I didn’t have any choice but to try.
I spent the rest of the day making my preparations, and scrawled a letter to Mr. Frampton in my most elegant hand.
Dear Mr. Frampton,
It was an honor to receive your proposal today. I neglected to inform you that my brothers and I are going to be visiting an old friend in Hampshire for what remains of the summer. I would be grateful if you did not mention the proposal to my aunt until I have made my decision.Upon my return, I shall be sure to give you my official answer. Until then, you may have no reason to think it won’t be favorable.
I bit my lip, hesitating over how to sign the letter. Before I could lose my nerve, I wrote:
Thinking of you,
Miss Annette Downing
I set down my quill. There, that should do it. I reread the letter once to ensure I approved of the wording. My stomach felt ill, despite my certainty that I was making the right choice. I pushed away the sensation.
This visit to Kellaway Manor felt like the close of a chapter of my life—a grand finale that would send me off to a whirlwind of marriage and children and endless sermons and bible verses. My emotions spun so wildly that I could hardly draw a breath. Kellaway Manor was the space between two separateconfinements. For a month or two, I could remove my shackles and chains. I would savor every moment of my freedom until it was gone again. It felt ceremonious and sacred, as if my parents were the ones who had granted me this opportunity.
Perhaps they had.
My hands still shook as I sealed the letter to Mr. Frampton and sent Edith to mail it for me.
CHAPTER 3
Iinsisted that we leave at dawn, horrified at the thought of arriving at Kellaway Manor after dark, potentially unannounced.
With Aunt Ruth nearly pushing us out the door, we made our way across the path and down the hill leading out to the carriage. Peter and Charles ran as fast as their legs could carry them, tugging on the carriage door as they waited for me. A light breeze whipped at my hair and skirts as I ran to catch up to them. An unexpected laugh bubbled within me. I felt giddy with hope and excitement. It was as if I had sprouted wings overnight, and I might soar off with the wind.
Stepping inside the carriage, my spirits dropped slightly. The cushions were pink. I sighed as I sat down, shunning the admiration I felt at seeing the color. It never failed to stir up the memories I tried hardest to avoid. My brothers giggled with anticipation as the carriage began to roll forward. I turned my gaze out my window, watching Oak Cottage until it was out of sight, assuring myself that it was true—that we were really leaving it behind. My brothers pressed their faces against the glass of their windows, watching the passing landscape.
The first half of the ride passed comfortably enough, and we stopped to stretch our legs and eat lunch at midday.
Settling back into the carriage for the second half, I sat back and willed myself to relax. My mind wandered to Mrs. Kellaway’s letter, and the guilt she had expressed. I would have to put her at ease immediately. How could she possibly blame herself? My heart ached, swirling with guilt of my own. I, too, had found reasons that my parents’ accident could have been prevented if I had made different decisions. It haunted me often, just like our final goodbye, just like Mama’s kind eyes and Papa’s strong, tight hugs. Just like the color of the carriage cushions.
I was desperate to make a good impression on Mrs. Kellaway. She was so fond of our parents, so she likely had high expectations for us. I had worn my finest white day dress and my bonnet with blue ribbons. The best I could do would be to graciously explain our sudden arrival without revealing Aunt Ruth’s intentions and threats surrounding our visit. Nervousness crept into my stomach. There was no need to fret about that just yet. We still had hours ahead of us.
I watched with amusement the complete thrill that my brothers were exhibiting. Apparently they were enjoying the ride every bit as much as I expected.
Satisfied, I slipped lower in my seat. My eyelids were heavy. My rest the previous night had not been near sufficient, so I lay my head back on the plush cushions and before long, I had fallen into a deep sleep.
I awoke to Peter shaking my arm. “Annette! Annette!” His voice carried a hint of panic.
I sat up quickly, the steady sway of the carriage throwing me off-balance. How long had I slept? One hour? Two? My half-sleeping gaze darted around frantically, not finding the problem. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Before Peter could answer my question, I caught sight of Charles on his hands and knees on the floor of the carriage just in front of me, his complexion pale. He was leaning over a puddle of vomit.
I jumped from my seat and kneeled beside him. “Charles!” I touched his forehead, smoothing back his blond curls. His skin was cold and sweaty. His shaking hands pressed against the floor. Dread and worry dropped in my stomach at once. The motion of the carriage must have made him ill. I took him by the arm. “Can you stand?”
“I don’t know.” His voice wavered.
“Let us try.”
He nodded and I pulled up on his arm gently. The moment he stood, his face paled. He doubled over and vomited again, this time all over the front of my dress. He slumped back down to the floor, his chin quivering; it always did that when he was in pain but trying to be strong.
I sat down beside him. Resting my back against the seats, I held his head in my lap. “You will be just fine, Charles.” I stroked my fingers across his forehead. He closed his eyes. “You are being so brave,” I said in a whisper. And it was true. Charles knew what it was to be afraid, to clutch onto his strength with firm hands. So that was why today, he didn’t cry. That was why everydayIdidn’t cry.
Once I concluded that it was indeed the carriage that was making Charles ill, I alerted the coachman to stop driving. What Charles needed was fresh air and steady, motionless ground.
After we took a long walk through a meadow beside the road, we stepped back into the carriage. My gown and the floor werestill covered in vomit when we started moving again, but what mattered was the flush of color returning to Charles’s cheeks. I hoped it would last.
