Sisters' Fate (14 page)

“Is Maura all right? You said it’s not the fever.” Father’s lips twitch. “I know your sister can be a bit impetuous, but she hasn’t run off with a sailor, has she?”

Tess forces a smile. “No, nothing like that.” She toys with the green ruffles of her dress. “Now that we’re here, I don’t quite know how to start.”

Father leans forward in his armchair. “Best just to have out with it, perhaps? You might not know it, but I can be a good listener. Your mother always said so.” Pain flits across his face. “I know I’ve not been the best father to you girls. Having all three of you gone this last month—the house has felt so empty. It reminded me that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life rattling around the place on my own. I know it’s a natural thing, girls growing up and marrying and leaving home, but—I’d hoped to have more time with you and Maura yet, Tess.”

Oh. It’s the most heartfelt thing I’ve heard him say in years.
He missed us.
I look at Tess and find her lower lip trembling.

Father holds her heart in his hands now. If he rejects her, especially after this—this almost-promise of a different sort of relationship—she’ll be devastated.

I wish there were something I could do to control the situation, to
make
him react the way she wants, but I know Tess’s warning to Maura goes double for me. No magic.

She takes a deep breath. “There’s something you ought to know—that is, we
want
you to know.” Her heart-shaped face has gone pale. “We’re witches. Cate and Maura and I. All three of us.”

Father goes still as a statue. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s true,” I assure him.

“But—I know witches certainly still
exist,
but if all three of you were doing magic about the house, I would have noticed.” He flinches. “I would have. Wouldn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault, Papa.” Tess fidgets in her seat. “We kept it from you.”

“I don’t know if that’s better or worse.” He picks up the pipe lying on the tea table and turns it over in his hands. “How long has this been going on?”

Tess glances at me. “My magic manifested when I was eleven,” I explain. My instinct is to keep my head down, but instead I raise my eyes to his—a pale blue like my own. I am not ashamed of being a witch, not anymore, and I won’t act as if I am. “Mother helped me learn to control it and keep it a secret. When it was their turn, I helped Maura and Tess.”

“Your mother knew?” Father walks to the sideboard next to the picture window. He pours a glass of amber liquor, then pauses with it halfway to his lips. “Magic is hereditary, isn’t it? No one in
my
family—Anna never got on with her mother, she was raised by her grandmother, but she never said . . .”

“Mother was a witch. Like her grandmother.” Tess swallows. “That’s why she and her mother didn’t get on. It skipped a generation.”

“That’s impossible.” Father puts the glass down on the sideboard, staring at Tess as though she’s grown horns.

“It’s not. Watch.” My magic is already stirring. I float his glass across the room and set it gently on the tea table without spilling a drop. “See?”

“Good Lord.” Father’s eyes go round as saucers. “Cate, you’re a—a—”

“A witch,” I supply, raising my chin. “Everything Tess is telling you is true.”

He leans heavily on the sideboard, breathing fast, and for a minute I worry that he’s going to have a fit of apoplexy. But he doesn’t clutch his chest, just turns back to us, plainly puzzled. “I don’t see why Anna would keep this from me.”

“She didn’t,” Tess says. “Not always.”

“We were married for fourteen years, Teresa. I think I would remember if my own wife had been a witch,” Father snaps. He gets halfway across the room when it hits him and he stares at us, dumbfounded.
“Or would I?”

Tess jumps up, reaching for his arm, but he flinches away. The look on his face makes my stomach hurt. It’s too close to the way Finn looked at me two nights ago. It’s as though Father doesn’t know us anymore, as though his charming kittens have grown into fearsome tigers right before his eyes.

“Did one of you erase my memory? Like the Brothers are always preaching on about?” His face is flushed, his eyes dark and snapping.

“No!” Tess cries. Only—I
have
erased his memory. So has Maura. He has every right to look at me like that. “It wasn’t us, Papa. I know this must be very hard for you to hear, but—”

“She wouldn’t,” Father interrupts Tess, his voice very sure, and I envy him that—that absolute certainty. He sinks back into his armchair. “Whatever my faults, I loved your mother. If Anna were a witch—if I’d known—I would never have turned my back on her. She wouldn’t have needed to hide it from me. I—good Lord, whatever else you think of me, you’ve got to know that much. I would never have turned her in to the Brothers!”

Tess goes to him, kneeling on the soft red rug. “We know.”

Father looks down at her. “I would have died before giving her up.”

I cross the room and kneel on the other side of his chair. “We know. Mother knew, too. That was why she did it.”

• • •

We do not tell Father everything; Tess thought it best not to overwhelm him with the prophecy or her visions. Still, Father handles the revelations far better than I had expected.

