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Rather than go numb, they burned bright, a long pyre on a dark Pennsylvania street, consuming Merritt, alone.
Chapter 29
October 15, 1846, Blaugdone Island, Rhode Island
Merritt was exhausted when he came home the next morning. He’d managed to find a bed at a local coach house around eleven last night, which he’d shared with two men who snored louder than firing cannonballs. He’d then emptied his wallet to get back to Blaugdone Island. His body was sore, his eyes were dry, and everything else was... wrung out and still wringing. He needed to... he wasn’t sure. Run until he couldn’t move another inch, only so he could sleep for a week and force his mind to work out these new revelations in his dreams. Wouldn’t that be nice.
Bastard.Could it be true? What reason would she have had to lie about it? It worked with the events as they’d transpired, but...
Bury, bury, bury.
For now, he’d have to settle for staring at a wall. Perhaps Hulda knew of some sort of tea or tincture that would settle him down enough to get some rest. If only it were as simple as sleeping it off.
She’d taken his boat, after all, so he’d hired a driver to cross the bay. As he handed over his last coins, he noticed a new boat tied about two hundred feet east—larger than his, big enough for maybe eight people. He squinted at it awhile, until the driver of the boat he stood on asked, “Um. Could you get off?”
Merritt forced his feet to step into eight inches of water, eyes still on the unknown sea vessel. Who was visiting? Not Fletcher...
Slapping himself twice on either cheek, Merritt forced wakefulness into his person and trudged through the wild grasses and reeds toward the house. At least he had this quiet place for refuge. At least he could wrap himself up in normalcy while he reordered the story of his life and determined what to do next. At least he could depend on Beth and Baptiste to keep the days going, and Hulda...
He still needed to talk to her. He wanted to, as soon as he got his head around all of this—bastard—and stuffed it away like he always did. It took time and tears, and a few unfortunate trees would bear the brunt of his target practice and likely his fists, but he would piece himself back together, and they would talk. There could still be a silver lining to the mess of his life. God grant him just one silver lining.
That hope buoyed him. His porch grumbled under his weight—Owein was either happy to see him or anxious about something. The boat, perhaps? Concerned, Merritt quickened his step and opened the front door.
He tripped over a trunk sitting just behind it.
Hulda’s trunk.
“What on...” He left the door ajar and stepped around the trunk. There was a suitcase sitting beside it. He grasped its handle and lifted it—full.
What was going on?
Two men came down the stairs just then, complete strangers dressed in work attire. They nodded to him before pushing past, taking up either end of the trunk and hauling it outside—
Beth stepped out from the living room and started upon seeing him. “Mr.Fernsby! Are you...” She took him in—he undoubtedly looked a mess—and finished weakly, “... well?”
“Hardly.” He hefted the suitcase. “What’s all this?”
Beth bit her bottom lip.
Hulda came down the stairs, not noticing him until she’d reached the third to last. She paused, her overlarge bag—which also appeared to be very full—slung over her shoulder. She blanched upon seeing him.
“What the hell is going on?” He brandished the suitcase. His freshly painted mortar cracked. He might as well be standing outside Manchester City Hall yet again.
Hulda lifted her chin and descended the final stairs. He thought her lip quivered for an instant, but the mark of uncertainty vanished the moment she spoke. “As you know, Mr.Fernsby, BIKER has been requesting my return to Boston.”
He stared at her incredulously. Beth backed out of the room.
“BIKER?” His tone was more forceful than he meant it to be. “I thought you spoke with them already. You’re staying on.”
“You are misinformed.” She cleared her throat. Stood even taller. “Which is a blunder on my part. However, seeing as you were out of the house—”
“With a communion stone you failed to use,” he interjected.
She pressed on, “I have taken matters in hand. I am departing today, but a new housekeeper will be appointed to you within the fortnight, if you choose to hire a replacement.”
He gawked at her. Set down the bag, then kicked the door closed and whirled on her. “So you’re moving out, without so much as a note?”No letter. No word. No trace.Something sharp and hard formed in his chest. “You said you were staying.”
She huffed. “What I said is not relevant. I am BIKER’s employee, not yours—”
