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“Good afternoon.” Mabel smiled as she nudged Pippa.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Tucker,” Pippa said quietly. She coughed a little dainty sound and then squared her shoulders before shooting her arms forward. “We’ve brought you muffins as an act of char—”
Mabel kicked Pippa’s shoe, and she delivered a strained smile. “As an apology,” Pippa continued. “For throwing the tiniest pebbles—”
Another kick. Pippa turned to glare at Mabel, who moved her attention to Mrs. Tucker, her smile innocent.
“For throwing rocks at Jacob,” Pippa finished in one breath, holding the basket out farther and turning her face toward the yard.
“Thank you, Pippa,” Mrs. Tucker said, taking the basket.
“There’s ginger biscuits in there too. They are the best ginger biscuits in England,” Pippa said begrudgingly.
“Then I look forward to tasting them.”
Pippa turned back to Mrs. Tucker, who was now lifting up the cloth on the basket and sniffing the contents.
“You know, you should eat all of the biscuits and the muffins, for they are best when they are fresh, and they only just came out of the oven.”
“Very good to know,” Mrs. Tucker said with a straight face before flicking a look over to Mabel.
“Ewww. What’s a baby doing at my house?” a little voice called from above them.
Pippa’s face turned red before she pivoted to the right, clenching both of her hands at her sides in a rage.
“Pippa’s a baby ’cause she sleeps in a baby room. Pippa’s a baby!” the boy taunted from high up in a tree to the right of the house.
“Am not!” Pippa yelled back.
Mabel could feel the anger emanating from the small child and couldn’t entirely blame her. Jacob Tucker really was something of a brat.
“Jacob, get down from that tree this instant,” Mrs. Tucker called, her cheeks becoming rosy. “That is not how we speak to our neighbors. Especially a lady.”
“But she’s not a lady, Mama,” Jacob yelled back. “Didn’t you hear? Pippa’s a baby.”
“Am not!” Pippa yelled again. “It’s not a nursery, anyway, Jacob. It’s a schoolroom. Because I’m a lady and I’m learning. I’m not some poor kid—”
“Enough,” Mabel said through clenched teeth, grabbing Pippa’s arm and pulling her back. The young girl immediately stopped, and when Mabel turned her to face Mrs. Tucker, Pippa’s face was beet red. “Apologize,” Mabel said in her steeliest voice. It hit its mark because she did not have to repeat it.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Tucker.”
“And to Jacob,” Mabel said.
Pippa turned and gave her sister a death glare. They stared off for a moment before Pippa shouted, “Never!” and pulled her arm from Mabel’s grip, turning and running out of the yard and down the lane.
Mabel shot Mrs. Tucker an apologetic look, received a sympathetic one in return, and turned to chase after Pippa, yelling the little mite’s name as she ambled down the road. Horse hooves sounded on the lane to the side that ran through their own, and Mabel turned, the blood leaving her body in one fell swoop. She screamed Pippa’s name like she never had before.
Pippa halted and looked back to Mabel, her face blank. The girl lacked fear. She could not see the team of horses heading straight toward her from the highway that intersected with their small country lane. Mabel dropped the basket at her feet and reached a hand toward her sister as if that would magically pull Pip out of harm’s way and screamed. Pippa turned toward the highway, the thundering of horse hooves, and her mouth dropped open before the man driving the ornate traveling carriage yelled at his animals, swerving off of the road and maneuvering onto the country lane, missing the ditch by an inch.
Mabel collapsed to the ground, shooting up a prayer of gratitude and savoring the sweet relief that filled her body. She lumbered to her feet and sprinted to where Pippa lay on the ground, having fallen back from the wind and the fear of the carriage, undoubtedly. Scooping her sister into her arms, Mabel fell to her knees once again, squeezing Pippa and rubbing her back as tears fell down both of their faces and sobs wracked the tiny girl’s body.
“Amabel? Pip?” A deep voice called hesitantly ahead of them, and Mabel lifted her head, shocked by the image of the chestnut-haired man with deeply tanned skin who slightly resembled Charles—and certainly sounded like Charles. No one besides her closest family would call her by her given name. Everyone else knew her as Mabel.
“It is you!” he yelled as he closed the distance and dropped to his knees, throwing his arms around Pippa and pulling her from Mabel’s embrace, leaving her bereft. “That was too close,” he said as he squeezed Pippa tighter, his eyes screwed shut and obviously unaware that the child in his arms was not returning his affection. After a moment he looked down at her and noticed the confusion before glancing up at Mabel and laughing. “What?” he said. “You don’t recognize me?”
“Charles?” she questioned.
“Of course I’m Charles!” he responded. “I know I have tanned, but I cannot look that different.”
