“There are things I have to do—”
“Things?” I echoed.
He squirmed. “Debts that must be repaid.”
“Debts?” I persisted stubbornly. I’d thought we were past his vague answers and half-formed explanations. I’d thought he’d finally begun to open more of himself up to me. I’d thought—
I’d thought a lot of things.
He raked his fingers through his hair, releasing a growl of frustration. “There are some things I can’t share with you.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you!” The words exploded from his chest like cannon fire. “Because I find myself falling in love with you, and I can’t bear the thought that I’d say something to cause you to think less of me.”
“You couldn’t.”
“I could. So easily. And I don’t want to.” His eyes closed as he grabbed at the bridge of his nose, warding off a headache.
“Why do you always do this?” I heard myself ask before I was even aware the words wanted to come out. “You can be so light and charming, but whenever something real comes up, whenever you have to admit a truth about yourself, you run away and hide behind these responses that don’t mean anything. It’s infuriating. I feel like I don’t know anything about you, Whitaker,” I said, keenly aware of the irony. “Not anything real. Not anything of substance.”
“Come with me,” he tried again. “Bring Sadie. Bring Merry. Hell, bring the bees if you can. Just come with me. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Later. I promise. Please, Ellerie.”
“No. No later. Tell me now. Tell me one true thing, right now.”
His eyes darted about, as if he was fighting a rising current and searching for anything to grab on to for help.
“I can’t,” he finally mumbled. “I can’t.”
“Of course.” I pushed back a lock of hair, my hands trembling.
What a waste.
What a stupid, stupid waste.
All of the fantasies and dreams I’d yearned for. All of the hopes I’d pinned upon him. Upon us. Upon a future together. I wanted to set fire to them all, burn out every idiotic notion that had ever dared to unfurl within me.
Shame flushed my cheeks, staining them hot.
Why couldn’t I have seen through his charm? How could I have overlooked such glaring faults, allowing his evasions to seem mysterious and romantic when they were nothing more than a ruse to cover up a past I would never get to know? You couldn’t get close to a person like that. You couldn’t build a life on half-truths and artifice.
Every affectionate thought I’d ever had for him filled me with deep regret.
I’d been such a lovesick fool.
“When will you leave?” I asked, mustering as stoic a mask as I could. Better to end this conversation quickly, stamp out whatever was left of our friendship like a campfire left to smolder too long.
He looked disappointed, as though I’d asked a different question than the one he’d wanted to answer. “Soon, I imagine. If…if you change your mind…” He let out a sigh. “Please change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
Stepping outside, I hoped I’d be able to breathe easily once more, but the wide expanse of sky seemed to press in, crushing me with its insistent blue.
Ezra strode across the yard, heading to the barn. He waved as he saw us but continued on his way. I was grateful he didn’t stop to chat.
“Are you…Do you feel comfortable having them in the house?” Whitaker asked, watching Ezra pull open the barn doors with a wide swing.
“Do I—what?”
“Something has never set right with me about him.”
“Why don’t you go on and forget all about it, then?” I snapped. I couldn’t bear to have a conversation with him now, acting as if everything was normal, acting as though he still cared.
“Ellerie.” His tone was too warm, too familiar.
“Don’t.”
He sighed. “I just…What’s he doing out there?”
“What does it matter?”
He shrugged. “You said the cow was dead, so he’s not milking. Your garden looks planted, so he doesn’t need any tools. What’s he doing?”
“He keeps their supplies there. What was left after their wagon was ransacked.”
“Like what?” he persisted. “What’s out there that couldn’t stay in the house?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re just using Uncle Ezra to get out of talking about us.”
“Uncle Ezra,” he echoed with a strange inflection.
I turned to face him.
There was a moment when I thought he was going to reach out and take me in his arms. I’d almost welcome it. We’d embrace and I’d change my mind and the whole mess would be put behind us.
But he stayed still, feet rooted to the ground beneath him, his eyes impossibly sad.
“Goodbye, Ellerie Downing.”
He didn’t wait for my response; he trekked toward the pines and slipped into their dark grasp without a word from me.
I turned on shaky legs and let them carry me back to the farmhouse. I made it up the front steps before sinking into sobs.
“We gather here today to mourn the passing of Ruth Anne Mullins and to formally commit her remains to the earth,” Parson Briard intoned, looking over the congregation with woeful, watery eyes. “Though her sudden departure saddens us, we rejoice in knowing her spirit has been freed of its terrestrial shackles and reunited with her beloved Stewart in the Kingdom of Heaven, where they shall worship before our Lord and Savior forevermore.”
Throughout the church, noses sniffed and tears were pressed into beautifully decorated handkerchiefs—most of them embroidered by Old Widow Mullins herself. She’d had the loveliest needlework in all the Falls, having spent most of her days hunched over a wooden hoop. Her crooked fingers would dance through her supplies, taking obvious pleasure in the creations. The skeins of collected thread were so colorful and dazzling, her kit resembled more a treasure chest than a sewing box.
I wondered who would inherit it, now that she was gone.
Winthrop, probably, though I couldn’t picture him knowing what to do with it.
I had often tagged along with Sam when he’d play at the Mullinses’ house. Winthrop’s parents had died young, leaving him to his grandmother’s care. He’d had little patience for her gentler arts, and she, well into her seventies, hadn’t had the energy to race after children. Their house had always been full of laughter and too many neighborhood boys, drawn to Winthrop and his endless supply of mischief.