Keep.”
“People are dreadful, and I’m sorry your mother had to endure all that.”
“You don’t judge her, then, for having got with child before she married?”
“Judge her, for something that happened forty years ago or more? Why? We don’t truly even know what happened, and it was all so long ago.” No matter what Mrs. Armstrong had done before her marriage, she’d been faithful to and happy with Jack’s father. If she’d been in the wrong, she’d showed her repentance in her deeds for the rest of her life.
“Still. You’re very generous.”
His eyes, so dark and intent, made her feel warm and fidgety. She shrugged, trying to dismiss both his praise and the effect it had on her. “She’s family now.”
Jack reached across the table to seize her hand in his. “Yes, and so are you.”
Elizabeth couldn’t think of anything to say, and she had to fight to keep her breathing steady while time stood still. He showed no sign of noticing her agitation, and soon he gave her hand a brisk squeeze and released it.
* * *
Elizabeth hadn’t lied to Jack. Knowing what lay in her mother-in-law’s past made no difference to her. Each day she spent an hour with Mrs. Armstrong, talking to her, encouraging her to eat more and reading to her from poetry, prayers and psalms—anything that sounded lovely and soothing without requiring her to follow a narrative or remember a story’s plot from one day to the next. She would spend more time with her once Jack had gone, but she reckoned it could only help Mrs. Armstrong to become accustomed to her before her son left and took away his somewhat familiar face.
Elizabeth and Jack ate a final breakfast together just after daylight on the morning he was to depart for London and the ship that would carry him across the Atlantic.
“You’re good with Mama,” he said.
“Thank you. I like her.” She truly did. Though in her confusion Mrs. Armstrong could be short-tempered and difficult, Elizabeth could still glimpse the humor and good sense that had helped her overcome the difficulties in her past and build a happy life.
He took a meditative sip of coffee. “I wish you could’ve known her before. She could have told you everything there was to know about this place and our family for, oh, at least a hundred years.”
“I expect she’ll still tell me,” Elizabeth said. “Only, I’ll have to consult Metcalf privately, or perhaps write to you, to know which stories are from ten years ago versus fifty.”
“Do write often,” he said. “You’ll have long waits for replies, but I want to hear how she does and how you go on.”
“I shall,” she assured him.
When they had finished eating, Jack hurried upstairs for a last visit with his mother. Elizabeth didn’t attempt to follow. He would likely be away several more years, and he must know full well this might be the last time he saw his mother in life. Elizabeth wouldn’t dream of intruding on such a moment.
Instead, she said her farewells to her new husband in the stable yard, just before he mounted the bay gelding he meant to take to Canada with him. He took her right hand in both of his. He had big hands, and she could feel their warmth and strength through his thin riding gloves.
“I leave all this in your hands,” he said. “And I believe they’re capable ones.”
“I’ll do my best,” she promised. “And I’ll pray for you for a safe journey and a safe return.”
He glanced to his left. Elizabeth followed his gaze and saw that they had an intent audience of servants. He bent to kiss her. It started as a quick brush of the lips, but then his arm slid around her waist, pulling her against him. Elizabeth’s breath escaped in a gasp, and she slid her hands up to his shoulders, square and strong under his plain gray greatcoat. He kissed her again, harder this time, and ran a gloved hand over her chilled cheek.
Her heart beat faster, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his lips as he pulled
“People are dreadful, and I’m sorry your mother had to endure all that.”
“You don’t judge her, then, for having got with child before she married?”
“Judge her, for something that happened forty years ago or more? Why? We don’t truly even know what happened, and it was all so long ago.” No matter what Mrs. Armstrong had done before her marriage, she’d been faithful to and happy with Jack’s father. If she’d been in the wrong, she’d showed her repentance in her deeds for the rest of her life.
“Still. You’re very generous.”
His eyes, so dark and intent, made her feel warm and fidgety. She shrugged, trying to dismiss both his praise and the effect it had on her. “She’s family now.”
Jack reached across the table to seize her hand in his. “Yes, and so are you.”
Elizabeth couldn’t think of anything to say, and she had to fight to keep her breathing steady while time stood still. He showed no sign of noticing her agitation, and soon he gave her hand a brisk squeeze and released it.
* * *
Elizabeth hadn’t lied to Jack. Knowing what lay in her mother-in-law’s past made no difference to her. Each day she spent an hour with Mrs. Armstrong, talking to her, encouraging her to eat more and reading to her from poetry, prayers and psalms—anything that sounded lovely and soothing without requiring her to follow a narrative or remember a story’s plot from one day to the next. She would spend more time with her once Jack had gone, but she reckoned it could only help Mrs. Armstrong to become accustomed to her before her son left and took away his somewhat familiar face.
Elizabeth and Jack ate a final breakfast together just after daylight on the morning he was to depart for London and the ship that would carry him across the Atlantic.
“You’re good with Mama,” he said.
“Thank you. I like her.” She truly did. Though in her confusion Mrs. Armstrong could be short-tempered and difficult, Elizabeth could still glimpse the humor and good sense that had helped her overcome the difficulties in her past and build a happy life.
He took a meditative sip of coffee. “I wish you could’ve known her before. She could have told you everything there was to know about this place and our family for, oh, at least a hundred years.”
“I expect she’ll still tell me,” Elizabeth said. “Only, I’ll have to consult Metcalf privately, or perhaps write to you, to know which stories are from ten years ago versus fifty.”
“Do write often,” he said. “You’ll have long waits for replies, but I want to hear how she does and how you go on.”
“I shall,” she assured him.
When they had finished eating, Jack hurried upstairs for a last visit with his mother. Elizabeth didn’t attempt to follow. He would likely be away several more years, and he must know full well this might be the last time he saw his mother in life. Elizabeth wouldn’t dream of intruding on such a moment.
Instead, she said her farewells to her new husband in the stable yard, just before he mounted the bay gelding he meant to take to Canada with him. He took her right hand in both of his. He had big hands, and she could feel their warmth and strength through his thin riding gloves.
“I leave all this in your hands,” he said. “And I believe they’re capable ones.”
“I’ll do my best,” she promised. “And I’ll pray for you for a safe journey and a safe return.”
He glanced to his left. Elizabeth followed his gaze and saw that they had an intent audience of servants. He bent to kiss her. It started as a quick brush of the lips, but then his arm slid around her waist, pulling her against him. Elizabeth’s breath escaped in a gasp, and she slid her hands up to his shoulders, square and strong under his plain gray greatcoat. He kissed her again, harder this time, and ran a gloved hand over her chilled cheek.
Her heart beat faster, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his lips as he pulled
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