The Huntress ✓

25. Trust

After their meal, Bronte made no concessions to Sam—it was time to end their stay at the parsonage. She only needed to get Alice alone. As it turned out, Sam himself broke away with the daughter as Alice escorted them to the church to give their thanks to the pastor.

Before Bronte could say anything, Alice turned and faced her. She said nothing for a moment as she stared into Bronte's eyes, then placed her palm against Bronte's cheek. "If only your motter could see ya now."

Bronte started. The woman had previously given no indication she'd recognized her. "You know me, Alice?"

" 'Course, child. I knew the moment you opened those stormy eyes. No one's got eyes like my Bronte."

Bronte looked to ensure sure they weren't overheard. Sam was a good distance away, reading to the parson's daughter from the French poetry book.

"Why'd you keep silent?"

"You think old Alice couldn't see ya be foolin' yer young friend? Though I don't know why."

"It's easier this way."

"Do ya be havin' feelins for him, now?" Alice asked gently.

Bronte's face took on a stunned, horrified look. She glanced back at Sam. He was trying to sneak his arm around the young lady. "Sam?"

"But ya do be havin feelin's for dat handsome doctor. Don't deny it, I saw it when you come outta dat room. Now he be knowin' your secret, don't he?"

"Aye, he knows."

As they talked, they continued walking around the church and stopped on the far side, the place Lucien asked to meet. It was a graveyard. Bronte was surprised he'd want to meet her here of all places.

"I thought you'd want to see this." Alice paused beside a wooden cross, slightly weathered. It bore a name and a date.

GRACE BENNET

1664

RIP

Bronte's knees buckled and she knelt at her mother's marker. "What happened Alice, after I left?"

"Rowland got angry, when he found you gone. He beat her bad. Would've killed her 'cept his heart gave out in da middle of it. I found him lying dead on de floor."

"They say she took something from him."

Alice nodded. "You."

Bronte swallowed.

"When they took 'er to jail I found a kind pastor, like dis one, to vouch fer 'er and take 'er in. She never recovered and died a few months later, but not before pastor told 'er the story from de Good Book, 'ow Jesus don't care where you come from; if you give 'im yer heart he be makin' it like new again."

"And my mother, she did that?"

"She did. She never stopped crying fer you. Not from de moment you left. 'Er motter's 'eart were broken," Alice told her in a soft, sad voice.

"Why'd she do it? Why'd she send me away? Alone. Why didn't she leave with me?" Bronte tried to keep the pleading from her voice.

"She were afraid. Rowland would've made you 'is own like 'e did 'er. De world is not a friendly place fer a woman wit'out a man. And she thought Rowland would stop 'er if she tried to go wit ya. But ya never were an ordinary child." Alice put her hands on Bronte's shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "She knew ya didn't belong in dat place. Not as no common 'arlot. And she knew you had de courage and strength to make someting of yerself."

"But I didn't. I never went to the colonies to live with her aunt like she wanted. Don't you want to know how I ended up like this?" Bronte spread her hands, overwhelmed by Alice's statement.