splitting her chest.
“I dinnae ken what to do now.”
Effie didnae release her at once. She held Anne close, one hand smoothing over her back in slow, steady strokes, grounding her through the tremors of grief.
The familiar scent of flour, smoke, and lavender clung to Effie’s clothing, warm and reassuring, and Anne clung to it as though it might keep her from breaking apart entirely.
“Hush now,” Effie murmured. “Let it out. I’ve got ye.”
Anne’s sobs gradually softened, leaving behind ragged breaths and trembling exhaustion. Effie guided her back into the chair and pressed a cup of cool water into her hands, waiting until Anne managed a few steady swallows.
Only then did Effie sit opposite her, expression gentler, but far sharper.
“Tell me again,” she said quietly. “Slowly.”
Anne recounted it all: Freckles’ message, the walk through the forest, Moyra leaving the shack, Camden inside, pulling on his boots. Saying the words aloud made them feel heavier, more real, and by the end her voice thinned to almost nothing.
Effie listened without interruption, fingers steepled against her lips. When Anne finished, silence settled between them.
At last Effie spoke.
“I dinnae like it.”
Anne let out a brittle laugh. “Nor do I.”
“That is not what I mean.”
Something in Effie’s tone made Anne look up.
Effie leaned forward, eyes intent. “Camden Lewis is many things. Stubborn. Overly patient. Far too devoted to his work. But careless with a woman’s feelings? Especially yers?” She shook her head. “It does not fit.”
Anne’s chest tightened painfully. “I saw him, Effie.”
“I believe ye did.” Effie reached across the table, covering Anne’s hand. “But what ye saw may not be what ye think.”
Anne blinked, uncertainty flickering.
Effie continued, voice measured now. “Freckles claims I sent him. I didnae. Moyra was there alone, leaving as ye arrived. And Camden was in a state that suggests confusion, not comfort.”
She let that settle.
“Moyra has chased Camden’s attention long enough for half the village to notice,” Effie added softly. “And she does not take rejection kindly.”
Anne’s fingers tightened around the cup.
“Ye think she…” the words faltered.
“I think,” Effie said carefully, “too many pieces here smell wrong.”
Anne lowered her gaze, torn between the aching hurt and the fragile thread of hope Effie offered. “I feel a fool for wanting that to be true.”
Effie squeezed her hand. “There is no shame in wanting truth instead of pain.” She rose, already moving with purpose, protective energy gathering in her posture.
“We will not leap to conclusions today. Ye will stay here, warm and fed, until yer heart steadies. And when ye are ready, we will find out what truly happened.”
Anne’s eyes filled again, not with the sharp anguish from before, but with something quieter. Relief. Gratitude. The comfort of not facing it alone.
Effie brushed Anne’s hair gently from her face.
“No one toys with my dearest friend and walks away unchallenged,” she said firmly.