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Chapter 11
Amelia was utterly confused. She lowered herself onto the stone bench off the garden path and turned her attention to Hattie. “You mean to tell me that you plan to marry a fox? As in a furry little animal?”
“Of course not.” Hattie laughed, plopping onto the bench beside Amelia and leaning down to pluck a lavender stalk from the ground. Hattie’s garden was teeming with lavender—her mother’s favorite flower if Amelia recalled correctly. Shoots of purple blossoms spread out around their bench and before them, circling the fountain at the middle of the garden which centered the house behind it perfectly. Interwoven with meadowsweet and tormentil, the garden was brimming with violet, white, and yellow flowers during the summer months.
Hattie sat up, focusing on the green stem bursting with purple petals, her freckles vibrant in the bright sunlight. “But that is the face I saw when I looked over my shoulder on Midsummer’s Day. It stands to reason that my one true love is most assuredly like a fox.”
Amelia eyed her friend dubiously. “In what way?”
Hattie glanced up from her flower, her voice flat. “Your skepticism in no way tempts me to tell you my thoughts on this matter.”
That was a fair statement. “Sorry, Hattie. I don’t mean to disbelieve, but what you are saying is…”
“Difficult to believe?” Hattie smirked, turning her attention back to the lavender and bringing it up to her nose. She inhaled before looking at Amelia, her brown eyes hopeful. “I realize that. You needn’t believe it for it to be real, though. And just because you are skeptical of something, that does not make it false.”
“But faith alone does not make it true, either.” Did Hattie not realize that she was believing in an ancient incantation? This was ludicrous. Magic was a thing for stories. This was real life, and they were not children anymore. She was not doing herself any favors by pretending otherwise.
“Why?” Hattie countered. “Why can’t faith make something real? I have faith that I will find true love someday, that you will find contentment, that the sun will come up tomorrow. I have faith that my father will retrieve his blasted hunters those gypsies stole, and that the seeds from this lavender will spread more flowers about my garden so it will smell even lovelier next summer.”
“And if those things do not occur?” Amelia had once had blind faith, too. She’d believed she would grow old with Henry. When that possibility was shattered irreparably, she had allowed herself to believe she would find lasting contentment with Arthur. Neither of those things had come to pass—her contentment with Arthur was fleeting. Both of those husbands were gone.
Silence sat between them, thick and heavy like the scent of the lavender surrounding their bench. Picking another purple petal, Hattie tossed it into the soft breeze and watched it dance away, spinning before skipping over the path. “Then it is not for lack of faith.”
Amelia forced her lips into a smile. “I am envious of your faith. It is not a skill I possess.”
Not anymore, at least.
Hattie turned her head to the side, her freckled nose wrinkling in thought. “I rather think it was something I was born with. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t possess it.”
Amelia could only hope that her friend would never endure trials difficult enough to cause her to lose her faith. She tried for a lighter tone, making an attempt to steer the conversation away from the heaviness engulfing them and weighing on her heart. “And you believe your future husband—whoever this man is—will possess the qualities of a fox? I am eager to hear how he will manage that.”
A knowing glint lit Hattie’s chocolate brown eyes, but she bent her head toward the flower in her hand, picking petals off one at a time as she spoke. “He might be cunning and smart like a fox.”
“Or maybe he’ll have a pointed nose,” Amelia said, warming to the game and the healing it would bring to their disagreement. She appreciated her friend’s willingness to speak her mind, despite how it differed from Amelia’s on this matter. They did not need to have the same opinions to love or care for one another, clearly.
Hattie nodded. “Perhaps he’s evasive and sly, and easily slips out of uncomfortable situations.”
“Like fox hunts? I’m certain he couldn’t like to hunt.”
Hattie mocked affront. “Definitely not. Which only means one thing.”
“What is that?”
“I haven’t met the man yet. I don’t know a single gentleman who would refuse a hunt.” Hattie tossed her naked lavender stalk into the garden and plucked another from the ground. She looked up, her eyes narrowing as she tilted her head to the side. “Or maybe he has a reddish tint to his hair. Perhaps the similarities are subtle.”
“Are there many red-headed men in Graton?”
“Your brother is one,” Hattie said thoughtfully. She narrowed her eyes. “I have never considered him in that light before, but perhaps I have done myself a disservice in discounting him.”
Amelia reared her head back. “You may be taking this too seriously if you are honestly considering the idea that you and Andrew would suit.”
“Well, I never said that.” Hattie laughed, but her wistful expression gave her away. “Very well, I concede this one. Andrew is far too…sensible for me.”
“He will make a good husband someday.”
Hattie grinned. “And he would be miserable if he were mine.”
Amelia chuckled. Indeed, Andrew would not appreciate Hattie’s antics. There was a reason she hadn’t told him the details of why she’d returned to the church on Midsummer’s Eve, or what Hattie had done there. He would not understand her playful nature, her relentless hope, or her ability to find fascination in the oddest of things.
