without saying good-bye. “Yet he did not come himself nor seek any further contact with me after news returned of Andre’s death.”
“I cannot explain it,” Emilie said, “though I do suppose that he and my father may bear much grief and burden over Andre’s death.”
“Grief and burden? They merely sent him. It is because of me that Andre is dead.”
Emilie linked arms with her, likely as much to slow Viola’s pace as to offer comfort. She smiled at the baker’s wife, who waved from the building across the street, then turned her attention to Viola. “Might you have lived had you not?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not.” Viola met the gaze of the woman who might have become her sister by marriage. “I have tried on many occasions to offer this up as an excuse, and the words fall flat when compared to the result.”
“My brother had a horrible temper, Vi,” Emilie said. “Andre did not go to the doctor’s home that day with good intentions.”
Viola stopped to lean against the fence rail, her eyes falling shut. “I tried to love him. I wanted so to please Papa and make this a good match.”
Emilie let her cry until the tears were spent.
“I’ve made such a mess of things, Em,” Viola said.
“And now you are making Remy wait.” Her friend’s tone was gentle, her purpose obviously to distract.
She decided to allow the ruse to work. “Indeed,” Viola said. “A moment longer, and I’ll be ready to meet Remy. Do I look awful?”
“No, Vivi. You look every bit as beautiful as I remember.”
Viola whirled around to find that her little brother was not so little anymore. He towered a head taller and wore his mop of dark curls in a much more adult manner than had the young man she left behind.
“Remy!” She made to hug him and felt her feet leave the ground. The horizon swung about, and when the ground rose to meet her, Viola nearly stumbled.
“Easy there,” her brother said as he gathered her close. “Didn’t mean to knock you off your feet.”
“If you two will excuse me.” Emilie pointed to the end of the lane. “I see two of my students I’ve been meaning to speak with. Carol and Maggie, would you come here, please?”
Viola looked past Emilie to see the O’Shea twins scampering toward the beach. As Emilie chased them down and turned them toward town, Viola stepped out of her brother’s embrace to hold him at arm’s length.
“Remy Dumont,” she said as she blinked back tears yet again, “what in the world are you doing on Fairweather Key? Shouldn’t you be reading for the law or choosing a wife by now?”
He winked. “I should, but I’d rather be here with you.”
“Surely you’re not planning to stay here.”
“No, but I plan to take you with me when I leave.”
Chapter 7
Ruby stirred the stew then tapped the edge of the pot with her spoon. Behind her, she heard little Tess do the same. “What are you cooking, Miss Tess?” she called over her shoulder as she counted up the plates and utensils for the noon meal.
“I need a spoon to make my stewp,” the four-year-old said, peering up with eyes that made Ruby’s heart lurch. So like her father, those eyes, and yet nothing like him at all. Well, perhaps in her bursts of temper, but beyond that, Tess bore him no resemblance.
“Stew,” Ruby gently corrected before hefting the tray onto her shoulder to deliver it to the barge-sized dining table.
A tug at her apron string caused Ruby to turn. “No,” Tess said. “You made stew. I made stewp. I’m gonna feed Red.”
Another day, she might have bent to gather up the girl or join her in her nonsensical talk. She might even have allowed her to put some of her imaginary creation out to feed Red, the rooster that snapped at the heels of everyone except Tess.
Today, however, Ruby had yet to shake the morning’s trip to the beach or the reason for it. Then there was the troublesome reminder that she’d likely soon see Micah Tate.
Would that the man might
“I cannot explain it,” Emilie said, “though I do suppose that he and my father may bear much grief and burden over Andre’s death.”
“Grief and burden? They merely sent him. It is because of me that Andre is dead.”
Emilie linked arms with her, likely as much to slow Viola’s pace as to offer comfort. She smiled at the baker’s wife, who waved from the building across the street, then turned her attention to Viola. “Might you have lived had you not?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not.” Viola met the gaze of the woman who might have become her sister by marriage. “I have tried on many occasions to offer this up as an excuse, and the words fall flat when compared to the result.”
“My brother had a horrible temper, Vi,” Emilie said. “Andre did not go to the doctor’s home that day with good intentions.”
Viola stopped to lean against the fence rail, her eyes falling shut. “I tried to love him. I wanted so to please Papa and make this a good match.”
Emilie let her cry until the tears were spent.
“I’ve made such a mess of things, Em,” Viola said.
“And now you are making Remy wait.” Her friend’s tone was gentle, her purpose obviously to distract.
She decided to allow the ruse to work. “Indeed,” Viola said. “A moment longer, and I’ll be ready to meet Remy. Do I look awful?”
“No, Vivi. You look every bit as beautiful as I remember.”
Viola whirled around to find that her little brother was not so little anymore. He towered a head taller and wore his mop of dark curls in a much more adult manner than had the young man she left behind.
“Remy!” She made to hug him and felt her feet leave the ground. The horizon swung about, and when the ground rose to meet her, Viola nearly stumbled.
“Easy there,” her brother said as he gathered her close. “Didn’t mean to knock you off your feet.”
“If you two will excuse me.” Emilie pointed to the end of the lane. “I see two of my students I’ve been meaning to speak with. Carol and Maggie, would you come here, please?”
Viola looked past Emilie to see the O’Shea twins scampering toward the beach. As Emilie chased them down and turned them toward town, Viola stepped out of her brother’s embrace to hold him at arm’s length.
“Remy Dumont,” she said as she blinked back tears yet again, “what in the world are you doing on Fairweather Key? Shouldn’t you be reading for the law or choosing a wife by now?”
He winked. “I should, but I’d rather be here with you.”
“Surely you’re not planning to stay here.”
“No, but I plan to take you with me when I leave.”
Chapter 7
Ruby stirred the stew then tapped the edge of the pot with her spoon. Behind her, she heard little Tess do the same. “What are you cooking, Miss Tess?” she called over her shoulder as she counted up the plates and utensils for the noon meal.
“I need a spoon to make my stewp,” the four-year-old said, peering up with eyes that made Ruby’s heart lurch. So like her father, those eyes, and yet nothing like him at all. Well, perhaps in her bursts of temper, but beyond that, Tess bore him no resemblance.
“Stew,” Ruby gently corrected before hefting the tray onto her shoulder to deliver it to the barge-sized dining table.
A tug at her apron string caused Ruby to turn. “No,” Tess said. “You made stew. I made stewp. I’m gonna feed Red.”
Another day, she might have bent to gather up the girl or join her in her nonsensical talk. She might even have allowed her to put some of her imaginary creation out to feed Red, the rooster that snapped at the heels of everyone except Tess.
Today, however, Ruby had yet to shake the morning’s trip to the beach or the reason for it. Then there was the troublesome reminder that she’d likely soon see Micah Tate.
Would that the man might
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