Chapter 31
The events of the previous night drilled into the soft tissue of her brain over and over, until she was a brain-dead zombie.
Cruelty did not go unpunished. He was punishing her as she had done to him weeks ago. Despite the surprisingly sunny day and their luck at securing transportation to the Randall farm, Henry would not look at nor speak with her. Interactions were limited to the bare necessities, and even those were watered down by her following him like a lost puppy, waiting for its owner to command it.
It made her miserable.
Sick-as-a-dog and blue-in-the-face miserable.
Even as they sat in a private booth on the train, Henry kept to himself. Stiff and quiet, he sat near the door with his nose buried in a newspaper. All that was visible through the slit of his hat and the top of the newspaper was his strong nose.
Eva considered blurting it out.
If she did, she wasn’t sure how he would react. Hell, she wasn’t sure how she would react to finally admitting her assault out loud. Maybe it would be better to simply apologize. Maybe she could add a vague excuse to explain her behaviour like: There’s a reason for the way I reacted, but I can’t tell you yet,or, I care for you, but I’m still trying to figure out some stuff.
She sighed.
Who was she kidding? As long as she delayed her secret, it would continue to ruin everything.
A knock rapped on the door of the cabin.
Henry lowered his paper to nod at the ticket master sliding open the door.
“Good morning to you both,” the ticket master said with a jovial smile. “I hope we are doing well on this fine sunny day?”
“Quite well, thank you,” Henry said curtly.
The ticket master peered at Eva. “And the lady?”
“I’m fine,” she said. The words barely made it out of her throat.
“Happy to hear. May I see your tickets, please?”
Henry produced both tickets and handed them to the ticket master. The man punctured them with a small metal hole-puncher, returned them to Henry and wished the couple a pleasant day.
The door slid shut.
Henry’s newspaper flicked open in a flash of white.
Suppressing a groan, Eva drew into herself. The urge to plug in her headphones and listen to music came, but she couldn’t because she was in the nineteenth century. No one walked around plugged into unnecessarily expensive phones.
The countryside passed by in a blur of faded colours. As the train slowed and stopped at an approaching platform, a vast valley opened. A lonely white inn nestled in the foothills of commanding burnt-red slopes.
Her stomach sank.
She tried to look away but couldn’t. Flashes appeared of the night she escaped from her attackers and ran into the moorland. A shocking fear gripped her. A remembrance of terror, darkness, the stench of cigarette breath, the tearing pain in her muscles as she fought back, the complete and utter hopelessness of coming out of that moment alive…
What had they done to her?
Why had they drugged her? Was it to prevent her from fighting back during a beating? Or to assault her lifeless body?
Sweat broke out across her back and forehead. The touch of her jacket upon her skin suffocated her. She wanted to remove it, and yet she froze in fear. With her gaze glued on the inn, another flash came, this time of the man she had stabbed with a shard of glass.
Her eyes welled up with tears.
Did you kill someone? Again?
Why hadn’t she remembered that detail until now? Dizzy, she shook her head. What were memories and what were the twisted truths invented by her shattered mind? Another stream of terror swept through her, filled with more visions of blood and pain.
Then came the taste of laudanum strong on her tongue. Its sickly-sweet scent permeated the air. Panicked, she looked around the cabin. It’s in your head. That’s what they drugged you with. But it wasn’t. The scent was too strong, as if someone had opened a bottle of it under her nose.
She must have made a noise because Henry’s gaze snapped to hers.
An irrational sickening anger flooded her chest.
He narrowed his eyes. “Have I done something else to offend you?”
“It smells like laudanum,” she said.
He lowered the paper. His expression was as if she had slapped him. “I beg your pardon? Are you trying to further humiliate me, or do you sincerely believe I have no blazing self-control?”
“But I can smell it and taste—”
She realized she was experiencing memory-induced scents and tastes. A symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. Turning back to the sight of the inn, she swallowed away the distinct bitterness.
Don’t you remember being strapped down by your arms? Don’t you remember your attacker forcing you to drink from a bottle? Don’t you remember his name as he threatened to beat you to death?
“Vic,” she whispered.
That was his name. She had remembered it after all. All this time, it was her brain not wanting to acknowledge it. Instead, it had filled in the blanks and inserted Henry as the monster because he was the only one she could blame.
“What did you say? Whose name did you utter?” Henry said.
“Never mind”—she stood in a panic—“forget this. Forget all of this.”
Severe anxiety propelled her to the door.
Setting aside his newspaper, Henry stood. His arms found their way around her shoulders, pulling her close.
Her muscles froze.
“I’m here, Eva,” he whispered softly. “You’re all right; you’re safe.”
A sob of relief escaped her lips as she allowed herself to fall onto his warm chest.
