The Vanishing at Loxby Manor by Abigail Wilson (grave mercy .TXT) 📕

job of keeping it up. The plants are healthy, the flowers as sweet as I remember.”

“Have you a garden at your home in Liverpool?”

He relaxed into a sigh. “Indeed I do. I’ve spent years cultivating it as well as an orangery.” His eyes found mine. “You’dlove it. I know so much more about the plants since my studies. My current wilderness has a symmetry and beauty to it . . .I . . .” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Standing here though, I think I realized something—something I’ve been searchingfor. My garden in Liverpool doesn’t feel like home, not like this place.”

My eyes misted, and I was forced to look away. I, too, was searching for a way back. “I understand what you mean. I may neversee my childhood home again. Flitworth Manor is leased, but it almost doesn’t matter. It was here at Loxby where the vastmajority of my memories were formed—at least the ones I cherish today.”

“For years I thought it best to stay away—from everyone in my life. But standing here, breathing in the world I left, I’mnot so certain anymore.”

Piers had always had depth to his thoughtful demeanor, unassuming mannerisms, careful words, but my mouth went dry as I racedto understand what he was discovering about himself and what he meant to do with it. “Then you plan to stay at Loxby indefinitely?”

He shrugged. “For the time being. I see now I’ve neglected not only my family but the estate as well . . . Among other things.”

He took a step closer, feigning interest in a rosebush at my side.

The familiar rush of nerves splashed across my shoulders and trickled down my arms. We’d been so close before—sharing everypart of our lives. Should I not tell him what animal lived in the shadows of my mind, what would always exist between us?

I glanced up to find him watching me. “Oh, Piers. How does one find their way back when they’ve lost so much of themselvesalong the way? It’s like the whole world is blurry and no matter how hard I squint, I can’t seem to see clearly.”

He extended his arm slowly, carefully wrapping his fingers around mine. “I’m not certain anyone can go back, not really. It’smore about finding a way to go on, to move forward, to trust that God will take something bad that has happened and work itfor good.” He stared down at our hands. “It doesn’t mean the path will be easy. I just know now that I don’t want to takeit alone.”

For a moment everything fell motionless, the warmth of the sun, the look in Piers’s eyes, the living garden around us. Thena bird took flight from a nearby tree, rustling the branches, effectively snapping the spell.

The moment was lost.

I recovered my hand and moved to take a seat on the bench where I sat still for several seconds. When he said he didn’t wantto take the path alone, did he mean his family . . . or me?

Piers hesitated at the rosebush, a far-off look about his eyes. Then he walked over to join me on the bench. “Did you leavemy father well earlier today? He seemed much improved this afternoon.” Piers had regulated the sound of his voice, his lightenedtone feeling almost foreign amid the murky waters of my turbulent emotions.

“I did, though he seemed a bit tired from my visit.”

“I must admit, though I was hesitant at first for you to visit him, I do think your doing so has done him a deal of good.The doctors worry about him greatly. Avery has been forced to handle him with kid gloves, and now me. Particularly of late.Some days he can scarcely move from his bed.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t look forward to the day we must tell him aboutMiles’s death . . . and what it must mean about Seline. I’m afraid the truth of what happened might very well push him overthe edge. My father has fallen into bouts of reclusiveness, even before his accident. My mother always describes him as passionate.Passionately happy, passionately sad, fiercely loyal.”

“He’s lucky to have a son who cares so deeply for him.”

Piers wiped a hand down his breeches. “My father and I have never been all that close. Years passed where we rarely exchangedmore than two words with one another.” He looked around. “Strange how things turn out so differently than planned. In a way,when I left for Liverpool I knew everyone would change while I was gone, but I never expected to return to this—Avery grownup, Seline disappeared, my father withering away. And you . . .” He shook his head. “Needless to say, I don’t intend to lettime pass me by again. Life is far too precious and short.”

My ears buzzed. “What do you mean . . . me?”

He picked at the chipped paint on the bench. “Over the years I always imagined you married with children. I suppose I foundit easier that way.”

“Easier than . . . ?”

A second of stormy silence crept by as he stared at the far garden wall. “The terrible regret I experienced after losing you.”

For years I’d thought of no one but myself—the painful dissolution of my dreams, the way I’d been forced to change, the scars that would never really heal. But in that vulnerable moment, it was as if I saw Piers for the first time or, more importantly, the hard iron bars of his cage. Such a solitary existence had demanded a toll.

“Piers . . .” Fear crept into my voice, but as I lifted my eyes to the one person who had always understood me, I was compelledto speak. “Something happened to me in Ceylon.”

Slowly, he turned to face me, his gaze sharp as a knife. “What do you mean?”

I felt my hands trembling in my lap and stood to shake them out. “There was a man . . . a groom of one of the British governmentofficials . . . He followed me into the tea fields . . . It was dark . . . We were alone.” Tears stole my voice as my throatgrew so thick I could scarcely swallow.

Piers flew to his feet and grasped my shoulders, gently but willfully