Page 25 of The Forgotten
Avery sighed. “Petra, there’s something I must tell you.”
Avery was about to say something when Nan entered, carrying the stewed fruit. She set about clearing away the empty crockery while stealing quick glances at the priest. She was nervous around him, as if he would condemn her for eternity if the pie hadn’t been to his liking. Petra suspected that Nan couldn’t reconcile Avery’s good looks with his calling. She was torn between her growing attraction to him and her fear of repercussions for her impure thoughts.
“The meal was superb,” Avery said kindly, noting Nan’s nervousness. “I ate more than I should have.”
“I’m glad you liked it, Father Avery,” Nan said, blushing.
“Your cooking can lead a man to gluttony,” Avery said. He meant it as a joke, but Nan paled visibly, nearly dropping the carafe she was holding.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I meant no harm.”
“I was joking, my child,” Avery said, smiling at her. “I only meant to compliment your skill.”
“I have no wish to lead anyone into temptation,” Nan whispered and fled.
Avery looked after her with consternation. He’d meant to put her at ease but instead had made her flustered and confused.
“Is it safe to have some fruit, or will she think she’s paved my way to Hell?” Avery asked as he reached for the steaming bowl.
“Pay her no mind,” Petra replied. She’d have a word with Nan later assure her that Avery hadn’t meant anything sinister by his comment.
Avery finished the fruit and pushed away the bowl. “I haven’t had fruit in weeks. It’s such a welcome change from the gruel the monks normally eat. I must return to the priory though, no matter how much I wish I could stay. It’s been such a joy to see you, Petra.”
Avery got to his feet and began to walk toward the door with Petra hot on his heels. She could hear the sound of crashing crockery coming from the kitchen and hoped Nan wouldn’t overhear over the din.
“What about Edwin?” she demanded. She couldn’t let Avery leave without some sort of reassurance, but Avery seemed reluctant to commit to any sort of action.
“We’ll speak again soon. I must think on it. Give my regards to Lady Blythe. I will call on her tomorrow,” Avery said as he walked out of the house, leaving Petra feeling more unsettled than before he’d arrived.
TWENTY-THREE
Father Avery hurried down the street, eager to get as far away from Petra as possible. Seeing her after all this time, and actually speaking to her, brought back memories he’d tried to suppress for twelve long years, and his soul was in turmoil. Petra knew how much he resented being packed off to the seminary, but she never knew how much he’d really had to sacrifice. It wasn’t just the emotional void of never having a family of his own or a woman to hold, but was much more than that. As a priest, he wasn’t entitled to a single thought that wasn’t controlled by the Church. His every hour was accounted for, his every action scrutinized. He thought he found an outlet when he’d been invited to teach at Oxford; what he meant to tell Petra, but never got the chance, was that he’d left Oxford under a cloud.
Staying at Greyfriars Priory was not a choice, but a penance. He’d been sent to the monks as a warning, and offered a glimpse into what his life would be if he failed to mend his ways. Avery had great respect for the monks, and admired their dedication and lack of personal ambition, but that wasn’t the life he wanted for himself. Spending his days behind the walls of the monastery, his every hour filled with either work or prayer was not an existence he could tolerate. He’d been his happiest at Oxford, exposed to learned men and new ideas, surrounded by students, not only of theology, but of general knowledge—a knowledge he craved. The world was changing, people’s ideas evolving, but he was eternally trapped in an institution that feared change and peddled ignorance and fear.
The monks at Greyfriars assumed that he was doing penance for an inappropriate relationship with a woman.Thankfully, the bishop saw no reason to enlighten them as to the nature of Avery’s transgression, but it didn’t really matter. Penance was penance, and locking Avery away from the world was the harshest punishment the bishop could think of. Avery was by no means a prisoner at the priory, but he was on a short leash, his activities outside the walls of the monastery noted and reported to the bishop. Bringing an afflicted child into the monastery as an apprentice scribe would draw scrutiny from above and raise questions about his relationship with the family. His father was not the only one who knew of Avery’s devotion to Petra when he was a young man. Questions would be asked. Judgments would be passed. He would be putting himself at risk.