“What about Maura? Why isn’t she here?” Father tilts the empty glass in his hands, watching the crystal catch the candlelight. Tess, curled up on the other chair, gazes at the floor. “Ah. Maura didn’t want you to tell me,” he guesses.

“We’ve had to be so cautious for so long,” Tess explains.

“I’m sorry she didn’t feel she could trust me. You can, girls.” Father sets the glass down. His watery blue eyes meet mine and then travel to Tess’s. “I’ve been remiss in not telling you this more often since your mother died, but I love you, and I’m terribly proud of you. You’ve been very brave to shoulder this alone.”

I feel a warm glow that is not entirely from my proximity to the fireplace. “Thank you, Father,” I say, and Tess’s grin lights up the room. “But we haven’t been entirely alone in it. Marianne’s been a great friend to us.”

Father’s head swivels toward the kitchen. “Marianne is a witch, too?”

His disbelief is comical. “No. But she was one of Mother’s best friends.”

“She’s always been quite progressive. And damned clever, too, for a woman,” Father says. I chuckle at the outrage on Tess’s face as I uncurl myself from the sofa and slide my feet back into my red slippers. Sachi insisted that I borrow a festive red plaid dress of Rory’s instead of wearing my usual blues and grays. I gave in because I sensed she was feeling a bit homesick; I suppose even if your father’s a tyrant and your mother’s useless, you might miss them at Christmas. And now that I know Finn will be here, I’m glad I took a bit more care with my appearance. The dress brings color to my cheeks and darkens my eyes to thunderclouds.

“I’d better go help Marianne,” I say. Tess starts to rise, but I wave her down. This is my reckoning, not hers. “Why don’t you stay and chat with Father for a bit?”

Tess acquiesces easily enough. I follow my nose to the kitchen, where Marianne is peeling potatoes and Clara’s just started to roll out a piecrust. “It smells delicious in here.”

“Thank you, Cate.” Marianne swipes a stray curl from her flushed face. With the goose in the oven, the small kitchen is very warm. “Clara, would you finish setting the table, please? I’ll take care of the pie.”

Clara scurries off. “I’m no good with pies, but I think I can manage the potatoes,” I offer.

Marianne nods. “Is everything all right with your father?”

I pick up the paring knife and set to work. “We told him the truth. That we’re witches.”

“It went well? No . . . extraordinary measures were employed?” Marianne’s use of the rolling pin is more vehement than necessary.

“It went very well. Even if it hadn’t, we wouldn’t—” I set the knife down and turn to her. “I won’t lie to you. Tess wouldn’t have let me alter his memory. I would have done it in a heartbeat if I thought it were necessary to protect her.”

“Is that what happened to Finn?”

“No! I would never— It wasn’t me. I swear it.”

“But you were involved somehow, weren’t you?” Marianne turns to me, brown eyes blazing. “I told you once that we can’t choose who we love. And I like you, Cate, I do. But this is my son, and now—well, I daresay I wish he’d chosen differently. This would never have happened if he hadn’t come chasing after you to New London.”

I flinch away from her recrimination, setting to work again. There’s a long silence broken only by the snick of my knife. Words and tears build a knot in my throat until it feels like I can’t breathe unless I let something escape.

“It was Maura,” I whisper.

Marianne has sprinkled flour over the crust and fit it into the pie tin, then poured a mixture of apples, cinnamon, and sugar into the shell. Now she sprinkles a crumb topping over it. It’s only after she slides the pie into the oven that she turns to me, and I realize her careful movements belie a mother’s fury. “Why?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever really understand that. She claims it was to protect us, because we can’t trust any Brothers. Any men. She refused to come today because she didn’t want us to tell Father the truth. But, honestly, I think she attacked Finn to punish me. Our relationship has always been . . . complicated. Some days it feels like there are a hundred petty rivalries between us. But this—I don’t think I can ever forgive this.” I look into her eyes, begging for understanding. “I want to make things right with him, Marianne.”

Marianne runs a hand over her face, leaving a smudge of flour on her cheek. “Then you have to tell him everything.” She purses her lips. “You know he won’t turn her in. He would have every right to want her punished, but angry as he is, he wouldn’t want her killed for it.”

“I want to tell him, but it still feels like a betrayal. It’s the stupidest thing.” I let out a mirthless little laugh. “She betrayed me without a second thought. Making him forget me was the worst thing she could have done to me. And yet I still have the most ridiculous urge to protect her.” Unthinking, I run the tip of my thumb over the sharp edge of the paring knife. It stings.

