Green Willows. V. J. Banis

then, good night.”

      “Good night,” I said and closed the door. I wondered if he listened and heard as I slid the bolt into place. I did not hear him walk away, although I remained leaning against the door for some minutes, ears straining.

      At length I went back to the welcome warmth of my bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, but I did not fall asleep so quickly this time. I lay for a long while, listening to the sounds of the wind.

      It did not sob again, and eventually I fell asleep.

      * * * * * * *

      I woke to a morning that lay shining and splendid over the green hills and the distant sea below us. The wind had become a gentle breeze, the rain had vanished, and with it had vanished my fears and apprehensions.

      Soon after I had awakened and unbolted my door, a thin, nervous young woman in a maid’s outfit came in with a tray on which rested a pot of tea and some bread.

      “If you please, Miss,” she said, making an awkward little curtsey, “Miss Duffy thought you might enjoy some tea in your room this morning, and the master says when you’re up and about could he see you in the library?”

      “Thank you, I’ll be down shortly, but you mustn’t treat me like a guest. I’m an employee too, and I hope we can be friends. My name is Mary.”

      “Thank you, Miss,” she said, but with no great warmth. “I’m Daisy. I’m here days, during the week, you understand.”

      “Yes, Mrs. Duffy said no one stayed nights. For a while I was getting afraid...you know, imagining all sorts of foolish things.” I gave a little laugh to show how I now regarded this, but Daisy did not laugh or even smile. She only gave me a curious sideways glance and looked away.

      “If you’ll excuse me, Miss, I’ve got plenty to do,” she said, and she was gone before I could say anything more, scurrying away as if afraid of me, which led me to conclude that Daisy was probably afraid of everything and so I need not mind what she thought about things. Still, some of the sparkle had gone out of the morning.

      After a moment or two of uncertainty, I found the library and Mr. Tremayne waiting there, looking out the window, hands folded behind his back. He was dressed rather more elegantly than before, although his clothes were still somewhat old-fashioned and just a bit threadbare.

      He heard me come in and turned to regard me. There was nothing friendly about his look. I thought of a fierce bear I had seen once in a traveling show. Indeed, he scowled so fiercely that I could not but think I had done something wrong, and wondered if he were angry that I had left my room during the night.

      I was about to speak, to offer an apology, when at last he addressed me.

      “Miss Kirkpatrick,” he said, “I don’t know how much my sister may have said to you last night.”

      He paused. Was that a question? Not knowing, I chose silence, being somewhat intimidated by his gruff manner.

      “You have been teaching?”

      “Yes. At a girls’ school.”

      “At....” He paused again and glanced down at a letter he had picked up and that I saw was mine. “At Mrs. White’s.” I nodded. “My daughter is ten. I believe I told you that.”

      “Yes.” I had grown more puzzled than frightened by this hemming and hawing. I saw that he wanted to say something but was not sure how to go about it, and close on the heels of this observation came the realization that his gruff manner was a sign, not of unfriendliness of disapproval, as I had thought, but of a shy reserve. He felt as awkward with me as I did with him, and this realization suddenly put me completely at ease with him.

      “Perhaps it would be best if I met your daughter,” I said, trying to help him through what I could now see was a difficult interview.

      He looked relieved at having the direction of the conversation taken from his hands, and said, “You may be right. I’ll take you to meet her this morning.”

      “Take me to meet her? She isn’t here, then?”

      Again I had that feeling of awkwardness, of things that needed to be said but somehow could not be said.

      “My daughter does not live at Green Willows, Miss Kirkpatrick,” he said after a pause. “She lives in the village with her grandfather, Commander Whittsett. Unfortunately, his cottage is too small to accommodate you there, which is why you must continue to live at Green Willows. I trust that arrangement will be satisfactory to you?”

      “Of course, as you wish. And will I teach her here or—?”

      “You will teach her at her grandfather’s cottage. The village is not far if you want to walk each day, or there is a trap. If you’d prefer, I can have someone drive you to and from.”

      “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m accustomed to walking. Indeed, I like a walk each day.”

      A silence fell. I could not think what I could say to break it. Surely I could not ask the questions in my mind, but I could not help wondering about the living arrangements that kept the daughter in the village and her father and her governess here at Green Willows. It might well be true that her grandfather’s cottage was too small for me to live there, but certainly there was more than enough room for her to live here at Green Willows. And that was the customary thing, was it not?

      He offered no answers to these questions, although he must be aware they were on my mind. He said, brusquely, “If you like, we can go now.”

      “I’ll get my things.”

      “There’s no real hurry, of course. If you’d rather have a day to rest from your travels...?”

      “I think the sooner I meet your daughter, the better. And I am quite rested, thank you.”

      “You slept well, then?”

      Despite myself, I glanced at him and our eyes met. “Yes,” I said, “after...that one difficulty.”

      “You will get used to Green Willows,” he said.

      To that I said nothing. It was a point on which, just now, I was willing to agree with him, and I left to fetch my things.

      * * * * * * *

      The village was so near that it hardly justified hitching horse to rig, and I told Mr. Tremayne so. It was our first conversation since I had rejoined him and we had started into town.

      “It can’t be more than a fifteen minute walk,” I said.

      “About that. Although Mrs. Duffy manages to stretch it to an hour or so, but I suspect she stops along the way to visit with friends.”

      “She has local friends, then,” I said rather without thinking. “She seemed a little lonely, I thought.”

      “Green Willows can be a lonely place. I have been a little concerned about that in view of your youth. Perhaps it will weigh a bit too heavily upon you.”

      “I am not unaccustomed to loneliness.”

      He sounded surprised when he said, “I should have thought that at a girls’ school...?”

      “One can be lonely and surrounded by people.”

      “How true,” he said with such vehemence that I wondered again about the depth of feeling he hid behind his taciturn manner.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      I stole a sideways glance at him, but I do not think he noticed me in more than a superficial manner, any more than he really noticed the task of driving the rig. His attention was turned elsewhere, inward, and I could only puzzle at what vistas he contemplated there. What passions, what furies, had driven him within himself, hiding behind the rough wall of his seemingly unfriendly personality, just as he hid his physical self within the walls of Green Willows.

      He said, quite unexpectedly, “You are a remarkable