“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well, the way Bob described you, I pictured a dignified princess who lived in a castle. Where did you learn to climb trees?”
“Um . . . My friend Eve Dawson taught me.” She looked away so he wouldn’t see she was lying.
“I heard all about Eve, too.”
“Really? What did you hear?”
“That she was funny and brave and full of life. Whatever happened to her?”
“We lost touch after the war.”
“Well, she did a good job teaching you to climb. You scrambled up that tree like a monkey.”
Eve met his gaze, and the love and longing she saw in Tom’s eyes startled her. Her heart lurched. She could easily fall in love with Tom if she allowed herself. He was her closest friend. She imagined being held in his arms, kissing him, and her heart skipped faster. Maybe she already was in love with him. Eve quickly looked away, dismissing the thought. Impossible. The Barretts would never approve.
But Mum would. Granny Maud, too. They would have liked Tom Vandenberg.
Eve continued walking, following the creek through the woods. The rushing water was like music to her soul. Her sighs of contentment blended with the sigh of the branches swishing in the wind, the rustle of leaves and twigs beneath her feet. Much too soon, Robbie slowed down. “You’re not tired already, are you?” she asked.
“My tummy hurts.”
“I’m not surprised after all the cake and ice cream you ate.”
“Can we go home?”
I am home, she wanted to say.
“Want me to carry you, buddy?” Tom asked. Robbie nodded, and Tom swung him up onto his shoulders as if he weighed nothing at all. Eve had never known her father, but he must have been a lot like Tom, a hardworking man who loved the land and his animals, a man with a warm smile for everyone. She knew the ache of growing up without a father and regretted that her son would know it, too.
“Right, then. I guess we’d better head home,” Eve said when they reached the farmyard. Tom settled Robbie into the backseat. “Thanks, Tom,” she said after a quick embrace. She loved the scent of woods and fresh air on his clothing but didn’t dare to linger in his arms.
“Anytime.”
She drove away, sorry she had to leave. The Barretts had so enfolded Eve into their lives that she forgot, at times, that they weren’t her real family. But today she felt the uncomfortable tug between the woman she truly was and the woman she had become. Between the woman who belonged in the woods and the one who threw elaborate birthday parties at the country club. Eve wiped away tears as she drove, wishing for Robbie’s sake, for her own sake, that she had never chosen to become Audrey Barrett.
WELLINGFORD HALL
Tildy baked a birthday cake for Bobby when he turned four. Mrs. Smith stuck candles on top of it and the servants gathered around to sing “Happy Birthday to You.” Audrey remembered her own birthday parties on Wellingford’s lawn with white tablecloths and silver serving dishes and children she didn’t know. She had stood off to the side and watched them play, too shy to join them. But Alfie would always come and take her hand and pull her into the festivities.
“Make a wish, Bobby,” Audrey told him. “Then blow out the candles.” He did as he was told. Audrey wondered what he wished for. She had given up on wishes the day Robert died.
When they’d all eaten their fill, Audrey asked Tildy to put a piece of cake on a plate for her father, and she carried it to him in his study. “Father?” she said, knocking on his door. “I brought you a piece of cake. It’s Bobby’s birthday today.” He didn’t reply. She slowly opened the door and went in, steeling herself. He had returned to Wellingford Hall shortly after Eve disappeared four years ago, and had become increasingly reclusive ever since, holing up in his study, day after day, year after year until it had become a hoarder’s lair. He seldom left the room, eating here, sleeping here, and refusing to allow the servants inside to clean. Audrey skirted around mounds of trash and piles of newspapers and approached his desk, where he sat staring at an empty Scotch bottle. “I thought you might like some cake, Father. Tildy made it for Bobby’s birthday.”
“I’m selling the manor house,” he said without looking at her.
“Excuse me?”
“Pack your things and get out. Tell the servants they’re through working here. I’m selling Wellingford Hall and moving back to the north country where I belong.” He slurred his words. He was drunk.