The magic of the night could not be allowed to extend any farther.
11
The next morning, Ivy awakened slowly, her mind still swirling with star-studded green and violet light. For a disoriented moment, she couldn't separate the dream from the memory—great rippling curtains of color unfurling across the Montana sky, so vivid and immense as if she’d stood at the edge of Heaven itself.
The Northern Lights.Now, the memory felt both vivid and fragile, like a soap bubble she was afraid to touch lest it burst.
She lay still, listening. Pale light pressed against her curtains, brighter than her usual waking hour. She could tell by the angle and warmth of the glow that she'd slept well past her ordinary rising time.
From somewhere beyond the back door came the thump of boots on the porch steps—Torin returning from the stable.He’s usually done by now, so he must have slept in, too.The thought carried an unexpected intimacy, as if their shared late rising after their shared late night was a secret between them—a small, invisible thread connecting his morning to hers.
He's your employer,Ivy reminded herself firmly, pulling the quilt to her chin.Fix your mind on other things.
She thought of Katie’s letter. Ivy hadn't realized until she held the envelope in her hands how fiercely she'd missed her sister. The closeness and vibrancy of her friendship with Cora had overshadowed the more tenuous bond with Katie—the three-year gap in their ages, their different temperaments, Ivy's impatience with her sister's timid nature. She'd always wished Katie were bolder, more willing to stand up to their father and mother.
But distance had a way of reshaping memories. Now that she was half a continent away, Ivy could appreciate the qualities Katie possessed, instead of dwelling on the ones she lacked. Perhaps her sister's gentleness wasn't weakness but a different kind of strength—one that endured without breaking, that bent with the wind instead of snapping.
She missed Katie's laugh, low and musical. She missed their evenings together—Katie at the piano, Ivy at her harp, weaving melodies back and forth in the parlor while the low fire hissed, creating something beautiful in the cold, loveless house.
She missed the secret language of sisters, how Katie would catch her eye across the supper table. In that glance, they could exchange an entire conversation.
Ivy reached to the top of the chest of drawers and picked up Katie's letter, which she'd read three times already. Unfolding the page, she read again in the strengthening morning light.
The house is so quiet without you. Papa hasn't mentioned your name since you left. Mama asked for you once, and he told her you'd gone to visit a friend. I didn't correct him because, in a way, that's the truth. You are visiting a friend, just one half a continent away.
Our father has broken down and hired a servant girl, probably for a pittance. The poor, downtrodden thing, Billie is her name, flits about like a waif. While her cooking and baking aren't up to your standards, the quality of the food is sufficientfor Papa. Even with the hard work, from eating regular meals, Billie has put on some weight from eating regular meals, and her skin isn't so sallow. I even caught her humming the other day, and, with a shy duck of her head, she confessed to loving to hear me play. So wherever she came from must have been far worse than this household.
I like having a new audience, but I'd much prefer my sister's presence.
I miss you, Ivy. I miss you terribly.
Please write and tell me all about your new life. I hope and pray you are happy.
With love,
Katie.
Ivy's eyes filmed with tears, along with feeling guilt for having left her sister. The words blurred.I never realized how much I meant to Katie.
I miss you, too, dear sister. More than I knew I would.
She pressed the letter to her chest and stared at the ceiling, where a knot in the log beam looked, if she squinted, like a sleeping cat.
Ivy promised herself she would write today during Jewel's nap—a long letter, not the hurried note after she’d first arrived to inform Katie she was safe and welcomed. She would describe the Northern Lights, though she already knew words would fail to capture the magnitude of what she'd witnessed. She would try, for Katie's sake, to paint them with language—the colors, the movement, the silence of it all—knowing her sister would never see the sight. The thought made the experience feel both more precious and more melancholy.
She would tell Katie about Jewel, too—as much as discretion allowed. About the felt letters and the counting and the walks through the strand of forest. About the small, fierce girl whohugged a clothJto her chest, charmed a cat into being dragged around like a ragdoll, and proudly counted out her numbers.
Katie would love Jewel.The thought arrived with a pang.And Jewel would love Katie.
Her bladder urging her to move, Ivy set the letter aside. She dressed quickly in a practical day dress, braided her hair into its usual coil, and hurried outside to the privy.
The morning air held a crispness that nipped at her cheeks but carried beneath it the faintest undertone of something warmer—a promise that the relentless cold was beginning to lose its grip. She could smell pine and wet earth and, faintly, a hint of green in the tiny buds on the trees.
Back inside, she entered the kitchen to find Torin at the stove, stirring oatmeal. His hair was tied back with its usual leather thong, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms corded with muscle from years of chopping wood and hauling water.
At the sight of him, Ivy felt an unwelcome flutter in her stomach, along with memories of the overlook, the sky, the low timbre of his voice, the touch of his finger on her lips. “Good morning,” she said brightly, moving to wash her hands in the basin. The warm water from the kettle felt wonderful on her chilled fingers.
“Good morning.” He poured some coffee into a waiting mug.
