Page 97 of Hearts of Locke Hill

After a deep breath, Violet held out her hand. Hesitantly, Mama took it.

“I am not so sure of myself,” Violet said, “that I know what might’ve happened had Cyril chosen to pursue me back then, as he continued school and I grew up a bit more.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she steadied herself. “But I am absolutely certain that I would never have cut off my own arm in order to experience life without it.”

Mama’s mouth opened as she took in those words. “Oh, my dear. I did not—” She swallowed and stood, pulling Violet into her arms.

Violet remained stiff until releasing a slow breath, allowing her head to lean against Mama’s.

“Perhaps I should not have interfered,” Mama whispered. “But, my darling, Cyril was equally concerned for your future. He’d expressed his warring desires, both to make you his future and not to hobble your passions. We both, he and I, knew marriage might probably lead to the latter.”

“You were wrong, Mama.” Violet remembered her volatile argument with Cyril. “Any man who is at war with himself over whether to give a woman freedom or marriage would be thefirstman I would attach myself to.”

After several moments of silence, Mama squeezed her tighter. “How is it that your wisdom surprises me?”

Violet barked a laugh and withdrew from Mama’s embrace. She swiped a finger under her eyes and sniffled. “Wisdom? Mama, I have been playing a game with a grown man, and for what? To prove that I can win? To prove that I am best?” She shook her head. “I am not the best. Cyril will always be the best. The best heart. The bestperson. As soon as Father brought Cyril into this position, I knew he would be the best person for the job. It’s whyit hurt so much. It’s why I raged against it. I’d lost before I had a chance.”

Mama was shaking her head, but Violet continued, bracing her own middle with both arms. “If I had the power to turn this school’s leadership over to anyone, it would be Cyril Burke.” She took another deep breath and let it out. “This position will help his family … whether or not they lose their father …” Violet straightened her shoulders and dropped her hands. “I will give it up. I’ll forfeit to Cyril. Now.”

Mama stepped toward her, an argument on her lips, Violet was certain, but Violet stepped back. “No. I’m determined. You call me wise, but I’ve been behaving like a child. It’s time I grew up.”

Instead of the anxious need to prove herself and the devastation she thought she might feel should she lose this fight, Violet felt a surprising release. She filled her lungs as though breathing in light itself. “But don’t think forone minutethat I won’t be teaching here. That I won’t be pushing my ideas into all decision-making.” Her throat tightened with a grief she accepted. “I think I’ve earned that.”

Mama made to speak again, and Violet shook her finger. Laughter choked her words. “I’m reaching for that wisdom you’ve so recently attached to me. You cannot dispute my decisions after doing so.” She pushed another tear away with her handkerchief.

Mama sighed and met her gaze. “I suppose not. I only mean to warn you.”

Violet lifted her brows, curious.

“I don’t know how we will endure your father’s boasting, nor how disappointing it will be that he should celebrate his own child’s defeat. Next, before you give up entirely, please consider the regret that might come later. Trust me when I say, regretbecomes an immovable wedge if allowed too much time and heft. It can destroy a living, viable thing more thoroughly than one swift blow.”

Violet frowned. Her mother was speaking from experience, she was certain. Had her parents once shared happiness—even love? And allowed it to succumb to something as seemingly marginal as regret?

“And lastly,” Mama continued, “I can’t imagine Mr. Burke accepting your forfeit. He is as stubborn as you are, make no mistake.”

Violet put her hands to her hips. “No one is as stubborn as I am, Mama. That is a crown I shall likely always wear.”

Mama laughed gently and leaned closer. “Really? Ask him about violin lessons sometime.” She arched a brow with a nod.

Violet narrowed her gaze. “Violin lessons? How odd you should mention that. I caught him playing today. Before I told him of his father.”

“Oh?” Mama turned and went to tidy up the music on the piano.

Violet followed her. “Yes. I’d always understood Cyril had quit. He’d quit the instrument just as I was beginning to reach his abilities. And today he was playing as if he’d never set the instrument down. No, he was playing as though he’d continued to study and had become infinitely better.” Her mother moved to return the music to its shelf, but Violet reached for her arm and held it. “And, apparently, you have insight as to why.”

Mama lowered her gaze.

“Mama, I will not be asking Cyril about violin lessons. I’m asking you.”

Mama turned and rose to her full height, meeting Violet eye-to-eye. “Very well. In the weeks before Cyril quit his lessons, yourinstructor, Mr. Worthing, had begun to quietly express his desire to challenge Cyril further, while at the same time hinting to him that it would be a waste to impart more instruction on you. Because, as a young lady of gentle breeding, you could do nothing of much importance with the skill. I was unaware of these murmurings. Mr. Worthing had always appeared solicitous. But little did he understand the singular connection between his pupils. Rather than have your brilliance shaded, Cyril made his own decision to withdraw from Mr. Worthing’s tutelage. Cyril then came to me and explained the situation. A month later, if you’ll recall, we took on a new violin instructor altogether.”

“Mr. Topham.”

Mama nodded sagely. “Doing thus, we denied Mr. Worthing two of his most promising—and lucrative—clients.”

“And Cyril?”

“He took up his study at university. He never gave it up.”

“But … why couldn’t we have continued on together with a new instructor?”