A hum filled Gwyneth’s throat. Her family had had its breaks too, but the biggest rifts had already been healed by the time she was born.
Her eyes became unfocused, her vision doubled, and she had to clutch at the rope to keep from toppling off the swing. Perhaps her grandparents’ separation hadn’t been the biggest rift. There was obviously hidden strife between Papa and Uncle Gates. Hidden, vicious strife. Devouring hatred.
“Speaking of Grandmama Caro, she mentioned a craving for an apple pie, and I have already used the last of my apples. I thought perhaps Thad has some stashed in the cellar.”
Gwyneth drew in a long breath and blinked until her vision returned to normal. Apples. Pie. Normal, everyday life. Strange how it could continue on an upside-down world. “Your brother is out, and Rosie mentioned needing to run a few errands as well. I am not certain if she has left yet.”
Philly chuckled. “That man is never at home when I come by.”
Gwyneth frowned and fastened her gaze upon the swaying house, searching her mind for more information on where Thad had gone. All she came up with was the question of how she even knew he was out. To be sure, she hadn’t seen him since she rose an hour ago, but she had come straight from her room to the garden. She hadn’t searched for him. Still, she was certain he was away. As certain as she was of anything else these days.
“Well, I will see if I can catch Rosie. Or else I shall check the cellar myself.”
Philly stepped away from the swing, and Gwyneth let her toes drag until she slowed to a halt. Perhaps she would read Charlotte Temple for a while. Or, better still, get out her paints. She had wanted to paint, hadn’t she? Something niggled in the back of her mind. Something particular. Something…perhaps a more complete version of something she had already sketched?
She stood, her brows pulled down. What had she even sketched? And what was wrong with her, that she could not remember something so basic? She recalled the pencil in her hands and that intense concentration Mama had called her muse. The crick in her neck from being too long hunched over the desk. That burning need to join line to curve and shade to light. And the startling realization that night had passed and morning had come along with Thad.
His fingers on her forehead, brushing through her hair.
Her cheeks burned. His image filled her mind’s eye. Those yellow-topaz eyes, looking at her with the same focus she gave her art.
Did he really distrust her? Think her so ignoble that she could be here to spy?
“Are you all right, Gwyneth?” Opening her eyes, she saw that Philly had walked to the door but stood in the threshold, waiting. “You look flushed. Perhaps you ought to avoid the midday sun until you have acclimated to the heat.”
The mere mention of it made her realize how heavy and humid the air hung. Yet the thought of going back inside… She had scarcely seen the sun for two months, being always closeted below deck on the Scribe under the fearful watch of the Wesleys.
But she needed a bite to eat, or at least something to drink. She could take it by an open window, perhaps, and enjoy both sunshine and breeze. She smiled at Philly and followed her in.
Mrs. Lane emerged from the library when she heard them enter. She embraced her daughter and then grasped Gwyneth’s hand. “Up already? I had hoped you would rest more than a few hours.”
No lost day, then. Gwyneth smiled and realized it must have been Mrs. Lane who helped her up to bed that morning. Hers was the touch that felt like Mama’s. “I suspect it will take some time to adjust. But I feel better than I did on the ships. Clearer.” Mostly.
“Good.” Mrs. Lane looked as though she would say more, but the sound of the front door interrupted her.
Thad charged around the corner, so fast that they surely would have collided had Mrs. Lane not pulled them to the side. “Thaddeus! Did I not teach you against running in the house?”
He grinned and doffed his hat. “You always said no running in your house. This one is mine.”
Laughter sparkled in her eyes, though her lips remained straight. “But I am in its halls and in danger of being bowled over. Have a care.”
“Yes, Mother. Sorry, Mother.” Looking as though he would rather laugh than play the part of meek son, he nevertheless leaned over to plant a kiss on his mother’s cheek. Then he turned his probing gaze on Gwyneth and frowned. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“She is not an owl, Thad.” Philly turned toward the kitchen. “Have you any apples for Grandmama Caro?”
Thad pursed his lips, his gaze still on Gwyneth. “You were asleep when I left an hour ago, at least. You had to have gotten five hours.”
He had left only an hour ago? That was when she had awoken. Perhaps she had heard him leave and that was what roused her. It would account for that insistence in the back of her mind that he was not at home.