And those still aren’t good reasons to deny August his lesson. It is as if my subconscious is making excuses, which is vexing. I want to give him this lesson. So why am I hesitating?
I shake it off and climb into the passenger seat. Then it’s onto a recap lesson, which gets Edmund groaning again, but August lifts a finger to stop me and then points to everything, naming it and its purpose.
“I was paying attention, Rosie,” he says with only mild reproach.
“I know,” I say. “I am just . . .” I peer out the window. “Out of sorts.”
“Is it a ghost, Mama?” Edmund says.
I smile back at him. “No, it is not a ghost. Not even a pirate one, though I should dearly like to see that.”
“Aunt Miranda says he is very handsome and dashing.”
“I am quite certain he is.”
“Also clever and kind. She says that is even better than handsome and dashing.”
My smile grows. “Your aunt is very wise . . . when she is not filling your head with tragic pirate death scenes.”
I turn back to August. “All right. Let us begin the lesson. Hands on the wheel. We’re stopped on the roadway, which means you only need to drive straight. If we see oncoming cars, you’ll turn very slightly to the left and stop.”
“We haven’t seen any cars yet, which is a good sign, considering how long we’ve been sitting here.”
“That was my intention,” I say. “I was testing the traffic.”
“Wise, just like your sister.”
“I taught her everything she knows. And now I will teach you to drive.”
I give him instructions, which he carries out, and the car rolls forward. He grins, and for a moment, I am seeing his grin for the first time, unable to look away, staring like I had risen from the dark earth to see sunlight for the first time.
August stays at that “excruciatingly slow pace”—as he promised—while he tests the brakes and the steering wheel, getting a feel for the handling. Then, just as I am about to say he can give it a little gas, Edmund leans forward in the car seat.
“Did you hear that, Mama?”
August brakes, bringing the car to a halt. We both listen.
“It sounds like a wail.” Edmund tilts his head. “It must be a ghost. Perhaps it is the pirate.”
“Perhaps.” I put down my window. A blast of cold air rushes in, and I quickly roll it up again as I shiver.
“Shall I stop?” August says.
“No, it’s simply the wind on the moors.”
I instruct him to give the car a little gas, which he does, gradually increasing the speed until we’re nearing the limit. He glances very briefly at me, and his grin stuns me again, until I realize he’s checking my response to his speed. The road is long and straight, and I see no reason why he can’t go just a little faster if he’s comfortable.
He takes it up a notch more. Then the wind howls, shaking the convertible top. Edmund lets out a yelp of surprise. I twist to tell him it’s fine, and the world goes white. One moment, it’s pitch black, and the next, snow blasts the windshield.
August takes his foot off the gas, the car slowing.
“Rosie?” he says carefully. “I can’t see anything.”
“Keep slowing,” I say. “Ease your foot down on the brake, carefully, so we don’t slide. Keep the steering wheel straight. If we stop in the middle of the road, so be it. There hasn’t been another car—”
Lights illuminate the driving snow. A car? Impossible. No one has passed in either direction since we turned down this road.
“Rosie?” August says. “Is that another car?”
I open my mouth to tell him to brake fully and stop here. The oncoming car will see that we’re in distress, and it will either stop or steer around us.
Before I can say a word, the other driver smashes their horn, the blare of it startling August as those oncoming lights fill our car. August swerves left and hits the shoulder. Edmund screams, and the other horn keeps blaring, muffled voices shouting as someone laughs. Our car slams into something, and I smack back against my seat.
I’m out of my seatbelt in a flash. I turn to see August is struggling to get out of his seatbelt. He catches my eye and exhales in relief. Then I scramble out of the car as he twists to check on Edmund.
I yank my seat forward and lean in through the open door.
“I am all right, Mama,” Edmund says in a small, wavering voice. “It was scary, but I am fine.” He looks up at me. “The baby seat was a good idea.”
I hiccup a laugh and lean in to hug him. As I do, the wind cuts through my dress and coat, and snow swirls into the car. I quickly return to my seat and shut the door, instead turning to look back at Edmund that way.
“Everyone is all right?” I ask.
They both agree they are. Shaken but fine. While it had seemed a hard hit, we’d barely been moving at that point.
“Is the car broken?” Edmund asks.
“I hope not,” I say. “Let us see what the damage is, and with any luck, we can be on our way as soon as this storm passes.”
7
We are not going anywhere. The car struck a sign, one warning of low visibility ahead, and I do realize the irony of that. It seems the road dips, and that is how the other vehicle appeared from nowhere. While the damage is minimal—I hope—the engine has cut out and refuses to restart.
After inspecting the car, August and I both climb back in. We shiver as we check on Edmund, who is wide eyed with worry.
“What are we to do?” Edmund says.
“We wait for the storm to end,” I say. “And then we will try again to start the car. If that fails . . .” I glance at August. “We aren’t dressed to spend the night in here.”
“I saw a farm a quarter mile back,” August says. “We could ask for help. If they have horses, they can pull out the car.” He pauses. “Or, I suppose, in this world, one doesn’t pull carriages from ditches using horses.”
“One does not,” I say. “However, the basic principle holds. We can see whether they have a tractor to pull us out. If not, they’re bound to have a telephone, and I can call for a tow truck.”
August pats his pockets. “I have a few pounds on me. I doubt that would be enough to pay the driver.”
“I am hoping they’ll let us be billed,” I say. “If not, I believe I recall my credit card number, and I don’t think I asked William to close it down when he was handling my affairs here.”
“I presume a credit card is a card that allows credit with the bank?”
I smile. “Exactly that. One way or another, we shall get to Thorne Manor. It is Christmas, after all, and I believe we can hope for the kindness of strangers.”
I peer out the window. “It already seems to be letting up. A sudden and inconvenient squall.”
“Does it mean they’ll have a white Christmas?” Edmund asks.
“It may, and so it is a good thing, even if it has inconvenienced us. Now, I propose that you two stay in the vehicle while I walk to the farmhouse.”
August shakes his head. “I will go.”
“I am quite capable of it, August. Also, I am the one who knows this world and its customs . . . and how to use a phone . . . and the number of my credit card.”