The Traitor's Stain (wattys 2019)

Chapter Thirty-Six: Setauket, Long Island

Ophelia stood on the road outside the Woodhull house, paralyzed. She wanted to go up there, get Constance and go home and continue as if nothing had happened, but... she wasn't certain that she could face Abraham's parents. Not after seeing Abraham in that bed back in New York. The bed that might just become his deathbed. Caleb had told them that he'd gotten sick in New York, and that he'd decided to stay behind until he got better. And she was to continue that narrative, make certain that they didn't worry enough about him to go to New York to see him, themselves. She didn't want to continue that narrative, however: it was cruel, trying to keep them from seeing their son, who might just be dying. She was scared of what she'd say the second she saw them, afraid that she would end up becoming the bearer of the worst news imaginable for a parent.

Part of her wanted to avoid the house at all costs until Abraham came back home, but she couldn't: she had to get Constance.

Finally, she forced herself to walk up the path. She had to face them, as painful as it might end up being.

Ophelia paused at the door, steeling herself, then knocked on the door.

A few seconds later, Siobhan answered the door.

"Good afternoon, Miss Stroud," Siobhan said. She stood to the side. "The Woodhulls are expecting you. They're in the drawing room."

Of course. She tried to not show her apprehension, though: she just smiled, thanked her, and showed herself to the drawing room.

Richard and Mary Woodhull and Constance were all in the drawing room, just like Siobhan had said they would be. Richard was reading a letter on the couch. Mary was politely listening to some story Constance was telling. Constance was out of breath from yapping on, but she didn't seem to care: she pressed onward.

That is, until Mary saw Ophelia.

Mary smiled when she saw her. Was it just her, or did she seemed relieved? "Ah! Ophelia! Good to see you home safely."

Constance turned to look at her and smiled. She ran right for Ophelia and gave her a big hug. "I missed you!"

Ophelia picked her up and gave her a tight squeeze. She'd needed it. She'd needed to hug her daughter from the second Otetiani shot Abraham. "I missed you too."

"How was New York City?" Richard asked, putting down his letter.

"It was fine," Ophelia lied as she adjusted Constance on her hip. "Abraham sends his love."

"What disease does he have, exactly?" Mary said. "He was very vague in his letter. Should we be worried?"

Ophelia almost broke right then and there, almost told them that Abraham had actually been shot trying to murder a man before he could turn all of them in to the authorities. Almost told them that he was laying in a bed in Robert's home, one bad turn away from dying. But, somehow, she managed to keep herself from saying anything about that.

"He seemed like he was in good spirits," Ophelia lied. "I think he should be able to come home, soon. He just didn't want to travel while he was ill: that ends to make things worse. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course, of course," Richard said. "I certainly can't say I blame him. Will you be staying for dinner?"

"... am I invited?" Ophelia asked. "I'd hate to impose-"

"Nonsense!" Mary insisted. "You and Constance couldn't impose on us. Besides: the cook will already be making extra dinner for our other guest; it would be a shame to waste it."

Ophelia hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. I'll stay for dinner."

"Excellent!" Mary said. She looked to the grandfather clock in the corner and squinted at the face. "Now, John should be here any second, now. Dinner's probably about ten, fifteen minutes out: we'll stay in here, have some drinks, and then head to the dining room when dinner's ready."