Page 76 of Enchanted Village

“We’ll help,” she said. “I promise.”

Margaret’s hand shook under Liza’s, but she smiled. She felt truly hopeful for the first time, like a stone had been lifted off her chest.

The door opened suddenly, making Margaret straighten up and Liza turn on her stool. Margaret’s face had brightened, expecting Silas, but he wasn’t there.

It was a trio: Sarah, Old Man Weatherby, and the hippogriff caretaker. The three of them looked around, and Margaret had a horrible moment when she expected them to leave.

“You’re open?” Old Man Weatherby gruffed. “Because I need a drink.”

Margaret met his eyes, and she knew he saw the tears still sparkling in hers. But he didn’t say anything. And honestly, to an outsider, she would’ve said he didn’t look at all soft. His face kept its usual pinch.

And yet, there, in his eyes, she saw warmth.

The three of them ordered drinks, then moved to settle into chairs in front of the fire. Sarah took out cards. Old Man Weatherby complained about people stealing his trash cans. The hippogriff caretaker—Margaret found out his name was Mervin—said her drinks were the best he’d ever had.

It wasn’t her usual crowd. It was barely a crowd at all. But they were here.

“You’ve got something special here, dear,” Sarah said when she came by to check on them. “Don’t you forget that.”

Margaret’s heart swelled. She went back to the bar, with Liza, and for the first time, she dreamed of what the pub could look like if she did it her way. She even got out parchment paper and sketched.

“I’m thinking we open up the kitchen,” she said. “Liza, you could do that, couldn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Liza said. “You just say the word, and we’ll start expanding.”

Bernie zoomed over and landed on her shoulder, tapping a corner with her tail.

“You want your own spot?” Margaret asked.

“Uh, then I get a spot for some books,” Liza insisted. “A little free library for the pub.”

Imogen looked over. “Oh, that’s a good idea.”

And so it went until closing, sketching and dreaming, and by the time everyone but Liza had left, Margaret’s heart was full.

She couldn’t wait to tell Silas. She couldn’t wait to start the work together.

And so, after she’d said goodbye to Liza, she changed out of her work clothes and into her pajamas, and she got under her old patchwork quilt, feeling that soft buzz of anticipation that told her she was doing the right thing.

Change was good, she told herself. She glanced at the picture on her dresser, the one of her, her mother, and her grandmother, and smiled.

They would be proud of her.

And that was the thought that carried her to sleep.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

It was another sleepless night for Silas.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to go to the pub, not even after he had hurried Wyatt out of the garden and seen to it that his uncle kept a close eye on the boy after Silas made him the damn hot chocolate. Truthfully, he didn’t even think Wyatt gave a damn at that point.

Why, why had Wyatt followed him? And why hadn’t Silas been more careful? Margaret had entrusted him with a secret going back literal generations, and within a day—within a day!—Silas had accidentally shared that secret.

It hadn’t been intentional, and it was Wyatt. Margaret doted on Wyatt. They both had a vested interest in seeing that the boy was safe. Margaret would understand, wouldn’t she?

But Silas knew this was a line she had never imagined he would cross. After all, not even Liza knew about the garden. Liza, who had known Margaret since they were children. For a matter of hours, Silas had held something precious for Margaret. And in record time, he had wrecked it.

It wasn’t all bad. This was Wyatt, Silas reasoned. Shy, scared-of-his-own-shadow Wyatt. Wyatt had been impressed by the garden, but who wouldn’t be? He’d assured Silas that he wouldn’t go there again, that he wouldn’t say a word to Margaret. That he understood the garden was precious.