“I know that,” I cut in. “Wearea family, but I don’t think we’re farmers.I’mnot.”
Sayla’s lashes fluttered through another blink, then she gazed out at the moonlit view of our land. Silence grew until she murmured, “But Father left it to you, not me.”
That was before.
Before she was betrothed.
BeforeIwas.
Before we knew the truth about Merrick and the ruin he had caused. Hereandin Ashpoint.
So much had changed, but one truth remained constant.
“Sayla, I don’t want it,” I told her. “I’veneverwanted it. I was terrified when Father told me he was leaving it in my hands. I still am.”
And if shedidwant it, if Warren did, then maybe happiness wasn’t so far out of reach for any of us.
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Sayla said, but I could hear her resolve weakening. “You’re doing a fine job?—”
“But it’s not my dream.”
Kit had the same realization when his benefactor, Delmer died. He, too, was left with something he didn’t want, an obligation he couldn’t fulfill. He lost his farm, but I didn’t even have to lose anything, not when it could be given away to someone who would gladly accept it.
I searched my sister’s face. “If you want to stay here, Sayla, you should. Talk to Warren, see what he thinks, and let me know. The decision is yours.”
She paused, setting her knitting on the coffee table and considering the room around us with seemingly new perspective. A hopeful one. This was home to her the way the cottage in Ashpoint had become home to me. The way anywhere with Kit was home to me.
“But where will you go?” Sayla asked from the midst of her reverie. “We can’t all live here. I mean, we could build a second house?—”
I shook my head. “Kit has a home in Forstford. I would go there with him.”
“And be his kept man?”
I stuck out my tongue, and she laughed loud and long. The sound made the house feel warmer than it had in days. It filled along with my heart as I watched relief wash over Sayla’s face.
After she settled, she spoke again. “You already told me you aren’t actually smithing. If you’re not farming either, whatwillyou do?”
So many things had been suggested in recent days, notions that felt more like whims than actual possibilities. But perhaps we'd been making plans all along.
“Maybe I’ll open a bakery.”
Sayla's eyes shone with fresh tears, and she sprang forward to wrap me in a fierce embrace. I hugged her back, feeling so airy I thought I might float. My sketchbook and pencils slid aside, but I didn't mind. I had a feeling I'd have plenty of time for them soon.
“You know I'll miss you terribly,” Sayla said softly.
“Well, you're not rid of me just yet,” I replied.
I thought I might cry, too, at the return of the happiness I'd lost and the joy I'd been ready to give up. But all I felt was the same relief I knew Kit would feel when I broke the good news to him when we were curled together in the privacy of our room.
Maybe everyone could get what they wanted after all.
40
Kit
It took us another week to finish planting the last of the fields and the back garden, as well as complete repairs on the fences and the thatch on the house and barn roofs. I found time in the evenings to reseal the window frames, brace an unsteady kitchen chair, and shore up the crumbling stone of the fireplace in the living room. By the time it all wound down, the farm looked tidy and all available planting space was in use. Barring some sort of pest or blight or prolonged drought, there would be enough excess to turn a profit at harvest.
During that time, Amelina ventured from her room more often. She worked alongside Sayla in the garden and spent more time with everyone at meals. She was still wary of me—though she was at least cordial when forced to interact—but it was better than her spending all her time holed up in her room in stubborn silence.