Avery left the town behind and entered a lonely stretch of road that led to the priory. The wind picked up. It howled and moaned, reminding him of that silly legend his mother always went on about, about the fair maiden who’d thrown her heart into the sea. Today, he could almost believe that a woman’s cries carried on the wind. Perhaps that woman was Petra. How could he deny her plea for help when he’d left her pregnant and alone, forced to fend for herself in a world where a woman was nothing more than the property of her father or husband. Petra had been forced to marry in haste and submit to a man who treated her cruelly. And their poor son. The boy suffered at the hands of his brutal stepfather, and it was Avery’s duty to help him make his way in the world.
Avery stopped, the wind whipping the skirts of his clerical robe as he stood in the middle of the road. He had to see him. He had to see his son. Despite his father’s handiwork, Avery had managed to leave a part of himself behind, and the thought made his heart soar. He wasn’t just an empty vessel, a useless husk gutted by the Church; he was a father, and a man, and he had to help his boy.
TWENTY-FOUR
JANUARY 2014
Edinburgh, Scotland
Gabe set down his empty glass. It was time to go, but he had no desire to return to the room he shared with Quinn. He was still angry and upset, despite the three glasses of whisky he’d just downed. The alcohol took the edge off, as it usually did, but Gabe’s mind was still crystal clear, his thoughts swirling around in self-destructive patterns. Truth be told, he was upset long before Quinn even came back, which was why he’d decided to go to bed and not drive himself mad while he waited for her. He wasn’t so much worried for her safety as for her state of mind. Like so many adopted children, she’d fantasized about her birth parents and had elevated them to godlike status in her mind, having no real character flaws to pin on them. No child wanted to believe that their parent had been a prostitute, or a junkie, or just someone who couldn’t get rid of their infant fast enough. They chose to believe that their parents had been beautiful, idealistic, and in love when they were conceived, and that insurmountable obstacles prevented them from keeping their beloved child.
As far as birth mothers went, Sylvia Wyatt certainly wasn’t the worst candidate, but her story had broken something in Quinn, and now she was determined to find the man who fathered her through an act of violence. Given the circumstances, Gabe couldn’t imagine that Quinn genuinely hoped for a relationship with the man, so what exactly would bring her a sense of resolution? She hadn’t been herself since finding out about the night she wasconceived, and the force that drove her to seek out these men was more destructive than healthy.
Gabe understood Quinn’s desire to look her biological father in the face, but this wasn’t the woman he knew. His Quinn would have confronted the man head-on, instead of going to his room when she knew exactly what he was after, and then threatening him with exposure when things didn’t go her way. She was allowing her emotions to get in the way of personal safety and good sense, and Gabe was worried about what this would do to her in the long run.
If Robert Chatham turned out to be a match, Quinn would still not be satisfied, especially since she disliked the man so intensely. Perhaps, in time, she might have reconciled herself to Rhys Morgan, who seemed to be a good man despite the mistakes of his youth. Robert Chatham was an entirely different article, and a nasty one at that. And if Chatham proved not to be a match, then Quinn would move Heaven and Earth to find Seth Besson, who at this point could be anywhere. Just knowing that he was the last man standing would not appease Quinn, but she’d need to meet the man and evaluate him for herself.
Gabe sighed and seriously considered ordering another drink, but they were picking up Emma in a few hours, so he had to be sober and alert. The thought of Emma instantly put a smile on his face. He wished with all his heart that Emma hadn’t lost her mother, but now that he knew she was his, he couldn’t imagine a life without her. He’d known her for only a few days, but she’d already kindled something within him that was so powerful that it fascinated and scared him in equal parts. He still had to keep reminding himself that this was real, and once they left Edinburgh, Emma would be his responsibility. The thought sobered him, but the joy he felt when imagining her in his life forever took his breath away. How could he not have known that he was a dad?How was it that his subconscious did not alert him to the fact that a part of him was out there in the world, going about her childish business and spending day after day without knowing of his existence?
And now Quinn, who was going through this existential turmoil, had been cast in the role of mother without any warning or choice, and had to deal with life-altering circumstances at a time when she should have been enjoying her time as a bride-to-be. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to spring parenthood on her or to expect her to simply step into the role of mum without any reservations, but part of him wished that Quinn would just give up this quest of hunting down her father and concentrate on the situation life had handed them. The next few months would be crucial, and selfish as it sounded, he needed her support.
