“So did I.” Effie’s voice quavered. “Forever in our hearts? Forever breaking our hearts, ye mean.”
He shook his head. “She will always be a part of us, Effie. As hard as it is, we must try not to let the memories, the disappointments,continue to hurt us. It’s not easy to forgive someone who should have loved ye unconditionally, who should have cared for ye and cherished ye, but I hope ye will.”
Effie drew a long inhale and released a frosty breath. She faced the headstone again and said more softly, “Mam, it’s me, Effie. Your daughter.” She gave a rueful laugh.
“I know ye are not here. Not really. Still I had to come and face ye. I know ye didna love me ... and that really hurts. Like a gapin’ hole in my soul that won’t heal. But it’s Christmas and wherever ye are now, I forgive ye. I hope ye are with God, and I hope ye are at peace.”
Mr. Henshall put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Well done, lass. I don’t know why God allowed her to suffer, and ye as well—fallen world, broken people.... I don’t know. But she is at peace now, thanks to our merciful Savior.”
Effie nodded, clearly reassured.
“And please never doubt ye are loved. Deeply. I love ye, and your aunt and grandfather love ye.”
Sarah added gently, “And so do I.” And she realized in that moment that she truly did love the girl.
Tears filled Effie’s eyes, and she leaned into him, still holding Sarah’s hand.
Callum held the girl close to his side, then looked up at Sarah, their gazes knitting together in understanding and so much more.
When they returned to the house, Effie seemed relieved and much happier. She went up to the attic with Georgiana, Cora, and a few others to rehearse their performance for the next day. Mr. Henshall promised to join them as soon as he could feel his fingers.
Sarah and Callum sat together before the library fire to warm up. Mr. Gwilt brought them tea, and then he too went up to the attic, having been recruited once again to take part in Georgiana and Effie’s play.
After a few minutes of companionable silence, Sarah said, “You and Effie have suffered a great deal. I wonder how you manage to remain sanguine and hopeful.”
He considered. Sketched a shrug. “I suppose that comes from faith, and perhaps from being raised by cheerful, loving parents.”
Remembering the “charming neighbor” his sister-in-law mentioned, Sarah said, “You once told me your first marriage had left you disillusioned about the state. That you had decided to be cautious, and not hasty in forming another attachment.”
He nodded. “We Scots are prone to caution, aye. After Katrin, I was reluctant to risk my heart again.” He leaned forward, bridging the gap between their chairs and taking both of her hands in his. “But I’m through being cautious. Scots are known to be forthright too. So if ye think I am hesitant where you’re concerned, let me make something clear. I know how I feel about ye, lass. I am only holding back out of respect for your feelings and your situation here.”
Sarah swallowed and when the tension between them grew uncomfortable, she attempted to divert the conversation. “I hope I’m not giving away a secret, but Effie mentioned she doesn’t like bearing her father’s name and that her aunt wants her to use her own surname—Katrin’s maiden name—instead.”
A shadow crossed his face. “I know. Once I realized how much Effie disliked her surname, I asked her to adopt mine, to allow me to be a real father to her, in name as well as relationship. She refused.”
“Perhaps she will change her mind.”
“I hope so. I am a patient man. I am giving her time and biding mine, making a point not to pressure her. Though it is my dearest wish that one day she’ll do me the honor of taking my name.”
Sarah again became aware of the imploring way he was looking at her. The appeal shimmering in his wide green eyes.
Were they still talking about Effie ... or about her?
THIRTEEN
Here’s a day!—The Ground covered with snow! What is to become of us?
—Jane Austen, letter to her sister
On Boxing Day, they gave Mrs. Besley, Jessie, Lowen, Mr. Gwilt, and Bibi Cordey small gifts as well as time off, as was customary the day after Christmas.
Sarah worked longer hours than usual in the kitchen to fill in for the cook and for another special reason as well.
Ever since he had joined their staff the previous year, Mr. Gwilt had taken over the majority of Sarah’s onerous bookkeeping tasks—verifying invoices against orders, paying bills, summing guest tally forms, and balancing the books.
That afternoon, at Emily’s urging, Sarah had approached the man belowstairs and said, “I do hate to ask, especially on what should be your day off, but would you mind taking a look at the books? I added a few entries this morning and seem to have made a mistake somewhere.”
He rose eagerly. “Certainly, Miss Sarah. A pleasure to help.”
