When We Caught Fire by Anna Godbersen

Author:Anna Godbersen [Godbersen, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperTeen
Published: 2018-10-02T07:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

’Tis the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

No rosebud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes,

To give sigh for sigh.

—Thomas Moore, “The Last Rose of Summer” (1805)

When there was no more work to do, Fiona entered her own narrow bedroom, rested her shoulders against the door, and shut her tired eyes.

For once, the Carter household staff did not resent her. Everyone was run off their feet, but Fiona had worked as hard as any of them, carrying the long tables into the backyard under the white tent that had gone up that afternoon, arranging flowers, kneading bread, steaming tablecloths, sorting silver. Emmeline’s bell did not ring, and so there had been no reason for Fiona to leave the general hubbub that filled the lower areas of the house. Now she was weary to the core. But it did not matter. She already knew she could not sleep peacefully here tonight.

Instead of preparing for bed, she lit the candle on the little wooden table. The candle’s flame flickered, and Fiona gazed into its light, wondering what on earth to do. She’d had to force herself to abandon Emmeline, helpless and needful of advice as her friend had been. Fiona knew that look on Emmeline’s face, and was accustomed to rushing to her aid when she was in distress.

Yet tonight some stubborn part of Fiona had refused to go along with Emmeline’s wishes.

Certain facts that she had tried to bury had become impossible to deny. After seeing Anders, after sensing him behind her as she walked the long blocks back to the North Side, after hearing the beat of his heart . . . she loved him. And that meant more than it had before. It was not only that she wanted to watch the way his smile broke open when he made himself laugh, to listen when he talked about anything, to make him happy, and keep him warm. She wanted him to treat her as he had today, as though she required watching out for, too.

Upstairs, when Emmeline had made those wide, inconsolable eyes, Fiona could have told her it was all right.

“Marry Freddy,” she could have said. “Move into the elegant house on Terrace Row with the lovely view of the lake and make your father proud. No one will ever know you planned to run away with a boxer from the old neighborhood, for I will never tell.”

Then Anders would be free. But he would be wounded, and it was Fiona who would have delivered the final blow. He might be hers in the end, but only because she’d told lies and played cruel tricks. Anyway, he wasn’t safe here—that was the mean, final fact she kept coming back around to. The best thing for him was if he and Emmeline escaped, with their considerable funds, and were far away from here as long as possible.

Through the thin walls of the servants’ quarters she heard murmurs and snoring, the restless turning over of old bones against stiff sheets.

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