Change of Heart (20 page)

CHAPTER

E
VELYN RETURNED TO THE FARM
around eleven and resisted the urge to crack open the container of peppermint stick right there and eat the whole thing for lunch. Instead, she shoved it in the freezer and went outside to drink in the day, but the partially open mailbox beside the door caught her attention.

Whit had installed it a few weeks after she arrived so he didn’t have to disturb her when he needed to drop off her mail. Thoughtful, she realized now that she held a piece of mail with Casey’s return address on it.

Evelyn turned the envelope over and tore it open. She skimmed the letter, but the words
divorce
and
final
were the only ones that registered. Casey must’ve called in a few favors
 
—the ninety-day “cooling-off period” had barely passed.

Did that mean she was officially single? Somehow she’d begun to think of herself that way the day she left her wedding ring on the banister of the courtroom.

She spotted Lilian near the stables. Her time on the farm had revealed many things, not the least of which was the amount of work it took to keep the place running. Her ideas for the farm were good ones but would require more from people already giving 100 percent.

They would also require teamwork, which was why she wanted to be sure things were okay between her and Lilian.

When Evelyn reached the stables, Lilian stopped brushing one of the horses
 
—Dusty
 
—and squinted in her direction. “You look skinny.”

Evelyn glanced down at her body. She supposed it was true. She hadn’t been eating well. Some days hardly at all. “Stress is a great diet.”

Lilian stroked Dusty. “You need to eat. Can’t believe Trevor hasn’t forced you to come have lunch with us again.”

Evelyn tried not to take that personally.

“Today at noon. Meet us in the white barn.” She ran a thick brush along Dusty’s back. “I made pulled pork.”

“Do you do that often?”

“Three times a week,” Lilian said. “Trevor’s dad
 
—my brother-in-law
 
—started the tradition with his staff. Said the team who ate together stayed together.”

“It must be a lot of work feeding everyone like that,” Evelyn said. “But it’s a great idea.”

“Don’t give me any of the credit,” Lilian said. “It was all Trevor’s idea to carry on the tradition.”

That didn’t surprise her.

“Can I help out here?” Evelyn asked.

Two men were working in the stables behind Lilian. She glanced their way, then back at Evelyn as if she had no idea what to do with her request. “We’re getting ready for the farmers’ market this weekend.”

Evelyn nodded, hopeful that meant Lilian had thought of a way she could help. It had been too long since she’d felt truly useful. Working for Abigail had been a great distraction, but the job was only part-time, so her schedule was far from booked.

Lilian nodded toward a garden beside the stables. “Do you like weeding?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never tried it before.”

The older woman stifled a laugh, reminding Evelyn again of the gap between their two lives. “Come with me.”

Evelyn did as she was told, following Lilian past the greenhouse and down to the garden. By this point in the summer, Lilian’s skin had turned a deep bronze, though years in the sun had wrinkled her a bit.

“Here, put these on.” She handed Evelyn a pair of gloves. “You just go through each section and pull out the weeds.”

She looked at the rows of vegetables, so carefully planted. “What if I pull the wrong thing?”

Lilian put a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. “This isn’t rocket science, Ev. You’ll be fine.”

Evelyn wasn’t so sure. She’d always lived by the rules, and Christopher had given them to her. Before they married, it was her father’s orders she carried out. She’d spent the past weeks wondering where that left her. How did she move on without instructions?

Lilian knelt beside a bushy green plant. “This is lettuce.”

Evelyn frowned. “Really?”

She laughed. “Yes.” She gently moved the plant aside and showed Evelyn where the weeds were sprouting. “These are weeds.”

Evelyn nodded. She saw the difference. Lilian yanked the weeds away and threw them aside. “You gonna be okay?”

“I think so.”

And with that, Lilian returned to Dusty, leaving Evelyn alone to figure out how to weed the rest of the garden.

Slowly, with the sun beating on her shoulders, Evelyn went to work, praying she didn’t somehow mess this up. She knew Whitney Farms had a reputation at the Loves Park Farmers’ Market, and she didn’t want to be the reason they showed up empty-handed that week.

One by one, she pulled the weeds that threatened their vegetables. She didn’t know much about farming or soil or working with her hands, but she knew if the weeds stayed, they would choke the plants, making it impossible for them to grow.

She moved down the row of lettuce and over to another row of something she didn’t recognize. Carefully, she determined which greens were good and which were invading the plants’ territory. Then she pulled out what didn’t belong.

As she worked, Trevor’s words rushed back at her.

“Figure it out.”

Had he meant them to be harsh? Unfeeling? They jabbed at her now, poking around the open wound of her failed marriage, leaving her to wonder what she could’ve done to keep Christopher from cheating.

What if she’d been prettier? More adventurous? What if she’d sold out completely to his life in the public eye? Would he have been faithful then?

Their life had been so full of promise.

“You’ll never have to worry about money, Evelyn. That means you can stay home and paint to your heart’s content,” he’d told her the night he proposed. “I can provide for you
 
—a good future.” He kissed her. “Let me make all your dreams come true.”

She wrapped her arms around him and gave in to his kiss. What he promised
was
exactly what she’d dreamed of, and she loved Christopher. Everyone did. Even her parents eventually came around, though sometimes she wondered if their initial reservations about the relationship had been true.

“You’re too young to get married. Don’t rush into this. What’s the hurry?”

