Chapter 32
Dinner was delicious, but Henry’s knotted stomach didn’t allow him more than six forkfuls of chicken. After last night’s rejection and this morning’s train ride, there was something on his mind that went beyond their amorous tussle. Not wanting to annoy the family with his sullen mood, he thanked everyone and bid them goodnight. As he stepped outside to wander to the garden shed, the patter of quick footsteps followed behind.
He turned to find Eva.
Wrapped in her tartan shawl, she stood on the last step of the porch. Her eyes were wide and fraught with anxiety.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“I could ask you the same. How are you, really?”
Exhausted. Like he had been ravaged by a monsoon. “I’m simply tired after our journey.”
She hugged herself. “I’d like to talk to you about yesterday. About what happened between us. Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I reacted … for what I said.”
“Let us discuss this tomorrow, please.”
“I never meant to hurt you.”
He swallowed hard. “I know. I promise we’ll talk tomorrow. Sleep well, Eva.”
Several seconds passed as they looked at one another.
The anguish across Eva’s face propelled a yearning pull of sorrow within his chest, a twirling of complicated emotions that nearly forced him to her. It would take two steps, three at most, to reach her. To pull her into the warmth of his chest and tell her he had long since forgiven her…
Stop this.
Fists clenched, he remained in place. His mind was too muddy to make sense of the situation, let alone talk things out after a loving embrace. He needed time to think.
With one last hesitant look, she nodded and turned.
He watched her disappear into the dim orange glow of the Randall home. His chest felt tight. His mind reeled, trying to understand his racing thoughts, but it drew a blank. By the time he sat upon the firm bed, his head ached a fearsome storm. His room was too cold and his collar was annoyingly constricting. Ignoring the chill in the air, he removed his jacket, followed by his trousers, and put on something more fitting for bed.
In the corner of the room was a ceramic washing basin. He grabbed a flannel and scrubbed at his face. With each passing stroke, exhaustion turned his bones into lead and, suddenly, cleaning himself was a tumultuous task. It was no wonder; every week since his blazing wedding had been filled with dramatic highs and the lowest of lows.
And it is hardly over.
Just thinking back on the last few days made him wince. Things between him and Eva were mending. He saw it when she flirted; he heard it when she called him her man; he felt it when they kissed. Their kiss…
He laid a finger on his lips.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t.
A rush of anger sizzled through him. He had been so careful, so painfully careful in his approach. How utterly foolish he had been to believe they could return to their great, romantic love story. Of course, they couldn’t. Everything had changed. He was a married man, his father was presumably on the hunt for him and Eva, his darling Eva, struggled with her own issues – made evident by this morning’s incident on the train.
A strong craving for laudanum lashed at his tongue.
He bit down hard on his teeth. Despite his attempt at self-control, that devil of a drug continued to prod him. It would be unwise to throw himself back into a passionate tryst with a woman who may or may not stay in this world.
That was it.
His stomach twisted at the sudden mental clarity. He tossed the flannel into the ceramic basin and sat on the edge of the bed. Was that not the core of his problem? Eva may or may not stay in this world.
An icy prickle shot down his spine as he thought of all the signs. They were everywhere. Eva staring fondly at pictures of her former life on her phone. The way her face lit up every time she spoke of her past. How her eyes would glow with joy when listening to her music. The look of complete shock when he told her Lottie had the time-travelling device and her consequential brush-off of the subject. It was as clear as day she yearned for her world but did not want to admit it. And since she had yet to decide whether she would stay, he felt as though he walked on eggshells.
With a curse, he buried his face in his palms. Angry tears threatened to spill out. All he wanted was to love her as he had at Asheford Hall. It had been a fleeting moment of pure, blissful freedom. Yet, the disappointing reality was that, despite his desire, he couldn’t force it. He knew that as long as Eva was undecided about her future, he couldn’t freely give her his heart because that would hinder his recovery.
Weeks ago, he promised to never again fall to such depths of deprivation, and if he were to make good on that promise, he had to respect himself. He needed to set strict boundaries. Like him, she needed to come to terms with her troubled past. Furthermore, he wanted her to decide on her fate. To stay in his world or return to hers. He would no longer accept half-measures, empty promises, or what-ifs. His fragile heart could not withstand it. Last night’s rejection was proof enough.
