Page 27 of Hunted By the Guardian
“I think that’s true,” Molly said gently. “She spoke of you often, you know. I could tell that she was very fond of you.”
Violet sighed. “I wish I could have come to see her again before she died,” she said wistfully. “If it had been up to me, I would have, but my father would never have allowed it.”
“She knew,” Molly murmured. “She knew how oppressive your father’s house was, Lady Violet, and she worried about it. She knew you would have come if you could. Don’t torment yourself about it. She was at peace with the fact that you loved her very much, and she loved you too. Let that be enough.”
She folded a napkin and placed it over the top of the picnic basket. “There,” she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “That ought to suit the two of you. I hope it’s a good time.”
“I’m sure it will be,” Violet said with a smile. She thanked Molly, hoping that Molly understood it was for more than just the food. This conversation had contained a lot of things she had very much needed to hear, and it was wonderful to gain the perspective of someone who had actually known Aunt Margaret. To know that Molly thought her aunt would be happy with her right now absolutely meant the world.
She went back out to the foyer to find Noah waiting for her in his play clothes. He was dancing about the room with excitement, and when he saw her, he came running over. “Is that the picnic?” he asked.
Violet nodded. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes!” He trotted toward the door, and Violet followed along in his wake.
She allowed Noah to lead the way down to the water, noting the worn grass. It seemed that he came this way often. His footing was sure, even where the ground was uneven, and he hummed a little song as the two of them went along.
When they reached the water’s edge, Violet laid out the picnic blanket and began to unpack the basket. She waited for Noah to come join her, and perhaps to exclaim over the delicious things she’d brought for them, but he didn’t. Instead, he went all the way down to the water’s edge and dropped right down on his hands and knees in the dirt.
“Oh…” She frowned. “Noah, you don’t want to get your hands dirty before we have our lunch. And your clothes…”
“You told me to put on play clothes,” he reminded her. “Play clothes can get dirty.”
“I brought your bear book.” She pulled out the new one Jonathan had gotten for him. “Do you want to come over and read for a bit?”
“No,” he said. “Reading is for inside. Outside is for playing. Hey, there’s a frog here!”
To her shock—and horror—he reached right into the water. When he pulled his hand back, there was a squishy, bulging lump of something. As she watched, it expanded and contracted slightly.
Violet couldn’t help it; she shuddered.
She had never been the sort of person to appreciate the dirtier side of the outdoors. It was unladylike, she felt, not to mention repugnant. To reach into a river full of creeping things and pull one of them out made her skin crawl.
And the toad itself…it was a disgusting animal. It looked to her as if Noah was holding a pile of mud in his hand. An oddly shaped pile, to be sure, but it seemed as though it might dissolve in his grip, that if he were to squeeze too hard, it would turn into sludge. How was she supposed to eat lunch after watching this?
Now Noah was on his feet, trotting back over to the picnic blanket—and the toad was still in his hand. Violet leaned away as he sat down on the edge of the blanket, smudging it with the dirt that was now on his pants.
He held out the toad. “Do you want to hold him, Violet?”
“No,” she said firmly. “You should go put him back.”
“I don’t want to, though,” he said. “I will soon, but I want to look at this toad. They’re so interesting, don’t you think? Feel the skin!”
He held the toad out again. Violet recoiled. “I don’t want to touch it!”
“Why not?” Noah looked genuinely confused. He looked down at the toad in his hands as if he thought he might discover some unknown quality it possessed—as if there might be something specifically unlikable about this toad, but another one would have been perfectly fine.
Violet didn’t know what to tell him.
She didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm. He was a little boy taking an interest in little boy things. It seemed perfectly natural to her that he should be intrigued by slimy creatures—and, after all, hadn’t she already seen him fascinated by a worm? This wasn’t any different, really, although she did find toads more repulsive than worms somehow. But she wouldn’t have wanted to touch the worm either, so perhaps there wasn’t such a difference at all.
If Noah knew how ugly she found the toad, would he feel any differently about it? Would that make him stop wanting to explore the world around him? She didn’t want to take that from him. It was one of the things she was most fond of about Noah—the open curiosity he had about everything he saw.
But he knew that something was wrong. He was a clever boy. She had to be honest here and tell him something.
“I suppose I’m uncomfortable with toads,” she said.
“Are they dangerous?” He looked down at his toad again. “They don’t bite. I catch them all the time, and they don’t do anything to me.”
