Page 16 of A Treacherous Treasure

“It is not the only song I know,” Caroline retorted. “Although I never practiced very much, and it is almost the only song I know well.” Caroline conceded with an amused smile.

How refreshing to be around good-natured teasing, the kind she was used to from her own brothers and sisters, and to have made a new friend like Caroline, who was not too proud to admit her own faults.

“Will you play and sing for us?” Caroline asked.

“Only if you feel up to it, dear,” Mrs. Westbrook said.

“I will play one.” Rebecca got up and went to the pianoforte. She could not bring herself to sing, but she played a song that had been one of her favorites since before she met Arthur, which was associated with no bad memories.

They all applauded. “That was wonderful,” Mrs. Westbrook said.

“You play very well,” Caroline added.

“I liked to practice when I was younger.”

“Only when you were younger?”

“I left the instrument to my younger sisters when they started to learn and I took up writing poetry.”

“Truly?” Caroline’s face lit up like a sunrise.

“Yes, but I haven’t written any in a long time.” Not since she was married.

As a wedding present, she had written a poem for Arthur. He’d laughed at it. She could still feel the pain and embarrassment at his reaction to reading the words that she had labored over for two weeks, expressing her love for him and her hopes that their union would be blessed and happy.

But with his laughter stuck in her mind, she hadn’t been able to write anything since.

“I would love to read some of your poetry,” Caroline said. “It is my opinion that people who play and sing well are also good at other artistic endeavors.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Westbrook said. “Do you have any of your work memorized? You could recite some for us.”

“No, no. My poetry is not very good.”

“Why don’t you let us be the judges?” Caroline said.

“I cannot. I’m sorry.”

The dreadful feeling came over her again, of how unworthy Arthur had made her feel, not just about her poetry, but everything else as well. He’d never given her his approval nor been satisfied with her as a wife.

Perhaps Arthur was more like his mother than she ever realized.

“I wish you would.”

“Caroline, she doesn’t wish to recite her poetry tonight.” Thomas’s tone sounded like he was scolding her. Then he looked at Rebecca. “Perhaps another time.”

Her heart swelled in gratitude. Was Thomas Westbrook really as good and kind as he seemed?

She’d been fooled before.

After she played one more song and they talked for a while longer, Rebecca said, “I should be going.”

“Going?” Mrs. Westbrook said. “But you came on horseback, did you not? You cannot think we will allow you to ride home after dark.”

“No, indeed,” Caroline said.

“I agree,” Thomas said.

“You must stay the night,” Mrs. Westbrook said.