My mama didn’t trust me and had appointed a guardian, the perfect daughter, to accompany me. I nodded and didn’t let my disappointment show.
I shut up and took it.
Mama tigress was still in control. Her words had been said from on high. Mrs. Fitterwall should’ve had the commandment etched on stone tablets. Trust must be earned.
“Yes, come along, sister.”
Bewilderment settled in Ester’s topaz eyes. She tugged at the bodice on her simple beige gown. “Ummm. I should change.”
“There’s no time. Give your son to the housekeeper and let’s go.”
She did, and Mrs. Fitterwall hummed a lullaby and took the wee lad up the stairs—with that crook-necked movement of hers.
“Ruth? You never go anywhere.”
Her voice held such surprise.
Just what I needed to bolster me, a doubting Ester. I chuckled inside.
“I’m glad you are getting out of the house for a bit, but Ruth, I don’t have to go with you, if you need privacy.”
Ester’s soft eyes whimpered. In another moment, she’d repeat platitudes about waiting on change, prayers for patience, or some comforting Job-like concession on long suffering.
There was no time. My strength would wane if I didn’t go now. Ester could be helpful when I took that first step out the door.
I put a finger to Ester’s mouth. “You look like a suitable chaperone. You’ll keep the wayward daughter from a new disaster.”
My sister didn’t move.
I sighed and tried again. “Come with me, Ester. I want you with me. I need you.”
“I don’t have to go, Ruth. I trust you.”
I looked at the door. She’d help going down those steps. “You shall come. Wear my coat. That will fix you up. I’ll wear your shawl. We’ll both match in pink. And that’s your favorite color. We’re in fine Croome fabric as we visit my husband’s family.”
Ester moved with me to the door.
With my spectacles, I study it.
The smoothness of the ebony-painted wood.
The glass sidelights that let in the sun.
The strength of it, a barrier to keep out the world.
“Your husband’s family. The barrister’s family? That’s an odd way to put it when you haven’t married him.”
“Not him. Adam Wilky, my late husband.”
She tugged my arm and pursed her lips as if she were going to share a secret. “But Adam’s made up. There’s no family to visit.”
I took all the lies told about me and pushed the anger to my hands. The volcano swirling in me blew open the door.
The carriage sat close to the house, like Jonesy would do for me.
My chest shuddered. I gripped Ester’s arm tightly. “Come see how fake Adam Wilky’s life was. Let his father attest to his existence.”
Ester started forward. I matched her strides to make myself go over the threshold.
