Eva smiled softly. The cheerful words felt like a promise, even if her own Christmas seemed so uncertain. This book would be a grand surprise, wrapped up in paper with a sprig of holly tied to the front. She closed her eyes, imagining her sister’s squeal of delight. The sound quickly faded, though. What sort of holiday could she possibly give Penny when she could barely afford to keep Mrs. Pottinger in flour?
Even so, she paged back to the front cover. Two shillings. Two! What an outrageous sum. She rose just as Bram cornered a long row of books.
“We should leave. We may need some extra traveling time.”
“Very well. I am ready to go.” She returned the book to the shelf with a last long look. Maybe someday—soon hopefully—she’d be able to buy her sister such a gift.
“What’s that you have there?” Bram fished out the novel with one of his long fingers. “Good Wives? Planning to be an overachieving bride, are you?”
Heat burned up her neck, blossoming onto her cheeks. “Do not be absurd. Clearly you have not read Louisa May Alcott. She’s an American novelist.”
“Ah, Romanticism at its finest, then, hmm?” He waggled his eyebrows. “I did not take you for a daydreamer.”
“Just because a girl reads novels does not mean she is a woolgatherer. Literature can offer valuable insights into the human experience, allowing readers to explore different perspectives and emotions. A window, if you will, into worlds both real andimagined, fostering empathy and understanding. I should think that as a college professor you would recognize the intellectual stimulation such an exercise might render.”
“Whoa, now.” He held up a hand. “I did not mean to strike such a nerve.”
Once again her face flamed, and she glanced away. What had gotten into her? “Pardon. I suppose I am a bit passionate when it comes to reading, especially since I hardly have time for it anymore. I was actually thinking of this book for Penny, that I might read it aloud to her.”
“Yet if you sent your sister to school, she would learn to read for herself—and then you would have time to linger in whatever stories might strike your fancy. It would be a benefit to you both.”
True. Penny likely would benefit from an education other than what she could give. The professor, Mrs. Mortimer, and Bram had all commented time and again on how smart Penny was. Eva really ought to consider it—and she would. But not yet.
She faced Bram. “School or not, there is still the issue of tax money.”
“Which hopefully will soon be remedied.” He tucked the book beneath his arm and strolled away.
She chased after him, but there was no chance of keeping up with his long legs. By the time she finally did catch up to him, he stood at the front desk, handing over two coins in exchange for a brown-paper-wrapped parcel.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Thank you,” he said to the clerk, then turned to her, pressing the package into her hands. “For you.”
Her jaw dropped. “You boughtGood Wives?”
He grinned. “I did. But if it makes you feel better, you may pay me back when your artifacts are sold.”
“Oh, Bram...” She clutched the book to her chest, heart swelling. “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it.” He yanked on the doorknob, the overhead bell chirruping—and a blast of icy pellets hit them smack in the face.
Eva grasped the collar of her coat tightly at her neck. If this sleet turned to snow, they’d never make it home by dark.
They might not make it home at all.
17
No mortal was framed for such weather as this. Sideways snow blurred the world into white blindness. Wind whipped so forcefully, it brought tears to the eyes and froze the lashes. Bram ducked his head against a particularly cruel blast. His sleeves were pulled down as far as the fabric would allow, covering as much skin as possible, but even so, his knuckles were cracked and raw from the blistering cold. Would that he’d have thought to bring his gloves along, for it was muscle memory alone that kept his grip on the reins.
He never should have suggested a stop at Heffer’s.
The horses—God love them—plodded along. He could barely see their ice-encrusted rumps. They wouldn’t last much longer. Eva wouldn’t either. She huddled next to him, trembling uncontrollably.
And night would soon fall.
If his calculations were correct, they’d traveled a little over halfway to Royston. So close, yet so impossibly far in this dangerous weather. Though if he remembered right, the Robinson farm ought to be getting close. They could hunker down with them until morning—if he could find the turnoff.
He bent his face close to Eva’s ear to be heard over the howling wind. “The Robinson farm—is it the next drive?”
