She didn’t argue. Didn’t plead. Didn’t slam her hand on the table or raise her voice or cry. She simply turned and walked away.
Her footsteps were quiet down the hallway. He heard her bedroom door open and close. Not a slam, like Mary Beth did after one of their arguments on the rare times he didn’t give in. A click. The sound of a woman who had fought as hard as she could fight and had decided, with terrible clarity, that it was time to stop.
Torin stood alone in the kitchen, his palms still flat on the table, and listened to the empty silence she’d left behind.
18
In her room, Ivy sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her hands to her face.
She didn’t cry. She was beyond crying—past the place where tears could reach, in the dry, clear-eyed numbness of a decision that hurt too much for an ordinary expression of grief.
He won’t change. Not while I’m here. Not while I’m filling the spaces—teaching Jewel, keeping house, playing the harp in the evenings, being the companionship and the stimulation and the connection that makes their isolation bearable. As long as I’m here, he has no reason to seek any of those things elsewhere. No reason to take Jewel to town. No reason to let other people in. I hold up the wall that makes the fortress comfortable, and my very presence is doing the opposite of what he needs.
She dropped her hands and stared at the cheerful curtains Elsie had sewn—the curtains she opened and closed and thought of her new friend’s kindness. At the chest of drawers with the wildflower jar containing the pink shooting stars Jewel had picked for her, now wilting but still bright.
Lately, after her walks with her father, Jewel had begun to bring Ivy small gifts, feathers, or interesting rocks or flowers,which Ivy arranged in the jar or pressed the blooms between the pages of one of her books. The small stones circled base of the jar.
This room had becomeherspace in what felt likeherhome—the first real home she’d ever had, if she was honest—the first place she’d lived where, except for her sister, she felt not just tolerated butwanted.
I must leave.
The thought was not new. It had lurked in the back of her mind since the visit from their friends. But she’d pushed away the decision, not even allowing the possibility to fully form. She’d hoped that time or patience or the slow, steady pressure of love would change Torin’s mind.
She knew now that time and small steps weren’t enough. Torin’s fear was not a wall that could be worn down by water. He’d built defenses into the bedrock of grief and trauma and abandonment—deep and ancient and fused to the bones of who he was. She knew now his walls would not erode. They would have to be broken. And the only force strong enough to hopefully break past his fears was her absence.
If I leave, then he'll have to face the emptiness.
And if I stay...
If she stayed, then Jewel would continue to learn. Would spell more words, count higher, read simple sentences. Would grow and thrive within the confines of their small world. And Torin would continue to love them both from behind his walls, and the walls would never come down, because there would be no reason for him to let them.
My leaving will break her heart. Jewel won't understand. She’ll think I abandoned her. She’ll cry, and the sound will haunt me forever.
Ivy pressed a fist against her breastbone, where the pain was sharpest.
But this isn’t about today. The decision is about the rest of Jewel’s life. The years she’ll spend hidden away if nothing changes. The friendships she’ll never have. The hymns she’ll never sing in a church full of people. The world she’ll never know exists, because her father is too afraid to show it to her.
The risk is worth my pain. Because the alternative—a lifetime of comfortable, loving imprisonment—is worse.
She stood and moved to the writing desk by the window. Her hands were steady as she pulled out two sheets of paper and her pencil—steadier than she would have expected, given that what she was about to do would demolish the life she’d built and break the hearts of the two people she loved most in the world.
She didn’t know if Cora was home or away on a nursing case. She might not receive a letter for days. Ivy couldn’t for long. Every day she stayed was another day his comfortable fortress stood.
Brian.Brian was always at the newspaper office. Brian would receive a letter the same day it was delivered. And Brian—steady, perceptive, not-a-grump Brian—would understand, without requiring a lengthy explanation, why she needed to leave and why her departure must happen quickly.
She wrote the first letter with the focused efficiency of a woman who couldn’t afford to let emotion slow her hand.
Dear Mr. Bly,
I write with urgency, not knowing if Cora is currently at the Bellaires’. I find that I can no longer continue in my position as Jewel’s governess. The reasons are complicated, and I will explain more in person. But the short of it is this: my presence at Three Bend Lake has become an impediment to the very thing I came here to accomplish. As long as I remain, Torin has no reason to bring Jewel into the wider world, and I have come to believe that the wider world is what they need most.
Will you please come for me as soon as possible? Please don't send word ahead. If Torin knows I’m planning to leave, he might try to persuade me to stay, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to refuse.
I trust your discretion and your judgment, and I apologize for the imposition.
Your friend,
Ivy Jackson
