As Bright as Heaven(112)

What I must say will not entail a long visit that requires chairs or tea. I move toward him, and I take his hands in mine. “What I would like, Conrad, is to spend my life with you.”

He sucks in his breath, fully unprepared for this answer I’ve given him, but not completely surprised and definitely not repulsed by it. I see in his eyes he has already thought of this, too: what it would be like for him and me to be together. For a second he imagines it again, but then he shakes his head. “That is impossible.”

“No. It is not impossible,” I reply. “It might be difficult. Certainly different. But it’s not impossible.”

“Evelyn.” He says my name but nothing else. What I am about to propose has not occurred to him. And why should it have? It is the most outlandish, unheard-of, remarkable, singularly amazing answer to the question that has been haunting us both. I swallow back any trace of fear and I tighten my hold on his hands.

“I will help you take care of Sybil,” I say. “We can watch over her together. Here. In this house.”

“What are you saying?” Conrad’s voice is airy with surprise.

“I’m saying you and I can care for her. For as long as she draws breath. I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine and together we’ll care for her.”

He stares at me as the full weight of what I am suggesting begins to fall on him. “I don’t understand. How would you be mine?” he says.

I am already yours, my heart replies. “I would be yours to whatever extent you would want me to be,” I say aloud. “You said the other day at the asylum that I deserve to be happy. I can’t be happy if I am not with you.”

Conrad closes his eyes and swallows hard. “But—” he begins.

“But you can’t abandon her. I know you can’t. I’m not asking you to. I can care for her. I know how to care for her.”

His gaze is intense as he studies the features of my face. I can’t tell if he’s imagining his lips on every part of me or memorizing my contours before he refuses me and sends me away. His eyes glisten.

“I love you, Conrad,” I tell him, when he says nothing. “I won’t love anyone else. I can’t.”

He pulls me to him then and kisses me and I taste salt where his tears and mine mingle. It is not the kiss of raw, physical desire that we shared in the shed. It is instead the melding of two wounded hearts that somehow, after all that has happened to both of us, can still love. I could die this moment and be happy.

Conrad breaks away first and kisses my forehead. “I can’t ask you to live here, with me and Sybil, as . . . as my mistress, Evelyn.”

“You’re not asking me to.”

“But I could never debase you that way. I just couldn’t.”

I place my hand over his heart, and I can feel it pulsing beneath his shirt. I was destined to love only this man just as Maggie was destined to love only Jamie. It is inevitable that he and I will be together. “Then don’t.”





CHAPTER 67



Maggie


Papa and I are getting the viewing parlor ready for an afternoon service when the front doorbell rings. It’s the week before Christmas and Willa’s at school, so I offer to answer it. Papa, who always wanted me to think of my job at the funeral parlor as temporary, is nevertheless happy that I’m no longer preparing to move to Manhattan.

He was only momentarily disappointed when I called off the wedding. When I explained to him that I’d only ever and always loved Jamie Sutcliff, he understood. He understood probably better than anyone, because that’s how he felt about Mama. He still loves Mama. Her being gone hasn’t changed anything.

Palmer, on the other hand, did not take the news as easily as Papa did. God knows I never wanted to hurt Palmer. I tried to tell him this. I tried to explain that I would only be injuring him further if we went through with our plans to marry. I could never return the love he had for me. He should not want to marry someone who could not. I’ve heard nothing from Palmer since I called off the wedding, not that I would expect to. He returned to Manhattan angry and disappointed and wounded. But at least he has not called or written begging me to change my mind. I believe he will move on from me to love another. I am counting on it.

Jamie isn’t one to rush anything, so even though I know I’ll be marrying him someday, there is no ring, there is no wedding date, and he hasn’t come to Papa like Palmer did. We are becoming acquainted with each other on the ordinary, day-to-day level. So in the meantime, I am still Papa’s assistant.

I pass through the kitchen and into the entryway. I don’t recognize the man who stands on the other side of the front door glass. I wonder if he is a visitor who’s been given the wrong time for the funeral today. I open the door, and a swirl of frigid air blows past me. I ask if I can help him.

He takes off his hat. “Yes, ma’am. I’d like to speak to Thomas Bright, if I may.”

“Is my father expecting you?”

The man turns the hat by its brim. “No, he’s not.”

“Oh. And you are?”

“My name’s Cal Dabney.”

For a long moment I can only stand and stare at Alex’s father. I know the blood drains from my face because I feel it.

“Look, I’m not here to raise a fuss over what happened. It was a long time ago and nobody’s to blame.”