“Ah, Sister Irene,” said Brother Jeremy. “You’ve left no stone unturned. I can only wish you better luck with your next visit. Now, may I give you a short tour?”
It was not unexpected, but Anna still struggled with disappointment as they walked the property with Brother Jeremy. They saw buildings that would serve as dormitories, looked at classrooms and workrooms and washrooms and offices. There was a very large kitchen where ten people could work side by side, and an attached dining hall. There was an infirmary, as yet nothing more than walls, with plumbing in place.
It seemed to Anna that any boy who had been living on the streets of the city unsure of even the next day’s meal must be content here. At the very least he would be warm and fed, and he would learn to read and write and a trade, too, Brother Jeremy assured them. “Carpentry, toolmaking, sailmaking, farming. Any boy who shows a calling will be sent on to a seminary when he’s old enough.”
Anna swallowed that fact without comment and felt Jack relax beside her.
Brother Jeremy said, “You might like to walk along the bay, while you’re here. We’ll water and graze your horse while you’re gone if you like.”
Jack offered Anna his arm, and they set off through a small wood full of birdsong and trees in new leaf. A flickering of yellow caught Anna’s eye; had Jack seen it? A warbler, he thought from the song. High in a tree was a pure white owl, and nearby, a woodpecker hard at work.
They were quiet, and Anna wondered if things would be awkward now that they had only each other to deal with. That thought was still in her mind when they came out on a narrow footpath that wound through brush and shrubs. It struck her like a drawing out of a children’s adventure story, and the idea made her pick up her pace.
Jack let out a small laugh, one that told her he was just as intrigued. Together they followed the path until it brought them to a narrow marsh where someone had put a wide board down to serve as a bridge, and beyond that point the grasses began to fall away, showing up spottily on the swells of sand that blocked their view of the beach.
Birds were everywhere, but Jack was almost as clueless as Anna about their names. Long-legged, knobby-kneed birds with narrow arched beaks like scimitars stood in the marsh waters where ducks with different markings and colors were busy among the reeds. The sound of great wings beating the air made Anna look up to see a bird as big as a man—or so it seemed—heading away from the bay with a fish in its talons. A falcon? An eagle? She had no idea, and felt the lack. She could name every bone and muscle in the human body, but she had no idea what to call the small brown birds with white bellies that strutted along like little old men.
They climbed the ridge of sand and found the ocean spread out before them. The water was deep blue and choppy, tumbling white-combed waves catching sunlight so bright that tears sprang to Anna’s eyes despite her broad-brimmed straw hat. There were boats on the horizon, too small to make out, and a little ways down the beach a small group of people were gathered around a picnic basket.
“Over there.” Jack inclined his head toward a protected spot overhung by a stand of tall bushes.
They made themselves comfortable despite the fact that they were both dressed to pay a call on a priest. Jack took off his jacket and spread it over a bush, but there was nothing Anna could shed. She was wearing her favorite summer walking dress with a shirtwaist of fine batiste, pleated from the shoulders and embroidered along the neckline, and most important, completely out of fashion because the sleeves were cut wide to give her freedom of movement. She spread the skirts around herself, layers of silk charmeuse and dimity that caught the breeze and lifted up to reveal her stockings and shoes. Her half boots were kid leather and practical for walking, but Rosa had insisted on lacing them with pale green ribbons to match her stockings.
“When we were little, Aunt Quinlan would take us to visit a friend who lives on Long Island, and we ran half-naked on the beaches, all day long. It was heaven.”
Jack looked over his shoulder at the family with the picnic basket. “That I would like to see.”
“Unlikely,” Anna said. “Unless you can find a beach like Robinson Crusoe’s.”
“You were happy here, as a child.”
Anna considered. “After my parents died, Aunt Quinlan dedicated herself to me—and to Sophie, when she came. She would have nothing less than our happiness.” She stopped herself. “Tell me about when you were young; did you swim?”
Greenwood, he told her, was a good place to raise children. There had been a lot of hard work in the fields and greenhouses and among the beehives, but they were free to roam when their chores were done. There was a stream overhung by trees and a small lake, and they swam in high summer at every opportunity.