But I can't force the man to take you in and I can't change my route. I've got contracts, obligations. I understand." The words came out mechanical, distant, like someone else was speaking with her mouth. "There's a town about 15 miles north, Millbrook. Small place, but they've got a boarding house.
Maybe you could "15 miles?" "I could take you part way. I'm heading northeast anyway and I could drop you at the crossroads. From there, it's only about 8 miles on foot. You could make it before nightfall if you "Thank you, Mr. Cyrus." Lena turned away before he could see her face crumble.
"That's very kind." "Miss Crowell says Please, just Just give me a moment." She walked. She didn't know where she was going, didn't care. Her feet carried her away from the wagon, away from Thomas Reddick's house, away from the dream that had shattered like glass against stone. The sky was darkening, clouds rolled in from the west, heavy and swollen with rain. The first drops hit her face, cold and accusing.
Lena kept walking. She found herself on a narrow trail that wound into the forest. The trees closed around her like a fist, blocking out the light, blocking out everything. The rain came harder, turning the path to mud. Her shoes, her good shoes saved for this occasion, sank into the muck with every step.
She should turn back, should return to the wagon, accept Cyrus's offer, try to salvage something from this disaster. But she couldn't. She couldn't face his pity, couldn't endure the weight of his knowing eyes, couldn't bear the thought of explaining to anyone else why she wasn't wanted, wasn't enough, would never be enough. Barren. Damaged goods, useless.
The words chased her through the rain, through the mud, through the growing darkness. She stumbled over a root, caught herself against a tree trunk. Her hands were shaking, her whole body was shaking. She had been so careful, so cautious. After her husband, after Daniel left her, after the divorce that scandalized her family, after being shuttled from cousin to aunt to sister like a burden no one wanted to carry.
She had learned to guard her secrets, to present only the parts of herself that were acceptable, palatable, wanted. She had read Thomas's letters and seen a man who claimed to value character over circumstance, who wrote about building a life together based on mutual respect and partnership, who had made her believe for the first time in years that maybe she could be loved not despite her flaws, but as a whole person. She had been such a fool. The rain was coming down in sheets now, soaking through her dress, her petticoats, her skin. Lena's teeth chattered.
She wrapped her arms around herself trying to hold in some warmth, but it was useless. The cold was inside her now, deeper than any rain could reach. She saw a massive sycamore tree ahead, its branches spreading wide enough to offer some shelter. She stumbled toward it, her legs barely supporting her weight. When she reached the trunk, she collapsed against it, sliding down until she sat in the mud and rotting leaves.
This was it then. This was how it ended. Alone in the woods, rejected by a man she'd never even met, with nowhere to go and no one who cared. Lena reached into her pocket with numb fingers, pulled out Thomas's letters. The paper was already damp, the ink beginning to run.
She stared at the words she'd memorized, the promises that meant nothing. A woman's worth isn't measured by what she can give Lies. All lies. All She let the letters fall from her hands, watched them dissolve into the mud. Eight months of hope, eight months of careful planning and desperate belief reduced to pulp.
The sobs came then, tearing out of her chest like wild animals. She buried her face in her hands and cried for the life she'd lost, for the future she'd never have, for the children she'd never bear, for every cruel word and pitying look and door closed in her face. She cried until she had nothing left, until she was hollow and empty, and so, so tired. The rain pounded down. The darkness thickened.