They fell back onto the bench with her on his lap. She heard him opening her bag. He pulled the tartan blanket over her trembling body, creating a cocoon of warmth.
She couldn’t stop the tears from coming.
Last night, she had wanted to open herself up to Henry. She thought she was ready for it. She thought by forgiving him, she had moved on. But when she felt his raw desire, saw his blue eyes, she couldn’t go on. In that moment, she was reliving her nightmare. She had to tell him. She couldn’t wait until he was fully recovered. If she didn’t do it soon, it would continue to eat her alive from the inside out, preventing her from ever reaching him again.
When her crying subsided, she reached for his hand. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
He inhaled and promptly exhaled. His free hand brushed hair from her sticky forehead, his fingers soft against her burning skin.
“I know,” he said quietly. “Tell me when you are ready.”
***
Except for the early autumnal colour changes, the Randall farm was unchanged since her departure several weeks ago. Even amid the looming uncertainty after her evening with Henry, a twinge of excitement bloomed in her heart. She jumped from the carriage, made a dash to the front porch and abruptly stopped.
She peered over her shoulder.
Henry stood by the roadside, holding his suitcase. An odd expression marked his face; nervous, tired and yet content, like he was happy to be witnessing what he saw.
She approached him. “We never discussed how I’d introduce you.”
“As a cousin,” he said.
“A cousin?”
“Yes, a distant cousin escorting you back to London from Edinburgh.”
She nodded. “Phoebe will most likely stick you in my shed for the night, and I’ll sleep with the children.”
“Naturally,” he said softly.
“Naturally,” she repeated.
His jaw set. Then, his eyes flicked to something behind her.
“Eva?” Abe’s voice shouted loudly. “Eva? Is that you?”
She spun around.
Abe held a bundle of chopped wood. His eyes sparkled with joy and his smile widened. The wood fell to the ground as he rushed to embrace her.
“Ma’s going to be delighted you’ve returned. She’s been missin’ you a whole bunch,” Abe said.
“I missed you all too. Have you received my letters?” Eva said, squeezing Abe tightly.
“Yes! Lewis has been reading them to the family.”
Her brows raised. “Has he?”
“His stuttering has even got better. You were right about the reading thing.”
“That makes me so happy. Abe, I want you to meet my cousin, Henry. He’s escorting me back to London.”
Abe wiped his hand across his shirt and held it out. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Abraham Randall.”
“Henry Asheford,” Henry said, taking Abe’s hand in his. “And the pleasure is all mine.”
The front door burst open and out came a rush of people. First, Ceci in a flurry of excited screams. She shouted Eva’s name as she bunny-hopped down the porch steps. Lewis followed, wearing the largest gap-toothed smile. And then Phoebe came out, wearing an apron, shouting about her sweet summer child as she hurried down the steps.
Without hesitation, Phoebe folded Eva into her arms.
“Have you been eating proper? How are your ankles? We’ve received your letters and all the stories you’ve told have been quite the entertainment at the Randall household,” Phoebe said.
“Everything has been more than fine,” Eva said with a laugh. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’m so glad to see you,” Phoebe said, breaking away from their hug. “Let me get a good look at you. Is that a new skirt? You’re lookin’ healthy.”
“Bought it the second day I left the farm. After what happened in the village, I decided to listen to your advice.”
Phoebe pinched Eva’s cheek. “How often did I tell you that men aren’t ready for audacious, pants-wearing women?”
Eva turned to look at Henry, who was distracted by Lewis.
Standing still before him, the boy stared silently. Henry’s eyes sparkled with recognition as he crouched and looked Lewis straight in the face.
“I believe we have met before,” Henry said.
Eva placed a hand on Lewis’s shoulder. “Lewis, do you know my cousin, Henry?”
Lewis nodded slightly.
Henry smiled. “I am pleased to see you have found a wonderful loving home. And this must be your sister?”
Unbothered, Ceci approached Henry and held out her hand. “Hello, Henny. My name is Ceci, I am four years old, I come from Missipi and I like daisies.”
Phoebe laughed. “No, child, you come from London, not Mississippi.”
“And I come from Cornwall. Do you know where that is?” Henry said, his smile expanding.
Ceci flashed an uncertain glance at Phoebe.
As Phoebe proceeded to explain where Cornwall was, Lewis tugged on Eva’s hand.
Eva crouched down. “Yes, Lewis?”
“That’s the man who gave me money,” Lewis whispered into her ear. “The one whose pocket watch I b-broke.”
A peculiar pain crashed through her chest. Surely her heart was too small to contain the rush of emotion; too weak to endure the shock of their past catching up with them. Henry’s act of kindness had directly led to her rescue. From what she understood, he had given Lewis money days before she had appeared in 1881. How could something done before her existence impact her life so profoundly? It was as if the universe knew she would soon arrive in this world. As if it were setting up the pieces to fall into place. As if it were meant to be.
