He lets out a short sigh. “Yes. Good. I feel as if I must be going mad, Abraham. To want you so.”
I twist his hand in mine, letting the sting in my throat settle before speaking. “Then we will be mad together.”
Jasper stays with me at the creek for what must be an hour or more. We talk as the crickets chirp and the night owls sing their songs. The weight of duty pulls at us both, but we resist. For at least a little while.
When we can no longer delay the inevitable, Jasper leans close, his eyes a flicker of brightness in an otherwise dark night. “If I don’t have another chance to say it, fare thee well, Abraham Morris. Until I can return to you.”
“Be it swiftly, I hope.”
Jasper kisses me, his hand on my cheek shaking. I do my best to soothe his worry, distracting him with soft nips and teasing caresses of my mouth. He’s calmer when we part.
I see Jasper off, walking with him up the hill. I could almost imagine I’m on top of the world, even though I know I’m but a small speck underneath the blanket of stars. Jasper is but a speck, too, when he walks out of sight.
I glimpse Jasper the next day, a smile on his lips as he passes. The fresh bread, hard cheese, and mustard seed paste he gifted me the prior evening sit comfortably within my belly. I wish I could tell him of my mother’s sigh as she ate her own meal. But I don’t have a chance. Jasper is gone almost as quickly as he arrived.
The following day, Jasper returns to the stables. The carriage is prepared, and I check the connections to the horses as the man I presume to be Jasper’s father converses with Victor. I keep one eye on Jasper, careful to temper my smile. Jasper seems less inclined to hide himself away, but I find I can’t chastise him for it, not even inside my own head.
Once payment has been made, Mr. Sinclair steps into the carriage, waving for Jasper to join him. The hired coachman settles in his seat, and I have only a moment to lock eyes with the man I won’t see for likely a month or more. There’s a sadness in his gaze, but he musters up a smile to send me. I give a short nod, and Jasper steps up and out of sight.
Be it swiftly.
I hope, I hope, I hope.
Chapter 5
Jasper
My fingers drum against the sill as I watch our trunks return to the carriage waiting outside my aunt and uncle’s house in the country. Their dog races around the butler’s feet, yapping excitedly.
Five and a half weeks. It’s been five and a half weeks since I last set eyes on Abraham. It will be six by the time I arrive home.
Has he forgotten me? Does he still want me as I want him?
The letters I wrote are tucked safely away inside my trunk, bundled within the pockets of a coat so no one will find them. Even so, I watch the butler lift the trunk into the carriage, my heart in my throat. He moves on, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Voices come from the hall behind me.
“Yes, well, you should try your best to return before next summer,” my aunt is saying, talking, I assume, to my mother. “You know how much I adore your company. It can get so quiet here.”
“Traveling in the winter would be difficult,” my mother says, although she sounds as if she’s considering it. Sometimes I think my mother would have preferred to stay in the countryside instead of moving to town when she married my father. But she’s never said as much.
“It would be near impossible,” my father cuts in. “Besides, I can’t afford to be away from the printer for so long.”
“Perhaps my sister could come alone before the snow arrives,” my aunt proposes, the five of them, my uncle and Catherine included, in the parlor now. She looks at my mother. “You and Jasper both. Surely Catherine could stay and tend to the home?”
My mother looks wistful, but my father shakes his head. “We’ll talk about this another time. Is the carriage packed?”
It takes me a second to realize my father is asking me.
I nod quickly, glancing once more outside the window. The butler is approaching the house now. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let’s be on our way.”
My father says a quick goodbye to my uncle, a rather quiet but kind man. Father nods my aunt’s way before beckoning me out the door. I watch my mother and aunt for a moment, their parting words to one another far more heartfelt and lingering than my father’s. I’ve never seen my mother as soft as she is here with her sister.
When I get out to the carriage, I push the small window covering aside so that I may watch the countryside as we travel. Catherine settles beside me.
She saw me, one day, writing to Abraham. She didn’t ask, but I’ve seen her curious gaze aimed my way often. Perhaps she thinks I’m courting.
