Samantha James by One Moonlit Night Page A

eyes. At times she had wanted to gouge them out, for what use were they? She would never grow used to being blind—never. She hated being blind, just as she hated the thieving Gypsy who had murdered Papa.
    A shudder tore through her. She’d had a nightmare again last night. She’d seen his face again…that horrible Gypsy, with his club raised high to strike Papa once more…She shuddered. She knew Olivia had been hurt that she’d never spoken of what she’d seen that terrible night, but it was bad enough that she—Emily—must relive that horrible scene in her nightmares. She would not put Olivia through the same torment. Yes, it was better this way, to never speak of it.
    She fingered the small square of lace anew. She felt so helpless just sitting here. But this afternoon when she’d been working on the lace, the time had passed so quickly. It was amazing how well she’d remembered the stitches. An idea took hold then…Excitement gathered in her breast. She could make doilies and table runners…and if she could manage to sell them…Oh, Olivia was such a dear! She’d taken care of her these many months,and…if she could lighten the burden, she wouldn’t feel so—so useless!
    But she wanted it to be a surprise. She wouldn’t tell Olivia, not just yet. Olivia would think ’twas just a way to pass the time.
    Before she knew it, she was humming a merry little tune in time with the rocking of her chair. Her mood was much more lighthearted than it had been in ever so long…

Four
    Sunday dawned clear and bright and warm. Sunlight glinted off the duck pond near the market square. Just across from the square was a small Norman church that had been there for centuries; the entrance was marked by a carved Saxon cross. Tangled, leafy vines climbed one side of the rustic stone.
    William had stopped by the village green just after Olivia arrived there. Olivia wondered if he did it solely so that she wouldn’t continue her lessons with the children. When she reminded him of it, he looked a bit sullen.
    He glanced at his pocket watch. “I must be off then,” he said. “Mother is waiting tea.” With that he leaned over and pressed his mouth to hers.
    It was over in but an instant. Still, Olivia was aghast. How dared he do so before others! It wasn’t as if they were engaged, and if little Emory hadn’t appeared at her side just then, she would have told him so.
    Olivia didn’t know that other eyes saw as well—eyes that keenly surveyed the two of them…
    An hour later she was sitting on the grass in the village green, slippered feet tucked under her, herskirts spread out around her. A dozen or so children clustered before her. Among them was Colin, Charlotte’s little boy. He was bright-eyed but a trifle shy, with curling hair as flame-red as his mother’s. He’d nodded eagerly when Olivia asked if he wanted to learn to read, but he had yet to speak a word though the lesson was almost over.
    She moved her chalk swiftly over the small board she cradled in her lap and held it high for the children to see.
    “Can anyone tell me what this word is?”
    “It says ‘Colin’.” This came from Jane, whose father was a farmer. At thirteen, Jane was the eldest among the children. She attended every Sunday, along with her two sisters and three brothers.
    “Excellent, Jane. It says ‘Colin’.” She smiled at Colin, whose eyes had brightened at the sound of his name. “Colin, do you see this?”
    The lad nodded vigorously.
    “Well, Colin, this is your name. Soon you’ll be able to read it yourself—and write it as well, won’t you?”
    His head bobbed up and down.
    “Very good. Now then, if you will all—”
    She broke off suddenly, for every one of the children had lifted their eyes to a spot behind her. Lucinda ducked behind her sister Jane. Even Jonny, who’d been whispering to his neighbor, fell silent.
    The skin on the back of her neck seemed to prickle curiously. Even before she turned, she had the