“That promise to your mother still weighs on you, doesn’t it?” Marianne’s eyes have softened. “Anna would want you to be happy, too, you know.”

Her kindness brings tears to my eyes. I’m like a leaky faucet lately. “I hope so. I—I worry that I’m disappointing her, all the time. I’ve tried so hard, but Maura—she’s become—I don’t even recognize her anymore. And I can’t help wondering if it’s something I did, or didn’t do. I know I couldn’t replace Mother, but—”

“No.” Marianne wraps her arms around me and lets me sob onto her shoulder. “You’ve done your very best, Cate. As a mother, I can tell you, that’s all you can do. Anna would be proud.”

The clink of china and crystal and silver stops in the dining room, and footsteps make their way toward us. Marianne and I draw apart, and I wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Thank you,” I say, a little embarrassed.

“Mama!” Clara calls. “Finn’s here!”

CHAPTER

14

FINN AMBLES INTO THE KITCHEN CARRYING
an armful of gifts. My heart lifts at the sight of him. “Merry Christmas, Mother!” he says, giving her a one-armed hug. I hang back, waiting for him to notice me. It’s strange to feel so tentative with him; it makes me realize how accustomed I was to taking the lead, before.

“Hello, Cate.” When Finn notices my tearstained face, he whirls back to Marianne. “Mother, what did you say to her?”

“It was nothing,” I insist. “I’m fine.”

“It’s not nothing, not if she’s making you cry. I’m a grown man. I don’t need my mother fighting my battles,” Finn grumbles. His waistcoat and trousers are charcoal gray, his shirt a crisp snowy white. It looks well on him. He’s even combed his hair down neatly.

“It wasn’t like that.” I turn to Marianne with a smile. “She was kinder than I deserve.”

Marianne tsks. “Cate, you’re twelve times harder on yourself than anyone else is. Now, why don’t you help Finn take those presents into the parlor? Send Tess and Clara in to help me. You’re no use in the kitchen at all, are you?”

I send the girls into the kitchen, then pile the presents beneath the front window while Father pours Finn a glass of scotch. They settle in the leather armchairs, and I sit across from them on the golden sofa, toying with the tassels on a pillow and trying not to be terribly obvious about watching Finn. My ears perk up when their conversation turns to the outbreak of fever.

“Had no idea until I read about it in the
Gazette
this morning,” Father says. “Hasn’t hit Chatham yet, thank the Lord. Have you seen much evidence of it here?”

“It hasn’t made inroads to the council yet, but Cate’s seen her share of it at the hospital.” Finn takes a sip from his tumbler.

“I’ve been volunteering. As a nurse,” I explain. “The hospital’s been packed to the gills with patients from the river district—and yesterday there were some from the market district, too. You’ve got to be careful, Father. If you start to feel ill, you must send for me at once.”

“You, a nurse?” Father laughs.

His words strike a chord, reminding me of the time Finn fell off a ladder working on our gazebo. I wrapped his ankle so Mrs. O’Hare wouldn’t catch sight of the illegal pistol strapped to his shin.

He won’t remember that.

“I have an affinity for healing magic.” Father darts an anxious look at Finn, and I smile. “It’s all right. He knows. Anyhow, I’m glad Merriweather finally urged people to take precautions.”

Father looks dumbstruck. “You read the
Gazette
?”

This time I feel a pinprick of irritation. “I’m not illiterate,” I snap, mortified that he’s making me out to be such a dunce in front of Finn.

“Of course not. I didn’t mean . . .” Father chooses his words carefully. “You’re a very capable girl. More capable than I dreamed, it seems. But you’ve never been one for politics. It’s good that you’re taking an interest—more women ought to be informed.”

Finn gives me his mischievous grin. “Cate’s well informed, all right. She’s the one who introduced me to Merriweather and the Resistance movement. Did you read that feature today about the boy who was sick, couldn’t get a bed in the hospital, and was healed by a witch?”

“Yes.” Father rubs a hand over his jaw. “Do you mean to tell me
you
were the witch?”

I nod, gratitude rushing over me. Even though he’s angry with me, Finn is still flying to my rescue. And he’s such a progressive where women are concerned—far more than Father or Merriweather. That’s down to having Marianne as a mother, I suppose. Another reason to thank her.

Father is frowning. “Merriweather’s a wanted man. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger to—”

“Father,” I interrupt him, voice gentle this time. “I’m a witch. That makes me a wanted woman.”

