The School Mistress (Emerson Pass Historicals 1) - Page 82

“You did survive. That’s the notable part.”

At the tip of the pond now, I held on to him even more tightly as we rounded the corner. My gaze went to Cymbeline, who was now demanding a rematch with Viktor. He had his cap in his hands and was shaking his head.

He touched his free hand to the lapel of his jacket. “Of all my children, she reminds me the most of myself.”

“Were you like that—challenging boys much older and bigger than you?” I tried to conjure an image of a young Alexander wearing knickers and a cap, with freckles on his nose like his sons.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. There was never a race or game I wasn’t keen to win. That’s what drove me to America, I suppose. I wanted to conquer the world in my own way”

“Do you ever regret coming here?” I asked. We continued to move along the ice at a snail’s pace, but the skates were starting to feel more like extensions of my feet instead of a weapon meant for my demise.

He made a sound in his chest as if he were carefully contemplating his answer. “As a young man, I didn’

t think beyond proving myself and craving adventure. Looking back, I can see it was my destiny to come to this place. The questions I had were all answered when I stepped off the train that first day.”

“Questions?”

“About who I was. What I wanted. How I might matter. There’s something about the way the mountains loomed so dramatically that seemed to speak to me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I was having similar thoughts just now?” I asked.

He stopped us and turned toward me, taking my hands to keep me steady. “You feel it too?”

“It’s as if they’re challenging me to live as large as they do.” I wobbled without the strength of his arm around me but clenched my stomach muscles and managed to remain standing. “When I say it out loud, I feel foolish.”

“No. Not foolish at all. You simply feel what I do. Not everyone can.” His eyes lifted upward toward the sky, and a flash of pain crossed his face. “In my experience, there are two kinds of people deeply moved by this place. There are those like you and me who are encouraged and inspired here, and those who are driven mad by it. No one can hide from themselves here.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Do I sound foolish? My mother said I was prone to the dramatic.”

I laughed. “Let’s agree that when we’re together we never have to feel foolish for speaking what’s on our minds.”

“Agreed.” He cocked his head, smiling down at me. “We have our own club, don’t we? A club of two in perfect harmony together?”

“I think a club has to have at least three members. We’re more of a partnership.” My pulse quickened as he stared into my eyes. I didn’t look away as I might have if it were any other man but Alexander staring at me this way. He was familiar to me, like a home I’d lived in all my life.

A fiddler at the pond’s edge began to play a jolly, raucous song. The skaters cheered. Mrs. Johnson appeared with a box of freshly popped corn.

“Shall we skate?” he asked.

“If we have to.”

He tucked my arm against his side. “Don’t despair. It gets easier.”

“Do you ever miss your family? Or the way of life?”

“My family, yes. Not the way of life.”

“No regrets, then?”

His torso expanded under my arm as he took in a deep breath. “I have but one.”

I tilted by face upward to get a good look at him. His thick lashes over lidded eyes kept me from seeing into the sea of green I’d grown so fond of watching. “What is it?” I asked softly.

“Ida.”

Flynn sped by us again, so fast I felt a breeze from his momentum. Ida. There were many layers of meaning in those three simple letters that made a name.

“She was my mistake but also my salvation. Without the children, life would have no meaning or purpose. Living with her was like living in a war zone. When she died it was as if cease-fire had been called and I could finally breathe without fear.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. What else could I say?

Tags: Tess Thompson Emerson Pass Historicals Historical
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