They all laughed companionably again.
Jacob slid a few pence over to Smithfield, who pushed over Jacob’s packet of tobacco.
“My bet would have been on pirates, them bastards,” Curtis volunteered.
“Oh, there were pirates, all right,” Jacob told him. “But I’m an Eversea. We’re harder to kill than cockroaches.” He winked. “And it doesn’teverpay to double-cross us.”
This assertion caused a poignant little lull.
“So, what are your plans now that you’re back in Sussex, Mr. Eversea?” Mr. Smithfield asked pleasantly.
Jacob paused. “I thought I would call on the Sylvaine family today.”
He did not imagine the slightly too-long pause that followed. Or how the features of the men opposite him suddenly tensed.
“Maybe you’ll want to stop by the churchyard on your way,” Mr. Curtis suggested. “You might see one of them.”
The swat Smithfield gave Curtis’s elbow was very subtle. Just a tap with the backs of his fingers.
But Jacob noticed.
The three men regarded each other for another few seconds of fraught silence.
Curtis cleared his throat. “The town committee has been cleaning up the churchyard, and it looks right nice. Thought you might like to see it. That’s all.”
“Thank you,” Jacob said evenly. “I think I will stop by to have a look. Good day to you, gentleman.”
For the weekleading up to the assembly, the squeak of the churchyard gate had heralded Isaiah’s arrival at half past two.
This arrangement was tacit. In the hour they were alone in the churchyard, Isaiah and Isolde cleaned only one or two stone markers. But their conversation skipped like a stone over a brook from topic to topic, sometimes sinking unexpectedly deeply for a time, often circling back effortlessly to a previously mentioned detail.
They traveled back over Isaiah’s secret path when it was time to leave. Every day they walked a little more slowly; every day they stopped, for an all too brief time, to count the new blooms on the wayward roses. As of today, there were five.
At the little wooden footbridge, Isaiah learned that Isolde’s middle name was Emily. He told her that he had two middle names, Joseph and Arthur, like the famous king.
What a coincidence, she exclaimed, as they approached the path to the rose garden. She and her sister sometimes performed scenes from Arthurian tales or Shakespeare plays on the steps of their folly.
When he told her that his favorite line from Shakespeare was “I would not wish any companion in the world but you,” he was unutterably grateful he’d readThe Tempest. Because he felt like a magician when her cheeks flushed and her eyes went soft and dazzled.
But when she went quiet he felt raw and off-balance yet again. He didn’t recognize the ardent, unguarded person he was with her. But he felt safe to risk feeling foolish for the first time in his life.
“The Tempestis one of my favorites of his plays, but lately I find the idea of storms at sea distressing,” she confided, finally, hesitantly.
And thusly Jacob Eversea returned to the conversation, if Isaiah was not mistaken.
With him came the familiar conflicting surge of emotions: fury at Eversea for being the cause of Isolde’s suffering. A pang at the sweetness of her loyalty to Jacob.
Heart-twisting jealousy.
A certainty that he, Isaiah, could care for her better.
Which mattered not, because this interlude would end with Fanchette’s arrival, which could very well be in a few hours.
The paradox was this: In these moments with Isolde, he understood he was happy. But surely happiness in general was illicit, meant to be ephemeral? Perhaps happiness was inebriation, if daily life was sobriety? Because why else would people he greatly esteemed be gravely hurt or disappointed, if not biblically wrathful (his father), if they ever learned the source of his happiness was the daughter of a mere former schoolmaster?
And yet he doubted feckless Eversea saw it that way.
His nights were a torment of stunned joy, heated fantasizing, guilt and dread. He slept little. He knew he ought to tell Isolde about Fanchette, but the words lodged in his throat. A selfish desire to leave these moments with her untainted by reality overcame his honor and good sense.
