“By the time I get back, he will have forgotten all about it. We’ll just get on with the work as if it never happened.” Kingston paused. “Until next time.”

Maryelle’s teeth chattered. “He could have killed you.”

“I doubt it. Besides, I’d never let him.”

His words did nothing to calm her fears. What if his father one day flew into a rage when Kingston wasn’t watching? She breathed deeply to calm the nausea sweeping through her.

“We need a place of our own.” A retreat for both of them.

“And we’ll get it. Eventually.”

She pressed on. “How long is eventually?”

“I can’t say. Father thinks I’ve spent far too much of his money repairing things. He doesn’t pay me a regular wage, so it’s hard to save anything.” His face was troubled. “I’m not much comfort, am I?”

She stroked his face. “I’m not trying to increase your troubles; it’s just that we need to establish our own home.”

“I want it as much as you.”

She doubted that to the depths of her soul. “Would you be able to ask your father for a loan to build a small house?”

“I don’t think he’d like it.”

A shiver of fear raced through her at what those words had suddenly come to signify. “Then, by all means, don’t ask him. Something will work out.”

“I wish I could see what.”

“Listen—if you can stand it, I can stand it. In fact”—she placed her hand on his chest—“as long as we stand together, we’ll be fine.” Somehow she’d find a way to survive.

He hugged her tight and kissed her nose. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Maybe years ago, but not recently.”

“Well, I do, my sweet brown eyes. You are my heart and soul, my life, my joy. I love you so much.” He kissed her, and they clung together against the harshness of the world outside their love.

She walked back with him as far as her garden. “Be careful,” she murmured as he paused to give her one last kiss before returning to work. “I’ll worry about you now.”

“Nothing’s changed. Only now you know.”

“Now I know.” She grabbed his shirtfront. “Why didn’t you tell me before? What about not having any secrets?”

He looked sheepish, his eyes flashing the reflection of the summer sky. “It was no secret.” He shrugged. “But I’m glad you know. It makes me feel—I don’t know—like finally someone is on my side. But I would never have told you.”

“Why not?”

“I could never figure out how. And I learned to live with it long ago. I try not to think about it any more than I have to.”

“I understand. And I forgive you this time. But remember—no more secrets.” She shook him a little.

He straightened and looked down at her. “You too, Mrs. Brown.”

She leaned away, still within the confines of his arms. “Me? I have no secrets.” In his arms the fear that often haunted her as to whether he loved her above all else faded out of sight, so it didn’t count.

His eyes darkened. “I think you would keep a secret from me if you thought to tell me would hurt me in some way.” When she would have argued, he raised his eyebrows. “Did you not do that when you kept back the knowledge of how Lena was treating you?”

“I suppose you’re right, though I hate to admit it.”

He grinned. “Confession is good for the soul.”

“If you say so.”

He chuckled and pulled her against his chest. “Things will work out somehow. After all, don’t we pray together every night for God to reveal His plan for us?”

“Umm.” She doubted her faith would ever be as strong as his.

He gave her one more lingering kiss. “Now back to work I go.” He tweaked her nose and strode away, stopping twice to wave at her.

She watched him disappear around the barn, a sudden lump of dread almost choking her. She strained to catch any sound of fighting but heard nothing. Still she watched, her neck growing stiff with tension. Kingston came back around the barn, looked up, saw her still there, and gave her a boisterous wave. Suddenly weak, she sank to the ground. God, keep him safe. And please help us find a place to live.

The prayer had been automatic. The cry of her desperate heart. Otherwise, she reasoned, she wouldn’t have asked for a place to live. She’d promised Kingston she would be content to live with his family. But how she ached for a place where she and Kingston could find peace and privacy.

“Just a room alone somewhere,” she whispered.

Suppertime approached. Maryelle did her best to help despite Lena’s angry looks and Katherine’s docile following of Lena’s lead. Mother Brown kept her back turned, stirring a pan of gravy with complete indifference.

Maryelle helped Lily set the table.

“My kittens are growing up so fast,” Lily announced to everyone in the room.

Katherine stopped slicing bread. “When can I see them?”

Lena lowered her gaze to Lily. For the first time, Maryelle saw a softening in Lena’s expression.

“I could show you after supper.” Lily sounded uncertain, and Maryelle wondered if this child had escaped Lena’s harshness.

Katherine shot a look at Lena, as though wondering if her older sister would be angry. Then she turned back to Lily and said, “As soon as the dishes are done then?”

“Okay.” Lily looked relieved. She turned to Lena. “You can come too.”

At first Maryelle thought Lena would refuse, but then she smiled, transforming her face into soft, young lines. “Okay.” She glanced at Maryelle before she turned her back.