“You must be Mr. Asheford,” Phoebe said.
Henry stood and held out a hand. “Please, call me Henry, and you must be Mrs. Randall. I have heard so much about you and—”
Phoebe threw her arms around him.
Taken aback, a brief glimpse of uncertainty flashed across Henry’s face.
“Thank you,” Phoebe said to Henry. “If you hadn’t done what you did that day, the children would have never known love. Are you hungry?”
“Will you be serving sausage gravy and biscuits?” Henry said. As always, he was too humble to relish in his good deeds. “I have heard magnificent things about that dish.”
“You flatter me so! Maybe tomorrow for breakfast. This evening is fried chicken.”
Eva’s eyes widened. “Fried chicken? Oh, my God.” She placed her hand in the crook of Henry’s elbow. “Henny, you’re in for a treat.”
They entered the Randalls’ home. It smelled of wood and freshly baked bread. Eva gave Henry a tour around the three-bedroom farmhouse. She showed him everything – where they sat around the fire playing music, the back porch where she sat with Phoebe in the late evenings, the garden with the pigs and ducks, and lastly, her shed.
The children had trotted around them the entire way. As Henry stepped into the small, unchanged space, Eva asked the children to help Phoebe with dinner.
Henry closed the door after them and looked around. “This is where you slept?”
“And recovered.”
He sat upon the bed. “Hmm, charming.”
She crossed her arms. “Are you being sarcastic?”
He peered up with a tight-lipped smile. “Not at all. I sincerely think the place charming. Good for the soul.”
She approached the bed, sat next to Henry and gave him a sly smile.
“There’s a menacing look on your face,” he said. “Did you imagine every scenario in which to kill me in this bed?”
“Amongst other things, yes.”
“And you settled upon a pitchfork.”
She let out a tiny laugh, then took hold of his hand. “Listen. I know what you did for the children. What’s more, Lewis was the one who found me in the valley.”
He blanched.
She stared at him, admiring the million emotions flashing across his face.
“Our actions have consequences, but that doesn’t mean they’re all bad. Thank you, Henny, my knight in shining armour,” she said.
He withdrew his hand. “I certainly hope Henny does not become my nickname. Thank you for telling me. It certainly calms my grief about you being lost.”
She swallowed hard.
That grief would soon magnify at the last hurdle of her story. With a deep inhale, she nodded. She had no choice; she needed to trust he was strong enough.
“Let’s go and eat fried chicken,” she said. “I can guarantee you’ve never tasted anything better.”
They made their way back to the kitchen, which was filled with the glorious smell of frying chicken. At the table, Ceci sat upon Eva’s lap, while Henry occasionally poked the girl’s nose and surprised her with what he called the tickle bug. When the tickle bug struck, Ceci would screech wildly in a fit of giggles.
“We must use our inside voices at the dinner table,” Eva said into the girl’s ear.
“I beg to differ,” Henry mused as he brought up his hands again. “Ladies like Ceci can scream whenever they want.”
“See? Henny says I can,” Ceci said with a grin.
“Henny isn’t always right,” Eva said.
Lewis burst through the back door. “Ceci, come q-quick, a piglet escaped, and Abe is wrangling it.”
With another deafening screech, Ceci jumped off Eva’s lap and skipped to her brother.
“Children, calm down,” Phoebe hollered from the stove. “Dinner is served in half an hour. Wash your hands before coming back to the table.”
Both children bolted outside with a Yes ma and slammed the door.
Eva caught Henry’s gaze.
He smiled broadly for a moment before it faltered into a deeply tired expression. He broke their gaze to straighten the cutlery in front of him.
All Eva’s warmth generated by Henry’s interaction with the children iced over. She wondered what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Since last night, they had barely managed to speak to one another.
“Eva, my dear. You found your way back,” Rich said from the kitchen door, satchel in hand.
As Henry stood, Rich’s brows shot up, his gaze bouncing between Eva and Henry.
“Rich, this is my cousin, Henry Asheford,” Eva said.
“Ah, Mr. Asheford,” Rich said, offering his hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Henry shook Rich’s hand. “And it is my absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Randall. In fact, I must thank you for everything you have done, that you and your wife have done.” He looked at Phoebe, who had approached the table. “Your generosity and unrelenting kindness to Eva has filled me with a happiness I have not known in some time. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Asheford. It was a pleasure having Eva as part of our family for a little while.” Rich looked at Eva. “It pleases me to see your wings have finally mended.”
Eva’s throat squeezed shut.
Her wings had mended. One hurdle remained – to tell Henry about her nightmare. It was the last pesky twig stuck between her feathers, and it needed to be plucked out so she could finally soar. She hoped it wasn’t too late to reach him.