Chapter 18
In her room, Ivy sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her hands to her face.
She didn’t cry. She was beyond crying—past the place where tears could reach, in the dry, clear-eyed numbness of a decision that hurt too much for an ordinary expression of grief.
He won’t change. Not while I’m here. Not while I’m filling the spaces—teaching Jewel, keeping house, playing the harp in the evenings, being the companionship and the stimulation and the connection that makes their isolation bearable.
As long as I’m here, he has no reason to seek any of those things elsewhere.
No reason to take Jewel to town. No reason to let other people in.
I hold up the wall that makes the fortress comfortable, and my very presence is doing the opposite of what he needs.
She dropped her hands and stared at the cheerful curtains Elsie had sewn—the curtains she opened and closed and thought of her new friend’s kindness. At the chest of drawers with the wildflower jar containing the pink shooting stars Jewel had picked for her, now wilting but still bright.
Lately, after her walks with her father, Jewel had begun to bring Ivy small gifts, feathers, or interesting rocks or flowers, which Ivy arranged in the jar or pressed the blooms between the pages of one of her books. The small stones circled base of the jar.
This room had become her space in what felt like her home—the first real home she’d ever had, if she was honest—the first place she’d lived where, except for her sister, she felt not just tolerated but wanted.
I must leave.
The thought was not new. It had lurked in the back of her mind since the visit from their friends. But she’d pushed away the decision, not even allowing the possibility to fully form. She’d hoped that time or patience or the slow, steady pressure of love would change Torin’s mind.
She knew now that time and small steps weren’t enough.
Torin’s fear was not a wall that could be worn down by water.
He’d built defenses into the bedrock of grief and trauma and abandonment—deep and ancient and fused to the bones of who he was.
She knew now his walls would not erode. They would have to be broken.
And the only force strong enough to hopefully break past his fears was her absence.
If I leave, then he'll have to face the emptiness.
And if I stay...
If she stayed, then Jewel would continue to learn.
Would spell more words, count higher, read simple sentences.
Would grow and thrive within the confines of their small world.
And Torin would continue to love them both from behind his walls, and the walls would never come down, because there would be no reason for him to let them.
My leaving will break her heart. Jewel won't understand. She’ll think I abandoned her. She’ll cry, and the sound will haunt me forever.
Ivy pressed a fist against her breastbone, where the pain was sharpest.
But this isn’t about today. The decision is about the rest of Jewel’s life.
The years she’ll spend hidden away if nothing changes.
The friendships she’ll never have. The hymns she’ll never sing in a church full of people.
The world she’ll never know exists, because her father is too afraid to show it to her.
The risk is worth my pain. Because the alternative—a lifetime of comfortable, loving imprisonment—is worse.
She stood and moved to the writing desk by the window.
Her hands were steady as she pulled out two sheets of paper and her pencil—steadier than she would have expected, given that what she was about to do would demolish the life she’d built and break the hearts of the two people she loved most in the world.
She didn’t know if Cora was home or away on a nursing case. She might not receive a letter for days. Ivy couldn’t for long. Every day she stayed was another day his comfortable fortress stood.
Brian. Brian was always at the newspaper office. Brian would receive a letter the same day it was delivered. And Brian—steady, perceptive, not-a-grump Brian—would understand, without requiring a lengthy explanation, why she needed to leave and why her departure must happen quickly.
She wrote the first letter with the focused efficiency of a woman who couldn’t afford to let emotion slow her hand.
Dear Mr. Bly,
I write with urgency, not knowing if Cora is currently at the Bellaires’.
I find that I can no longer continue in my position as Jewel’s governess.
The reasons are complicated, and I will explain more in person.
But the short of it is this: my presence at Three Bend Lake has become an impediment to the very thing I came here to accomplish.
As long as I remain, Torin has no reason to bring Jewel into the wider world, and I have come to believe that the wider world is what they need most.
Will you please come for me as soon as possible? Please don't send word ahead. If Torin knows I’m planning to leave, he might try to persuade me to stay, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to refuse.
I trust your discretion and your judgment, and I apologize for the imposition.
