wouldn’t be the man to do that? I thought Papa respected and admired him.”
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me. I know what is best for you and your sister. I will get my stick to you, so I will. Ring the bell. Get Mrs. Seton to bring my stick.”
Monica pushed to her feet, her temper snapping as she remembered the lashings her mother gave her for little more than spending at hour with Thomas in the fields. “I will do no such thing. Stop this, Mama. Right now.”
Silence fell upon the room like a heavy curtain. From the corner of her eye, Monica was aware that Jane sat as still as a statue, her hand raised to her mouth. Her mother continued to glare for a long moment before her brow creased and her eyes softened. “Oh, darling. Don’t cry. Whatever is the matter?”
Monica stiffened and lifted her fingers to her cheeks; they came away damp. Now, I cry? She squeezed her eyes shut. “Nothing is the matter.”
When her mother stood and put her arms around her, Monica thought her heart would break clean in half. In all the years she’d longed for such a demonstration of love, it finally came when her mother knew not what she did. “Papa and I love you so, but for you and Thomas to marry would be foolish on both sides. No good would come of it for either of you.”
Monica opened her eyes and tears blurred her vision. She could hardly argue with her mother’s words. If nothing else, her and Thomas together would be a simmering fire waiting to explode. Her passion and his together would only mean certain destruction.
Her mother snatched her arms from Monica with the same ferocity she’d embraced her. Monica’s heart beat fast to see another change in her mother’s eyes. They bulged with distain once more. “Are you listening to me?”
Monica lifted her chin and fought against her need to once more flee her situation. “Yes, you respect Thomas, but he is not good enough for your daughter. Would he be good enough for Stephanie?”
Her mother gave a curt nod. “Yes, that is a match your father and I would approve of.”
A pang struck Monica’s heart. A pang that felt far too much like insane jealously. “Then maybe I will see what I can do to encourage it.”
“Monica, stop it,” Jane whispered. “Stop it now.”
She turned to Jane and shame pinched hot at Monica’s cheeks. Her sister’s eyes were wide with fear and pleading. Monica slumped. What was she doing losing her temper with their ailing mother over Thomas? Her mother was not of sound mind or emotion. Why react or say such a thing about Thomas and Stephanie? Why lash out at a woman who would undoubtedly slip further and further away as time moved on?
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
Seconds ticked by, until her mother’s exhalation cut the tense silence. “Apology accepted. Now go to your room until the morning.”
Monica briefly closed her eyes. “Tomorrow we bury Papa, so I think an early night would be best for us all. Would you like Jane or I to take you upstairs? Or shall I call for Jeannie?”
Her mother frowned and looked to Jane. “Papa is dead?”
Jane stood and took her mother’s hand. She glanced at Monica. “Yes, Mama, Papa is dead.”
Her mother seemed to age in front of their eyes as she crumpled against Jane. Monica took her mother’s other side, and together, she and Jane gently led her from the room and up the stairs. With each step, Monica resolved to get Thomas out of her heart once and for all. What did it matter if his touch and occasional smile looped her stomach in the most delicious of ways? What did it matter that heedless of the time they’d spent apart, he still looked at her as though she were his possession to protect and cherish. What did any of it matter when compared to her obligation to see her family through this worst of times?
But as they entered her mother’s dark and dreary bedroom with the mirror above the mantel shrouded in black cloth and the curtains closed, the
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me. I know what is best for you and your sister. I will get my stick to you, so I will. Ring the bell. Get Mrs. Seton to bring my stick.”
Monica pushed to her feet, her temper snapping as she remembered the lashings her mother gave her for little more than spending at hour with Thomas in the fields. “I will do no such thing. Stop this, Mama. Right now.”
Silence fell upon the room like a heavy curtain. From the corner of her eye, Monica was aware that Jane sat as still as a statue, her hand raised to her mouth. Her mother continued to glare for a long moment before her brow creased and her eyes softened. “Oh, darling. Don’t cry. Whatever is the matter?”
Monica stiffened and lifted her fingers to her cheeks; they came away damp. Now, I cry? She squeezed her eyes shut. “Nothing is the matter.”
When her mother stood and put her arms around her, Monica thought her heart would break clean in half. In all the years she’d longed for such a demonstration of love, it finally came when her mother knew not what she did. “Papa and I love you so, but for you and Thomas to marry would be foolish on both sides. No good would come of it for either of you.”
Monica opened her eyes and tears blurred her vision. She could hardly argue with her mother’s words. If nothing else, her and Thomas together would be a simmering fire waiting to explode. Her passion and his together would only mean certain destruction.
Her mother snatched her arms from Monica with the same ferocity she’d embraced her. Monica’s heart beat fast to see another change in her mother’s eyes. They bulged with distain once more. “Are you listening to me?”
Monica lifted her chin and fought against her need to once more flee her situation. “Yes, you respect Thomas, but he is not good enough for your daughter. Would he be good enough for Stephanie?”
Her mother gave a curt nod. “Yes, that is a match your father and I would approve of.”
A pang struck Monica’s heart. A pang that felt far too much like insane jealously. “Then maybe I will see what I can do to encourage it.”
“Monica, stop it,” Jane whispered. “Stop it now.”
She turned to Jane and shame pinched hot at Monica’s cheeks. Her sister’s eyes were wide with fear and pleading. Monica slumped. What was she doing losing her temper with their ailing mother over Thomas? Her mother was not of sound mind or emotion. Why react or say such a thing about Thomas and Stephanie? Why lash out at a woman who would undoubtedly slip further and further away as time moved on?
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
Seconds ticked by, until her mother’s exhalation cut the tense silence. “Apology accepted. Now go to your room until the morning.”
Monica briefly closed her eyes. “Tomorrow we bury Papa, so I think an early night would be best for us all. Would you like Jane or I to take you upstairs? Or shall I call for Jeannie?”
Her mother frowned and looked to Jane. “Papa is dead?”
Jane stood and took her mother’s hand. She glanced at Monica. “Yes, Mama, Papa is dead.”
Her mother seemed to age in front of their eyes as she crumpled against Jane. Monica took her mother’s other side, and together, she and Jane gently led her from the room and up the stairs. With each step, Monica resolved to get Thomas out of her heart once and for all. What did it matter if his touch and occasional smile looped her stomach in the most delicious of ways? What did it matter that heedless of the time they’d spent apart, he still looked at her as though she were his possession to protect and cherish. What did any of it matter when compared to her obligation to see her family through this worst of times?
But as they entered her mother’s dark and dreary bedroom with the mirror above the mantel shrouded in black cloth and the curtains closed, the
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