We bounce along for several silent moments, then I bare my soul, releasing my deepest fear into the bald, frigid air. “And if I find something utterly terrible?”
“Murderterrible, or just…you know, burn the toast bad?”
I adore his sense of humor. Truly, I do. It’s charming. Likely helpful.
Usually.
“Would you…” I cannot bring myself to ask if he will vanish. Everyone has his limits. AJ’s seem impossibly wide, but I sense I’m close to bumping up against one.
“Would I what, luv?”
“What if I don’t remember? What then? What if I never find any answers?”
“Then you go on living in the present.”
“In an asylum!”
“I’ll visit you.”
“Ansel! You’re making fun.”
“What? I don’t see why you’ve tied yourself in a knot over this. It hasn’t happened yet.”
“Becauseeverythingis at stake.” He is apathetic about everything, it would seem, including me. Including our marriage. Perhaps that’s why he has jumped into it so easily. The notion that my love eclipses his so greatly breaks my heart in ways I cannot put into words. I touch my hand to my chest, and find an alarming emptiness there.
I stiffen. Something is missing—the brooch.
No. No!
She’ll sell it the moment she’s away from here,Sabine whispered to her mother when I opened it.You’re wasting family heirlooms on her.I feel about in the wagon, frantically searching. I cannot bring myself to admit the loss to AJ.
“Steak? I might have steak.”
“Must everything be laughable? Will youpleasebe serious for once?”
“I hardly see the point.”
I curl into my frustration in the bouncing wagon, and when I close my eyes another man’s face appears. Brown-eyed, windswept, and utterly solemn. I shove it aside but it returns, haunting the fringes of my mind. A vague longing circles, so I shove harder.
The wind dies as the cart creaks around a corner. Something feels wrong.
I poke my head above the straw. The road is veering inland, away from the coastline. “AJ. Where is this farmer going? The shore isthat way.Perhaps we should jump out.”
“I’ll not hear talk of jumping. Especially at night. What if you hit your head again?”
A good blow and you’ll lose what little ground you’ve gained.I can hear Dr. Bartlett’s words even now.Your head…it’s much more delicate now. Bear that in mind and take care.
“We’ll stop where we stop,” says AJ. “Then I shall escort my lady back to the coast.”
“What’ll we do, ride directly into his barn? We’ll be arrested.” I spread my bare palms over the wagon floor, desperate for any sign of the brooch.
“Being in prison would keep you out of the asylum, at least.”
“You’dliketo see me locked up, wouldn’t you?” The headache intensifies. I grab my head, which has never felt more fragile.
A gruff sigh. “It’d be handy for keeping you in one place. Now—you’renotjumping.”
I glare at him in the dark. Then I spring from the cart, striking prickly grass and rolling down a hill. When I stop, my skirt is twisted and pain shoots from shoulder to hip, but the night is quiet.
