Free Bride of a Distant Isle by Sandra Byrd

at school, but no supplement to my stipend would be required. I should simply have to make myself indispensable to Edward until a governess arrangement appeared. He could certainly not disapprove. I would be financially self-sustaining, which is what they wanted.
    Wasn’t it?
    I thought of the quiet mention of Edward’s owed debts, by Clementine, Mr. Morgan, and Edward, and wondered if they meant financial obligations or personal ones. How did Edward intend to pay the last type?
    Through me? I did not think I would mention my ad until an enquiry arrived.
    I headed home, stopping near Highcliffe to sketch the sea at a spot not far from where Mr. Morgan had trapped me only one month earlier. How long did I have until he returned? I shivered, though it was warm, and then sat down on a stump before pulling out my sketchbook and a stick of charcoal from my satchel. I began drawing the Edge of the World, as we’d called it when we were children, in the distance, where the land seemed to drop straight into the sea. The sheep gamboled nearby, and I waved again at the young lass tending them.
    Within a few minutes, the young shepherdess came running toward me, brown, beribboned plaits bobbing behind her.
    â€œHello, my name is Miss Annabel Ashton,” I said. “I don’t recognize you. What is your name?”
    She shook her head and made a motion of pursing her lips, then shook her head again. I tilted my head toward her.
    â€œYou don’t speak, then? You’re mute?”
    She nodded, and hurriedly pointed to a sheep that had wandered near the ledge. She made motions to indicate she was going to fetch the sheep, and could I take her staff and not allow the other sheep to wander?
    â€œShall I fetch the sheep for you, instead?” I offered. “I don’t mind.”
    She vigorously shook her head no. I agreed, reluctantly. It didn’t seem right letting a child take the risk, but she was certainly more sure-footed and knowledgeable of the trails than I was.
    She made her way to the bleating, confused little lamb and knelt. She did not send her dog, which perhaps would have startled the young lamb over the edge. Just went by herself, low and beckoning. And the sheep, which well knew her, came her way to safety. She was wise; the sheep certainly would not have come to me.
    She returned to me, and the little lamb ran to the summoning bleat of its mother.
    â€œWell done,” I commended. I quickly sketched a picture of her into the field of sheep I’d already drawn. I titled it The Lost Lamb and Her Courageous Rescuer , and read that aloud as I did not know if she could read. I tore it out of my notebook and handed it over. She grinned at me and nodded, then relieved me of her staff and went on her way.
    As I made my way back to the house, a sudden and unsettling, even ominous, feeling overtook me. I looked at the sky, a bolt of lightning splitting a black cloud hovering over the water in a summer squall. An omen? Come now, Annabel , I reasoned with myself. Mr. Morgan and his talk of omens had tainted my mind. There is nothing to be concerned about. You’ve made some fine arrangements and shall soon hear back from your advertisement. But the shadows persisted, dogging me.
    Perhaps it was because the young girl and the sheep had been so close to danger. Perhaps the situation only reminded me of Mr. Morgan, trapping me nearby some weeks before. I tried to shake off the gloom, so unworthy of a summer day, but found I could not; it clung to me like my clothes, moist with the day’s humidity.
    I walked up the steps, opened the door to the foyer, and put down my case. I spied Edward in the library not far off, home again, his voice carrying, but happily. Clementine was with him. I stepped toward them; she did not look at or greet me, which was odd. Maybe they’d had a row.
    Edward summoned me. I went into the room and stood before him; his wife had abruptly stopped talking as I had