AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She saw his smile as she turned to look at him. Their elbows brushed. She could think of a hundred questions she wanted to ask him.... How had he survived his unsettled childhood? How bad did he hurt after losing his family? But she didn’t want to shatter the calm between them.
He shifted, leaned on one elbow and considered her. “I imagine you growing up in England in a big fancy house somewhat like Eddie’s. Fancy clothes. Fancy parties. Fine books. Am I right?”
“I was lonely.”
“What about Mercy and Jayne?”
“I didn’t meet them until I was considered old enough to participate in proper social events.” Sybil guessed her voice conveyed her regret over the things she’d missed as a child. “Not that I didn’t love my parents and enjoy their company.”
“No beaux?”
There’d been Colin, but what she’d felt for him paled to insignificance. “I once fancied myself in love.”
“What happened?”
“He left and never looked back.” She tried to disguise the hurt in her voice. Wondered if she’d succeeded.
Brand touched her cheek. “And hurt you. And I did the same thing. I’m sorry to have added to your pain.”
She couldn’t push a word past her tight throat.
“Did your parents give you everything you needed or wanted?”
Her breath eased out and she could answer. “They gave me what they felt was best for me.”
“You didn’t agree?”
She chuckled. “It never entered my mind to disagree until...” She squelched the unfaithful thought.
He touched her elbow. “Until what?”
“My father did much of his work from his office at home. He was a lawyer and saw many of his clients there. When Mother was ill and resting, he let me stay in his office. I had to be very quiet, so he gave me paper and pencils and I amused myself.”
“Let me guess. You made up stories.”
“Not at first. I drew little pictures. You know the sort...a round ball with a smaller one on top. Add triangles for ears, whiskers and eyes, and I’d made a cat.”
He chuckled, making her want to go on.
“I always showed them to Father. He admired them and said how clever I was. He said I must show them to Mother.”
Silence descended between Sybil and Brand. A bird fluttered and chirped as if settling her babies, though the babies would have flown the nest by now. Perhaps mother birds always made comforting good-night sounds. Laughter drifted from the bunkhouse and then the mournful sound of a harmonica.
“I soon learned to read and write, and added words to my pictures,” she continued. “More and more words, until finally the words grew into stories. They seemed to come from deep inside, pushing at my heart, my head and my fingers.” She felt the familiar rush she did when writing.
“I continued to show them to Mother and Father. They continued to say how clever I was. Until...” She drew in a large breath to steady her voice. “Until I said I wanted to one day write stories for everyone to read. I wanted to be an author. They sat side by side as I told them. I expected they’d say how clever I was, how pleased they would be to see others enjoy my stories.” She couldn’t go on, feeling again the bottom fall out of her stomach, leaving her airless and slightly nauseated.
Brand caught her shoulder and squeezed gently. The warmth of his touch slowly melted the ice about her heart.
“I was so disappointed when they didn’t approve, though I still don’t understand why. They should have been so proud.”
He pulled her closer, pressed her head to his shoulder. The steady beat of his heart vibrated through her. “And now you disappoint yourself.”
She sprang back. “You’re wrong.” Only he wasn’t.
“Really?” He leaned back. “Guess I’ll never understand, so let’s talk about something else. I told you about my last Christmas. Tell me about yours.”
She realized he meant the year his mother had died. He saw it as his last Christmas. Six years ago. Six years of loneliness, shutting himself away from others, fearing the appearance of his pa and brother. Treating Christmas as if it didn’t matter any more than any other day. And for him it hadn’t, which was even sadder. Had no one ever reached out to him? Or had he turned his back on help? Either way, it was a lonely, barren life he lived. Sybil pushed back the sympathy so she could talk.
