As he spoke, something shifted beneath the calm delivery. Not a change in his tone or expression, but Thea felt the pleading all the same. Papa did not beg, yet that desperate hope that she would change her mind and alter her course echoed through her. It was unmistakable.
And it broke something in her.
What would become of her if she stepped across this line? The thought was too large, too wild to hold. There were so many details to consider—where she would go, what she would do, how she would live—and Thea had no answers. The enormity of it pressed in, stealing her breath.
And yet, even as her heart threatened to pound through her ribs, a glimmer of sunlight trickled through the dark fog descending upon her mind. It warmed her through, chasing away the chill in the air and allowing her to breathe once more.
Plenty of people were forced into impossible situations. Thea could well imagine Mrs. Brinn often felt overwhelmedand frightened by the hurdles placed before her, yet that good woman did not shrink. Again and again, she rolled up her sleeves and set to work. And one way or another, she managed.
Not easily. Not comfortably. But she did.
Surely Thea could, too.
She had no map, no assurances, and no notion of how the path ahead would unfold, but Thea knew that surrendering without trying would be a far greater loss. Lifting her chin, Thea drew in a deep breath as the ache in her chest lessened. Whatever came of this, she would meet the challenge and succeed.
Mama’s voice rang through the house as Thea turned on her heel and marched up the stairs, but it was Papa’s silence as he dropped onto his chair that had her footsteps moving quicker as she made her way to her bedchamber.
It was time to pack.
***
Drawing in a deep breath, Frederick gazed out at the space and tried to look past the here and now to what it could be. Memories of the previous tenant were gouged and scratched into the wide floorboards, and dust hung in the sunlight, swirling lazily in the golden columns that streamed through the front windows. The counter near the front was a sturdy fixture of solid oak, and though the plaster along the back wall was cracked, the ceiling was high, the chimney was well-built, and the south-facing windows filled the space with light.
All in all, the structure was firm and well-built.
It wasn’t much to look at: a single, narrow shopfront with a living space above. However, the yard at the rear was large enough to house the machinery he meant to purchase, and the space was utilitarian enough to adapt to his purpose. To say nothing of the conveniently located forge, which was close enough that the sound of the blacksmith’s hammer rang in the air.
“The rooms above aren’t much to look at, but they will serve a bachelor nicely,” said Mr. Moulton, nodding at the stairs tucked into the back corner, which led into a modest sitting room with a low-beamed ceiling.
A narrow hearth stood opposite the window, its grate cold and half filled with old ash, and the faint scent of dust and disuse lingered in the air. A small table had been pushed into the corner, one leg mended with a strip of tin, and beside it sat a pair of mismatched chairs. Though the floorboards creaked at every step, they felt solid, and a small window (which was grimy but serviceable) overlooked the front lane.
The adjoining bedchamber was hardly large enough to be called such, with just enough room for a bed and a chest, perhaps, but little else. Thankfully, Frederick owned little. But there was a proper window, and when he peered out of it, he could just make out the church spire over the rooftops.
The walls were close, the ceilings low, and the air carried that faint chill of an attic, yet he found himself nodding as though all were exactly as it should be.
“Though they kept the shop in good order, the Loomises haven’t lived on the premises for some time, and I fear it’s been neglected,” said Mr. Moulton, swiping at a cobweb that dangled from the rafter just at eye level.
“It’s the shopfront that matters, and it suits my needs perfectly,” said Frederick.
Mr. Moulton’s shoulders relaxed a touch as he examined the space. “The estate and sales have fetched good prices, so we are well within my projections. There’s no reason you cannot let this building and have enough capital to fill it with your wares. Of course, it will be some time before the shop will be profitable—”
“Businesses take time to build,” said Frederick, repeating the axiom both the solicitor and Mr. Gleason had repeated countless times since he’d first mentioned this venture. “I cannot expect to have a proper income for some time.”
Gaze drifting across the narrow quarters, Frederick listened with half an ear as Mr. Moulton spoke of ledgers and projections, and he considered the humble future laid bare before him. Once, such a prospect would have filled him with dismay. Now, it only stirred a quiet ache that he quickly folded away, neat as a bill of sale.
The faint smell of dust and ash mingled with the sharper scent of the nearby forge, and something inside him eased. For weeks, Frederick had watched his former life slip away like a wasting disease that sapped the strength and strained the spirit until the bittersweet end, when one could only feel relief that the battle was finally over.
The space was humble, yes, but it was his. Every inch of it, from the scuffed floorboards to the cracked plaster, held the promise of a new beginning. Yes, this marked the end of one life, but it would not be the end of him.
Yet something wriggled beneath his skin. A faint niggling of something. Or rather,notsomething. Something missing. Absent.
Drawing in a slow breath, Frederick let the feeling settle and focused on that which he could do: it was the only way forward.
“My thanks for your assistance,” said Frederick, nodding at Mr. Moulton. “I doubt I would’ve made such strides without you.”
“It has been my pleasure, Mr. Voss.” Tucking his hands behind him, the solicitor cleared his throat and glanced around the space. “Both Mr. Gleason and I have been honored to work alongside you. Though many of your class criticize and condemn the choices you’ve made, you are a man of principle and integrity, and you chose the better course. Whatever else happens, you should be proud of that.”
For a long moment, Frederick could only stare at the man, uncertain what to do with the quiet sincerity that clung to those words: every conversation with his friends and family of late involved anger, censure, or pity. A tightness formed in his throat before he could master it, and Frederick looked away, pretending to study the window, but the gesture did nothing to dispel the swell of gratitude and pride that pressed against his ribs.
