“Turn around now,” I whisper. “And don’t look back. The next time you see me, it will be upon my return to you.”
His inhale is broken, but he doesn’t move. Perhaps he can’t. I pull his hands off of me slowly, one by one, squeezing each before letting them drop to his sides. With a small nudge on my part, Abraham turns stiltedly in place. Tears slip down my cheeks as I hear him crying.
His voice, when he speaks, is a fragment of itself. “Be it swiftly.”
I take in a small, steadying breath, even as I break apart. Every piece of me. Every atom. “Be it swiftly.”
When I reach the top of the hill, I look over my shoulder. Abraham is standing beside our creek, his back to me, his arms around his stomach. He shimmers in place until I wipe the tears from my eyes.
I turn back around, keep walking, and don’t look back.
My house is a flurry of activity when I arrive. Catherine spares me a quick glance as I come through the door, packing a hunk of hard cheese into a sack already full. My mother spots me and hurries over, her eyes fluttering over me before her hands come to rest on my shoulders.
“You know,” I say before she can utter a word. I need not tell her of the conversation I had with Catherine. It would be clear in any case that something is greatly amiss.
“Jasper,” my mother says thickly. “Othersknow. We must get you out.”
My breath shakes once more. “You do not hate me for it?”
She doesn’t answer, but her face falls.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, my tears back in full force. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hush now,” she says, leading me toward the front of the house. “There isn’t time for it. Your father is waiting.”
I let out a sudden gasp. “A moment,” I say, racing to my bedchamber. I find the bundle of letters I wrote for Abraham and tuck them into my waistcoat, unwilling to leave them behind.
Catherine hands me the sack at the front door. I swing it over my shoulder, feeling as if I’m floating along in a dream, none of this real. How is it real? Yet deep down, I know there’s no waking from this. This is it. I’m going, and I know not if I’ll ever return.
My mother urges me out the door. Catherine says a soft goodbye. I find my father a ways down from our house, out of sight, preparing the horse. With no words spoken between us, he helps me atop its back and follows.
We race out of town in the middle of the night, my memories of Abraham tucked against my heart, my chest so tight it feels as if I’m dying.
Heartbreak, that’s what they call this.
I only wish the last I saw of my beloved Abraham wasn’t his own heart broken to pieces because of me.
Part II
Charlie and Arthur
Chapter 10
Charlotte
“On behalf of God and his church, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
There’s a collective sigh as Arthur leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. His hand squeezes mine, a silent show of support, before the organ starts up again. I inhale sharply at the sound, and Arthur chuckles, the light in his eyes making me feel as if we’re the only two people standing within the expansive church.
The resonant music encourages us down the aisle, and I’m fortunate Arthur is there to lend a hand, as my head is feeling light. We pass our gathered family and acquaintances seated in the pews. I don’t look directly at them, knowing my mother would chastise me for forgetting etiquette, but I have no doubt there are many glassy eyes watching us.
I wonder, briefly, if I should feel poorly for not crying myself. It is, after all, one of the happiest moments of my life, truly.
But a single glance at Arthur and those still-teasing eyes sets me at immediate ease. My husband does not judge me for my lack of tears. He understands me more than I could have ever known to hope for.
My husband.
Arthur gives the hand I have resting on his forearm a squeeze, as if sensing I may be in need of it. I smile at him softly before refocusing on the exit in front of us, not wanting to trip in my heels so close to escape. I might never get up again, considering the heft of my skirts.
