Band of Sisters (61 page)

Eleanor sniffed and sat back. “It is impossible. Elisabeth Anne must remain in London. It is the only suitable society for a young lady. You will return to Hargrave House.” She took a sip of tea, then replaced her teacup firmly in its saucer. “Your room stands ready.”

“Not this time, Aunt.” Owen spoke quietly, leaning forward to replace his own cup, willing it not to rattle. “I will support Annie from now on.”

“On gardener’s wages. And send her to a boarding school—in a shipping town!” She laughed.

“A convenient location for those going to sea.” Owen paused, debating how to proceed. “Or those crossing the sea.”

“The sea?” His aunt’s voice took on the suspicion, even the menace, that Owen feared. But he would do this, afraid or not.

Owen leaned forward again, breathing the prayer that never failed him. “Do you remember Uncle Sean Allen, in America?”

She stiffened.

“He and Aunt Maggie offered Father half of their landscaping business in New Jersey after Mother died.”

“A foolish proposition—a child’s dream! The idea of whisking two motherless children to a godforsaken—”

“It was a proposition that might have saved him from the grief that took his life—if you hadn’t interfered!” Owen stopped, horrified that he’d spoken aloud the words harbored in his heart these four years but delighted that at last he’d mustered the courage.

She drew herself up. “If it was not an accident that sent him to his grave, it was his own ridiculous pining for a woman too silly to help him manage his business! I offered your father everything—this home, my inheritance, introduction to the finest families. He needn’t have worked at all, and if he had insisted, I could have procured any business connections he dreamed of in England. I can do all of that for you, Owen. I offer all of that to you.”

And it would be the death of all my hopes for Lucy—or even someone like her—just as you were the death of Father’s hopes and dreams.
“I’m grateful for the roof you’ve given Annie and me these four years, Aunt. But it’s time for us to go. Uncle Sean has made to me the same offer he made to Father, and I’ve accepted. I sail Easter week.”

“Easter!” she gasped.

“As soon as we turn a profit, I’ll send for Annie.”

“He has been in that business these many years and not succeeded?” She snorted scornfully, but the fear that he meant to go did not leave her eyes.

He leaned forward. “Do you not see, Aunt? Do you not see this is a chance of a lifetime—for Annie and for me?”

“What I see is that you are foolish and ungrateful, with no more common sense than your father! I see that you are willing to throw away your life on a silly scheme that will come to nothing and that you intend to drag the child down beside you!” Her voice rose with each word, piercing the air.

Owen drew back. He’d not hurt Annie for the world. At fourteen, she was not a child in his eyes; that she remained so in Aunt Eleanor’s estimation was reason enough to get her away from Hargrave House.

Eleanor’s face fell to pleading, her demands to wheedling. “Owen, stay here. I can set you up in your own gardening business, if that is what you want. You can experiment with whatever you like in our own greenhouses. They will be entirely at your disposal.”

Owen folded his serviette and placed it on the tea tray. The action gave him peace, finality. “I’m sorry you cannot be happy for us, Aunt. But it is the solution to our mutual dilemmas.”

A minute of silence passed between them, but Owen’s heart did not slow.

“Leave me, Owen, and I will strike you from my will.” The words came softly, a Judas kiss.

Owen stood and bowed.

“My estate means nothing to you?”

“It comes at too high a price, Aunt.” Owen breathed, relieved that the deed was done. “I’ll stay the night and then must get back to Southampton. I’ll return to collect Annie and her things early next week.” He bowed again and walked away.

“There is something more. I had not intended to tell you—not yet.”

Owen turned.

His aunt folded her hands in her lap. “It was your grandfather’s doing.”

Annie knelt beside the stair rail, her nerves taut, her eyes stretched wide in worry. When at last Owen stepped through the parlor door, she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

But Owen didn’t move. Annie leaned over the railing for a better look at her brother. His hands covered his head, pressed against the doorframe, and she was certain he moaned. She stood back, biting her lower lip. She’d never heard such a sound from her older brother. “Owen? Owen!” she whispered loudly into the hallway below.

At last he climbed, two stairs at a time, but she’d never seen him look so weary.

“I could hear her shouting all the way up here. What has happened?” Annie met him at the landing and rushed into his arms.

“Come, close the door, Annie.” Owen spoke low, pulling her into her room. “Pack your things, everything you want to keep. We’ll not be back.”

“Pack my things? Why? Where are we going?”

But her brother would not meet her eyes. He pulled her carpetbag from the top of the cupboard and spread it open. He picked up their parents’ wedding photograph from her bedside table. “You’ll want this.”

“Whatever are you doing?”

Owen wrapped the frame in the linen it sat upon and placed it in the bottom of her bag. “I’ll tell you when we’ve settled for the night. Now you must pack, and quickly.”

“Am I going to live with you?”

He shook his head. “Pack, Annie.”

“Is Aunt Eleanor sending me away?”

“She knows we’re going. She—”

They both started when Annie’s door swung wide.

“Jamison!” Annie gasped.

The old butler’s bent frame filled the low doorway. He looked over his shoulder, put a finger to his lips, and motioned Owen closer. “Do you have a place for Miss Annie, sir?”

Owen ran his fingers through his hair. “In Southampton, as soon as I can arrange it. I don’t know what we shall do tonight.”

Jamison nodded and pushed a crumpled paper into Owen’s hand.

“Jamison!” Eleanor Hargrave bellowed from the first floor.

“What’s going on?” Annie begged.

“Take this round to my old sister, Nellie Woodward. Her address is on the bottom. She will do right by you for the night,” the butler whispered.

“Jamison! Come—at once!” Annie heard their aunt rap her cane against the parlor doorframe.

“Good-bye, Miss Annie.” Jamison’s ever-formal voice caught in his throat.

“No.” Annie shook her head, confused, disbelieving, and reached for Jamison. “I can’t say good-bye like this!” Her eyes filled. “Someone tell me what’s happening!”

The butler took her hands in his for the briefest moment, coughed, and stepped back. “God take care of you both, Mr. Owen. Write to us when you get to America. Let us know you are well, and Miss Annie, too.” He nodded. “You can send a letter to my Nellie. She’ll see that I get it.”

“America?” Annie gasped. “We’re going to America?”

Jamison caught Owen’s eye, clearly sorry he’d said so much, and looked away. But Owen wrung the butler’s withered hand. “Thank you, old friend.”

Jamison turned quickly and crept down the polished stairs.

“Owen,” Annie began, hope rising in her chest.

“Don’t stop to talk now, Annie! Hurry, before Aunt Eleanor sends you off with nothing!”

Annie whirled. “America! Where to begin?” She plucked her Sunday frock from the cupboard; Owen grabbed her most serviceable. She tucked in stationery and coloring pencils; Owen packed her Bible,
The Pilgrim’s Progress
, and the few books of poetry their mother had loved.

“You must wear your spring and winter cloaks. Layer everything you can.”

“It isn’t that cold!” Annie sputtered.

“Do it,” Owen insisted.

They stuffed all they could into her carpetbag and a pillow slip. Ten minutes later they turned down the lamp, slipped down the servants’ stairs, and closed the back kitchen door softly behind them.