Maryelle knew she was being snubbed. Katherine glanced from one to the other as if uncertain whether she should invite Maryelle to go with them; then, letting her shoulders sag, she returned to her task.

Maryelle turned to fill the glasses with water. Little did Lena know she’d already seen the kittens. She thought again how much younger Lena looked when she smiled. Seemed the whole family lived with unhappy secrets weighing them down. She glanced at Mother Brown’s back and wondered what secrets kept her shut up inside so that she ignored the undercurrents at work around her. Was it possible she knew how her husband treated Kingston? How could she ignore it if she did?

The men thumped into the house.

Maryelle stiffened. She had not seen Father Brown since witnessing his attack on Kingston, and she wasn’t sure if she could act normal.

He strode into the room followed by Angus and Kingston.

Lily bounced up to Angus’s side. “You want to come with us to see the new baby kittens?”

Angus kept his head lowered, darting a glance at his father, and seeing no response in his father’s face, mumbled agreement.

Lily paused before Kingston; but before she could ask him, he ruffled her hair. “I’ve got things to do,” he said.

“Just be sure and keep them out of my way,” Father Brown muttered as he pulled out his chair and sat down. “Only thing cats are good for is keeping the mice down.”

Maryelle gave Lily a sympathetic glance, but the child seemed unaffected by her father’s attitude.

Maryelle wished she could be as easy about the head of the house. Nothing was different in the way he spoke or acted. Still part comrade, part ruler. But every time he spoke, she twitched.

Kingston, at her side, took her hand beneath the table and squeezed it. She held on, drawing strength from his steady calmness. How he could act as if nothing had happened was beyond her ken.

The crops had been planted. Kingston had put in long hours in the fields. It seemed he barely finished planting before he turned his time and attention to cutting hay.

School ended, and Jeanie was home full time, claiming much of Lily’s time that Maryelle had previously enjoyed.

She was thankful the garden took more attention. The grass was determined to retain its hold and Maryelle equally determined to conquer it. The plants fought to establish themselves. Maryelle plucked every weed.

She stood back from hoeing and admired the neat rows.

Kingston, at her side, put his arm around her. “It’s a fine garden, Mrs. Brown.”

“Not so bad for my first attempt.”

Angus edged into sight.

“Hey, Brother, isn’t this a nice garden?” Kingston called.

Angus moved closer. He gave the plants a quick look before he answered. “She sure spends a lot of time out here.”

Maryelle chuckled. “Because I like my garden.”

Angus slipped a quick look at her. Of all Kingston’s siblings, Angus remained the most distant. She had barely heard a dozen words from him.

“It looks real nice,” he mumbled before he hurried away.

But the garden could not account for every hour in the day, so Maryelle went on long walks, many of which took her to the top of the hill behind the house, where she could see down the road toward town.

On several occasions she noticed Lena slip away from the house in the middle of the afternoon and hurry down the lane. Every time she turned left and walked to the place where another road branched to the south, and there she stood motionless for some time before making her way back home.

Father Brown had commented on Maryelle’s wanderings. “Be careful, young lady, that you don’t go roaming into trouble.” Maryelle didn’t know if he meant it kindly or otherwise. Since she’d seen his actions toward Kingston, she’d had a hard time thinking he could be kind.

Later, when she asked Kingston about it, he’d said, “He’s just warning you to be cautious. Stay away from the cows and watch for other dangers.” She pressed him further, but he couldn’t be more specific.

But now she headed out behind the barn, a direction she had avoided since witnessing the scene with Father Brown brandishing the spanner at Kingston and spewing vindictive words. Not that she hadn’t been drawn in that direction. There were many groves of trees, and the land rolled like a wrinkled carpet. She longed to explore. She was getting as bad as Lily at seeking out places of solitude.

For an hour or more, she wandered among the trees, going from one bunch to another. Suddenly she came upon a cluster of buildings half hidden by trees and stared at the serene setting.

“Come in for a visit.” A gentle voice came from the shade beside the house.

She moved forward as a tiny woman, soft gray hair wound into a bun at the back of her head, stepped into the sunlight.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Maryelle said.

“Intrude. Pshaw. I’m glad as can be for any sort of company. Now you come on in and sit a bit.”

“You’re very kind.” Maryelle followed her indoors, glad of some sort of diversion on this long afternoon.

The older woman waved her toward a chair and filled the kettle with water. “I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Wells.”

Maryelle gave her name. “I had no idea we had such close neighbors. You’re English, aren’t you?”

“Oh, my, yes. Wes and I came to Canada as newlyweds. Forty years ago that was.”

The house was warm and inviting, lacey antimacassars on the back of the stuffed chairs, framed photos crowding the surfaces of the tables and sideboard.

