Chapter Five: Adara

“What are you wearing?”

My sister Fawna smiled and laughed as I stepped through our front door.

I laughed, too, looking down at the oversized sweater that had kept me warm during my walk home from Dane Wiltshire’s beach.

I struck a model’s pose, hand on my hip, head thrown back. “Don’t I look lovely?” I giggled.

My mother spoke up from her place near the front door. Annoyed, her face was pinched into a frown. “You look hideous. I hope no one saw you wearing that monstrosity.”

But Father defended me. As always. “Veralee, who cares?” He shrugged. The night air is cold. I’m glad to see Adara in something warm. We don’t want our daughter turning to a block of ice, do we?”

He gave a forced chuckle, and Mother shrank into the cushions of our well-worn sofa. Father was the only one on Vukasin Island who could shut her up, and she often needed to be silences.

He rose from his easy chair and stepped forward, tilting his head to examine the toggles on the front of Dane’s sweater. “Where did you get this?” He touched the sleeve.

All eyes—Mother’s, Father’s, and Fawna’s—were on me, awaiting an answer, and now my other sister, Emmalina, was peering down the staircase, over the railing from the landing.

Of course, she, too, was staring at me.

I knew my family wouldn’t approve of my answer. Although I could count on Fawna not to be too judgmental until she’d heard the whole story.

Dane Wiltshire was hated by the common people of Vukasin Island. Everyone, including my family, saw him as elitist, arrogant, and self-absorbed.

I had, just a half hour earlier, seen a far different side of him. A side that was thoughtful. And kind. And generous—as evidenced by the very sweater that I was about to take off and hang in the hall closet. . . .  

I inhaled, and then I said quietly, “Dane Wiltshire.”

“Dane Wiltshire!” Emmalina exclaimed with astonishment. She skipped down the stairs to join in the conversation. Her blue eyes twinkled with excitement under long black lashes. Excitement at the prospect of a family fight.

Especially a fight aimed at me.

The others were too shocked to reply. Their mouths gaped open.

Finally, Father spoke. “Where, how, did you encounter him, Dane Wiltshire? He rarely leaves his house. He’s a recluse—”

“He’s not a recluse.” Mother loved to argue. “He’s just too much of a snob to rub shoulders with the hoi polloi. The only type recluse he would be is a brown recluse, the poisonous spider.” She chuckled at her own joke.

Everyone else was silent.

“But where? How?” Father asked again.

By now I was shrugging off the oversized garment.

“Yes, where?” Emmalina was always eager for gossip. “Addie,” she always called me that, “we’re dying of curiosity. Where did you run into Mr. Wiltshire? And how did you get him to give up his sweater.”

“I’m sure he has several of them,” Fawna answered.

Her expression told me she was wondering the same thing but was too polite to ask.

“I went for a walk.”

Mother was quick to argue. “And Mr. Wiltshire was out walking?” Her voice was almost a screech. She gave a “harumph” sound, scoffing at my words. “I don’t believe it?”

I looked at her, ready to say, “Are you calling me a liar, Mother?” But I held my tongue.

Father raised his hand. “Let Adara speak.” He lowered himself into his easy chair. Sometimes his back ached from long hours at the counter in his hardware store.

I smiled at him. “Mr. Wiltshire was not out walking. I was walking, as I said. I strolled past his estate. Along the beach.”

“Mon Repos,” said father. “That’s the name of the place. His estate. Dane Wiltshire's home.”

“And isn’t it just like him to give his house a fancy French name that no one understands?” This from Mother, of course.

“It means ‘My Repose,’” Fawna said gently. “Or ‘My Resting Place.’”

“Then why not name it that in English,” Mother snapped.

Fawna gave me a little smile and winked. I knew she was laughing inwardly, we both were, at our mother’s irrationally hostile attitude.

We were used to it.

“So you went for a walk? I hope you stayed on the wet part of the sand,” Mother said.

“Yes. The last thing we need is to have the island’s Alpha lodge a complaint against Adara for trespassing.” Emmalina laughed from her place at the bottom of the staircase, where she stood leaning over the rail.

“Adara’s a sensible girl.” Father nodded. “She knows the rules.”

I nodded back, smiling.

“But how did Mr. Dane Wiltshire come to lend you that sweater.” Mother held out her hand. “Give it to me. Now.”

I hesitated.

“Give it.” She snapped the fingers of her outstretched hand.

I passed it to her.

“It’s of good quality,” she admitted, shaking it for emphasis. “Cashmere. Probably.” She stroked the material and examined the toggles. “Mr. Wiltshire requires the best of everything.” She sniffed, derisively.

“Why not?” Father put on his spectacles and lifted the evening paper from the table beside him. “He can afford it.”

“You’re defending him?” Mother was indignant.

“I’m neither defending nor attacking anyone, Veralee.” He gave me an exasperated glance and opened the paper, to hide behind it.

I’d had enough by now. I brought the conversation to a close. “He saw me from his veranda, noticed I was cold, and offered me the sweater.” I took it from mother and stepped to the hall closet, ready to hang it up. Then I thought better, for fear of stretching it, and folded it, and put it on the top shelf.

Mother watched me and sniffed again with disdain.

She could be trying at times. Especially when the subject of Dane Wiltshire was in the air. Yes, she despised him. Though he’d never done her any wrong that I knew of.

I closed the closet door. “End of conversation. Let’s be done with it.”

Everyone was silent.

But it wasn’t finished. It wasn’t the end of conversations with my family about Dane Wiltshire.

And I wasn’t “done with it.”

Not one bit.

Not at all.