Reaching into his breast pocket, he gave her the money Mrs. Livingston had given him earlier that morning, except for the portion to cover the cost of the clock and his expenses on the trip. Charlotte inhaled sharply.
She thumbed through the bills but didn’t smile as she stuffed them into her pocket. “It’s no substitute for you, if you don’t come back.”
“I know. It’s worth a good deal more.”
“Arthur.”
“Joking,” he said, even though he wasn’t. Gripping her hands, he kissed her forehead. “I’ll come back, Lottie, I promise.”
“In one piece.”
“Yes.”
“Without the sickness.”
“I certainly hope so.”
She was not amused.
“Yes,” he said. “Perfectly well. Just the way I left. I promise.”
“Wire me at the general store when you get there.”
“Of course.”
“And when you’re coming back.”
“Yes.”
Charlotte pulled a tiny, roughly made cross of rowan from her pocket. “Don’t laugh, but—I want you to take this.”
“Where did it come from?”
She worried her lip with her teeth. “It was with Dad’sthings. It’s... I’ve had it for years. Like you’ve had the acorn in your workshop. I don’t know where he got it. He always said the rowan crosses, the salt, all of it—it was all...”
“Superstition.”
Charlotte nodded. “But it was in his things.”
Arthur’s skin prickled. The rowan cross threatened to unsettle something about his long-held memories of his father, but probably it had been nothing more than a curiosity. Though he hadn’t believed them, George had always been interested in the villagers’ superstitions.
“Why haven’t you shown this to me before?”
Charlotte gave a tight smile. “I barely remember him. You’ve always had more of him, you were so much older than I was when he disappeared. I wanted to have a piece of him to myself.”
So she said, but here she was, giving the rowan cross to Arthur because she was worried about him entering the wood.
She cleared her throat, pressing the cross into his hand. “I don’t believe in it, of course. It’s not that I think it will protect you, I just—”
Arthur hugged her. Charlotte hugged him back, burying her face in his chest in a way she hadn’t done since they were children.
“I’ll come back,” he repeated. “I will. I promise I will.”
She nodded, pulling away to dab at her eyes with the corner of her apron. Arthur slipped the cross into his pocket with the watch-repairing kit.
“Children,” Charlotte called, her voice wobbly, “your uncle is leaving. Come say goodbye.”
The children hugged him. The goat lipped at the legs of his trousers. Arthur tried to push her away, but it was difficult with the children in his arms.