By the time he had settled into bed, two things were clear: one, he would refuse her romantic inclinations until she decided to stay or go. Only if she stayed would he open his heart to her again. And two, if they were truly meant to be, he had to trust that everything would fall into place eventually. Whatever the outcome, this time, it would be her decision, and that gave him a rare sense of peace. With that last thought soothing his rattled mind, he shut his eyes.
He had been standing by the window for what seemed like an eternity, watching the early morning light bask the Randalls’ garden. When the sun peeked over the hill, and he had convinced himself there was nothing to fear about what the day would bring, he left the shed’s quiet sanctity. He had two things to do: thank the Randall family and break the news to Eva about his decision.
As he wandered through the garden, he gazed at the back porch of the Randall family home, wondering what he would say to Phoebe. No act of kindness seemed enough to express his deep gratitude for saving Eva. He hoped a combination of the correct words and monetary compensation would be enough. If he could, he would say thank you for as long as he lived, but that was unrealistic because they had to travel to France within a day or two.
After one last deep breath, he knocked at the back door and was greeted by Phoebe who welcomed him inside.
“Good morning to you, Mrs. Randall,” Henry said with a polite smile.
“You’re up rather early, Mr. Asheford,” Phoebe said, going to the stove where she placed a kettle. “Isn’t that wind nippy? Come in, come by the stove. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“That would be grand, thank you.”
“Please,” she gestured to the dining table. “Have a seat.”
Henry removed his jacket, hung it on one of the wooden chairs and sat. He watched Phoebe as she made tea in silence, then he gazed around the room.
It was a quaint rural space with a large iron stove alight with burning logs. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling’s wooden beams. Handwoven rugs, worn by years of use, covered the hardwood floor. His favourite aspect was the mismatched dishware with its subtle imperfections: chipped rims, crooked handles, faded paint.
A smile tinged his lips. Tucked away in the country amid the hills and valleys, the Randall family lived a quiet life, free of worldly burdens. Nothing was luxurious or perfectly clean. The house and its contents were used repeatedly by busy hands or running feet, a sign of a growing family making a lifetime of memories together.
“You have a lovely home and family,” he said. “I would be fortunate to one day have the same.”
“Surely a man of your stature could come by that dream without too much trouble.”
His lips twitched. “A man of my stature?”
She flashed him a look. “You are an Asheford. We read the London paper.”
“Ah, yes, of course. I suppose I am fortunate in that regard,” he said, tapping his finger on the tabletop.
He was anything but fortunate. Not even being born into wealth could save him from a broken family with shattered memories and crippling loneliness. Of course, the papers would not print that. They’d rather tell fanciful stories of fairy-tale marriages, exuberant weddings and excessive wealth. He shuffled in his seat, eager to change the subject.
“I’d like to talk about Eva,” he said.
“I thought you would want to speak with me in private,” Phoebe said, setting two cups onto the table. She took a seat across from him. “Before you say a word, I must emphasize that not once have I questioned how Eva came to be lost. All I saw was a child on her deathbed, and I did what any Christian would do. I helped a poor soul in need.”
Slightly taken aback by his relief at Phoebe’s words, he relaxed. “You know nothing about her circumstances?” he said.
“Who she is shall remain a mystery. Although, between you and I, that child has an odd way of speakin’ and actin’.”
“I understand your meaning all too well. It’s why I love—” He paused and silently cursed himself.
Phoebe raised a brow. “You can say the words. When it comes to love, I hold no judgment.”
He politely smiled. Even when trying to ignore his feelings for Eva, they still threatened to spill out for the world to see. If he were to make good on his promise, he’d have to be an impenetrable fortress.
“Life is strange, is it not?” she said. “One day you are suffering alone in immeasurable darkness, and the next, your soulmate comes shooting from the sky like a fallen star.”
Her words sent goose prickles down his forearms.
“Indeed,” he said dryly.
“How much do you care for her?”
