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“She was so young,” Bishop says. “And her heart was broken.”
I nod. It’s easy for me to forget sometimes that she was only nineteen when she died. Not much older than me. With two children already and a husband she didn’t love. And the man she did love right there in front of her. Close enough to see but never have. The pain of it must have been unbearable. If it were me in her place, with Bishop just out of reach, I don’t know how I would stand it.
“Maybe you and I are their second chance,” I say, my own hands falling to rest on his stomach. “Your dad’s and my mom’s. Or does that sound stupid?”
Bishop shakes his head, pulls me closer with one warm hand around my waist. “Not stupid,” he whispers against my mouth.
I wonder if my mother would approve of Bishop and me? Of her daughter giving her heart to the son of the man who broke her own? I like to think she would. Glad at least that President Lattimer’s son had the courage to fight for what he wanted, that her own daughter had the strength to endure. Maybe the best way Bishop and I can honor the love between our parents is to try to rewrite a different ending to their story.
For the last few days I’ve been pretty sure that Bishop and Ash are up to something. Probably Caleb, too, although he’s not quite as obvious. Every time I walk into a room, Bishop and Ash stop talking, their voices trailing off and quick glances passing back and forth between them. When I ask what’s going on, they both look at me full of mock confusion and deny everything. And tonight cemented my suspicions, when Caleb invited me along with him to go pick something up from a friend of his. All four of us are already feeling the effects of an early winter, stir-crazy at being cooped up together for so many hours a day. Especially Caleb. So there’s no way he’d pass up a chance to run an errand alone unless Bishop and Ash asked him to get me out of the house.
“Where are we going?” I ask Caleb as we trudge down the street. It hasn’t snowed yet, but I can taste moisture in the air, the sky hanging so low and heavy I swear I can feel clouds pressing against the top of my head.
“I need to pick something up,” Caleb says.
“Are you going to be more specific?”
Caleb glances at me. “Nope.”
“Right,” I say with a sigh. “Of course not.” I may live in the same house with Caleb now, he may trust me in a way he didn’t before, but he’s still not someone who opens up. Getting him to talk sometimes feels like trying to pry open a locked vault with my fingernails. “Well, can you at least tell me what Bishop and Ash are up to?”
This time Caleb doesn’t bother looking at me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The whispering? The weird looks? Any of this ringing a bell?”
Caleb turns left when we reach the center of town, down a short street with only a couple of intact houses. “I don’t think they’re up to anything,” he says. From the tone of his voice I know I’m not getting anything more out of him.
“Fine.” I sigh and follow him up the short walk to a house that looks precariously close to toppling over to one side. “Who lives here?” I ask.
“Andrew,” Caleb says. “Have you met him?”
“Yeah, once or twice.” I don’t know Andrew well, but I remember him from when we were camped near the river. He was usually working in the garden, harvesting vegetables and hauling baskets of them for canning.
The front door opens before we knock and Andrew steps out, a large box in his hands. “Got it all ready for you,” he says to Caleb. He looks over Caleb’s shoulder and grins at me. “Enjoy! But be careful with it!”
“Umm…okay,” I say with a confused look that only makes Andrew smile wider.
The box is big and unwieldy, but Caleb carries it with ease. My curiosity is killing me, but I don’t bother asking what’s inside. I already know Caleb won’t tell me, and I’m not giving him the satisfaction of refusing my request.
When we get back, Caleb opens the front door and pushes it wide, motions for me to go in ahead of him. Bishop and Ash are standing in front of the roaring fireplace in the living room.
I’ve barely cleared the doorway when Ash cries, “Happy birthday!” flinging her arms outward. There’s a small loaf of dark bread on the table between the couches and next to it what looks like a present, wrapped in printed cloth and tied with a fabric bow.
My eyes fly to Bishop, who is smiling. “Happy birthday, Ivy,” he says.
“What?” I say, a grin sliding onto my face. “Is it even my birthday?” I know we’re well into November now, but I don’t know the exact date. It’s almost impossible to keep track, and Caleb and Ash never seem that worried about the day on a calendar. They live by the seasons, the temperature in the air, and the leaves on the trees.
Bishop shrugs. “Right month. I figure we’re close enough.”
Ash sinks down and kneels in front of the table, pulls a handful of something small from a sack. “We even have birthday candles,” she says, delighted. “I traded a rabbit for them. Elizabeth Granger made them special.”
Behind me, Caleb has shut the front door, set the box on the floor. I turn and look at him. He’s not smiling, not exactly, but his eyes are bright. “Hey,” I say, “I thought you said you didn’t do birthday cake and candles out here.”
“We don’t,” Caleb says, moving up beside me. “But some besotted fool”—he tilts his head toward Bishop—“assured me this is how birthdays are properly celebrated. Even if it’s bread instead of cake.” Now he does smile at me, quick and warm. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” I say, hit with a sudden flash of shyness, not sure where to look with everyone staring at me, unsure what to do.
Caleb gives me a gentle shove. “Get over there, before Ash works herself into a fit.”
