Page 47 of The Forsaken
“That’s rather a harsh view of a child’s death.” Joan hadn’t liked Margaret, that was clear, and wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
“There are those who are taken from us through no fault of their own, and there are those who run toward their own end.” Joan finished with the rabbit and reached for another one, whacking off its head before she carefully peeled the skin away from its body. The fur would not go to waste, not in a place that was cold and windy even in the warmer months. “Ye’d best check on those loaves afore they burn to a crisp.”
Kate jumped up and hurried toward the hearth. She’d clear forgotten about the bread as she listened to Joan. There was much to learn, and some of the most important lessons would be taught here in the kitchen. Kate took out the perfect loaves and left them to cool.
“Now, where’s that foolish lass?” Joan groaned. “Ye’d think I sent her to get water from the river.”
“Shall I go and see?”
“Don’t trouble yerself. She’s probably making cow eyes at Walter. As if he’d have anything to do with the likes of her.”
Kate didn’t reply. There was little point. Joan was a woman who spoke her mind and expected little opposition to her opinions. She was reliable, efficient, and capable, but kindness and compassion didn’t appear to be part of her nature, which was odd for a woman who had been employed as a nurse.
Joan turned toward the door when Aileen bustled in, carrying the water, a happy smile on her face. Joan waited until Aileen set down the bucket before giving her a resounding slap. “I won’t have ye dawdling. Ye hear me? No, ye likely don’t, but ye understand the sting of the back of me hand. Now, get to work, ye lazy slattern.”
Aileen nodded in contrition and took her place in the corner, reaching for a bowl of peas to shell. She kept her head down, but Kate saw the sparkle of tears on her thick lashes.
TWENTY-NINE
AUGUST 2014
London, England
Gentle fingers of morning light caressed Quinn’s face as she slowly came awake. She’d slept fitfully and had strange dreams, but this morning she felt much calmer. She’d cried for hours last night, soaking Gabe’s T-shirt with tears as she tried to wrap her mind around what she’d learned from Reverend Seaton. She wasn’t sure what hurt more, discovering she had a twin sister out there somewhere, or realizing Sylvia had betrayed her so completely.
Sylvia had known from the start how desperately Quinn longed to find her family, and Quinn had mentioned more than once how excited she was to find out she had siblings. She’d given Sylvia every opportunity to tell her there’d been another baby, a twin no less. But Sylvia’s bland expression had never altered when Quinn spoke of siblings, and not a twinge of guilt had marred her features when she spoke to Quinn about the day she’d abandoned her. Sylvia appeared to love her sons. Why couldn’t she have loved her daughters?
A child was such a gift, even if it wasn’t one’s own, Quinn reflected, as Emma’s piping voice drifted from the kitchen, and Gabe’s baritone answered her patiently.
“What am I getting for my birthday?” Emma asked for the hundredth time.
“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Gabe replied.
“But I want a puppy,” Emma persisted.
“I know, darling, but there’s no room for a puppy in this flat. Maybe we can get a puppy once we move.”
“But I want a puppy now.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to the puppy to have nowhere to play,” Gabe reasoned with her. “Would you want the puppy to be sad?”
“No, I suppose not,” Emma conceded. “Can I have one when we move?”
“We will talk about it then.”
“But I don’t want to move to Berwick. I like it here,” Emma whined.
“I like it here too,” Gabe replied wistfully.
“So, why can’t we stay? Is it because of Grandma Phoebe?”
“Partially, yes. Now, what would you like for breakfast today? Toast okay?”
“I want a boiled egg and soldiers,” Emma replied. That was her favorite breakfast and she’d eat it every day if she could.
“All right. Boiled egg and soldiers coming right up.”
“I want Quinn to make it,” Emma replied defiantly.
