Chapter Nine #2
They walked the path that wound through the gardens, past the bare fruit trees just beginning to show green buds, past the kitchen garden where early vegetables pushed through the soil beneath glass cloches.
Amelia chattered away, pointing at birds, at flowers, at a butterfly that had been fooled into emerging too soon by the unseasonable warmth.
“Look, Mama, a butterfly.”
“I see it. Isn’t it pretty?”
The path began to slope downward. His steps slowed.
He stopped at the top of the path, looking down at the shore below.
The path wound down through sea grass and wild thrift just beginning to show pink buds.
The breeze carried the salt smell of the Channel, sharp and clean. Above them, gulls wheeled and cried.
“Papa, come on.” Amelia tugged at his hand. “Don’t you want to see the waves?”
“In a moment, sweetheart.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Amelia didn’t seem to notice, skipping ahead of him, singing to herself.
Sophia stood near, not touching him but close enough that he could feel her presence. “We don’t have to do this today. We could turn back.”
“No.” He forced himself to take a step forward. “I need to. I want to.”
Sophia’s hand slipped into his free one. “I’m right here. We will do it together.”
He only nodded, letting her lead him down the path until they reached the beach.
Henry stopped, his feet frozen at the edge where grass gave way to pebbles.
The shore stretched before him—gray-white stones smoothed by the endless motion of the sea, rocky outcrops creating tide pools, larger boulders scattered about.
The chalk cliffs rose on either side, not dramatically tall but steep enough, their white faces streaked with gray.
Beyond it all, the English Channel spread gray-blue to the horizon, whitecaps dancing across its surface.
His eyes tracked along the shoreline to the outcrop on the left—the rocks where he’d found her. Where Eleanor’s body had washed up, pale and cold and gone.
“Henry.” Sophia’s voice was soft, her touch light on his forearm. “Do we need to turn back?”
“I cannot. I’ve come this far.” He gestured toward the outcrop. “That’s where I found her. It is difficult not to remember what she looked like—lifeless and pale, all expression stripped from her face.”
“Oh, Henry, it must have been awful. I’m sorry.”
“The strange thing? Eleanor hated the beach. The pebbles, the seaweed, the waves all frightened her. I cannot help but wonder how desperate she must have been to decide to end her life in the sea.” He shook his head.
“I couldn’t come here. All these years I’ve stayed away. Couldn’t bear to look at those rocks.”
“Papa, come see.” Amelia had pulled free and was crouching by a tide pool.
Yes, he must go to her. The child was alive and joyful and completely innocent of the tragedy that had happened on this shore. He forced his feet to move until he reached her.
“What did you find?” Henry asked, crouching next to her.
“A crab.” She pointed into the pool where a small crab scuttled among the rocks and seaweed. “He’s hiding. Is he scared of me?”
“Perhaps a bit. But you’re very gentle, so he’ll see there’s nothing to fear.”
Amelia’s attention wasn’t long on the crab. She darted from discovery to discovery, exclaiming over each find. “This one is so smooth. And this one has stripes. Oh, look at this stick—it’s shaped like a sword.”
Every piece of driftwood was a treasure.
Every smooth pebble worth collecting. Every shell a marvel.
Just as it had been for him and Charlotte and Thomas when they were children.
He’d loved this beach as a boy. They’d spent hours building forts, searching for treasures, racing across the sand until they collapsed breathless and laughing.
Rebecca had loved it too, collecting shells and arranging them in elaborate patterns that the tide would wash away by evening.
But then the ocean had become his enemy. Yet that wasn’t entirely true. Eleanor had walked into the water of her own accord. Because of his mother. Because he hadn’t properly protected her.
“Is she wearing you out?” Sophia asked, coming to stand beside him.
“No, she’s reminding me of all the happy days I spent on this beach. This was my favorite place when I was young. She’s made me remember.”
“Children give us that gift. Watching them, we see the world through their innocent eyes.”
Henry looked at the outcrop again, at rocks that had featured in so many nightmares.
