CHAPTER 1
“Iwant to have fun here, Miss Watton,” little Jonah announced, stamping his small boots into the packed snow as if trying to convince the world rather than her. “But Mama says it’s too cold.”
Madeline laughed under her breath. “Your mama is right, Jonah. Itisthe Twelfth Night festival, but you need to take care of yourself. One must try to be cautious.”
“Try?” Mrs. Finch sniffed, pulling her shawl tight as a lantern swayed overhead, scattering warm gold across the swirl of villagers. “One can try only so much when one’s toes are freezing. Oh, Jonah, do not run ahead! Jonah!”
But Jonah was already darting toward a violinist whose bow danced with quick, bright strokes, the tune sharp and cheerful even through the winter air.
Madeline watched him go, her breath forming a small cloud in front of her. Her hands were tucked inside a cozy pair of mittens, and beneath a drafty cloak her heart was beating with its usual quiet vigilance. She had learned to live that way. Months in this village, and she still walked as if someone might tug her back by the shoulder.
Because someonemight.
“Miss Watton,” Mrs. Finch said, breaking her thoughts, “did you ever celebrate Twelfth Night like this in your own childhood?”
Madeline forced a smile. “Not quite like this. My father would read to me by the fire. We kept things quite simple.”
Simple. Safe and warm. Everything that vanished the moment he died.
“Well, Jonah is thrilled,” Mrs. Finch went on, cheeks pink from wind and pleasure alike. “I scarcely got his boots on before he started asking if you would be joining us.”
“Oh?” Madeline teased, though something tender pressed faintly against her ribs. “Is that why he insisted on holding my hand the entire walk here?”
“Of course. He adores you.” Mrs. Finch’s tone softened. “It’s been good for him, having you teach him. You’ve been a blessing.”
If only blessings like these were not fleeting.
Madeline simply smiled at Mrs. Finch as they wove deeper into the festival, moving past stalls of roasted nuts, sugared pastries, and ribbons fluttering in the slight breeze. Couples skated beneath the massive canvas tent erected over the frozen pond. Lanterns strung from post to post flickered in the morning light, turning snowflakes into shimmering flecks that clung to hair and cloaks.
Families laughed, children screamed in delight, someone behind them threw snow into the air, and the wind carried bits of it to Madeline’s cheek.
Madeline’s breath caught slightly. She always felt this faint ache watching others so freely belong to each other. Mothers patting mittens onto small hands. Fathers lifting children onto shoulders. Sisters clinging arm in arm. A warmth she yearned for and feared simultaneously.
You cannot stay anywhere long enough for that, she reminded herself.Not when she is still searching and Hale is still out there.
“Miss Watton!” Jonah darted back toward her, tugging her mittened hand. “There, look! Caramel apples!”
Indeed, the stall ahead glistened with glossy red apples dipped in warm caramel, the scent thick and buttery in the cold air.
Jonah hopped in place. “May I, Mama? Please?”
Mrs. Finch sighed but smiled. “Very well. One.”
The vendor handed over the treat, and Jonah beamed, cheeks rosy, eyes bright. Then he nudged Madeline with sticky fingers.
“You should get one too, Miss Watton. They’re very sweet.”
Madeline opened her mouth to decline out of courtesy, but Mrs. Finch beat her to it.
“Oh, goodness,” the woman said, lowering her voice. “Madeline, dear, you really ought not indulge too much. You don’t need to add more to the hips.”
Her laughter followed the remark; it was light, careless, entirely unaware of where it landed, yet the sound slid beneath Madeline’s skin all the same. The words struck with quiet precision, settling in a place that was far older and far more tender than Mrs. Finch could ever imagine.
She’s your employer, she reminded herself and kept her smile steady.
Still, her shoulders tightened beneath the cloak, her heartbeat slipping into a faster, uneven rhythm as a slow flush crept up her neck despite the winter cold.
“Of course,” she murmured, taking a small step back as though easing herself out of the line of fire. “I’m perfectly fine without one.”
