Once Beloved by Amara Royce Page A

Lanfield’s hand. Her aunt’s eyes darted around, and she looked confused and wary. She looked like a stranger. Mr. Lanfield rose too but was careful not to touch her. He made soothing noises until she sat back down, appearing deflated and so very sad. Vanessa wrapped her arms around her aunt’s shoulders, and the tremors running through this woman who was a second mother to her alarmed her even more. A sick feeling spread through her stomach. This was so much worse than the previous spells.
    â€œWhat happened to your husband, Mrs. Martin?” he asked softly. Vanessa rested her head on Auntie’s shoulder, hoping to hear her response but, at the same time, dreading the answer.
    Aunt Helena shook her head. “It was a long time ago.”
    â€œNot so long in your mind, I’d bet.”
    â€œAuntie,” she said cautiously, not wishing to send the delicate woman into a relapse. “Uncle Isaiah wasn’t truly in an accident, was he?” No one in the family ever talked about it, but she remembered when he had been brought home. A freak accident, her mother had said. He’d never woken. She could picture Auntie trying to spoon broth into his mouth, could see him fading quickly in just a few days. She could still hear the muffled weeping when her aunt had shut the door on everyone near the end. A terrible tragedy no one could have foreseen , her mother had repeated in the months that followed. Uncle’s death had devastated everyone. It was no wonder Aunt Helena hid away in her house, shrouded by grief.
    But this reaction, Auntie’s trance-like state and abject terror—this was something else entirely.
    The trembling eased, and she felt her aunt straightening, pulling away, and then their positions somehow switched, with her aunt’s arm around her, supporting her.
    â€œDearie, your uncle is gone, and nothing can bring him back,” Aunt Helena said. The flatness of her tone was at least a marginal improvement over fear. “The particulars are in the past.”
    â€œIf I may say, Mrs. Martin, the past can be a stubborn beast, rearing and bucking long after you thought it domesticated.” He seemed about to say more, but shut his mouth when Auntie looked directly at him. There was something inscrutable in that look. She was surprised Mr. Lanfield could speak so vividly, so succinctly poetical. He’d been so cold to her aunt, but little glimpses of compassion like this one reassured her. Now if only Aunt Helena would soften a bit, perhaps this journey would be less of an ordeal.
    â€œYou’ve given me more than enough warning, sir, about how Marksby clings to my past transgressions,” Auntie snapped at him, “and I am well aware of how persistently the past forces itself into the present . . . and the future.”
    This agitation couldn’t possibly be good for her aunt, whose face had gone from chalky white to an uncomfortable redness.
    â€œShall we get down and walk a bit, Auntie, if you’ve a mind to? A turn in the air could do you good.”
    â€œThat sounds like a fine idea.” Her aunt patted her shoulder and stood, more solidly this time, then climbed down from the cart with efficient, confident movements. Pray God there would be no more of these episodes. If they’d taken the train as Auntie intended, she would have been at a loss about what to do, and they wouldn’t have had Mr. Lanfield to rely on. After a brief stroll, they all agreed that Aunt Helena had returned to normal and didn’t appear to be at risk of relapsing. At least not immediately. Still, it took many miles before Vanessa felt the tension leave her body, and a nagging voice told her things would only get worse.

Chapter 9
    F rom a distance, the village looked exactly as she remembered it. The houses, the storefronts, the chapel, all as sedate and tidy as she’d pictured in her mind. It wasn’t until they entered the main thoroughfare that