“You’re still my daughter. I’m no supporter of the Brotherhood, but I want you safe first and foremost.” He stares past me at the candles on the windowsill. “I do miss the old days, though.” He sighs, and I wonder if his second glass of scotch is making him sentimental. “Back before Christmas trees were outlawed—I’ve told you about that, haven’t I? My father and I would go out into the woods and cut one down ourselves. My sister spent a week making paper cornucopias to put stuffed dates and sugared almonds in, and Mother made snowflakes out of lace.”

“My father said it was a beautiful tradition.” Finn looks somber. He must miss his father, just as I miss Mother, on days like this.

“Close your eyes, both of you,” I say, struck with sudden inspiration.

“What? Whatever for?” Father blinks at me owlishly.

“Just do it. I’ve got a surprise for you.” They do, and I let magic pour through me. The illusion is easy enough. I don’t know that it will last through Christmas dinner, but after the year we’ve had, we all deserve some extra cheer. “All right. Open.”

Father actually gasps. “It even smells like a fir tree!” he marvels, standing and examining it from every angle. It’s as tall as him, a fat pine with strands of popcorn and lace snowflakes and little paper cornucopias adorning its branches.

“Oh, drat. I forgot something.” I pick up Father’s glass from the tea table and transform it into a feathery angel with a bright tinsel smile. I hand it to him. “Would you do the honors?”

Father takes it and perches it gingerly atop the tree. Then he stands back and stares, awestruck. “It’s perfect.”

“It is,” Finn says, grinning.

I smile, too, because it’s not the tree Finn’s looking at.

• • •

Our Christmas dinner is a feast: roasted goose with sage and onion stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, Brussels sprouts, baked onions, and roasted chestnuts. By the time we get to dessert, I’m nearly groaning—but not enough to forgo a bit of gingerbread. The conversation around the table is a lively mix of literary talk and gossip about our neighbors; Father is scandalized when Tess mentions offhand that Sachi and Rory are sisters. It is strange to have Finn surprised by the news all over again.

After dinner, Tess strengthens my spell so we can open presents beneath the Christmas tree. She and I went in together to buy Father a handsome magnifying glass with a mahogany handle. He seems pleased by it; the footnotes in some of his books are quite small. I give Tess her stationery, and she’s bought me a book on human anatomy that scandalizes Father again. He gives us money to buy new dresses, and he grows rather sentimental when he hands Tess a book of Romantic poetry that belonged to Mother. Marianne receives perfume from Finn and a strawberry pincushion from Clara, while Clara gets drawing pencils and a set of watercolors. Finn, of course, gets books.

I tuck the bag containing the fountain pen beneath the sofa. It doesn’t feel right to give it to him here, in front of everyone. After the gift exchange, Tess and Father play a game of chess while Clara shows Finn some of her sketches. I page through my anatomy book, and Marianne does the dishes. It’s dark outside when I regretfully suggest we ought to be going.

“I’ll walk you home,” Finn offers.

We bundle up in our cloaks and exchange good-byes with Clara and Marianne. Father walks us downstairs and gives us hugs before releasing us onto the cold, quiet streets.

I pause on the brick stoop of the Cahill Mercantile Company. “You’re very kind to offer, but you can’t walk us back to the convent,” I explain to Finn.

He smiles at me behind his upturned collar. “I suspected as much. I just wanted to have a moment alone.”

Ever perceptive, Tess has already dawdled down the street to examine the windows of a candy shop. “Oh,” I say stupidly, heart hammering.

“I had a drink with Merriweather last night after we left the Zhangs’,” he continues, and my disappointment that he’s talking about the Resistance instead of us mashes up against worry. He shouldn’t be seen in public with Merriweather; it’s too dangerous. I bite my tongue before I chide him. I haven’t the right to do that anymore. “He’s planning a surprise for the Brothers at church tomorrow.”

“At the cathedral?” I wince when Finn nods. Richmond Cathedral can fit over a thousand worshippers, and its congregation is chock-full of Brothers and the upper-class denizens of New London. They’re the least-receptive audience Merriweather could possibly choose. “Is he mad? What kind of surprise? If they catch him—”

“They won’t.” Finn chuckles. “He’s too clever for that. It’s low risk, but I daresay it should make an impact. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see it—Mother isn’t one for churchgoing, you know. You’ll have to tell me about it.”

Alistair
is
clever—but he’s a good deal too convinced of his own cleverness. What if he’s overestimated it this time around? He’ll get himself killed and we’ll lose a valuable ally.

“He’s a good man, Alistair. Thank you for introducing us.” Finn rubs his gloved hands together for warmth. “You should read that feature he did on Yang. His indictment of the Brotherhood for not making more care available to the poor—for their nepotism—was absolutely scathing, and then he took them to task for making ridiculous accusations about witches instead of focusing on the science of prevention. He made you and Mei both out as heroes.” His eyes rest on my face. “You were quite extraordinary, you know.”

