Effie stared at him, an expectant, almost fearful light in her eyes.
He sighed and went on, “The truth is, your mam suffered from a deep depression of spirits. The doctor called it hysteria. He tried and failed to treat her successfully. Due to her condition, and the abuse she had experienced, she pulled away from us both, especially during the last year or so of her life.”
“But why? It wasna our fault.”
“I know. Unfair as it is, I think she distanced herself because ye reminded her of Mr. McKay. And she retreated from me, because among other things, she’d had two miscarriages and didna want to risk losing another child.”
“Did she? She never said.”
“She refused to speak of it, and I ... Well, ye were still so young, I wasna sure what to tell ye.”
He swallowed and said, “But I want ye to hear me, Effie. Even though she didna fully love us does not mean you’re not worthy of love.You are. Completely.”
Her chin trembled. “That abusive man was my father.”
“I know, love. I know. But ye are not him, nor to blame for his cruelty.”
“For so long, I tried to make him—and her—love me....” Effie’s voice broke.
He nodded. “I know. Too well. I thought I could make her happy—that in time, she would come to love me. I failed.”
Effie shook her head. “You were good to her. Good to us both. And we treated ye shabbily in return.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t. I always thought that if I had tried harder after he died, been a better daughter ...”
“No, lass. She was ill. It wasna your fault. Nor mine, though it took some time to realize that.”
“I want to believe ye.”
“Then do.”
“All right.” Effie rose abruptly.
He looked at her uncertainly. “All right, what?”
“You come along. The three of us. I’m ready to visit her grave.”
Sarah rose and said, “I need not intrude further.”
But Effie took her hand again and held fast. “You too.”
They went to the hall closet and began gathering their outer things. Mr. Gwilt appeared and asked if he might be of any assistance.
Sarah said, “Please let my mother know the three of us are going for a walk.”
“Will do, miss. It’s cold out there. Be sure and dress warm.”
Together the three walked through a quiet, late Christmas afternoon. Mr. Henshall carried a lantern, as darkness fell early in the wintertime.
When they reached the churchyard, he led the way to his wife’s grave, its granite headstone topped by a Celtic cross.
Effie appeared to brace herself as she stepped forward and stood before the headstone.
She stared down at the inscription and said, “How strange to see her name like that, in stone.Katrin McKay Henshall.His name and yours together.Beloved Wife and Mother.Did ye love her?”
With a quick glance at Sarah, he nodded. “I did.”