Mrs. Wells saw her glance around the room and picked up a photo. “Here we are fresh off the boat.”

The picture showed a very young couple in front of a low building that bore no resemblance to this small house.

“That’s the bunkhouse out back. We lived in it for five years and then built this house. We used it as a bunkhouse for our hired men for years, but it has stood empty since the war took away all the young men.”

She chose another photo and showed Maryelle. A small child stood between a slightly older Mr. and Mrs. Wells.

“This is your son?”

“That’s our Harry.”

“Where is he now?”

“Our Harry died.” She showed Maryelle a photo of a young man probably in his early twenties. “Pneumonia took him almost fifteen years ago.”

Maryelle murmured her condolences.

“There’s only me and Wes now.” The older woman turned toward the door as an elderly man with a firm step came into the room. “Here he is now.”

“Wes, Dear, this is our new neighbor, Maryelle Brown, young Kingston’s wife.”

“The lad got married?”

“I told you that. Remember? She’s from London.”

“Have we been to London?”

The man looked from his wife to Maryelle, his expression troubled.

“Oh, my, yes, but so many years ago it’s like another life.” She turned to Maryelle. “We were married in London.”

Maryelle smiled. Despite the old man’s fading memory, this older couple had a sweetness about them that tugged at her thoughts. “I barely remember my grandparents, but you remind me of them.”

“Well, bless your heart, Child. Why don’t you call us Grandma and Grandpa? We’ll never have anyone of our own to call us that.”

Maryelle readily agreed. It was like touching home again. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed the sound of English voices, nor how lonely she’d been with no one but Kingston to show her kindness.

“You’ll stay for a cup of tea, won’t you?”

Maryelle laughed. “I’d love to. It’s so good to hear familiar accents again.”

“When I heard Kingston was bringing a British bride, I wondered how you would adjust.”

“I’m adjusting.”

Grandma nodded. “It’s a hard time for everyone. So many of the lads died in the trenches and then that dreadful Spanish influenza.” She patted Grandpa’s hand. “At least we were spared that, weren’t we, Dear?”

“Yes, Dear,” the elderly man said. “So young Kingston’s back. How is he doing?”

“Busy with farm work.”

“The farm missed him.”

Maryelle knew what he meant. Kingston had said much the same.

Mr. Wells finished his tea and wandered back outside, Grandma’s eyes following him until he was out of sight.

“I expect you’ve found many things different here?”

“I couldn’t believe it at first. They grow or make everything themselves.”

“You learn to do what needs to be done, especially when there’s no choice. You won’t find a baker or butcher around here. I expect you’ve already learned to do many of the necessary tasks.”

Maryelle ducked her head without answering.

“Tsk. Seems I’ve hit a troubled spot. Having difficulty learning some of the things?”

Maryelle shook her head. “No. I’m sure I could learn whatever I need to, but I’m not allowed to.”

“Not allowed. What do you mean?”

“Every time I try to help, the task is snatched away. They make it clear they don’t need or want my help.”

“My dear.”

“Oh, I help with dishes now, though it took several days before I was granted the right.”

“I don’t understand. Mrs. Brown has always been most efficient. I’m sure she’s trained her own daughters well.”

“It isn’t Mother Brown.” She didn’t intend to say anything more; but once started, it seemed she couldn’t stop. She told how Lena treated her and that everyone, except Kingston and Lily, seemed to resent and oppose her.

“I think the good Lord sent you to me so I could help you.”

“You have already. I needed someone to talk to.”

“I have in mind a whole lot more than that. First, we will take it to the Lord. He needs to do some healing in that family.”

She took Maryelle’s hands and prayed. “Lord, grant us wisdom in this situation. Strengthen Maryelle’s heart. Help me find ways to ease her situation. And, dear Lord, You know the hurts in that family, especially young Lena’s loss. Reach into that poor heart and flood it with Your love. Amen.”

Maryelle kept her head bowed a moment longer. Grandma’s prayers were like a healing balm to her soul.

Grandma pushed to her feet. “Come along now. I’ll show you the place first.”

They went outside. Grandma pointed out the chicken coop and the old bunkhouse and led her to the garden.

“There’s Wes.” Grandpa Wells bent over a piece of machinery. “Wes, what are you doing, Dear?”

“Can’t get this thing to work.”

They went over to see what was the problem. He had dropped some bolts on the ground. Grandma picked them up and handed them to him. “Put these in here.” She pointed. “Then turn this over.” She touched a handle. “See if that helps.”

He nodded and did as she said, smiling when it worked.

Too soon it was time for Maryelle to go.

“I have a plan,” Grandma said. “You come back early tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll give you a lesson in making bread. We’ll soon have you ready to run a house on your own.”