They were just rocks. Covered in barnacles and seaweed, surrounded by tide pools.
The place where he’d found Eleanor’s body, yes.
But also just part of the shoreline. Part of the natural world that had existed long before that terrible day and would exist long after.
“I’ve been so angry,” he said, his gaze still on the rocks. “At my mother, yes. But also at Eleanor for leaving me. At myself for not preventing it. At God for allowing it. At this sea.” He drew in a deep breath of salt air. “But anger doesn’t change anything. It only poisons the one holding it.”
“I have found this to be true,” Sophia said.
“Mama and Papa, come here.” Amelia was jumping up and down near the water’s edge, waving frantically.
They walked over together, their hands brushing with each step until finally Henry just took hers properly, lacing their fingers together. Her hand in his was like a breath of fresh air scented with honeysuckle, sweet and comforting.
“What is it, sweetheart?” Henry asked.
“The biggest shell.” Amelia held up a scallop shell, its ridges perfect, its color a delicate pink-white. “For you, Mama. Because it’s pretty like you.”
Sophia crouched down, accepting the shell with appropriate reverence. “Thank you, love.”
“And this one is for you, Papa.” A darker shell, brown and cream.
“And why is this one for me?” Henry asked.
“Because it’s strong,” Amelia said. “Just like you.”
Henry took it, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “Thank you, Amelia. I’ll treasure it.”
She beamed at them both, then returned to her explorations.
For the next hour, Henry let himself simply enjoy the morning—the warmth of the sun on his face, Amelia’s delighted laughter, Sophia’s calming presence beside him.
He helped Amelia build a small fort from driftwood.
He examined tide pools with her, pointing out tiny fish and sea anemones, collected smooth pebbles that she exclaimed over and then hauled her onto his shoulders.
She squealed with delight, her small hands gripping his hair. “I’m so tall. Look how tall I am.”
Sophia turned from where she’d been examining a tidal pool. “Yes, you are very tall.” The sun behind her turned her hair to gold. The wind caught at her dress, molding it to her slim figure. She was smiling, but there was a vulnerability in her expression, open and unguarded.
Her question echoed through his mind.
Perhaps you could love me just a little?
“Papa, walk please. I want to see everything from up high.”
Henry began walking along the shore, Amelia giggling on his shoulders, Sophia falling into step beside them.
Soon, Amelia began to squirm. “Down. I want down.”
He lifted her off his shoulders and set her gently on the pebbles. She immediately ran to another tidal pool.
Sophia turned to him, and he was struck again by how lovely she was, backlit by the sun, her hair wild from the wind, her dress damp at the hem. He wanted her. In his arms. In his bed.
“What is it?” Sophia asked, clearly reading something in his expression.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. Her skin was so soft under his fingertips. “You take my breath away.”
“I do?” Sophia placed her hand over his, pressing it gently against her cheek. “And is this a good thing?”
“It is a miracle. You are my miracle.”
They stood like that for a moment, the wind carrying the scent of salt and the cries of gulls overhead. Was this what it felt like to awaken from the dead? To suddenly remember the heart that beat in his chest?
Amelia ran up to them, arms full of treasures. “Can we come back tomorrow? Please?”
Henry looked at the beach, wishing he had not stayed away so long.
He’d been right to face it. To see for himself that it was not only the place where Eleanor had walked into the sea, but also a place of many, many good memories.
Times with Charlotte and Thomas he had cherished.
And he was ready to make new memories. With Sophia and Amelia.
More days like this one, when the world seemed less harsh and love seemed possible.
“We can come back whenever you like. As long as your mother says it’s all right.” He glanced at Sophia. She smiled, nodding her head, clearly pleased for him.
As they walked back up the path toward Montrose Manor, Amelia skipping ahead with her collection of shells and driftwood, Henry glanced back at the shore. Goodbye, Eleanor. May you rest in peace.
Then, he turned back to the path toward the manor, and put one foot in front of the other, walking toward the future. And when Sophia’s hand slipped into his again as they climbed the path, he held on tight.