Your friend,
Ivy Jackson
She folded the letter, wrote Mr. Brian Bly, Sweetwater Springs Herald Newspaper Office on the front in clear, firm letters, and sealed it with a drop of candle wax.
The second letter was shorter—a note, really, written on a half sheet.
Dear Inga,
Would you kindly deliver the enclosed letter to Mr. Brian Bly at the newspaper office in Sweetwater Springs? It is urgent, and I would be grateful if you could take it directly there rather than leaving it at the train depot with the regular mail.
Thank you for your kindness, and please give my love to Krista and Elsabe.
Enclosed is a penny for the extra trouble.
Warmly, Miss Jackson
She fished a penny from the small purse in her valise—the purse that held the savings she'd accumulated from Torin's wages, money she'd barely spent because there was nothing buy. At least, I can afford to be without employment for a while.
She folded the coin into the note. She slipped both letters and the coin into a larger envelope and wrote Inga Swensen on the outside.
Later, when Torin wouldn’t notice, she’d leave the envelope on the little table on the porch.
The girl checked every morning. She would find the letter and deliver it, probably after school.
Maybe Brian would act at once. Maybe a day or two would pass before he’d drive up. But she had no doubt he’d come.
Ivy set the envelope on the writing desk and stared—this ordinary rectangle of paper that would end her life at Three Bend Lake and begin whatever came next.
From down the hall, she could hear Jewel’s voice, drowsy and content, murmuring to Brave as she drifted awake.
The child often had conversations with the cat before she got out of bed, sometimes dozing off again.
“Bave, I played Ring Round Wrow-see. Poc-et full pos-ee. Kis-ta held my hand. Kis-ta is my fwend.”
Ivy pressed her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. Oh, Jewel, I so want you to have friends.
I'm doing this for you, sweet girl. Even though you won't understand. Even though you’ll cry, and the sight will break me. I'm doing this because you deserve the world, and I can’t give you what you need from behind these walls.
I hope—I pray—that someday, you’ll understand and forgive me.
Jewel’s voice drifted off.
She must have fallen back asleep. Ivy remained at the desk until the light shifted and the shadows lengthened and the afternoon turned golden, listening to the sounds of the house settling around her—the creak of logs, the whisper of wind in the eaves, the soft, rhythmic purring of a cat curled against a sleeping child.
Then she picked up her harp and played. Softly. A lullaby without words. A farewell she wouldn’t yet speak aloud.
The next morning, Ivy slept in. She’d stayed up late packing, having acquired so many treasures in her time here.
Every feather, stone, and dried flower brought back a memory of Jewel.
Setting each one into the trunk took a little piece of her heart.
She had to continually remind herself that leaving was ultimately best for the child.
She could only hope and pray her gamble paid off.
When she finally went to bed, she remained awake, dry-eyed, and numb, formulating a plan for her future. She’d go to Cora and knew she’d be taken in. But she couldn’t impose for long on the Bellaires and Nortons.
Finally, exhausted, Ivy slept. When she first awoke, she lay in peace, drowsily listening for the sounds of Torin and Jewel. But the house remained silent.
Then the memory of last night hit her. What am I doing? I can’t leave them. I need to give Torin a chance, see what the next few days bring before I make a final decision.
With a burst of panic, she catapulted out of bed. In her haste, she almost tripped on the hem of her nightgown.
She hurried to get dressed. Without first combing out the long tresses, she twisted her braid into a bun, stabbing in hairpins. Then, not bothering with her shoes, she ran barefoot out of the room.
Rushing to the front of the house and out the door, she saw the little table was empty. Inga must have already been here and left, taking the letter. Her heart sinking, Ivy realized that she’d have to follow through with her decision.
Although maybe Brian won’t come for a few days, and Torin will relent. Brian will be so pleased about Torin’s willingness to open up his and Jewel’s social circle that he won’t be too peeved with me for making him drive up here for nothing.
Am I foolish to hope?
After donning stockings and shoes and properly restyling her hair, Ivy used the privy and then went to the kitchen to wash up. Her stomach too tight for heavy food, she made herself eat a bowl of porridge and drink a cup of tea.