Greta tenses against me. “What?” Her voice shoots octaves higher, out of breath.
“It’s going to be okay,” I promise her. Promise myself. My mind is working overtime, hunting for an answer to this mystery, the missing piece to this puzzle, but I keep turning up empty.
“Someone has your phone,” I say, thinking aloud. “If we can figure out who it is, that’ll be a start. It’ll lead to answers. It has to.” I tap her name on my screen and hold my breath, waiting.
When the line connects, I hear it again—the breathing, but nothing else.
“Who is this?” I demand, my voice low and shaky. “Who are you?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
HANNAH WILDE - 1814
The night air is heavier than usual, the sort of stillness that presses against your ribs, suffocating and thick with anticipation. With dread.
On tiptoe, I slip through the narrow hall toward the girls’ room, a gnawing panic in my throat. Foxglove is too quiet, even for this hour, and each step on the wood floor makes a soft thud, drawing an arrow right to me.
Every so often, the walls creak and groan under the pressure of the wind outside, but it’s not enough to mask the sounds of my movements.
The silence around me shreds my nerves. I listen for the intruder I saw coming up the road moments ago—horse beneath him, lantern in one hand. His arrival at such a late hour can only mean he’s come for me.
I reach the doorway and draw in a deep breath, holding it as I prepare myself. Moonlight filters through the window, casting harsh shadows and pale-blue light across the room.
My eyes fall to Millicent first, to the sight of her tiny body tangled in bedsheets. Her face is sweet and peaceful, the sort of peace she doesn’t know when she’s awake. Beside her, Katherinesleeps like a windstorm. Her body is twisted, lying sideways, hair wild on her mattress, mouth dropped open.
My divergent daughters. Olive oil and river water.
I step forward, my heart breaking as I do. They should be safe in their beds, safe in their home. Just eight and four, they are still too young to understand what is happening tonight, why I must wake them.
I crouch down next to Katherine’s bed and place a careful hand over her mouth. Like she’s been struck, her eyes shoot open. She stares at me in the darkness, and for what feels like a lifetime, I freeze. I can’t summon a breath as I pray she won’t scream.
“Shhh…” I whisper, shaking my head urgently. The sound that escapes my lips is more air than voice. He could be anywhere now. At our windows, at the door. My eyes flick up to the window on the wall just briefly, looking for him as if he’s a ghost.
Her petrified breaths warm my palm, fast and worried, and I wish then I could take her fear away, let it seep into my skin and carry it with me. Feel it for the both of us.
Slowly, I lift a finger to my lips, nodding with hope she’ll understand what I’m asking. I need her to be silent. Quiet as the butterflies she loves so much.
When she nods back to me, I slowly pull my hand away from her mouth one finger at a time, the world standing still around us.
Her little eyes are wide with confusion, but when I lift a finger to my lips again, she nods, entirely trusting and obedient. She waits to see what I will do next, to understand why I’ve woken her. The blind trust our babies have in us is painful sometimes, the purest form of love that we have not earned.
I hold up a trembling finger, telling her to wait without saying a word, then move to Millicent’s bed. When I pull backher blanket, she stirs, and the smell of sweat and urine hits my nose. I scoop her up into my arms as a pang of guilt strikes me in the center of my chest.
She’s had another accident.
They happen more often now, since their father passed last spring. A bad cold took him from us in just a handful of days, and neither of the girls have been the same since.
Katherine has grieved in her own way, but it’s Millicent who has taken it the hardest. The grief and fear have piled up inside her in ways that devastate me. She is fearful of everything. Meek. She worries so much for such a little girl. Doesn’t run or play like she used to.
I wish my mother were around to advise me, to tell me what to do, but the only way I speak to her now is when I visit her grave. Mama would know how to fix this; she always did. Without her here to guide me, all I can do is keep my girls safe, and tonight, that is my only job.
I reach for Katherine’s hand, still waiting in her bed.
No.I freeze when I hear footsteps on the porch.
The next sound feels as if it’s right next to my ear.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
