“I’m all right, duck.”
He ran his hands through his hair. It was so much money. So much. Charlotte could live comfortably on the first half while he was gone. They could send for a doctor to care for her, to see if anything more could be done for her fatigue, her pain, her dizzy spells and bouts of brain fog. She could hire out one of the village girls to keep house, if she wanted. Not that shewouldwant, because Charlotte eschewed all help, but perhaps if Arthur insisted...
Then—when he returned—with the rest of the money, they’d have enough to relocate to Port Lorne like he’d dreamed for so long, with some left over besides.
Here Agnes’s cousin fell ill, and Agnes offered him everything he’d ever wanted, except a wife. But surely courting would go better if Arthur were a man of means, if not exactly of consequence, even if he was odd and not much to look at. With enough money, he could hire someone to fix up the house, as old Mr. Livingston used to do, instead of muddling through repairs himself. None of that would matter in Port Lorne anyway. Maybe, there, he could have a shop—make a living, a real one, not only repairing but designing, making, and selling timepieces.
He’d follow the same path through the forest his father had taken for so many years. He’d see the city, the clock shop (if it was still there), the ships coming in to port—the enchantment of the forest, perhaps even the Lord of the Wood—everything George had told him about. Everything he’d been holding so tightly to in the thirty years since his father’s disappearance.
“Well?” Agnes said; he’d been pacing without responding.
The memory of George’s last trip knifed through him. Arthur hadn’t even said goodbye, too busy sulking.
He’d always wanted to travel through the forest. He’d always wanted to see Port Lorne. That was preciselywhyhe’d been sulking that morning thirty years ago.
Yet now, instead of,Yes, of course, I’d be delighted to go, he said, “I shall have to discuss it with Lottie.”
He forced himself to sit.
“Of course. I’d expect nothing else.” Agnes leaned toward him, eyes wide. “But do decide soon, won’t you, dear boy? Gracie hasn’t much time.”
His stomach clenched. He merely nodded, thinking of thesickness. He’d always believed in the enchanted forest their father had told so many stories about, but now the enchantment seemed to have soured.
Even so, something small and deep inside him ached to go into the wood.
“You must convince him, Charlotte dear,” Agnes said suddenly.
Charlotte had entered the room, leaning on Jonas. Arthur was on his feet instantly, forgetting Agnes’s proposal at the sight of his sister. Her face crumpled in pain.
“What?”
“I’ve just made him the most wonderful proposal.” Agnes sounded more like her cheerful self, but it had a forced quality. She rose, in a rustling of silk. “You must convince him to take it, and quickly, too. How is Gracie?”
Arthur gave Charlotte his arm. Her cane helped, but sometimes an arm was better. He relaxed as she clutched at him; her grip wasn’t as tight as it could get when her pain and exhaustion were at their worst. The walk home would be long, but they’d make it all right.
Guilt surged through him. Sometimes, when he had extra money, he hired a cart to take them back uphill so she could ride instead of walk, but he’d given all his extra money to Mary.
“I did what I could for her,” Charlotte said. “I’ll leave you some tea, and a tincture to help her sleep. I’m afraid I can’t do more.”
Agnes pursed her lips, blinking rapidly. She pulled a pocketbook from her skirt, opened it, counted out money, and handed it to Charlotte. Arthur saw the thoughts warring on his sister’s face: Their family could use the money, and Agnes could certainly afford it—unlike most of the villagers—but she hated to take so much for seeing a patient for whom she had done virtually nothing. Their father had been the same way. Hecould’ve made plenty of money as a doctor in Glenwhistle or Port Lorne or any number of other places, but he’d been determined to do right by the place he’d grown up.
Charlotte handed the money back. “It’s too much, Mrs. Livingston.”
“Nonsense.”
“I couldn’t do anything for her.”
“I’m sure you did what you could.”
“It’s too much.”
Agnes sighed, recounted the money, and removed some. She shoved the remainder back into Charlotte’s hand.
“At least let me give you some of Theo’s old shoes for your boy. He looks ready for new ones. I’m sure he’s about the size Theo was at that age.”
Jonas flushed but mumbled their thanks as Agnes found and gave them the shoes.Theywas only at home, no matter how much it chafed when the villagers saidhe. In a village where men were men and women were women, that had seemed safest, when they’d told their mother and uncle several months ago, in a trembling voice, that they were uncomfortable being called a boy. Arthur had always had a hard enough time being a failure of a man rather than something else entirely.
Charlotte gave a smile more like a grimace. Arthur put an arm around Jonas’s shoulder, thanked Agnes more audibly, and steered the family outside.