How bold a question. Was God challenging his vow to keep newly made promises? He cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. “I owe her my life, and for that, no fanciful words could ever describe how much she means to me.”
Phoebe smiled. “I am happy you found one another again.”
“Again?”
“In her early days of recovery, she whispered your name often.”
A coldness slid down his spine.
Phoebe leaned closer. “Have no fear, Mr. Asheford. I never took you for a bad person. In fact, she spoke about you with nothing but endearment.”
He wanted to ask what Eva had said but quickly decided against it. Perhaps it was better not to know. The thought of her being in pain while whispering his name made his heart clench in sadness. He had not been there for her. To some degree, all this had been his fault.
“The poor child was more often dazed by laudanum than she was awake, but I sat with her every night. She does not know that we spoke often about you or about her futuristic world, where a black man became the president of the United States.”
Henry nearly knocked over his cup of tea. “I beg your pardon?”
Phoebe brought her cup to her lips and drank. She set it back onto the table and gave him a gentle motherly smile. “A delusional symptom of too much laudanum.”
“Yes,” he breathed out. “Surely, that must be it.”
Eva had spoken about her future to a woman who had no inkling of her identity. And a black man becoming president? How wonderful. Still, these revelations enforced his troublesome thoughts about Eva yearning for her world.
“She suffered a harrowing few weeks,” Phoebe said.
Henry looked at her. Her habitual gentleness had been replaced by a grave expression.
“I haven’t seen anyone fight that hard for survival since the war,” Phoebe added. “A true soldier, that one.”
Henry nodded. Words evaded him. An uneasy dread spread in his chest, thick and heavy like syrup, forcing his mouth to salivate for laudanum. Clutching his cup, he washed away the craving with tea. He set the cup back onto the table and reached into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a bundle of bills.
“The gratitude I have for your family’s selfless care of Eva is eternal. I thank you.” He gently set the stack of bills on the table and, with two fingers, pushed it toward Phoebe. “Please take this as a small token of my gratitude, for words could never be enough.”
Her deep-brown eyes fell on the pile of notes. “Mr. Asheford, I cannot—”
“You can.”
“We’re not looking for monetary compensation.”
“Please.”
“It’s too much,” she said quietly. “It’s way too much, Mr. Asheford.”
“Please, it is all I have to provide,” he said. “If not for you and Richard, then for the children. For Abraham to become a cheesemaker, for Lewis to buy books and for Ceci to get her fill of sweets and dolls. Eva and I would be pleased for you to accept it.”
Phoebe’s gaze bounced between him and the money. With a hard look, she grabbed the bundle of notes and stared at it. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Eva stepped into the kitchen with Ceci trailing at her skirts.
“She’s had another nightmare,” Eva said.
Ceci cried. “Ma, I had an accident.”
Phoebe stood, stuck the wad of money into her apron and bent down to Ceci. “All is well, darling, sweet child. Come with me, and we shall clean you up,” she said, patting Ceci’s messy head of curls. “Mr. Asheford, Eva, please help yourself to some early breakfast or more tea. I will be a while with the children.”
“Do you need any help?” Eva said.
“Don’t worry yourself. Entertain dear Mr. Asheford, will you?”
Phoebe guided Ceci to her bedchamber. With the thud of a shutting door, Henry and Eva were alone in the kitchen.
He looked at Eva’s sleepy eyes and tousled hair. His chest ached at her perfection. Knowing his newfangled boundaries, he struggled to meet her gaze.
“Good morning,” he said mildly. “How did you sleep?”
“Well enough, and you?”
“Bit nippy, but otherwise yes, I slept well.”
She scrunched up her nose. “I don’t like this awkwardness between us. Will you come on a walk with me?”
As he drank his tea, he observed her over the rim of the chipped teacup. Arms crossed, she watched him with a slight frown, which lit up her hazel eyes with a fierceness reminiscent of their early days at Bondieux House. It was the same stubborn fiery wickedness he had fallen in love with.
You must bury those feelings. Remember your boundaries.
“Demanding as always,” he quipped, ignoring the hard throb in his chest.
The corners of her lips twitched upwards. “Yes, well, this tyrant demands that you finish your tea. She has something important to show you.”