Clara took a sip and savored the faint burn of the liquor. It was sweet and heady, enough to make her feel reckless. This night did not seem real. A fairytale, enchanted and bound to fade away with the dawn.
Solomon would be glad to see her here, she thought, and her throat constricted. It was true, she knew it without a doubt. He would tell her not to sit at home grieving him, just as he had told her when their father died.
“If you love someone, you could never want them to spend their life in misery, could you?” His arm around her and dawn light creeping over the horizon. The overlook had been a riot of birdsong.
“No.”
“Papa loved us.” He smiled down at her.
“But, Solomon...don’t you miss him?”
“Every day.” The depth of pain in his voice reverberated in her chest, an echo of her own. “But I live with honor and I know he would want me still to laugh and give thanks for this world. He would want the same for you. You know that.”
“I do.”
It had seemed so simple, then.
“Clara? Are you well?”
Clara looked up at Cyrus’s concerned face and realized the punch glass was shaking in her hands. All of a sudden, it was all too much: the music and the sweetness of the punch still in her mouth and the lights, the press of people dizzying her. “I want to go.”
“At once.” He made a path for her through the crowd, and at the hint of pity she saw in others’ eyes, Clara ducked her head and followed him. She could not face pity. It would break what little reserve remained in her.
When they emerged into the moonlight, Cyrus had the sense not to speak. He let Clara walk ahead of them toward the carriage, and he helped her into the seat without a word. They were away in a scant few moments, the familiar sound of the horse’s hooves against a dirt road and the jostle and creak of the buggy.
Clara looked out to where the wheat waved gently in the wind; distantly, she observed that the Millers had not completed their harvest either. Perhaps times were hard for all of the farmers. Perhaps that was why Mr. Jeffries had given her a good price.
It was a tiny portion of peace in the storm of her heart, and yet it made her want to cry with relief. She had no wish for her hardships to be open to the world, and at that thought she looked over to gaze at Cyrus where he watched her quietly.
“Yes?” he asked finally, and the hope in his voice vibrated in the air between them.
“You miss him, too,” Clara said softly. He would, wouldn’t he? But she felt herself frown when Cyrus looked away. His stillness, his calmness, seemed unnatural. “What is it?”
“I would have no secrets from you,” he said finally. He cast one look at the road ahead, and satisfied that there were no obstacles to navigate, looked back to her.
“What is it?” she asked again, fear pricking at her. She braced herself on the seat, as though the news might tumble her over like a wave.
“He was afraid he would not come back,” Cyrus said gently. His voice blended with the hum of the cicadas. “He spoke like he was sure of it. I told him that he was only afraid, as any man would be. I’d have been as well, Clara. But he insisted. He said he had a premonition, and when the other families got word, and yours did not, I thought he had been right.”
“You didn’t hope? You didn’t even wonder if he might still be alive?”
“I didn’t.” The look in his eyes said that he knew what she would think of this, but he did not lie. “I meant what I said to Cecelia today, Clara. He was so proud to be your brother. He loved you both so much. It was what he told me to say, if...if he didn’t come back. But I waited to say it. I would never have said it while there was a chance I could be wrong.”
He was right. Clara thought back over the months since they had realized there was no word. She had spoken of Solomon returning, and never once had Cyrus flickered in his agreement. He had not counseled her against hoping.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and she looked away, wanting to pull her knees up to her chest and rest her chin on them. But she was a lady now, and so she sat with her back straight and her chin up, as if she was dignified and proper.
In a flash, she remembered Jasper’s lips on her throat, and his hands running over her body. Her face flushed, her lips parted; she looked away hastily before Cyrus might see. She must not think of that again. Down that road led only pain.
Perhaps that was why the preachers were so insistent about the perils of adultery. Clara stole a glance at Cyrus’s profile, and twisted her hands together in her lap. She was comfortable in his company, and in Jasper’s...she felt as if her heart would burst out of her chest. Cyrus knew her family, and Jasper did not. Cyrus was known to her, dependable and kind. Jasper was a risk.
At the sight of the farmhouse, her reserve broke. She looked over at him as they pulled up before the door. “Cyrus.”
“What is it?” He came around to lift her down.
“Yes.” She did not draw away when her feet hit the ground. Her hesitation was momentary, and she pushed it away from her with abandon.
“Yes?” He frowned.