Far from the Madding Crowd.“My Helen…this is one of her favorites. She has a signed copy.”
“Do you know why?”
He blinks. “Doyou?”
“Because I sent it to her.”
“You? Why?”
“Because the author gave me that book himself. Told me it was the only love story he ever wrote that had a happy ending. Well, I wanted that for both of you. So I sent a copy of it—anonymously.”
He fingers the spine, the worn pages.
“And she favors it because of that, but also because it reminds her of your love story.”
He blinks down at the thick volume with the faded gold foil lettering. He’s never read it. She asked him to, but she didn’t press, so he didn’t.
The tall, older man who answered the door on William’s first visit strides into the kitchen, his gaze immediately seeking out his wife and relaxing into a smile when he spots her. He crosses to her and lays both hands on her shoulders. “I haven’t seen that book in ages. Why is it out of the dust jacket?” He shakes his head, looking at William. “She doesn’t listen well.”
He smiles. “So I’ve heard.”
Merryn’s husband, with a twinkle in his eye, touches Merryn’s chin and slips out the back door into the garden with Cecil.
William looks back at the lovely face whose story had captured him for months now. “So you never answered before. Whydidyou stop writing in the memory book? I’d rather like to know the ending.” Because somehow it mirrors his own. And in some odd way, if he can discover her happy ending…perhaps he can pretend he has one of his own.
“A few more memories were restored to me.” More fidgeting. “Certain memories are too painful to record.” She lifts her gaze to him. “Such as…the part that includes you.” A long breath. “Especiallythat part.”
Chapter 44
Merryn, 1913
OnThursdayItakethe train to Ludgrove School. I pay for one third-class ticket, giddy that I shall be purchasing two for the return trip. The telegram arrived from Gould’s office this morning, the stack of legal documents soon after, and I wasted no time in claiming my inheritance—the portion I care most about, anyway.
I’ve had to allow for Sabine to be secondary trustee to the estate, considering my memory is still not whole and perfect, but Cecil, the bright elfin boy with the curious face and the troublesome smile…is mine. Mine!A smile leaks onto my face.
Ludgrove School is large and overbearing, a Tudor-and-brick structure with arrow-like turrets and the chaos of its pupils about the grounds. This time, no one keeps me from him. I will not let them. Inside the front hall, when I spot a schoolmastercrouched down to yell into his face, I make a dash for Cecil. I’m propelled—a faint echo of the urgency that once urged me to dive between him and an automobile.
I fly to him, that boy so much smaller than the others. “That’ll do, sir.” The man straightens and I shove papers at him. “I’ll be taking my boy now.”
He blinks at me, and I realize—proudly—that I’m once again breaking rules. Bucking norms. I tuck Cecil behind me as another man runs across the entryway. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“She has papers,” says the first, incredulous.
A restrained argument between gentlemen ensues, but I pay no attention. I touch Cecil’s floppy hair. His skin is pale beneath his freckles. “Keen to leave this place?”
“Since before I came here!” His face glows.
I crush him in an embrace, even though he stiffens a bit—it isn’t manly, this affection—and spin him around. “Come, then,” I say, smiling. “Let’s go.”
Then like two children, we rush through the halls and out the door, toward the rest of our future.
Toward home, wherever that is.
“Hey,” the man yells. “You can’t just leave with him. There are protocols.”
Hang protocols. I’ve had plenty of them. I march down the walk and out that gate without looking back.
“Where’s AJ?” Cecil’s breathless, trying to keep up.
