The Sumerton Women by D. L. Bogdan Read Free Book Online

subside. She cherished their miniatures, keeping them on her bedside table that she might always be close enough to consult their likenesses should nostalgia call. As time passed, it called less and less.
    Meantime the Pierces served as her distractions. They were a strange group; she loved them. She feared them. Their pain was tangible to one as sensitive as Cecily. She knew it, she felt it, even as she could not identify it. It shone out of Lord Hal’s wistful blue eyes, it rang like a mourning bell in Lady Grace’s soft voice, and was illustrated in Brey’s bewildered expression. In Mirabella it was disguised by an iron will and uncompromising conviction that Cecily did not bother to resist. It was far easier to acquiesce where she was concerned, and Cecily found Mirabella’s rare smiles worth yielding to. Besides, Mirabella was at odds with Lady Grace enough as it was; she did not need Cecily to add to the melee. If Cecily disagreed with her on matters of principle and anything in between she kept it to herself.
    Finally there was Father Alec, who wore a mantle of melancholy of his own. He masked it with a kind smile, but it was there, deafening in its tortured silence. Cecily could not hope to reach it, to nurse it as was her inclination with anyone suffering.
    She longed to heal them all. They had come together, all broken things, it seemed. She did not know why; perhaps she did not need to know. What mattered was that she was there and, in whatever way she could, she would try to bring joy to these people who were to be her life.
    She did not yet possess the ability to comfort with words. So she comforted with actions, leaving bouquets of fresh spring flowers for Lady Grace and Mirabella, treasures from the outdoors to Brey, anything she could catch—frogs, mice, moles. For the men, Lord Hal and Father Alec, she left messages of hope in the small things—feathers, vibrant blue-green grass, shiny rocks, birds’ eggs. Anything that caught her eye.
    She never told them; she was never one to tout herself. She knew she had given, after all, and sought no glory. She just left them. And hoped it cheered them as much as finding them cheered her.
    Father Alec caught her one day. She had sneaked into his chambers and was leaving an interesting birds’ nest on his pillow. It was woven with such perfection, such delicate intricacy, that it rivaled the richest tapestry.
    He cleared his throat upon entrance. “Lady Cecily, you know these are my private apartments.”
    Cecily started, stiffening as she turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Father. It’s just that ... well ... I—”
    “Did you look through my things?” he asked her.
    Cecily shook her head. “No, sir. Of course not.”
    His shoulders eased and he offered a smile. “I did not mean to frighten you. It’s just that I do not own much. What I do have, I treasure.”
    “I understand,” Cecily said, and she did. She did not have much either. In truth she had more land and money and possessions than she could fathom, but they were inaccessible. What she had that she actually valued was very little and she would not want anyone tampering with it either.
    “What were you doing in here then?” he asked her, his smile widening.
    Cecily retrieved the birds’ nest, flushing as she handed it to him. “I saw it ... I thought ...” She could not speak. She did not want him to know.
    “So it was you,” he breathed in his husky voice that Cecily had come to grow fond of. He sat upon his bed as he examined the nest. “I’ve been wondering for weeks now ... all these little gifts. I have enjoyed each and every one,” he told her. “But why?”
    Cecily bowed her head, embarrassed to be caught in the Act. She shifted from foot to foot, then slowly raised her eyes to the priest. “Because, Father, there is so much in this world to love.”
    Father Alec slid from the bed to his knees, taking Cecily in his arms. “Darling girl,” he murmured against her hair.