Page 10 of Winterset

Anna’s face filled with sympathy, and she went to her brother, slipping her hand into his. “Kit, I am so sorry….”

“I know. It is not your fault.” He smiled faintly down at her, squeezing her hand a little. “You, after all, suffer just as much as I. One cannot choose one’s lot, can one? And, for the most part, I am well content.”

“For the most part.”

He shrugged. “I cannot help but see, can I? Cannot help but feel?”

“No,” Anna replied, her voice threaded with sorrow. “One cannot help but feel.”

* * *

After her talk with Kit, Anna felt the need to get outside. She had always loved the outdoors, and she refused to let Reed’s proximity deter her from her almost-daily walk or ride about the estate. Whatever the problem, it always helped clear her head to go on a long ramble.

She would be careful this time, though, not to head in the direction of Winterset. She would go into the woods toward Craydon Tor. So, putting on her walking boots and grabbing her hat, she left the house. She took the same path out of the garden that she had used the other day, but this time she headed into the leafy green trees leading toward the tor, an upthrust of land that on this side was a gradual elevation and on the other was a more-or-less sheer drop to the valley below. It loomed over the village of Lower Fenley and was the most distinctive landmark for miles around.

As she walked through the trees, the vegetation grew thicker around her, and the path became less and less clear. Anna knew the area, however, and she had no fear of getting lost. There were some, she knew, who disliked the woods, finding them dark and gloomy, even frightening. But she had always thought them peaceful and serene, and she liked the glimpses of wildlife that she found in them, from the red flash of a bird flitting from branch to branch to the jittering antics of a squirrel on a limb.

The woods worked their usual magic today, calming her. At one point she came upon a fawn with its mother, both of which turned and shot off as she approached. She sat on a large stone for a few minutes, just listening to the sounds of the woods—the twitter of birds, the soft stirring of the branches, the rustle of some small creature in the leaves.

Holding her skirts up with one hand and grabbing at branches and saplings with the other, she made her way down into a small depression where a little pool had formed. She chuckled as a startled frog jumped off a stone at her approach and landed with a splash in the large puddle. Past this indention in the land, she climbed upward at a slant, taking a narrow path. It led, she knew, to a small, enchanting glen not much farther on, where a fallen, mossy tree trunk provided a natural seat. Perhaps she might go even farther than that; she might go to the hut and see how things were there. She too often avoided her duty there, she thought. Her father would not have been pleased; he would have said that the distress she felt when she went there was no excuse.

Anna came to an abrupt stop. A terrible cold assailed her. Her hand flew to her chest as if to hold in the pain that flowered there, sharp and icy. Instinctively she closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the nighttime darkness of the woods, deep and pervasive. Her breath caught in her throat as fear and panic flashed through her.

She bit back a moan and stumbled away. She leaned against a tree, struggling to calm her breathing. The panic and the pain receded, leaving her shaken.

Anna turned, looking back at the innocuous copse of trees from which she had just fled. She pressed her hand against her forehead, where a headache had formed. She waited for the shaking and the weakness to subside. They always did, though the headaches tended to linger longer.

It was not the first time she had felt this sort of strange sensation, where she seemed abruptly to be outside of her body somehow, assaulted by emotions she did not understand. Sometimes she simply felt these emotions; other times she might smell something, like the sharp scent of burning wood, and often she “saw” something.

Once, when she had gone to visit one of their tenant farmers whose child was ill, as she had approached the door, she had been struck by a wave of sorrow so severe that tears had sprung unconsciously into her eyes. It had been no surprise to her when the farmer had opened the door, his face a mask of grief, and told her that his child had died only minutes earlier.

Usually they were quite commonplace things that she saw or felt—a spring day and an upswelling of joy even though it was winter at the time, or a sentence or two in another’s voice suddenly running through her head, completely out of context with anything that was happening around her. When Kit was away in Europe, she had awakened one night thinking she had heard him speak her name, but, of course, he had not been in the house.

She did not know what caused these “visions,” and she had kept them hidden from those around her, ashamed and embarrassed by her oddity. It was only rarely that they seemed connected to anything real, as they had been with the tenant farmer. She did her best to suppress and ignore them when they came upon her. But never had one hit her with the intensity or pain she had just felt.

Anna took a deep breath and smoothed back her hair with her hands. She looked at the quiet scene again. It was ridiculous to think that there was anything about it that could cause such fear. She took another steadying breath, turned and began to walk away. Her desire to go farther up the hill had vanished, and she decided to walk home.

She had not gone very far when she heard the faint sound of a voice. She paused, listening. She was on Holcomb land, and it was unusual for there to be anyone else here.

Again there was a voice—no, two, she thought. Curious, she turned in the direction of the sound, walking quietly and carefully. There was always the possibility of poachers, though Rankin kept a sharp eye out for them. She had little desire to meet anyone who was roaming deep in these woods.

She saw them now, some twenty feet or so away, though they were still somewhat hidden by the trees. They were lads, and they were bent over something on the ground. As she drew closer, she saw that what interested the boys was an animal, lying on its side.

Anna hurried forward, worried now. Obviously there was something wrong with the animal, which she could see now was a dog. She wasn’t sure whether she was more worried that the boys had hurt the dog or that the wounded animal might bite them in its fear.

“Boys!” Her voice came out more sharply than she had intended.

The two adolescents whirled around. The first thing she noticed was the evident relief on their faces, which reassured her that they were concerned for the animal, not hurting it, and the next thing was that they were as alike as peas in a pod. They were slender as whips, and both had thick dark hair, disheveled. Their eyes were wide and light-colored, and intelligence shone in them. They looked, she realized with a little clutch in her chest, very much like Reed.

The twins! Reed had spoken of them often, with a wry affection—and had he not mentioned the other day that they had come here with him?

“Ma’am!” one of them exclaimed, and they started toward her.

“Can you help? We found this dog.”

“And he’s badly hurt.”

They stopped before her, looking earnestly at her. There were leaves and twigs caught in their hair and on their clothing, and dirt smudged their faces and clothes. Anna could not help but smile at them.