Boy of Chaotic Making (Whimbrel House, #3)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

Even now, she woke up in the morning wondering if Merritt were merely a figment of her imagination or she’d conjured his fondness for her in a dream.

If only her augury were strong enough to let her understand how God had laid out the cards.

She’d buried her emotions and yearning for so long they seemed to prefer the metaphorical trunk in which she stuffed them. But not even the deepest box could contain all she felt in her heart.

His heart felt heavy, like it needed to slumber.

Children are very forgiving, he went on. You hurt them, and moments later it’s forgotten. Children always look forward to the future because they don’t yet value the past. There’s certainly something alluring about the idea.

But you do have a past, Owein. And yes, it is a dark one. I’d like to think I have an expansive imagination, but I can only imagine how hard such a past must have been.

But you are too smart and too old to believe a blanket will muffle the bad. You have to face it. And it’s going to hurt. Honestly, it never stops hurting. Even with all the balms one could hope for, the hurt carves your soul and leaves a scar.

“Hulda. I love you. I love you. I would never be unfaithful to you. I’ve waited my whole life for you!”

“Nothing is really scary. We just make it that way in our heads. That’s what my mom said.” She glanced into the cave. “She’s dead now, but she wasn’t scared when she died. She was brave. So I’m always going to be brave. And Owein? Life is a lot easier being brave than being scared.”

“I mean, I’m not always brave. A lot of times I have to pretend. But pretending is kind of like practice. And the more you practice, the easier it gets.

The more she could learn of her future, the more she could protect her now.

Darkness, I mean. It’s just a part of the world. Part of life. It makes sense to me now. And my darkness . . . that’s a piece of my story, like a chapter in one of your books. I’m not supposed to tear it out. It makes me stronger. It adds to what I’m facing now, and what I’ll face in the future. It’s part of me, just like my legs or my magic or my mind.

But she realized as she opened the door to the cool afternoon, Hulda had no desire to court herself. She didn’t want to be immutable, never changing or growing. She wanted to spend her life with a man who would challenge her, forcing her to stretch and evolve. Someone who made her think differently, who argued the other side, who made her laugh.

A person—or a dog—could learn a lot simply from listening.

“As I bind your hands, so are your lives bound in a union of love, trust, and devotion. Like the stars, your love should be a constant source of light, and like the earth, a foundation from which to grow.”

“May this knot remain forever tied, and may your hands always hold one another. Hold tightly during the storms of life, and be gentle as they nurture one another. I summon the spirits of the four quarters of our world, that this binding may be blessed by the powers of all creation. So let it be, amen.”

What were the chances that a workable vessel had been collected already, before the determined fortnight was even up? It seemed too easy, too planned.

“All I ever do is what I’m told. Sit quietly and take it all with a smile. I’m not a decoration to be painted however you choose. I’m a person!”

“I am impressed that the central victim to her crimes has such mercy.”

I’m glad I didn’t kill you.” You almost did, he thought, thinking of the storm in the drawing room, but he didn’t voice it. He didn’t think she needed to hear it.

The Leiningens had some rough edges, but Owein was learning everyone had rough edges. Granted, some were rougher than others, but even those might smooth out, with enough time and care.

“Hulda, I am a better man because of you. I am a found man. You have changed everything in my life for the better. I honestly don’t know how I lived before you. I want your face to be the first thing I see in the morning, and your voice to be the last I hear at night, forever and always. I will gladly haunt this house with you for eternity.”

“You are a light, Merritt. You are my light. You are everything that is good in this world. So genuine, so chivalrous, so imaginative. I’m so happy I get to partake in that imagination with you. In this life with you.”

“You have written me a happy ending, and I cannot fathom a better story than ours.”

It was probably the best day of Merritt’s life, but he was all about progress and intended to have even better ones to come.