“Yes, but stay close by.”
“I will.”
“I’m going to miss those two,” Caroline said with genuine melancholia. “Mother doesn’t speak of it much, because she doesn’t want to hurt Father, but she longs to meet them. They had been planning a trip when he fell ill.”
“I know,” Jackson said, barely looking up from his plate. “Your father wrote to me to arrange it. Before I could send a reply, we got the telegram, informing us of his disability.”
“Maybe, on the way to your sister’s, you can bring them by.”
His head popped up. “I can ask Peggy, but I doubt she wants to make such a time-consuming detour. She has children of her own.”
“You aren’t taking them?”
Irritation knitted through his brow. “I can’t leave the farm for more than a few hours, Caroline. The animals need daily care.
“Before Amanda died,” he said in a kinder tone, “we talked about having the children photographed and surprising your parents with a copy. I won’t have time for that before they go, but Manley Green has a talent for sketching. I’ll see if he can draw a good likeness while they’re at Celia’s.”
“I hope he can. They would treasure even that.”
Jackson wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin onto the remains of his lunch. “Oliver said the letter was postmarked Greenvale. You didn’t jump in the carriage with your trunk, so I assume all is well.”
“Everyone is grieving Amanda, of course, but other than that, yes.”
Caroline squirmed under Jackson’s steady gaze. He’d always had a knack for sensing when there was more to the story.
He’d answered her questions honestly. It was her turn.
“The letter was from Greenvale, but it wasn’t from anyone in my family. It was from Walsh Duffy, the man who’s been courting me.”
Jackson stared, unblinking. Then he looked down and rubbed at a spot on the table. “When’s the wedding?” he asked, lifting his head.
“We aren’t officially engaged. Walsh began paying calls shortly after you moved away, but then Father fell ill, and… He’s been very patient.” She tried to read Jackson’s emotions, but his face was blank, and his eyes were guarded.
“Is he good to you?” he finally asked—not with the growl of a protector, but with a quiet vulnerability, as if he feared an affirmative answer.
Caroline nodded. “He’s kind and considerate…studious and funny.”
“Wha.” Jackson cleared his throat. “What’s his profession?”
“He’s an accountant at the steel mill. The day Father collapsed, he rode to get the doctor and my brothers. Then he waited therewith us while we got the news. Since that day, he’s helped Simon keep the books and taken nothing in return.”
“Sounds like a good man,” Jackson said, rising. “I wish you the best.”
Chapter 17
Jackson went outside without his coat, despite the cold. He welcomed winter’s bite and its ability to numb. He’d known when he traded Caroline for her sister that she’d be free to choose another man. He just didn’t think learning she’d done it would hurt so damned much.
He turned Jonah out into the pasture and threw his back into mucking stalls. He was angry and gutted and fighting the urge to be bitter. He’d sacrificed himself on the altar of honor, and now he’d lost everything but his land.
Hours of grueling work drained the resentment, leaving Jackson in a state of bleak resignation. Covered in dirt and filth, he dropped onto a mounting block, propped his elbows on his knees, and hung his head.
“Papa?” Noah said, his voice soft and unsure.
Jackson looked up and straightened his posture some. “What do you need, son?”
“Aunt Caroline wants to know if you’re coming to supper.”
“I’m not hungry.”
