“What is your name?” she asked.
“Alina,” I responded, lowering my eyes.
“You are not from here,” the woman said and I nodded.
“Very well.” Her eyes shifted back to Tynan, who moved closer to me as if trying to get between us. “Don’t make me regret it,” she said, opening the front door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
TYNAN
The dull pain intensified when I looked at the fields ahead. I did not want to dwell on it, but I could not stop the memories of my past from returning. All the pain and misery I had to go through before I was strong enough to stand up for myself. It was almost hard to imagine now, but I remembered being nearly broken by this place, these people. I still remembered how cold and suffocating this land used to feel. It took me years to realize that I could go anywhere, even the capital, rather than stay here. Whatever I had to do to make it happen was irrelevant. I hated this place with every part of my being.
I used to think that Darragh did not break me all the way,but maybe I had been fooling myself all along, maybe I was already broken.
“There are only two rooms here, you will have to share. But, it is better than sleeping outside.” Grace gave me an inquisitive look.
As far as I remembered, Quirin was Grace’s favorite. She never liked Hanoch and almost never paid any attention to me. All her days were filled with her art projects and the never ending war with my mother to gain more influence over my father. But if she wanted to help us now, I would not hold it against her, or question her motives.
Even at her current age, when I looked at the old woman, I could see the resemblance to my father in the wavy hair, the shape of her face, and the softness of her eyes. I knew very well that it was just a mask, she was not a soft person. Behind that exterior was a stubborn and energetic woman.
“Thank you,” I said.
Almost mechanically, I crossed the threshold, lowering my head, and the very first thing I saw was a massive nude portrait. I stopped dead and the next moment, Victor walked into me.
“What the h – ell?” he started saying, but then he too, saw the wall.
“What’s wrong?” Grace asked.
“You have a very beautiful home,” Victor mumbled, abruptly looking away.
Alina’s cheeks flushed when she switched her gaze fromthe picture to Grace then looked at her feet. Frid bit her lip looking everywhere but at the old woman.
“Oh, grow up, all of you. There is nothing embarrassing here. Art has no boundaries or taboos,” Grace stated.
I nodded, examining the room. There were multiple chairs covered in thick cotton sheets and a short, plush couch with a colorful handmade blanket draped over the top. Fake flowers were perched in pots, a set of partially melted, thick candles sat on a metal tray in the middle of the kitchen table, and everywhere on the walls were pictures in mismatched frames of different sizes and shapes. Sculptures and painting decorated every wall, every surface.
I realized that during all my years in Darragh, I never visited her cottage. I heard people talk about her being an artist. Usually, these talks were accompanied by mocking smiles and snide remarks. I never knew what kind of person she was. I was never interested enough to find out what she was doing with her time.
I turned to look at Sol, but he would not meet my eyes, his face remained beet red.
“Fine. If you cannot be mature about it, I will take down the picture,” Grace sounded displeased.
“We’ll be fine,” I said.
“Good. Sol, my dear, you should come with me. Your aunt will want to see you.” Grace turned to him.
“Mirtha? Is she still alive?” Sol raised his eyebrows.
Grace gave him a stern look and walked to the front door.
“Make yourselves comfortable. Take anything you need from the closets.” She offered before leaving the house.
“I can’t stop looking at the portrait.” Victor was the first to break the silence.
“Oh, stop being weird,” Frid hissed.
“Not as weird as Ty’s grandma–”
