People were too close. The world was too much. Ivy just wanted to get away. At least Mrs. Angel had gotten distracted by another guest who called her name, asked her a question.
Thankfully, no one else asked Ivy questions. They ignored her, caught up in their grown-up world, caught up in their moving lives that rushed past Ivy with fearless abandon.
Far above her, far away from her. Ivy had been happy that way. But now—yes, another glance across the room confirmed that Alice was becoming lost to adulthood, at the tender age of almost twelve.
She’d probably never come back. Alice did so love being an adult.
So Ivy was alone.
She didn’t want to cry again, and she was determined she wouldn’t. She simply sat as straight as she knew a little lady ought to, closed her eyes tight, and hoped for a miracle.
Of course, being transported out of the room to her nice, safe bedroom with no one there and no one coming to get her wasn’t exactly plausible. But, perhaps angels would take mercy on her. Or something like that. She’d met a Mrs. Angel today, after all—anything was possible.
But, for now, she must sit quietly and hope for the best. Hope that, in time, she would be allowed to leave before her head decided to roll off her shoulders and smash on the floor.
Ivy was rocking back and forth slightly on the chair she sat on, and though Nora was no expert on her, she could easily tell the child was upset. Her face was screwed up and her eyes tightly shut. No one seemed to be noticing her, and Nora didn’t believe she was throwing a tantrum.
No, she was just frightened.
Nora could understand that. Sometimes she was frightened, too. She slipped away from her son, who was too busy chatting with Lois Elton to want her near anyway, and made her way across the room to her granddaughter.
“Ivy? Are you all right?”
Ivy shook her head without opening her eyes.
Nora sighed and drew a chair up next to hers. At first, she didn’t say anything; she simply watched the child, trying to think what to do. Perhaps she could ask. “What do you need, dear?”
Ivy shook her head ever so slightly.
“Nothing? Is there nothing I can do?”
Another shake.
Nora sighed. Another person she couldn’t save, couldn’t help. But this time it wasn’t because she was weak—this time it wasn’t because her husband wouldn’t let her. This time it was simply because she didn’t understand how a child like Ivy worked.
Her eyes flickered across the room to Mrs. Angel and her husband, who were involved in another conversation, oblivious to the child. She wondered if the woman was sincere. The story she’d told and the offer she’d made seemed so real—and, furthermore, seemed like it could help Ivy.
“Mrs. Angel spoke to you, didn’t she, Ivy?”
Ivy’s head moved up and down, her golden locks, now slipping from neat coronets about her head, jerking.
“That’s lovely! Did you like her? She talked with me this afternoon, and I was thinking about talking about it with your mother this evening.”
Ivy didn’t even raise her head. Her rocking got steadier; she seemed to gain comfort from it—her breathing was no longer audible. At least she was calming down.
But she wasn’t needed here. Especially if it was hurting her to remain.
“Would you like to leave?”
Ivy’s head lifted. “Yes!”
“Why don’t you run upstairs?”
Ivy leaped to her feet, and Nora gestured to the door. In no time, the child disappeared from view.
“Mother, did you tell Ivy she could go?”
Nora jumped at her daughter’s voice, but she turned calmly to face Claire, hands folded in front of her. “Yes, dear. She seemed to be having a difficult night.”
“Oh, Mother.” Claire sighed and lightly touched her fingertips to her forehead. “Ivy needs to become accustomed to these types of situations, like Alice. I’ve neglected that aspect of her education, but since she’s almost twelve and will be a young lady soon—”
“Oh, but, Claire, she was trembling.” Nora placed a hand on her daughter’s arm. “You wouldn’t want her to stay down here, frightened, almost seeming to panic at the crowd.”
“Yes, well, Mrs. Angel, for whatever reason, was speaking to her. Ivy is sensitive to strangers, but she needs to adjust.” Claire turned and walked back to her friends.
Nora sighed. Her daughter had always been cold, but then, it was to be expected. In some ways, she blamed herself. Her children hadn’t exactly had the safest childhoods in the world.
But Mrs. Angel’s solution might help Ivy, at least. Nora took a deep breath and turned to find the woman who might hold the key to her granddaughter’s future.
Chapter Four
Ivy tried to put her feet on the stairs, but whenever she got beyond the first three steps, she became dizzy. She gave up and sat at the bottom.
Tears started trickling down her cheeks, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. At first they were soft, gentle, just a few hot ones making salty paths down her face. Then they came quicker, and her nose and throat filled. She used both hands to wipe the tears away and made little whimpering noises between them.
No one cared about her. Ivy became surer of this with every tear. Crying made her feel abandoned, and she mentally perused her list of loved ones, discounting them all as unloving.
At last she came to Nettie. Dear Nettie. If only she hadn’t fallen in love and gotten married and moved to the gatehouse.
But …
She glanced toward the door, visible through the foyer. Unlike her mummy, Nettie was never distracted. She always made time for Ivy, even if she was tired and overwhelmed with the baby—even if Ivy wasn’t her responsibility.
Ivy sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve. Nettie could dry her tears and reassure her. Nettie could make her feel calm. Nettie could show her how to breathe and whisper soft things, things about Jesus and how He protected little girls.
Mummy had been getting distracted from talking about Jesus lately. Maybe that was the real problem.
How could Ivy get to Nettie? It was a long, cold, dark walk to the gatehouse—and doubtless it was snowing. It often was here in the country.
Ivy shuddered. She had no coat, just her party dress, and she hated both the cold and the dark. But to get to Nettie, perhaps it could be borne.
Ivy swallowed hard and stood. On timid feet, she walked to the front door, wrapped her fingers around the doorknob—then stepped out into a blizzard.
It was hard to see with the snow swirling around her. The whole world was white; it hurt her eyes, making them sting and water. The cold bit and pulled at her, but she began trudging down the drive. One foot after another, then another and another, on and on, forcing her feet to move. Just when she felt surely the lights of the gatehouse must come into view, she was greeted by another blast of wind—and, glancing over her shoulder, realized that even the lights of Pearlbelle Park behind her had vanished in the storm.
But she must keep walking. She must reach Nettie, even though fear crept at the back of her mind, threatening like a great beast ready to devour her whole.
She couldn’t let fear win. She must find Nettie. She must be swept up into warm, kind arms and feel love and comfort. It suddenly felt like forever since she’d experienced those emotions.