Page 121 of Sweetling
Then the world went quiet.
Enough!Bellarand came stomping around the side of the house. He scraped the dirt with his horn and stamped his hooves.Stop this shaking!
Allarion agreed. Only, he didn’t know how.
Just that the quakes were growing in intensity—and closer together.
“This never happens in the Darrowlands,” said Molly, her face pale.
Hehatedthe fear in her eyes.
And hated even more that he couldn’t make it stop.
28
Molly hustled down the drive, expectation a sharp wedge in her chest. Allarion had reminded her that the letters would work their way up to the house on their own, the trees helpfully passing them along, but she couldn’t wait. And, with the recent rain, she didn’t want them to get wet and smudged.
She’d made the girls promise to write, but two days had come and gone from when she’d asked them to send their first letters. Every day that passed made her that much more anxious, so even though the morning mist hadn’t yet burned off, she was already in her sturdiest boots trekking for the estate border.
Of course, her darling fae hadn’t let her leave without bundling up. Already she sweated under all the layers of knit and fur and oilskin cloak. From the way he’d fussed and dressed her, anyone else would think she meant to hike through miles of a blizzard, rather than follow the graveled drive a half mile to the eastern edge of the estate.
Still, when she rounded the bend in the road around a salient grove of trees, she wasn’t prepared for the sight that met her.
A parade of furniture, barrels, and crates rolled slowly down the drive, balanced on wide wooden pallets. Most had been covered with tarpaulins, roped down to the pallets to stave off the worst of the damp air.
Molly blinked before a surprised laugh burst from her.
It seemed Allarion’s shopping from Dundúran had arrived.
Chuckling to herself, she hurried down to meet the caravan. She kept pace with the slow-moving furniture, peeking under the tarpaulins. He’d told her he made a few purchases while she was at her uncle’s tavern or in Town Hall with the mayor. She hadn’t realized he’d bought the whole marketplace! No wonder a few people came to wave goodbye as they left the city.
Two grandfather clocks, velvet-cushioned chairs, dressers, a sedan, trunks, a marble-topped washboard, a foldaway desk, end tables, and empty gilt frames were just what she could see and recognize. More was stowed away in straw-stuffed crates and lidded barrels.
Molly jogged to catch up with the front of the caravan, marveling at all the goods. This was enough to furnish at least three more rooms—she recognized some of the pieces as possibilities they’d discussed for the formal dining room, the atrium, and conservatory. Others were surprises, and she looked forward to hearing his arguments about where he thought they should go.
On the first pallet sat a sturdy, dark-stained cabinet. Affixed to the top was a leather sheaf.
She plucked it out from under the ropes, unwinding the leather ties. Molly rifled through the papers inside; some looked like receipts and other correspondence from the merchants, but tucked there in the back were her prizes.
Smiling wide, Molly pulled out three letters.
Popping the wax seals, she wasn’t surprised nor disheartened to see that Nora hadn’t written, nor that Rory and Oona’s letters were short. She treasured the words no matter how many.
Stepping out of the way of the pallet parade, Molly greedily read each of the letters quickly and then a second time, slower.
Oona, being the youngest and sweetest, had taken the easiest to the new arrangements. She enjoyed getting to spend more time with her mother and wrote that she liked getting to go to school more regularly.
Rory’s letter was terser, an account of her new schedule and what she’d learned at school. She didn’t like Glenda’s cooking, nor the additional lessons Glenda had her in to catch her up with the other children her age. Molly might’ve worried, but the letter ended with a quick account of a ball game she’d won against some of Mayor Doherty’s grandchildren. If Rory was playing and being competitive, Molly knew she’d be all right soon enough.
Merry’s letter was longest, giving detailed accounts of Oona, Rory, and Nora. Molly was grateful for the news, reading what she could in the paragraph on Nora. The eldest Dunne girl would need the most time to heal, but Molly held hope that Nora was smart enough to take the opportunity she had now.
As for Merry herself, the second half of the letter was devoted to all the different books she’d been able to borrow from the mayor. Having access to his library obviously brought her great joy, and Molly laughed reading about titles and subjects she’d never heard of. Merry’s happiness practically shouted from the page, and it gave Molly a little peace of mind.
This was the right thing.
She hoped next year to have the girls at the manor for summer, and perhaps holidays, but an isolated estate wasn’t a place for them to grow up. They needed to be with others their age and go to school and stay near the familiar, as well as keep a routine.
Allarion was many things, but a slave to routine wasn’t one of them. Every day was something a little different, a new task or project. She adored watching his mind at work, seeing how he puzzled out problems and made decisions.
