Verena blinked at him. That aspect had not even crossed her mind. Something came back to her. Had not Mama said that she would not leave without letting Verena know of it? Yes, she had. Was she allowing her own dread fears to overcome her common sense? She no longer knew. She looked from one enquiring face to another, and came back to Denzell’s concerned features.
“You make me seem foolish.”
“Not in the least,” he said. “You have every reason to be troubled by this matter, and it is no surprise to me that you should have allowed yourself to become panic-stricken at such an unprecedented absence.”
Verena sighed. “Well — thank you for that. But now … I don’t know what to think any more.”
Unice had reseated herself, but she leaned forward. “Verena, do you indeed think — should it be the case that your mama hasgone back — do you indeed think your stepfather will misuse her again? Will not your brother prevent it?”
“He would if he were by,” Verena answered, her face clouding over again. “But you see, he is unlikely to be present on these occasions. Besides —” twisting her fingers in her lap and looking down — “we have been neither of us in the habit of interfering.”
The bitter inflection twisted Denzell’s heart, and he reached out to cover her unquiet hands. It was Osmond who answered her, indignant.
“Dash it, you were only children! How could you interfere?”
A trifle shamefaced, Verena glanced up at him. “It was not childhood that prevented it, Osmond. It was fear.”
“I knew it!” Denzell uttered, gripping her hands. “He had hurt you, too, hadn’t he?”
Verena’s eyes came round to his face. “On the one occasion. I should have been warned, for Adam had attempted it now and then and suffered Nathaniel’s vengeance.”
Denzell’s blood was up at the very thought of what she might say. Yet he persisted, for he felt her need to relate the tale, to relieve her heart.
“What happened to you?”
Her fingers tightened in his grasp. “I think I was about twelve. I could not endure it all at once, and I ran into the room and tried to stop him. I remember I hit at his chest. Mama shrieked at me to stop, but Nathaniel snatched up his whip — he had but a few moments before come in from riding and thrown it down on the bed —”
“Don’t tell me he used his whip on you?” uttered Unice, aghast.
Verena nodded. “But I received only two or three blows, I think. For Mama threw me down and lay on top of me and — and took the blows herself.”
Her voice shook, and her eyes pricked at the memory. The others were silent, but the movement of Denzell’s fingers on herseloquently spoke his feelings. Her glance, as she looked at him, was luminous with unshed tears, pleading for understanding in a matter for which she had suffered years of pointless guilt.
“Mama made me promise — afterwards — that I would never do so again. She said she had rather suffer ten times the torture than see me hurt.”
“Which is why you are willing to sacrifice your own life on her behalf,” Denzell guessed.
“More than that.” She gritted her teeth. “I would have takenhislife, if I could.”
“Surely not!” protested Unice.
“Pooh!” scoffed Osmond. “You delude yourself.”
“No, she does not,” Denzell cut in. He remembered her words of the previous day, that she had wished to scar his wicked “love” upon Nathaniel’s person, and he knew she was speaking nothing but the truth. He picked up her hand and held it between both his own, asking, “Did you try?”
Verena nodded, and the hatred gleamed in her eyes. “Once. I took his pistol. I loaded and primed it — Adam had taught me how. I did it with the utmost deliberation, and then hid it under my pillow. In the night, I went into his room and held the pistol to his head where he was sleeping.”
“And?” Denzell prompted.
“I cocked it.” She let out a short, despairing sigh. “But I had not the courage to pull the trigger.”
Denzell lifted her hand and held it to his cheek a moment. “You are a woman of infinite courage, and I love you deeply.”
Her eyes filled, and Denzell leaned towards her. But before he could speak, there was another flurry of activity at the rear door to the house. This time Mayberry was pipped at the post and Betsey lumbered out onto the lawn.
Verena saw her, and rose, Denzell beside her. “Betsey, what news?”
“You’re to come home, Miss Verena,” announced the maid tersely. “The mistress is there, and —”