I beam at him. “Thank you.” He moves to walk past me down the steps, and I summon up my courage, reach into my bag, and pull out the pen in its satiny case. “Wait. This is for you. It isn’t wrapped—I didn’t know you’d be here—but—”

“Oh, I—” Finn flips open the case. Runs a finger along the gleaming wooden barrel. “This is splendid. Really. But I didn’t get anything for you.”

“That’s all right.” I clear my throat. “I didn’t expect that you would.”

He puts a hand gloved in black leather on my arm, and I cannot help but remember the softness of the leather stroking my face while he kissed me in the convent garden. “This is a queer Christmas, isn’t it? It must be for you, too. Here instead of home, and with me all wrong, and your sister not here—”

“You’re not all wrong,” I insist, smiling up at him. “You’re still you.”

“I don’t feel like it.” Finn hesitates as he slides the pen into his bag. “Why
isn’t
Maura here? She’s not ill?”

“No.” I bite my lip, remembering Marianne’s words. “Frankly, she wasn’t wanted.”

“But it’s Christmas! You must have had an awful row to—” Finn runs his hand through his hair, his eyes growing wide. “What was it about?”

I watch him carefully. “You.”

He grips the wrought-iron railing as the full realization of it hits him. “
Maura
took my memories?”

“Maura.” I nod. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. She’s my sister, and I suppose I—I felt responsible, somehow. You don’t love me, I know you don’t, but I suppose I hoped that you
might
again, someday. But the fact is, you’re in danger whenever you’re with me. You deserve to know that and to make any—any decisions you might make, from there. I have enemies within the Sisterhood, and they wouldn’t hesitate to attack you again in order to hurt me.”

Across town, the bells begin to toll the hour, and Finn pauses.
One.
He’s deciding it isn’t worth it.
Two.
That
I’m
not worth it.
Three.
How could he trust me, when I can do mind-magic?
Four.
When I’ve lied to him, by omission if not by my words?
Five.
When my own sister is the one who attacked him?
Six.
Kissing me was a mistake.
Seven.
He’s going to tell me so any second now.

I take a deep breath and speak before he can. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything weeks ago. You really—Finn, you ought to find some nice, ordinary girl and marry her. Your mother said as much tonight.”

Finn hesitates, his brown eyes inscrutable behind his glasses. “Is that what you want?”

I let out a miserable little laugh. “Of course not. But it’s what I
should
want. For your sake.”

“But I don’t think that’s what I want, either.” He takes my hand—right there on the steps, right where anyone could see us. “I think I might want a girl who’s rather more extraordinary. A girl who would risk her own life to help people and to right wrongs—a girl with a scandalous aptitude for magic and nursing—and kissing.”

I blush at the way his voice dips, a little rough, on
kissing.
“You mustn’t romanticize—”

“Shhh.” Finn puts his leather-clad finger over my mouth before I can recite my failings. “There’s so much I don’t remember, Cate. I don’t feel the way you do—not yet—but give me time to catch up?”

“All the time you need,” I promise. My heart feels like a balloon, soaring into the sky, ready to burst from happiness. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. No more secrets.”

“I’ll take you up on that. Not now, though. It’s freezing out here.” He trails a finger over my cheek and gives a wicked grin when I shiver, as though he knows it’s from his touch and not the cold. “I do remember some things, you know. Like last Christmas?”

“Last Christmas?” I echo, confused. We barely knew each other then.

“You came to the shop to buy a book for Tess. I picked out the
Ramayana
for you. It was the first time I noticed you. The first time I thought about kissing you.” Finn’s eyes dart down to my mouth. “I know the other night wasn’t our real first kiss, but I’ve got to say—it more than lived up to my expectations.” He looks across the silent street before leaning down and brushing his lips over mine, butterfly-quick. “Merry Christmas, Cate.”

It is the best Christmas present I could have wished for.

“Merry Christmas, Finn.”

• • •

Back at the convent, I’m surprised to find light and noise spilling out of the front parlor. The private sitting room is where girls usually gather; it’s far more comfortable in there. “Cate! Come join us!” Rory hollers.

“Rum punch?” Prue offers, leaning unsteadily out the door.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as I hang up my cloak. “I thought you’d be with your brother.”

Prue frowns and takes a swig from her glass. “Alistair refused to let me spend Christmas with him. Said it was too dangerous. He still blames himself that I was stuck in Harwood. Stupid patronizing creature.”