Never Tell a Soul, Damon Priest

20. the brave

If there is anything about courage that Geneva learned in recent weeks, it's that it's contagious. And it's addicting. When her world didn't end after she daring to do something, and when she woke up to a new morning, an overwhelming sense of confidence and hope surged inside her.

And that morning, when the sun streamed through her windows and the noise of another day awakened the household, she realized she lost nothing three nights ago. Yes, of course, she lay awake crying, fearing that she had made a mistake. But if she did, nothing much had changed. Sleep still consumed her. Morning still came. And it was followed by another day. Then another. And she was still the same woman who wanted to fill what had been missing.

That morning, while Gwen helped her dress, she was restless. It was the day that she would return to the other side of the hill. Three days was enough to gather the courage to know what her mother thought of her letter. Or if she told her father. Her brothers. And thinking of her brothers, Matthew came to mind. And the fear returned as she remembered Matthew's voice when he talked about his sister, his face when he first thought she was Geneva Withers.

"What do you want to do today, Miss?" Gwen asked.

"I think I'll go with you to the market. And then I'll want to learn how to make pies with Helene."

"And? Have you any plans with the Stratfords today?"

She shook her head. "I think I want to spend the afternoon alone."

"Can I go away for a couple of hours this afternoon, then?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. I'll be sending some letters to the post."

After her planned activities, Geneva wrote letters to her aunts and asked Gwen to take them to the post with her. Then she dressed for a walk. After packing a pie, she took the road to Windsong. And continued downward to the other side.

She stood at the end of the road, just staring at the cottage. It was silent, her father's wagon not around. She walked closer, wary and ready to run away if something went wrong. But it remained quiet and still, as if it was empty.

But it wasn't. She caught sight of the taupe dress before it disappeared completely at the back of the cottage. Now certain that someone was home, she became aware of the other sounds—metal digging into dirt, roots being snapped.

The small gate was open, and she entered. Her legs were less wobbly than they were three nights ago.

Courage. It's tempting. She wanted to savor it again. She wanted to feel its rush through her veins.

Unconsciously, her palm ran down her skirt a few times before she emerged into the garden. She stood there for a while, watching her pulling carrots from the ground. The sureness of her movements made Geneva wonder how many times she had done this. If she was ever tired of doing it. If she wished she had servants to do it for her.

Then Constance Vernon stilled, finally sensing she wasn't alone. When she looked over her shoulder and found Geneva standing there, a flash of panic and eagerness passed over her face. Geneva held her breath.

Constance Vernon then smiled at her. "Instead of standing there, maybe you can help?"

She jumped and rushed to the woman's side, placing the pie on the table she passed by. Lowering to the ground, her gaze focused on the patch of carrots. "What do I do?"

"Pull," the woman said in a soft voice, grabbing the fronds with one hand and pulled. "See?" Geneva nodded. Her mother watched as she did the same. "You learn fast."

"I try."

They worked quietly for a while. They finished one patch and stopped when her mother said the others were not yet ready. Of course, she was confused. She was a little impatient as well. Perhaps even slightly frustrated.