Maryelle wanted to tell her that a house of her own was not in the immediate future, but she’d already said too much.

“I’ll be back,” she promised

Humming, she headed home. She set the table and helped serve up the food, ignoring Lena’s flashing looks. She could hardly wait for supper to be over so she could tell Kingston about her afternoon.

But when the men tramped through the door, she glanced up and saw Kingston’s dark expression. Her heart dropped like a rock. Father Brown glowered at Kingston’s back.

Angus turned, and she noticed a smudge on one cheek.

Or was it a bruise?

But Angus ducked away before she could decide.

She silently sought Kingston’s eyes, wanting to assure herself he was okay. He barely tipped his head to answer her silent inquiry.

She ached to be alone with him so they could discuss it.

Talk during the meal was left mostly to Lily and Jeanie. The others all seemed to sense things were not quite right.

Maryelle jumped up as soon as was polite, poured hot water into the basin, and began to collect and wash dishes. Kingston waited, pretending to read a paper, even though Father Brown had left again to do more work.

Angus cast a nervous look at Kingston before following his father outdoors.

Finished, Maryelle threw the dishcloth over the basin. “All done.”

“Let’s go for a walk.” Kingston folded the paper and dropped it into the basket where the newspapers were kept.

He took her hand and strode in the direction of the garden. She practically had to trot to keep up to his long strides but said nothing, sensing he was upset.

They reached the garden without either speaking, but rather than sit on the ground as they customarily did, Kingston leaned against a tree. She stood facing him, her hand still caught in his.

“Kingston, whatever is the matter?”

His eyes shifted color as he studied her. “Ah, my sweet brown eyes, what have I brought you to?”

She had no idea what he meant but went readily into his embrace, resting her cheek against his chest, enjoying the salty smell of a hard afternoon’s work.

He rubbed his hand up and down her back. She waited, knowing he would speak when he was ready. In the meantime, she leaned against him, knowing he drew comfort from her closeness even as she did from his gentle touch.

Finally his hand grew still. “I always thought it was only me.”

“Only you?”

His chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. “Only me my dad treated like that.”

She grew very still, her insides growing brittle as old paper. “What happened?”

“We were trying to get the rake to work. I suspect Angus caught a rock in it. Anyway, everything seemed bent and out of order. My guess is it’s needed fixing since last season or longer.” He let out a huge gust of air. “Dad lost his patience and cuffed Angus across the face. You saw the bruise.”

She nodded, her insides screaming.

“He said we were both a pair of useless—never mind what he said.”

She hugged him so hard her arms ached.

“Angus took off running as if the devil had him by the leg.”

“I expect it felt like that to him.”

“I grabbed Dad’s arm and held it like a vise. I said, ‘If you ever touch that boy again or anyone else in this family, I will personally break both your arms.’ ” A shudder ripped across his shoulders. “I threw his arm away and went after Angus.”

“Poor Angus.”

“I found him behind the pigpen. He wouldn’t look at me or talk to me at first. I’m pretty sure he was crying and didn’t want me to see.”

“The poor boy.”

“I sat down beside him and started to talk. I said I’d never have left him to go to war if I thought Dad would ever touch him.”

Maryelle knew Kingston wouldn’t have had a choice. If he hadn’t signed up on his own, he would have been conscripted.

“I told him if Dad ever touched him again he was to come to me and I would deal with our father.” For a moment he said no more, but Maryelle sensed by his tension that he wasn’t through. “After awhile, I asked if Dad had done this before. At first I didn’t think he was going to answer; then he mumbled, ‘A time or two. Mostly he uses his boots on me.’ I tell you, I saw red. To think I’ve put up with him all these years thinking it was only me. Letting it go because I figured as long as he had me around to turn on, he would leave the others be.”

“No wonder Angus walks around as if he’s afraid.”

“He is afraid—of being kicked or worse.”

“Kingston, what are you going to do?”

He released her and paced away. “I don’t know.” He ran his hand across his hair until it sprang into tails all over his head. “I’m so mad right now I feel like walking off. Let the farm fall into rack and ruin. Serve the old man right if I leave. But what will happen to Angus?”

She heard the pain and confusion in his voice and knew how difficult this was for him.

“Would he ever hit one of the girls?” She couldn’t help thinking of Lily, so much like Kingston—a fact that might be enough in itself to create a problem.

“I don’t think so.” He spun on his heel to face her. “That’s just it, don’t you see? I don’t know. I didn’t think he’d hit Angus, but I saw it with my own eyes.”

He paced back and forth, finally pausing in front of her. She almost cried at the pain in his eyes.

“What do you think I should do?” he asked. “What should we do?”