Page 92 of The Curse of Indy Moore
That got a laugh out of me. I wanted another excuse for us to spend a day together, but when I caught sight of the dark room beyond the open door, I found myself muttering, “I don’t know if I can do this.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. There was a moment where I thought he’d close the gap between us to take me into his arms. What comfort that would have brought—and admittedly, panic, but I would take that over this dread.
The possibility fled as soon as it arrived.
“Miss Moore, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. I hope you will see that.”
His presence became warm over these weeks. It was a strange thing to recall, our initial meeting and how sour I was toward him. Here, he carried an encouraging confidence. When he showed that crooked smile, I was instantly drawn, as if it beat back the darkness of the room.
“You are more than capable of defeating Carline. You are stubborn, and I mean that as the highest compliment,” he added.
“My stubbornness has come to feel like a weakness of late,” I replied.
He nodded, his eyes lowered to the floor, where he licked his lips. I paid too much attention to the motion and cast my attention aside.
“All that we are can be both a strength and a weakness. It is about our choices, and you are faced with a choice I wouldn’t wish upon an enemy, that I would take in your stead if I could,” he said while reaching over to urge Slate onto his hand. The crow made a displeased noise but obeyed. He brought his hand to his shoulder for Slate to perch on.
He put a hope in me that I couldn’t risk sparking now of all times. I didn’t know what to say to that, too hopeful of a response that wouldn’t come, too scared of a response that might.
“What do you plan to do once all this is over?” he suddenly asked, his shoulders so rigid they could hold up Ivory House all on their own.
I took a gulp of air that felt too heavy. “Oh, I haven’t thought about it, considering how this might end.”
“This will end with you perfectly well,” he practically growled, then calmed himself. “Will you return to Westshire?”
“Of course. My family needs me. I have nowhere else to go.”
“But what if you did?” His words hovered in the space between us, thick with connotations that lit a fire I had known too well. Most of my life, it had been doused too soon, and I feared the same would happen here. Slate flapped his wings aggressively while Mr. Hawthorne stood taller, his voice soft and true. “Stay here at Ivory House with me.”
I caught his eyes, and they were like eternal wells dragging me further and further into their endless green. I didn’t wish to be anywhere else.
“With all of us, for however long you like,” he blurted out while running a hand through his hair. “Your family may keep the helping hands. Technically, artificers aren’t allowed to offer up enchantments free of charge, but I’ll stop by every now and again for some free eggs or something of the like.”
“You’re truly okay with that?” I whispered, that spark of hope igniting into a flame burning through me, leaving a mark that would be entirely him.
“I am.”
I yearned to reach out. I yearned for him to reach out. But making plans for a future that may not be…
I stepped into the shadows of the room. “Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne. You take your job ever so seriously, and I appreciate that. Please, give me time to consider your offer?”
His lips parted in a silent breath then he backed away. “Of course. Goodnight, Miss Moore.”
“Goodnight.”
Shutting the door, I pressed my forehead to the cool wood. He hadn’t moved. I watched the door handle, then his footsteps carried further away into nothing.
After undressing, I left the clothes in the hall. In the corner, the blankets waited. I curled into them, thinking of what transpired, of what we learned, of what the professor said, of what Mr. Hawthorne offered, and how I felt about Ivory House. I liked it here.
No, I loved it.
I loved being here, even on the bad days when I missed my family. Westshire had its perks, such as being safely on the ground, but Ivory House and its inhabitants had become so ingrained in me in such a short time. I couldn’t imagine moving on without them, not seeing Mr. Hawthorne’s hunched form swaddled in sheets, rummaging through the cupboards every morning, or Miss Beamy chasing Slate through the halls, or Otis huddled over a potentially deadly plant with a pencil between his teeth.
The truth hit me with such a force that I fell against the wall.
I didn’t want to go home. As much as I feared my aunt and cousins being without me, their letters spoke of the helping hands doing a wonderful job. They were getting the rest they deserved, and they hadn’t forgotten me, quite the opposite. My family wrote to me, and Mr. Hawthorne said I could stay here, with him, with all of them.
We could travel. We could see the world. I never thought I’d leave Westshire, that I would spend my life on the farm until my old bones gave out, then I’d be buried there to feed the next spring. But now, there was an opportunity for more than I could ever imagine. That life I wanted as a child, standing in that beautiful dress in a warehouse, it was actually in reach.
