Chapter Five

E vangeline lay atop the straw tick, her coat spread over her for warmth, flinching with every peal of the church bells.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

The pain of grief, which only sleep had allowed her to escape, returned. It spread, reaching the very tips of her fingers, weighing down the very air she breathed, thundering with every beat of her heart.

Gone. Gone.

She rolled over onto her side, focusing on the dim light peeking around the dingy window coverings and illuminating the dancing flecks of dust. She could taste the dirt in the air, could feel the grit in her eyes and on her skin.

Her coat proved an insufficient blanket. The sandwich she’d eaten on the train the afternoon before had long since ceased keeping her hunger at bay. She was cold and famished and so very alone.

Gone. Gone.

She allowed herself to wallow in her suffering only until the last peal sounded.

She had never been apart from Lucy before. When George had gone to school and James had retreated into his books, she and Lucy had spent their days together, growing ever closer, ever fonder. Enough years separated them to add a maternal aspect to her view of their relationship, but she considered Lucy her friend as well as her sister. She simply had to get her sister back.

Evangeline sat upright, pulling on her coat like a knight of old donning his armor. It was time to get to work. The sooner she set her house to rights, the sooner she would have Lucy with her again.

Her assessment of her surroundings the night before had been disheartening. The house held no fuel for warmth, not even a lantern. There was no food. No blankets. No rags for cleaning. The sum total of her belongings were the clothes she’d brought with her, a table and bench, a spindle-backed chair, a straw tick, and three pots. She hadn’t a bowl or plate or utensils. She hadn’t even a teakettle.

Evangeline sighed and stood, determined to do all that must be done. She crossed to the window and pulled back the heavy cloth hanging over it.

The evening had been dim so she’d not been able to truly see the area surrounding the schoolhouse. She could see it now though. The back bushes were overgrown, just like the hedge at the front of the house. Weeds choked what looked to be a small kitchen garden. Roses grew wild and unchecked in a flowerbed.

Everything about this house felt forgotten. Perhaps that was why Aunt Barton had sent her here: to be forgotten.

She could practically hear George teasing her for that black thought. “Ever the dramatic one, aren’t you, Evangeline?” He would have laughed—they all would have—and her spirits would have been lifted.

Evangeline forced a deep breath and pushed away the unwelcome reminder of her loss. She knelt in front of her trunk and lifted the lid. In an instant, she was overwhelmed by the smell of home: Father’s shaving soap and the hyacinths Mother grew in her garden. How had those scents followed her here? She’d brought no flowers or soap, but the aroma had come just the same.

I am strong enough to endure this. I have to be.

Her first task was to dress for the day. That bit of normalcy would help tremendously. She pulled her chemise and underclothes from the trunk only to uncover the photograph she’d hidden away the day before. Her heart lodged in her throat. She ran her fingers around the wood frame, then over the cold glass, tracing the outline of her family. Beside the photograph lay Lucy’s stolen treasures: Father’s pipe, James’s book, and “George,” the ceramic shepherd.

She would find a place of prominence for these so her family could, in some small way, be with her in this unfamiliar place. She would at least have a tiny hint of home.

Evangeline pulled her corset from the trunk, eyeing it with misgiving. It was not designed for self-dressing, and she no longer had a maid to help her. She struggled, twisting and turning and pulling in whatever way she could. Getting it off the night before had not been easy, but putting it back on was proving nearly impossible.

How can I insist that I be entrusted with Lucy’s care if I cannot even dress myself? She knew that the argument was unfair, the trouble being in the design of her corset rather than her own capability, but she felt certain Aunt Barton would wield this point against her if she ever learned of it.

Long, frustrating minutes passed, but at last she had herself corseted, however inexpertly askew. She pulled on her black dress, purposely choosing one that fastened in the front. She shook the dust from her skirts.

The mantelshelf became home to her family’s photograph and Lucy’s treasures so her sister would be greeted by these familiar, cherished things when she arrived.

The morning passed in long, difficult hours. Evangeline washed walls and windows and dusted every surface. She hadn’t a proper broom, but she did her best to sweep the floor with a small hand brush, which proved tedious and ineffective. She didn’t want Lucy to be disappointed in their new home, but how could that possibly be avoided? The house was dark, dingy, and cramped, empty of all that would make it comfortable and inviting.

She stood back and examined her work, her spirits dropping even further. Her focus slid to the family photograph, settling on her mother’s intent gaze.

“What am I to do?” she asked in a whisper. “How could Lucy be happy in a place like this?”

It wasn’t Mother’s voice that answered, but Evangeline’s own words from the day before: “I swear to you, Lucy. I will not ever leave you.”

Lucy had begged, and Evangeline had promised. Shabby house or not, they would be together. That was what mattered. It would be enough. It would have to be.

She tied her bonnet firmly on her head. She would return to Aunt and Uncle Barton’s home, request enough of her inheritance to furnish this house with all it needed, and bring Lucy back with her. Surely they would agree to that.

The overgrown hedge did its utmost to prevent her from leaving, but she pressed through, careful not to snag her dress on the brambles. The tight space knocked her bonnet loose, but she righted it. Trimming the hedge needed to be high on her list of tasks, otherwise her students would arrive in tatters.

How did one go about trimming a hedge? A specific tool must exist for such a task, though she hadn’t the first idea what it might be nor how to use it. Good heavens, she was out of her element. Yet even with a small bit of her inheritance, she could set things to rights. With a little more than a small bit, she could pay workers to do the things she didn’t know how to accomplish.

With determined steps, Evangeline headed toward Hillside House. There was no risk of getting lost; she need only move downhill. At the bottom of Greenamble Street, she turned in what she was relatively certain was the right direction.

She walked past a dry goods store and thought she spied a person or two inside. The same was true of the small, one-windowed tobacco shop and of the cobbler’s. Petersmarch was smaller than Smeatley, but those streets had been busier than this. Why was a town reported to be growing as quickly as this one was so empty?

And where were the children she was meant to be teaching? Other than Ronan McCormick, she hadn’t seen a single child. Perhaps she would only have a handful of students. That would not be so unmanageable. Learning how to be a teacher was less daunting when faced with only a half-dozen pupils.

The road curved around a central churchyard, shops lining the side opposite the green. Evangeline slowed her pace, studying her new surroundings, learning the lay of the town. One thing, however, continually pulled her gaze: the massive mill built of a tawny-colored brick, glowering down on the town from its high perch to the west. Little effort had been made at ornamentation. No noticeable details softened its straight lines and imposing solidity. Window after window sat dark against the brick. She wondered how much light actually entered the building.

She knew the mill was not only a symbol of prosperity and innovation, but it also had saved the town of Smeatley from economic ruin, but Evangeline found the sight of it discomfiting. It was so cold and unyielding.

She pulled her gaze away, forcing her thoughts on her final destination and the conversation to come. Aunt Barton was a formidable presence. But Evangeline’s need for the basic necessities in her new house, both for her own sake and Lucy’s, was a reasonable request. The trouble was, Aunt Barton was not always reasonable.