Page 3 of Hearts of Briarwall

Was Wendy’s heart broken when Peter chose to stay in Neverland? Did she try to find someone like Peter? Or somebody very different? Did she wait for the boy to change his mind and come for her? Or move ahead steadfastly without him?

Only two of the four friends could claim a broken heart: Lydia and Florrie, though Florrie wouldn’t reveal any details. That was no help at all and highly suspicious considering Florrie had been breaking hearts since she’d been in braids. And Lydia questioned if her own heart truly had been injured, or only her pride. Nearly four years had passed since Lydia had put more meaning to a young man’s attentions than he’d intended. The lesson of unrequited love had been a confusing and bitter pill at the tender age of seventeen. While young men had approached her or she had sought them out in the years since, the dance remained an enigma. So, it only showed wisdom for the League to discuss boys. And the men they became. And hearts in general.

Not surprisingly, this was a subject with which they floundered.

Lydia blinked and directed her thoughts back to the present. “Please, be seated. Violet, read us the highlights from last week’s meeting.”

The girls sat, and Violet tilted her notebook toward the spring sunlight pouring in through the window. “My mother’s suffrage meeting took place Monday evening as usual while Father was at his club. Only Ruby was able to attend with me. Mrs. Blanchard proposed a march on the first of May.”

“But that’s May Day,” Florrie said.

Violet nodded, setting down her notebook. “Precisely. Ruby, tell them what we learned.”

“Oh.” Ruby took a deep breath and kept her eyes on the tea service. “Well, it is believed that, centuries ago, May Day began as a celebration of ... fertility.” Her cheeks pinked.

“Ofwomen,” added Violet.

“Mrs. Blanchard thought it an appropriate addition to the celebrations taking place in the park,” Ruby continued, “to wear our sashes and pass out nosegays with a note for our cause.”

Violet nodded. “A quiet sort of demonstration.” She quirked her brow.

“And are the organizers of the celebration aware of this quiet sort of demonstration?” Florrie asked.

“As much as organizers are ever aware.”

Florrie raised her brow in return.

“I’ve always loved May Day.” Lydia shrugged. “That sounds perfect. All in favor of participating?”

Four hands were raised. Violet made a note.

“Next?”

“Florrie reported that the wife of one of the farmers on their estate had given birth to twins and were in need. It was decided to put a food basket together and collect nappies and blankets for the little ones, along with a milk goat. This was carried out on Thursday. Florrie also suggested they might name the girl after her for such an endeavor.”

The girls looked to Florrie, who pouted. “They did not. The poor thing is called Myrtle.Myrtle.” She was met with half-hearted sounds of sympathy. “She’s a pretty little girl, though. I suppose she’ll carry it off.”

After sufficient reassurance that the child would survive bearing such a name, Florrie grew flustered. “That is not all. Myrtle is darling, and I’m sure I shall take a special interest in her as she grows, but no, the awful—the most humiliating thing—”

“What is it?” Ruby asked, placing her hand on Florrie’s arm.

Florrie faced them and lifted her chin, though she avoided their expectant gazes. “They’ve named thegoatafter me.”

After a heavy pause, Lydia threw her hand over her mouth to stop her laughter as Violet bit her lips, her shoulders shaking. Ruby grinned while rubbing Florrie’s back.

Violet attempted to speak. “I’m sure it’s a testament to how much the gift meant to them, dear.” She snorted and pressed her lips together once more.

Lydia nodded vehemently, trying to compose herself. “Yes, without a doubt. After all, Miss Florrie will be providing the extra sustenance needed for two babies.”

More giggles erupted, even from Florrie, who dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “My reputation shall be ruined!” she exclaimed, and the girls broke free of the last of their composure.

“At least,” Lydia said between hiccoughs, “you didn’t gift them a pig.”

At the height of their laughter, the door opened, and the girls swallowed their impropriety at the appearance of Lydia’s brother, Andrew.

Lydia shot out her arm to retrieve her book and opened it quickly.

“Ahem,” said Violet.

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