She’d grown so tired of trying to please a father who would never be happy with her. She’d grown weary of trying to make up for all their family had lost when Sylvie died. She could no longer bear the burden of her shame, which only grew every time she saw that look of loss in her mother’s eyes.

She wasn’t the daughter they wanted, and she knew it.

But the reality of her life after they’d married was much different from the one Christopher had promised.

Only months after their wedding, he’d come home to find her deep in her sketchbook on the back porch. It was a couple weeks after her only solo art show at the Loves Park Gallery in Old Town, and she’d had requests for new work. The first show had been so successful, they wanted her to do another one. They’d written about her in the newspaper, and for the first time, Evelyn felt like a real artist. Her success had awakened another hope inside her
 
—to illustrate the children’s book she’d been visualizing for months.

She’d been thankful for the creative boost that gave her the courage to stop dragging her feet, and even more thankful for a husband whose work afforded her the opportunity to stay home and pursue this dream.

But something changed that day.

“This is where I left you this morning.” Christopher’s tone accused.

“It was a perfect day for sketching,” she said, still excited about all she’d accomplished. “The gallery asked for more pieces. I think I might need to look into an actual studio space. Can you imagine?” The thought made her giddy.

Christopher didn’t respond.

“I didn’t even get to the gallery pieces today.” She held the sketchbook up for him to see. “What do you think? Tomorrow I’ll be ready to add the ink.” This children’s book had been a dream of hers, and while she was interested in another show at the gallery, her heart was wrapped up in the idea of illustrating a story, and she had interest from a publisher in Denver.

He drew in a breath, his body tense.

“What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t going to work, Evelyn.” He faced her, hands on his hips. His stance reminded her of her father, who barked orders like the drill sergeant he was, but who had never been anything more than an authority figure to her.

She set the sketch pad down and straightened. “What’s not?”

“I thought you’d realize what I need in a wife
 
—and be that.”

She swallowed. “I don’t understand, Christopher.” Her pulse raced. She didn’t want to let him down. She didn’t want to let anyone down. She’d spent her whole life doing what was expected, making decisions based on obligation
 
—but he’d given her permission, for the first time, to follow her heart.

Was he going to take that permission away?

“I didn’t think you’d be so caught up in this art thing, Evelyn. It’s not a real job. If anyone is going to take me seriously as a politician, then I need a wife who can play the part.”

She felt her shoulders slump at his admission, which sounded a bit like a threat. “You want me to stop painting?”

“I want you to make an effort. Look at you.”

Evelyn shrank under his stare, aware of her disheveled appearance, her torn jeans. “I was working today.”

He shook his head, expression disapproving. “You have to decide if this
 
—” he waved his hand in the air at her as if she were a visual aid in a speech he was giving
 
—“is who you want to be.”

She stood. “This is who I am, Christopher.” Her words lacked conviction and she knew it. He knew it. In truth, she didn’t know who she was
 
—she’d always relied on other people to tell her.

“I’m going to run for senate as soon as I’m eligible. I want to be the governor someday. If you want to be the woman by my side, then we need to make some changes.”

She glanced at the sketch pad, the image of her main character staring back at her.
Silly Lily
would be the story of a goofy little girl who lived her life outside the lines. Evelyn had sketched out plenty of mischief for her character, yet it struck her in that moment that she had no business writing about someone who lived a nonsensical life. She’d only ever lived inside the lines.

“What do you want me to change?” she asked, sadness winding its way around her.

“Your clothes, for starters.” Christopher folded his arms. “And I know you’d rather stay home all day, but you’re going to have to make some public appearances. Do some charity work, join a board or two. Our life is about public service now.”

She swallowed the lump that had formed at the base of her throat and pictured the image she’d drawn of a curly-headed girl with freckles on her nose. She’d fallen in love with her Lily, and Christopher was going to take her away.

“I’ll make you an appointment with my stylist. She’ll know what to do with you.”

She remained under his watchful eye for several long seconds, the kind of seconds that ticked by slowly as humiliation did a number on her confidence. He reached over and grabbed the sketch pad, examining the image she’d finished only moments before.

“This was never going to be published anyway, Evelyn.” She read pity on his face as if he felt sorry for her
 
—his naive wife who dared to dream a ridiculous dream.

Who did she think she was, anyway?

He tossed the sketch pad onto the chair and squeezed her shoulder. “Also, I know some of your friends like to call you Evie, but I think we need to insist that they use your full name. Evelyn is elegant and classic.” He wrapped his arms around her and softened his tone. “You need to correct them from now on, okay? We can’t have the press latching on to anything other than what we want them to.”

His unwanted kiss took her off guard. She forced herself to kiss him back, but inside, her stomach wrenched.

Now tears stung her eyes as she continued pulling weeds from around the fragile vegetables. Tiny weeds that threatened to do so much damage if they weren’t removed.

The small sacrifices she’d made along the way had done the same thing to her life. They’d passed by unnoticed at first, but because they’d gone unattended for so long, they’d grown up taller than she could manage. It hadn’t taken long for them to strangle her.

It hadn’t taken Christopher long to turn her into the wife he wanted. Compliant. Obedient. Silent.

The life he said she would have was not the life he’d provided. He’d lied to her
 
—and in so many ways that infuriated her even more than the cheating, more than his lack of remorse.

He’d stolen her dreams, but the harsh reality was, she’d let him.

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as the memory of her so-called ridiculous goals entered her mind. The publisher in Denver eventually stopped calling, and Christopher eventually packed away her sketch pad, replacing it with a date book full of obligations.