“Her belief in herself is admirable,” Roland said as they both watched Charlotte racing toward the tree. “A littletsiktsile:lé. That is what she is.”
The strange new word had Pippa’s attention flitting from Char-char to Roland. “Ajikji-lay-lay? Have I misunderstood?”
He turned his attention back to Pippa, his regard warm. “Quite close. The Oneida language is complicated and rather distinct in its pronunciation compared to English. I do not know nearly enough of it, but I cling to what little I have thanks to my mother.”
She sensed this was the first time he was truly opening himself to her, and Pippa appreciated it. Here was an opportunity to delve further into his heritage.
“And what is ajikji-lay-lay?” she asked, curious, attempting to repeat the sounds once more.
“In the Oneida tradition, there is a story about a chickadee, which is the American word for the titmouse, atsiktsile:lé, who sat on a tiny branch and sang. She sang with so much vigor that she made the branch upon which she was perched shake. Then the chickadee said,look at what a great bird I am, for I shake the whole world.”
A shiver danced down Pippa’s spine. Whether it was at the tale or the manner in which Roland delivered it, she could not be certain. How proud she was, to know that he embraced his mother’s family history rather than shunning it.
“The bird was unaware of how tiny she was, compared to the world, then?” she guessed.
That made sense, for Char-char often considered herself an adult. She was bold and determined and fearless.
“Mama always told me that some considered the story a lesson in conceit. But, depending upon the manner in which one chooses to understand the tale, it is a lesson in the chickadee’s belief in herself. Though she was small, she was mighty. Much like Char-char.” He paused, then turned to Pippa, giving her a searching glance. “And her mother as well.”
Pippa swallowed against a rush of emotion. “I am hardly mighty. Indeed, I have proven myself weak and terribly vulnerable to lies.”
Lies that had kept her from him.
She could never regret the five lost years because she had been blessed with Charlotte. But she did, and would forever, regret believing in George Shaw’s self-professed honor. In his goodness. That had been nothing but a carefully crafted deception and manipulation.
“Look at me,” Roland said, his voice urgent.
Pippa realized she had been watching Charlotte, who was still racing toward the bird. She did as he asked, meeting his gaze. “I am looking.”
“You are mighty, Pippa. You have braved more than most ladies could fathom.” He paused, casting a glance over his shoulder at Charlotte to ascertain she was still preoccupied before resuming his speech. “You are neither weak nor vulnerable. There is no harm in placing your trust in another. The only harm is the betrayal that man committed against you. Your heart should not be guarded. It should be free. You did nothing wrong.”
“Youhave made my heart free,” she said, casting another glance toward Charlotte to find that her daughter had reached the tree and the bird had flown. “I do not deserve your understanding. After the manner in which I believed George over you, I—”
“Stop,” he interrupted, his countenance tender and sweet. Laden with emotion. “Shaw was a masterful deceiver. I know how compelling he was, for he cozened me as well.”
And he had been bold enough to ascribe his sins to Roland. The knowledge remained infuriating, but she was grateful to at least know. She had the answers now. More importantly, she had her daughter and Roland.
There was only one remaining mystery to be solved.
The worry and fears which had dogged her were easier to forget here at Wylde Park, where she spent each day in an idyll that was almost too good to be true. However, they still remained and would do so until whoever had been responsible for her attack was in prison.
“I do hope Chief Inspector Stone shall soon send word that he has caught George’s accomplices.”
“He will,” Roland assured her, confidence in his voice. “There is no better man than Stone for the job.”
If he believed in the Chief Inspector, she did as well.
She nodded. “Until then, I suppose we shall have no choice but to remain here in Yorkshire. Whatever shall we do?”
The grin he sent her was positively wicked. “I have a few ideas.”
Heat slid through her as she thought about what they might be. She was certain she would approve of every one of them. The passion she and Roland shared was intense. And wonderful.
“Perhaps you might show me later,” she suggested.
“With pleasure, Sunshine.” He winked.
Her daughter chose that moment to return, racing to the blanket breathless, her braid completely undone to allow her chestnut curls to bounce wildly around her face. “Char-char no catch bird,” she lamented with a sigh as she threw herself onto the blanket in dramatic fashion.
