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Ursula’s head hit the back of the seat of her family’s carriage with a thud. Hecate scurried off her shoulder and onto the ceiling while Arte cuddled against her and hissed. Not to be outdone by the glum animals, her father stared out the window while her uncle glared, mostly at her. She clenched her fists. What right did he have? He wasn’t her father and they weren’t blood.
“I don’t know why you look like that. You should be happy. Isn’t this what you wanted?” she snapped at the man.
“I’m not rejoicing in anything that happened, Ursula.” Uncle Bernard folded his arms.
Her father made a noise of disgust but didn’t t
urn around.
“I’m not, Judah.” Her uncle wiped back his thick curls with his hand. “My desire was to protect, not hurt you, both of you.”
Oh, so he knew what was best. Indeed. The man needed a good thrashing.
“You weren’t so protective of anyone’s feelings during your conversation with Jay,” she snapped.
The corner of his mouth tightened.
Aha.
So, he was the origin of at least some of Jay’s self-loathing. Score one for her. Though, to be fair, the original seeds were sown by J.T. Truitt and the Hales years before Jay’d even heard of Uncle Bernard.
“He needed to understand, Ursula, to be aware. He lives in his own little world, insulated from things you’re not,” her uncle added.
Her father offered no assistance to either her or his brother-in-law, still facing the scenery, twisting at his jacket. She sighed. Time to represent her own interests.
“That’s unfair and I didn’t hear all that you said to him, but what you said...”
Uncle Bernard knotted his own handkerchief, his gray darkening to match her father’s black.
“Was the truth, Ursula. He’s sick. You really don’t understand. I know you’re fond of him and he’s amusing, but the matter is far more grave.”
Fond of him? Was he implying her feelings towards Jay were similar to her affection for purple or eclairs?
“He’s strong—stronger than you believe.” The words were strangled, half caught in her throat.
Her uncle threaded his hands and hung his head. “Opium doesn’t discriminate, Ursula. It should only be used as comfort for the dying, like it was for your late mother. You’ve not seen what I’ve seen. I’ve travelled. Opium is almost impossible to shake. He’ll yearn for it every day, for the rest of his life.”
He leaned toward her. She clutched Jay’s handkerchief against Arte’s fur. The tears were so close to the surface. Every time she closed her eyes there was his face, in the chair, staring into an empty fireplace. He’d have to fight and struggle day in and day out.
If only she could soothe that pain. She’d give anything. If she could shoulder some of it for him, she’d agree in a heartbeat.
Ursula squeezed her lids shut. Jay suffered. Knowing that was worse than being apart from him somehow.
“I don’t care.” She stamped her foot for emphasis. Arte twisted her head round in warning.
“You should. You’ve destroyed your reputation in some misguided heroics on his behalf and where is he now?” He nearly spit the words as he wagged a finger at her. “This isn’t Berlin or Paris, where you have real protection, a real community. We have to live with them in Philadelphia. They already want to snub you. Why do you insist on making it easier for them?”
Uncle Bernard shook his head. “You’re clever, Ursula, but not as clever as you think. You can’t fix everything. You cannot cheat death. Ask your father. He learned that lesson already.”
Her father—so much gray for someone so young, only ten years older than Jay. She swallowed.
“Father?” She whispered the word.
Her father lifted his head. “No, there are things we cannot fix, cannot change, but we can adapt.”
“Like you did?” Uncle Bernard snorted.
Ursula rubbed Jay’s handkerchief against her cameo. Had her father ever been happy? Had his life just been an endless call to duty and service with nothing in return?
