“I see it now,” Gwendolyn continued, deep white grooves around her mouth. “There’s something in you, something she must’ve given you—and it’s something I’l never have. That’s why he married me.”
Acutely uncomfortable, Elena nonetheless couldn’t just stand by in the face of such raw pain. “You know how he reacted when I wanted to attend Guild Academy.” It was her enrol ing at the Academy without his permission, permission he’d never have given, that had led to the fight in which he’d cal ed her an “abomination” before throwning her out of his life. “Yet he al ows Eve to go. That’s because of you—he listens to you.”
Gwendolyn hugged herself, tiny lines flaring out at the corners of her eyes. “The worst thing is—I love him. I always have.” Turning, she began to walk down the hal way. “He’s in the study.”
“Wait, I just want to talk to Eve.”
The slender woman tucked a wing of raven hair behind her ear as she glanced back. “I’l bring her down, but you can’t avoid speaking to him, you know that.”
Maybe not, but she could delay it as long as possible. So she waited for Eve to come down and spent a good half an hour with her sister, answering the questions on hunting that Eve had built up since their last meeting—and letting her know she could cal Elena anytime.
Afterward, they spoke of other, more painful things.
“I miss Betsy,” Evelyn whispered, her hand a rigid little fist. “She was my best friend.”
“I know, baby.”
Eve’s eyes shone wet as she threw herself into Elena’s arms, seeming far younger than her years, the acknowledged baby of the family. “Mom thinks I don’t know, but I do. We looked the same. Everyone said so.”
Elena didn’t know what to say, how to heal that hurt, so she just held Evelyn tight and rocked her until the tears passed. “Shh, sweetheart. I don’t think Betsy would’ve wanted you to make yourself sick like this.”
“She was so nice, El ie.” A gulping sob. “I miss her every day.”
Elena understood to the deepest core of her soul. She missed Ari and Bel e and Marguerite every second of every day. “Why don’t you tel me about her?”
It took a while for Evelyn to find the words past her tears, but when she did, it was a dam breaking open. She spoke not only about Betsy, but about Celia, too, the girl who had “played the clarinet the best out of everyone” and who hadn’t laughed when Eve made a mistake during class.
Elena sat stil and listened, coming to the sobering realization that Eve hadn’t spoken to anyone else about this, damming up her pain. She could understand why when it came to Jeffrey, but Gwendolyn’s love for her daughters was palpable. “Why didn’t you talk to your mom about Betsy and Celia?”
“She’s sad al the time anyway.” Wise words from a child with solemn gray eyes. “Do you mind if I talk to you?”
“No, of course not.”
A direct look, clear of tears now. “I used to think you must be mean, and that’s why Father didn’t ever invite you to stay with us.”
Elena’s heart stabbed with pain. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But you’re not. You’re nice.” A fierce hug from those solid little arms. “You can come stay at my house when I have one.” It was whispered in her ear.
Elena held the unexpected emotional gift to her heart a few minutes later as she pushed through the door to her father’s study without knocking. She found him standing at the open French doors, staring out into the rain. Not knowing why she didn’t turn around and leave, she closed the door behind herself and crossed the room to stand against the opposite doorjamb, three feet of space between them.
Outside, the rain fel down in silver sheets, blotting out the world. She didn’t know if it was the conversation she’d had with Gwendolyn or something else, but she found her lips parting. “Mama loved the rain.”
“Come, chérie, dance with your mama.”
The damp, squishy feel of earth between her feet, her chest bursting with giggles as she ran outside with Beth by her side. “Mama!”
Laughter, sweet and carefree as Marguerite twirled in the rain, her skirts flying out around her in an unruliness of color.
“Mama. Pretty.” Beth’s soft voice, her hand curling into Elena’s as they jumped in the puddles around their mother’s spinning figure.
“Yes.” The word was clipped. “She was happy in the rain, but she couldn’t survive the storm.”
Stunned that Jeffrey had actual y replied, she didn’t know what to do, what to say. She found herself rubbing a fisted hand over her chest, as if she could brush away the years-old hurt. “She wasn’t strong. Not like you.” Marguerite had been the light and the laughter, the wildfire in their life.