Page 53 of If The Fates Allow
“Alright.”
It was all the confirmation Bonnie needed, and she hugged Willa, who went stiff in her arms. The sensation of being held felt strange. No one in this house ever touched her in such a manner.
“That’s my girl. I knew you were strong,” Bonnie murmured, cupping the back of Willa’s head. “From here on out, you must ignore what you hear or see, and when it comes time to follow through with your plans, you will go. Don’t look back, just go.”
Up in her room, Willa dressed for dinner. Every night until the new year, her father would demand that they present themselves in formal attire during their evening meal as if Haven House were entertaining the masses when really it was only the Fairweathers and Bonnie around the table.
Her odd discussion with Bonnie the day prior had ended abruptly when her mother swept into the library. “What’s going on in here?” Margaret had flung open the library door, sending the cats scattering. “What are you two discussing?”
“Willa was feeling a little ill,” Bonnie had informed her. “I didn’t want to upset anyone else, so we shut ourselves up in the library until it passed.”
The excuse had been enough for her mother, who sent Willa out so she could discuss the Christmas schedule for the following week with Bonnie. Willa had to give it to them. Haven was looking beyond lovely, with decorations and reminders of the season stuffed into every corner.
Bonnie never approached her again, and too terrified over her plans, Willa kept to her room. The time alone had given her a chance to think. She had so many questions. How far would they travel that first day? They needed to get to a rail depot, but the closest one was nearly fifty miles from Haven House. Would they take the horse the whole way? Could she ride for that long? What if she had an attack while they traveled?
The leaves for the tea Noah claimed would help ease her lung spasms were stored safely in her top dresser drawer, and she would be sure to bring them, but it wasn’t as if she could put a kettle on while traveling by horse.
However, even with all these unanswered questions, she had complete faith in Noah. He would never fail her. Never. She was solid in the belief that his intentions were true and his love for her was real.
As she fixed her hair in the mirror, a commotion in the hallway caught her attention. Concerned over what might be happening, she slowly approached her bedroom door but fell back in shock when the thing burst open and her father stormed in.
“What have you done?”
He wasn’t shouting, though the deadly quiet rage coming off him was enough to send Willa scrambling as he stalked her across the room. “Nothing.”
“Lies,” he hissed. “You are a lying whore.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
The back of his hand struck her cheek, and Willa stumbled, unable to catch herself before falling to the hard floor. Landing on her side, she wheezed, the wind knocked out of her from the impact.
“What did you say to John Richards?”
She scurried like an injured animal into the room’s corner. The hit on her face burned, and the pain radiating from her right hip and arm didn’t permit her to move very fast. “Nothing!” The word came out on a wheeze, the familiar tightness inflaming her chest. She needed to lower her voice and work on breathing. “I have not spoken to JohnRichards.”
Standing above her, Stephen Fairweather coldly stared at his daughter trembling on the floor. “But you write to him?”
“No.”
“Do not lie to me, Wilhelmina.”
“I don’t write to him. I never have.” Like a coward, she held her cheek and sobbed. “Lucy has been sending him the letters, not me.”
“Are you telling me that it is your little sister who is owed my wrath?”
Curling into herself, Willa tucked into a ball. She hated him.Hated. There was not one redeeming quality about this man. He was no father. The mill was his offspring—his only love—and not even a hopelessly devoted Bonnie could pierce the heart of Stephen Fairweather. “Don’t you dare hurt Lucy.”
“John Richards has withdrawn his pursuit of you. A letter arrived today, expressing his stance and how he felt as though you were never truly invested in a courtship with him.”
A stampede of footsteps carried up the stairs. On the floor and behind her bed, Willa couldn’t see who had arrived, but she called out to them anyway.
“What’s this?” Bonnie rushed around the bed and stopped short when she saw Willa. “Stephen?”
“Richards has decided that he and Wilhelmina are not a good match.”
“And you punish Willa for the man’s poor judgment?” Bending down, Bonnie wrapped an arm around Willa’s lower back to support her in sitting upright. “That’s not exactly fair, is it?”
Margaret appeared, and she watched Willa with the same grotesque detachment as her husband. “What isn’t fair is that we needed that land,” she said. “The mill requires it to survive.”
