The Witch of Tin Mountain(78)

“I fell in love in Charleston. I never thought I could hold space for more love in my heart than I felt for Robbie, but I fell in love, all the same. There’s a girl—she’s so pretty, Mama. Sweeter than clover spun honey. Her name’s Esme. She’s upset at me for leaving her, but I had to.

“I understand now how you could love Pa and Arthur. Both. There’s all kinds of love, and one ain’t any better than the other. And I also understand that bein’ a woman ain’t the easiest thing, and sometimes a woman’s got to find her peace and happiness wherever she can. I forgive you. And I hope, wherever you are, you can forgive me, too.”

Deirdre wiped the wetness from her eyes and bent to kiss the cool dryness of Mama’s forehead. “I love you, Mama. And I’m so glad to be home.”



Deirdre sat across the table from Pa, trying not to look at Mama’s empty chair. He slid a mug of steaming tea toward her. She stirred milk and two spoonfuls of sugar into it and swirled a circle with her spoon. Her hands shook. “Did she go easy?”

Pa nodded, working his top lip under his teeth. “Easy enough. I had the priest come down from Blue Eye. He heard her confession and gave her the last rites, the way she wanted.”

“She looks good, Pa. You did good.”

Pa made a sharp sound at the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “I ain’t never seen a corpse look good, Deirdre Jane. But folks always find the need to say that, I reckon.” He smiled for the first time since she’d arrived. “How was the school?”

“It was good, for the most part. Met some friends. Learned how to dance and talk right.” Nevertheless, her hill cadence had already come back. Her vowels were longer than the June solstice. It was good to be home and among people who weren’t always putting on airs. Charleston was pretty, but it wasn’t where she belonged.

“I’m glad,” Pa said, nodding again. “I didn’t want to tell you this while you were away, but Hannah Bledsoe’s little one died. Took sick with some sort of fading malady.”

Deirdre sat back in her chair with a hard huff of air. She thought of the soft, warm smell of Collin’s baby-soft skin, the giggles and coos she could coax from him as she rocked him. She took a swallow of her tea. It was sad, but babies died all the time for all sorts of reasons. It was part of life.

“June. That’s when her young ’un died. Your Mama took sicker than I ever seen her around then, too. I quit the railroad to take care of her. I’ve a mind they’ll let me come back after everything’s settled, though.”

Deirdre searched the corners for shadows. She absently stroked the healed-over cut on her palm. She wondered about Phoebe. If Mama’s healing with Gentry didn’t hold true, Phoebe’s might not, either. The thought blackened her mood even more.

Pa brought a loaf of molasses bread out from the hearth, and they sat together in amiable silence as they ate. After they finished, Deirdre fidgeted in her seat, the question she most wanted to ask on her lips for a long time before she put it forth. It was hard to speak of her own future, with Mama dead in the other room. “Robbie brought me home. I saw him in Rogers. Goodness, has Rogers grown, just like you said it would.” She took a sip of her tea. “Has Robbie been by yet? To ask for my hand?”

Pa wrinkled his brows. “No, poppet, he hasn’t. And there’s something I need to tell you, but I didn’t want to say it in a letter.” He reached out, his calloused hand warm over Deirdre’s, which had suddenly gone cold. “He’s married Ingrid.”

Everything slowed down. “Ing?”

“I’d hoped he’d tell you himself. They got hitched a month or so ago. I was afraid Maja was gonna have to get her shotgun out. Ingrid’s bigger than the broad side of a barn with his child. I’m sorry, poppet. There are other fine men. Better men than Robbie. Why, there’s a young engineer . . .”

Papa’s words faded as a thousand feelings ran through Deirdre at once. Anger. Embarrassment. Hurt. She stood from the table, shaking.

Pa shot up from his chair. “What’s the matter, Deirdre Jane? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I . . . I just need to take the air, I think.”

“You want me to come out with you?”

Deirdre shook her head. “No. I need to be by myself for a while, Pa. I’ll be back afore dark to help with supper.”

She tied on her cloak and went out, tearing through the grass and up the rain-slicked hillside before she could lose her nerve. The lighthouse loomed over her, the cozy stone shack at its base streaming a friendly column of smoke from its chimney. Georgia was tied to the hitching post, her spotted flanks shining with sweat. He’d ridden hard after leaving her. Ridden hard to get back to Ingrid.

Deirdre stalked to the door and raised her fist, giving three brisk knocks.

Ingrid opened just as she raised her fist for the fourth. Her great belly nudged outward, round and full as a bushel bale. She smiled. “Deirdre. I didn’t know you’d come home.”

Deirdre opened her hand and sent a stinging slap to Ingrid’s cheek. The other girl stepped back, her eyes widening.

“How could you, Ing?”

“How could I what?” Ingrid lifted her chin. Deirdre’s handprint blazed red against her pale skin. “I was with his child before you even lay with him.”