Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📕

ladies. Would have, if I’d not been interrupted by a stunning introduction. What is Chess up to? Perhaps he does not know realize the connections...

Chess pasted on a ridiculous smile. “I can’t pass this evening up without introducing you to this amazing duo. Miss Kate Birch and her brother Mr. Charles Birch.”

Birch. Minted peas stuck in my throat. This was not a coincidence. My eyes darted at the retreating Chess.

I somehow managed to speak. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Mr. Bleu stood and shook their hands. “Good to see you again.”

Was there an edge to his voice? What was coming?

I allowed myself to look into their young faces. Tall, to be sure, pale and blonde, but with evident sun in their cheeks.

Kate spoke up first. “We caught sight of you in town last week.”

Charles turned to his sister. “She’ll think we’ve been spying.”

She gave him a saucy smile. “But we have!” she looked to me again. “I hope you don’t mind. We heard you were moving here. Mother quite holds her breath to see you.”

“Kate.” Charles spat.

“We must become acquainted. There are connections between our families, you know.” Her eyes twinkled with expectation.

She said this as if making my acquaintance ought to be a happy event. As if I’d known who they were all along and must be equally anxious.

Mr. Bleu draped his arm around the back of my chair. “Fortuis in arduis,” he whispered.

“Our mother was your mother’s best friend in their school days,” Kate continued. “Married brothers, you know.”

“No. I’m sorry. My mother never spoke of your family.” So much I didn’t know and failed to ask. Frustration simmered.

Kate tugged one of her gloves at the wrist. “Did she not? Well, I suppose she had her reasons.”

“Death often renders one speechless,” I said.

“You’ve done it, Kate.” Charles rolled his eyes.

Her chin quivered. “Honestly, it happened before I was born. But I’ve heard the stories all of my life, so I thought...”

Stories? I knew nothing of them. “I’ve only just discovered that Mother had married a Mr. Birch before my father.”

“Our Uncle,” Charles confirmed. “Grandmother’s favorite.”

I thought of the detailed sketchbook, the trunkful of buried past. I owned the leftover bits but none of the memories.

Mr. Bleu saved the conversation by engaging the two in a talk of rabbit raising. Apparently, an interesting enough topic and an activity the siblings engaged in for extra income. How very quaint.

I reached for my iced water, soothing down the unknown fears. Clearing my head.

Chess soon arrived for our dance. For as much as I complained to Mr. Bleu of being the rarely-asked girl, I have been a most unwilling partner. I wonder, if at all the past balls that my expression begged not to be asked to dance, and so I hadn’t been. If I’d listened to my mother’s encouragement to smile more...

Chess whispered in my ear. “Mother has scolded and forbidden me cake for a year. I didn’t know about the um, issue betwixt your families. Forgive me?” He seemed serious for once. I nodded assent as we twirled. Not sure I believed his excuse. And I wasn’t aware of an issue between our families.

The Birch siblings were just being kind. Why else would they venture over to meet me? They had not grown up in complete ignorance of the facts as I had. And they hadn’t a clue of its unmentionable nature in Uncle’s household.

If my coming is hard for anyone, it would be the grandmother, I should think. If she lives. I suppose meeting my deceased half-sibling’s cousins is slightly shocking.

Chess tightened his hold and looked for someone over my shoulder. I wondered who he was trying to make jealous. He then looked into my eyes. Bold of him. “Your hands are very soft. They aren’t making you do too much farm work, are they?”

I’d left my gloves at the dinner table. “I hope to be able to do my fair share.” Should I be defending my family?

He shook his head. “I can’t see you milking the cow or getting all tanned.”

“Do you always say what you think?”

“Nearly so.”

“If I decide to start milking the cow, then you would think less of me?”

“I’ll think neither less nor more. But I do think you fit on the side of an educated civilization.”

“Who will still need to drink milk by some means.”

“True. And there will be always someone else to do it. I believe you were made for another kind of life.”

“How judicious of you.”

“But don’t you feel that it’s true? You weren’t raised on farmland, but on books and city streets.”

“None of us can help to what we are born.”

“I agree. And to what we are born, we continue.”

Not necessarily. I stumbled on my thought flow. I did not know how to respond. He is quick with words. Does he enjoy making guests uncomfortable?

“I suppose you will go home and learn to milk that cow just to defy me. Or you won’t, to prove yourself right.” He shrugged. “Either way, won’t come naturally. But it’ll be your intellect rather than need that drives your decision.”

“What if all of mankind became too smart to milk cows?” I ventured.

“Easy. They’ll just draw straws.” He grinned like a victor.

“I have done many things in the past several months that didn’t, as you say, come naturally to me. Burying my parents, for one. I can think of nothing more strange than lowering a loved one into a dark pit.”

Chess slowed the dance. “Now you’ve come a long way from cow milking and books. I only meant that you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Farm work is tough. Don’t feel bad if you can’t manage something. Your education makes you unique.”

His brown eyes held the genuine warmth they’d lacked before. And his hand was plenty calloused. Born on the land, worked it too. I’d misunderstood too much.

I laughed. “Yes, indeed. I might be fit for sketching—the farm offers plenty of sights. But unfortunately, my stacks of crude drawings are more fit for a bon fire.”

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