Farewell to Home Part 2

 

"Listen to me," I said, taking his small hands in mine. They were cold despite the mild morning, and I could feel the fine tremor that meant he was trying very hard not to cry. "You need to stay here and take care of Mother. She's going to need someone strong and brave to help her while I'm away."

"But I want to take care of you too," he whispered, and the last of my composure threatened to crumble entirely.

"You are taking care of me," I said softly. "By being safe, by being good, by making sure our family stays together. That's the most important job anyone could have."

He searched my face with the intensity of a child trying to understand adult decisions that made no sense. "Will you come back?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge. I could lie, paint pretty pictures of temporary arrangements and eventual reunions. Or I could give him the truth, however brutal it might be.

"I don't know," I said finally. "But I promise I'll try."

It wasn't enough—how could it be?—but it was honest. Jamie threw his arms around my neck and held on with the desperate strength of someone who knew this might be goodbye forever.

Over his shoulder, I saw Father appear in the doorway. He looked older this morning, haggard in a way that went beyond simple fatigue. The weight of what he'd done, what he was about to do, sat on his shoulders like a physical burden.

"The carriage is ready," he said quietly. "We should... if we're going to do this, we should go now."

If we're going to do this. As if there was still a choice, still some possibility of changing course at the last moment.

I disentangled myself from Jamie's embrace and stood, smoothing down my skirts with hands that only shook slightly. "I'm ready."

The lie came out so smoothly I almost believed it myself.

Father hefted my trunk with movements that seemed careful, deliberate—as if he were handling something precious rather than the meager possessions of a daughter he was about to sell. "I'll... I'll carry this down."

After he left, Mother pulled me aside one last time. "Catherine," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Whatever happens, whatever you find when you reach that castle, remember that you're not powerless. You're intelligent, you're resourceful, and you're stronger than any of us realized. Don't let circumstances convince you otherwise."

Don't let circumstances convince you otherwise. It sounded like advice for surviving more than just a change of residence.

"What do you think I'll find there?" I asked.

Mother was quiet for a moment, her gaze distant. "I don't know," she said finally. "But your father... the way he speaks of this man, the fear in his eyes... I think there's more to this arrangement than simple companionship."

More than simple companionship. The euphemisms were getting thinner, revealing glimpses of harder truths underneath.

"You think he's dangerous."

"I think," Mother said carefully, "that a man who can inspire that level of terror in your father while appearing to offer generous bargains is not someone to be underestimated. Be careful, Catherine. Be very, very careful."

The carriage ride through our village felt like a funeral procession. I sat beside Father on the worn leather seats, watching familiar houses and shops pass by the window—perhaps for the last time. Mrs. Henderson hanging wash in her garden. Mr. Cromwell opening his bakery for the morning trade. Children running to school with satchels bouncing on their backs.

Normal life continuing as if the world hadn't just shifted on its axis.

"Catherine," Father said after we'd left the village behind. "I want you to understand... what I did, the bargain I made... it wasn't done lightly."

Wasn't done lightly. As if that made it more palatable somehow.

"I know," I said, because what else was there to say? Rage wouldn't change anything. Tears wouldn't unmake the deal. All I had left was acceptance and whatever dignity I could maintain.

"He's not... he's not what you might expect," Father continued, his voice growing more strained with each word. "The castle, the gardens, even the man himself... everything about that place exists outside normal understanding."

Outside normal understanding. More careful words dancing around truths too terrible to speak directly.

"Are you trying to prepare me for something specific?" I asked. "Or just ensuring that nothing I encounter will surprise me?"

Father's hands tightened on the reins. "I'm trying to warn you that the world is stranger than we pretended it was in London. That there are things—people—who operate by different rules than the ones we thought governed civilized society."

Different rules. The phrase sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the morning air.

"What kind of different rules?"

"Older ones," Father said quietly. "The kind that were old when Christianity was young, that recognize debts and bargains as binding in ways that transcend human law."

The forest was appearing ahead of us now, a dark line against the gray sky that seemed to pulse with its own malevolent life. Even from a distance, I could see mist threading between the trees like smoke, and the quality of light seemed wrong somehow—dimmer than it should be for this time of morning.