In her own defense, Beth had tried a dozen times over the last week to have an earnest conversation with her grandmother. But each time she’d found Mamm-wynn alone and slid to a seat beside her, each time she’d opened her mouth, Mamm-wynn had stayed her with a request for this or that. Or with a question. Or, two days ago, with a clear, serious, “Not yet, Elizabeth Grace. You’re not ready yet.”
Not yet. It wasn’t the first time in her life that she’d been set to offer an apology and Mamm-wynn hadn’t allowed it. Because her grandmother was wise enough to know that Beth would say the words that needed saying without necessarily meaning them.
But she’d thought she had meant it, the very moment she saw that note Ollie had left her a week ago, telling her Mamm-wynn had fallen ill. She’d been sorry. Sorry all her efforts hadn’t done what she’d hoped. Sorry, so very sorry, that the people she loved best had been so worried. Sorry they were paying the price for her actions. So why, then, wouldn’t Mamm-wynn let her say so two days ago? She’d been racking her brain and examining every facet of her heart to try to see whatever it was that her grandmother had seen. And she’d come up empty.
Sunshine greeted them as they stepped out into the back garden, and birds trilled their greeting. Beth expected Mamm-wynn to move to one of the chairs by the table, but instead she meandered toward the roses climbing up a trellis. Beth kept pace beside her and stole a sidelong glance at the family matriarch. “Am I allowed to apologize yet?”
The corners of Mamm-wynn’s lips curved up, but only slightly. She kept her gaze on the roses. “Have you determined why you need to be apologizing?”
A huff slipped its way from Beth’s lips. She might as well be five years old again. “For worrying you and Ollie. For going off alone without telling anyone. For bringing all this trouble down on our heads.”
When her grandmother had first opened her eyes again after that terrifying bout of whatever-it-was that left her unconscious for days, they’d looked clouded. Vague. Pained. That had cleared, yes, but there’d still been something worrisome in them. Something . . . distant. Not rooted to the here and now.
But in the present, her gaze cut through her just like it always had, twin blue arrows. And her voice had nothing tremulous about it either. “Try again, Elizabeth Grace.”
Beth sighed and lifted her arms. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, I’m sorry for it. I promise you I am. And I also promise I’ll not do it again.”
Mamm-wynn chuckled as she reached out to touch one of the silky petals of a rose. “You don’t know what it was, but you’ll not do it again?”
She’d always hated having to apologize. She was no good at it—well, she was better than her cousin Mabena, who just refused to do it altogether, but when compared to Oliver and Morgan, she was all stumbles and new frustration. “Won’t you just tell me?”
“You’re the one who must do the telling.” Mamm-wynn looked over at her again and this time held her gaze. “And you know exactly what I mean. This isn’t over, is it? That silverware hiding in your grandfather Gibson’s foundation—is that all the treasure for which dear Emily’s family will be searching?”
Beth’s throat went dry and tight. Leave it to Mamm-wynn to somehow know the one thing Beth had still been hiding. The one thing she didn’t want to share with everyone else quite yet. “Unlikely.”
Mamm-wynn’s delicate white brows arched. “Why, then, have you said nothing more to your brother and the others?”
Though Beth didn’t dare to look away, she’d have liked to. Her back went stiff. It’s mine, she wanted to say. My search. My work. Sharing had never been a strength of hers—but for good reason. Growing up the youngest and the only girl meant her ideas were constantly dismissed by her two brothers. This, though . . . she’d poured too much of herself into it. Too much time, too much energy. She’d taken such huge risks, spent so many hours on it. If the others saw it all and dismissed it or called it inconsequential or incomplete . . .
But that wouldn’t be what Mamm-wynn was concerned with. Not the treasure hunt, not the stacks of notes and books hiding even now in her desk drawer. No, she’d be concerned with the relationships Beth had injured with her secrecy—and the ones that may be injured still more if she didn’t rectify it.
Another huff puffed out. But the frustration melted into regret in the next second. “I shouldn’t have kept it all from you and Ollie. I was selfish. And then afraid—so afraid.”
“There now, dearover.” Mamm-wynn rested a hand on Beth’s cheek. Her knuckles had knotted over the years, and her skin was soft and wrinkled. But she cupped Beth’s cheek in just the way she’d always done. “You’re forgiven.”
“Am I?” It made her chest go even tighter. “Even by Ollie?”
Her grandmother gave her a small smile. “I daresay his frustration with you has been greatly tempered by the fact that your poor choices led him to his dear Libby. But perhaps you ought to ask him, just to make sure. After.”
“After?” But she knew what Mamm-wynn meant. After she came clean to the others and confessed that it was unlikely the Scofields would let this rest. Because they knew, as she did, that there were still many more clues to be followed. Many more pieces of treasure to try to find.
Her shoulders sagged, but only for a second. Then she mustered a smile and squared them again. “All right. I’ll go and tell them now, shall I?”
Mamm-wynn’s eyes twinkled. “You always were my favorite.”
Exactly what she needed to make her laugh—given that Mamm-wynn said that to all of them—and shake off the uncertainty. She leaned over to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “I love you, Mamm-wynn. You can’t know how glad I am that you’re back on your feet.”
“Well, I certainly can’t be leaving you all yet—you need me far too much.” She winked, grinned. “I had a good talk with the Lord about it, and I think He agrees.”
Beth prayed He did. She and Ollie had said good-bye to so many family members in the last few years—she couldn’t bear doing it again. Not yet. Not now.
Drawing in one more rose-fragrant breath, Beth turned to the house and marched toward it, then followed the voices still coming from the dining room. For a moment, she just stood there and watched them—this unexpected collection of people brought together because of her. She’d thought she was on a solitary adventure. How had it ended up so crowded?
Beth sighed. And cleared her throat, forcing a smile. “Mamm-wynn and I agreed that it was time I tell you all of . . . of everything else I’ve found.”
Her brother’s brows knit together as he looked up at her. “Everything else?”
She winced at the way he said it. “You don’t really think one crate of silverware is Mucknell’s entire haul, do you?”
Oliver opened his mouth, clearly ready to say that he had, but Lord Sheridan sprang to his feet first. “Obviously not! That is . . . well, I know I’m still here because there must be more.”
Bully.
She kept her gaze on Ollie, watching the emotions that flowed over his face like a current. His expression settled on determination. Or perhaps resignation. “Well. If there is more, we should see it.”