She inhaled deeply, and I waited for her to launch into her usual tirade, but she stayed silent. Which was somehow worse. I’d always thought the warm feeling I got whenever Gran spoke out against my mother came from my righteous satisfaction at being able to defend her, but maybe that wasn’t it at all? Maybe what really fuelled the feeling was Gran’s assurance that it wasn’t our fault and that we deserved better. I bit my lip, wishing Gran would say Genevieve was a terrible mother, that she was selfish, that she wasn’t worthy of children like us.
But she said nothing at all; she wasn’t even looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on the fire, her normally smiling mouth turned ever so slightly down at the corners.
My heart began to beat harder in my chest, unease pricking at my skin. “It’s Joss’s fault.” I knew it wasn’t, but I hoped my accusation would provoke her into saying something. “She doesn’t even care.”
Gran met my gaze and sniffed disparagingly. “Is that what you think?” She shook her head slowly. “Your sister was barely more than a baby when you left Trianon. That city was never a home to her, and Genevieve has never been a mother to her. To your sister, that woman isn’t just a stranger, she’s a stranger who’s slowly pulling apart her family. She took back your brother, and now Joss is afraid she’ll take back you. And you’ve made it very clear to us that that is exactly what you want.”
I flinched, feeling the slow burn of shame rise on my cheeks, because I knew it was true. I did want to live with my mother in the city. How could I not? How much better a life would it be to live in her big home with new dresses, and servants, and no chores? And there was my most secret wish – the one I had never told anyone – that one day I too might be able to stand on stage and sing to adoring crowds. But now that dream seemed tarnished by selfishness, as though wanting to do something more than slop pigs and milk cows made me a bad sister, a bad granddaughter.
“I’d come back,” I whispered, as though the option of leaving had already been offered. “It isn’t as though you’d never see me again.”
“Like your brother has?” Gran raised one eyebrow. “Gone six months and we’ve not seen him once.”
I grimaced. Had it been so long since Frédéric had left?
“I know you think living in Trianon with your mother is the only way you’ll be happy. That it will be wonderful, like a dream where you can have everything your heart desires, but I think the reality will be much harder than you believe.” Gran’s eyes searched mine. “I also know that me telling you so is pointless. You’ve always had to find things out yourself, no matter how much the finding caused you grief.”
I looked away, uncertain whether her words should make me feel proud or foolish.
“But that’s enough of us sitting here on the floor.” Gran rose to her feet, hauling me to mine with surprising strength. “Today is your birthday, and whether Genevieve comes or not, we’ll still have cake. But I need time to make it.” She shooed me in the direction of the stairs. “Go wash up. Joss will do the rest of your chores so that you can have the afternoon to yourself.”
* * *
My free afternoon was only made better by the new dress waiting on my half of the bed that I shared with Joss. It was dark blue wool with yellow daisies embroidered along the collar and down the sleeves. But the best part of it was that the hem reached all the way to my ankles. Pulling it on, I twirled around, imagining how much older and taller I must appear, wishing, in perhaps a not-so-rare moment of vanity, that we owned a looking glass. Racing down the stairs, I skidded on stocking feet into the kitchen.
“Well, aren’t you a sight.” Gran dusted her hands off on her apron. “Go show your father.”
Joss was sitting on the front stoop putting a final coat of polish on my boots. She looked over her shoulder when the door shut, her eyes still red from crying. She handed me the boots and I sat down next to her to put them on.
“I’m sorry ’bout your letter. Gran said I deserved to be fed to the trolls for doing it,” she said, wiping her fingers on her skirts. “I just…”
“I know,” I said quickly so that she didn’t have to explain. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her tight, pressing my cheek against her blonde hair. “Where’s Papa?”
“’Round the barn with the Girards.” Josette gave me a sly smile. “You should know, Papa gave me your pony.”
“What?” I demanded, pulling away. “Why would he do that?”
Joss’s grin widened and she grabbed my hand. “Come on.”
Together, we ran across the yard toward the barn. I kept my skirts hauled up with one hand, leaping over the puddles so my boots would stay clean. Going around the side of the old wooden building, we found our father leaning against the fence next to Jér?me Girard. His son Christophe stood a few paces away holding the lead of a beautiful bay mare.
“Thank you for the dress, Papa,” I shouted, twirling in a circle. When I stopped, I noticed he had a strange expression on his face – not one I’d ever seen before.
Jér?me took the piece of straw he was chewing out of his mouth. “Spittin’ image of Genevieve. Won’t be long until you have more help around the farm than you know what to do with.”
I smiled, pleased at the comparison, but my father only grunted. Then he cleared his throat. “You ain’t grown much taller this past year, but it’s still past time you had a proper horse. This mare here’s for you.”
Shrieking, I grabbed Joss’s hands and we spun in a circle. I threw myself at my father, wrapping my arms around him. “Thank you!”
He patted me on the shoulder. “You’re a good girl, Cécile, even if you are a fair bit louder than a proper girl should be. Now git off me, you’re going to get your new trappings dirty.”
My face hurt, but I couldn’t stop smiling. I hugged Jér?me, then went over to where Chris stood with the horse. He was friends with my brother, but I’d barely seen him since Fred left for Trianon.
“She’s beautiful,” I said, stroking the horse’s shoulder. “What’s her name?”
“Oh. Well, we call her Cécile’s filly.” He scraped one of his boots across the ground and switched the lead from hand to hand. “I suppose that means you have the naming of her.”
I held out a hand and the horse snuffled at my palm, looking for treats. “I’ll call her Fleur.”
“A good name for her, I reckon.” Chris broke off his determined inspection of the ground to meet my gaze for a brief moment. “She’s only just broke, but you can sit on her, if you want.”
“I do want to. Will you give me a leg up?”
Taking hold of my knee, he lifted me onto her shiny back. She frisked around for a bit before settling under Chris’s calm hand. He led us out into the yard, and I admired her smooth rolling stride. From up on her back, I could see all around, out past our sprawling farmhouse and barn and into the fields to the forests that carpeted the range, with the exception of the massive sheared-off face of Forsaken Mountain, its fallen half a broken slide of rocks between the range and the ocean shore. Beyond it lay Trianon, the largest city on the Isle, and the center of all my dreams.
“You like her?”