Failing this planting season would mean failing my father, my mother, and myself. Kit had claimed he wouldn’t mind if I had nothing, but I remembered it was this farm that swayed him to see my worth in the first place. It was my greatest asset. According to many people, myonlyone. Without it, I worried Kit might come to see me as a less than ideal match. Less of an equal. Less of a man.
So, I was up with the dawn, bleary eyed and teetering on the edge of an emotional spiral. It took every bit of the courage Ilacked the night before to dress, then drag myself into the living area to face whomever I found there.
I’d seen Sayla on the couch when Kit and I snuck back from the barn, so her presence was a given. She was awake and alone, stoking the logs in the fireplace to get the daily fire going. Finding no sign of Mother, I heaved a sigh, which was enough to catch my sister’s attention.
Sayla turned, and her green eyes went wide, then soft with sympathy. She set the fire poker aside and offered a smile.
“Morning, Pen.”
I hugged my arms around my middle and grunted in response. My throat hurt too much to talk, and if I opened my mouth, I feared I’d start crying again.
Sayla’s mouth curved downward, and her brows followed suit. “What’s all this? First you hide from us; now you look apt to run away.”
I couldn’t begin to explain without falling apart, so I simply nodded and started toward the kitchen. Breakfast needed to be made. The least I could do was make sure Kit wouldn’t have to work on an empty stomach.
“Penny…”
My sister’s voice chased me, and I turned in time for her to crash into me with a fierce hug. A sob bubbled up from my gut as I worked my arms free enough to loop them around her, then buried my face in her blonde curls.
“This doesn’t change us, you know,” she mumbled into my shoulder. “Doesn’t change you.”
It wasn’t true, but I wanted to believe it so badly that I didn’t argue. Instead, I nodded again, then pulled back and indicated the kitchen. She followed me, and we pulled on aprons and started rummaging in the cabinets and pantry to prepare the morning meal.
Sayla mixed batter for biscuits while I cracked eggs into a skillet. I stared at the whites and yolks piling up and chewed my lip until I could no longer contain the question that had haunted me since dinner.
“How did Mother take it? Kit said you told her about”—I swallowed dryly—“things.”
Sayla straightened and rested her spoon against the edge of the large bowl. “It was probably a good thing you gave her some space,” she said. “And time.”
Our joint glance toward the bedrooms indicated the time Mother was taking even now. I’d never known her to sleep past dawn, and she wasn’t the type to tarry in her bedroom once the day had begun. She was avoiding me.
“I would’ve stayed in the barn all night. Maybe forever,” I mumbled, then sighed. “Kit wouldn’t let me.”
Picking the spoon back up, Sayla stabbed it into the batter. “I really do like him, Pen.”
“It’s not his fault.” I wouldn’t see Kit blamed for a godsdamned thing, but I knew even as I said it that my sister was not the person I needed to convince.
Sayla’s gaze cut over. “I know that.” Her expression soured, nose and forehead scrunching together as she added, “It’s Merrick’s.” With a harrumph, she returned to the biscuit dough, stirring more furiously than before. “How I wish to not share a drop of blood with that man.”
I bounced my brows in agreement, then moved the pan of eggs to the cooktop.
“Do you really think he did it?” Sayla’s voice carried from over my shoulder.
I glanced at her.
“Killed Father,” she clarified. “Poisoned him.”
It seemed an odd thing to question considering Merrick had all but confessed to the crime, but I understood her disbelief.After all I’d seen in Ashpoint, I shouldn’t have been surprised by the news, but it still had me reeling.
“I wouldn’t doubt Merrick is capable of all kinds of despicable things. Like he said, he gave me hemlock too. More than he should have.” I heaved a sigh that made my chest rattle. “I’m not entirely well.”
When I looked at Sayla, her eyes were round and sad.
“Is that why you were in the barn yesterday? Inventorying the”—a hint of humor crept across her face—“seed stores?”
I groaned. “It was misery, Sayla. I told Warren to familiarize himself with the farm equipment. Study the shovels or something. I haven’t been this bored since?—”
“Last planting, I’d imagine,” she quipped, too quick and too true for me to miss.
