Bram laid a light touch on Uncle Pendleton’s shoulder. “Look, Uncle, I know you are going to miss this. It is your life. But we will get on, you and me. I promise.”
His uncle chuckled. “You think I’m mourning the loss of my tenure?”
“Are you not?”
His uncle paced the length of the desk. “After staying at Inman Manor these past few months, I realize just how ready I am to be finished here at Trinity. I rather enjoyed being in the country. The fresh air. The quiet mornings. No, my boy, I shall not miss the rigors of teaching, for I am ready to be done with that taxing business. But”—he held up a finger—“what I will pine for is the profound sense of fulfillment and connection I had in the classroom on a personal level. Igniting curiosity, instilling a love of the past, these are the things I shall always hold dear.”
Of course he would, for Bram would miss the same. Blast that Grimwinkle! Blast him to Mount Vesuvius and back for inflicting such a wound upon them both.
Bram heaved a sigh, yet it did nothing to remove the ache in his heart. “I am deeply sorry, Uncle.”
“No more than I am for you.” Uncle Pendleton removed his spectacles and rubbed one of the glasses with his handkerchief, his eyes watery. “And I daresay I hold the greater sorrow on your behalf, for you had your whole teaching life ahead of you.”
Bram forced a smile, hoping to lighten the moment a bit. “Like you, I had my own revelation at Inman Manor. It was peaceful there, and I was quite surprised how well I took to it. While I am shocked at no longer being a professor, perhaps you and I could make a go of it in a smaller town.”
His uncle perched his spectacles on the bridge of his nose, gaze narrowing. “A go of what, exactly?”
“That is the question, is it not?”
A smile ghosted across his uncle’s lips. “I suppose time will tell.”
“Speaking of time, I have an errand to run.” Bram strode toward the door. “I should be back shortly to help you cart your things down to the loading dock.”
“It’s a good thing we delivered Miss Inman’s antiquities to the museum yesterday, for I daresay my books alone shall take up most of the wagon. Oh, where did you say you’re off to?”
Bram paused on the threshold, hating what he was about to do. There was no other option ... unless he called in a favor owed him by an old friend. But no. He would not provide for Eva with someone else’s money.
He stepped into the corridor, calling over his shoulder, “The pawn shop.”
His watch wouldn’t bring a whole thirty pounds, but added to his meager savings, he ought to scrape up enough.
Hopefully.
These swollen eyes were familiar. The ache in her head. The weight on her shoulders. Eva knew the embrace of this old acquaintance all too well, for sorrow always visited with no invitation. She’d managed to keep her emotions tightly buttoned up until she’d returned home yesterday to pack her travel bag for her new position. But then she’d walked by Penny’s empty room. She shouldn’t have looked in, should never have gazed at the bed so tidily made, never to be slept in again by her sister. Breathing in the faint memory of rosemary soap lingering on the air had been a mistake as well, as had straining to listen for any remnants of Penny’s sweet singing.
And she definitely should not have given in to that first sob, for she’d wept the day away and half the night.
Now, standing alone in the middle of her own bedroom, clutching the copy ofGoodWivesshe’d forgotten to send along with Penny, the pressure to let loose another bout of tears was nearly too much to bear. How she wished she could turn back the hands of time, rewind the clock to the moments when laughter echoed through the halls of Inman Manor and Penny’s infectious smile lit up the darkest corners of her heart. Kneesweakening, she curled over the book like a prayer. Utterly abandoned by all.
Oh,poppet. HowI long to hear your voice.
The novel slipped from her fingers, landing atop her bed like a corpse in a grave. Eva whirled, gasping for breath. What a failure she was! She didn’t deserve God’s smile. No wonder the mighty Creator punished her with such trials.
“If we confess our sins,He is faithful and justto forgive us our sins,as far as the eastis from the west.”
Quite unbidden, Bram’s words floated back to her—misquotation and all. Her lips quivered, and she slapped her hand to her mouth. No doubt he would say she wasn’t truly alone, for God was still here with her, even if no one else was ... and that one singular thought hung like a lifeline. Dare she grasp it? Yet what was the alternative? Wallowing in what might or should have been had earned her nothing but a headache and burning eyes.
Slowly, a new determination began to take root. She would—she must—choose to believe God was not perpetually angry with her. That He had forgiven her for past mistakes, that there was grace for her in this nightmarish situation.
For that was the only way she’d survive.
With trembling hands, she pressed her fingertips to her eyes, pushing back tears until she caught her breath. Then she tossed back her shoulders and strode from her bedroom. There was much to do before leaving the day after tomorrow.
She swung into the office, intent on a final review of the accounts so that once the manor sold, she’d have an up-to-date list of creditors to be paid. She stopped just past the threshold. In the corner of the room, her steward perched on a ladder, applying plaster over the hole in the ceiling—a duty for a tradesman, not a man of his standing.
“Oh, Sinclair.” She leaned against the desk, determination slowly leaking from her. “I hate to see you stooping to such a task.”
“Not stooping at all, miss. I’m reaching, and I’m just about finished.” With a grin, he spread on the final coat, then descended. When he landed, he scooped up the bucket and held it aloft. “I don’t think you’ll be needing this in here any time soon, unless the ol’ ship springs another leak.”
