Sneak Peek at A Forgiving Heart

A Forgiving Heart, book two in the Seasons of Change multi-author series, is a story about forgiveness and the way choices can have a great impact on these characters' lives.
Keep reading for a sneak peek into the first few chapters of this book!

Chapter One
Kate

The sun shone on nine-year-old Kate’s pale skin and warmed her soul as thoroughly as it did her body. The empty basket swung from her fingertips as she strolled along the open country lane, relishing the solitary freedom and keeping an eye out for the split tree she had overheard Uncle’s servants talk about. 
She needed to hurry. If Uncle knew she was outside unaccompanied and not locked in that wretched schoolroom upstairs with nasty Mrs. Herman, he would take a switch to her backside in a heartbeat. She’d learned that the hard way when she first came to Split Tree Manor six weeks ago. 
Six weeks. Longer than a month since she’d felt the sun on her skin or breathed crisp, clean air outside. For a child so used to playing out of doors when the chores were finished, Uncle’s strict rules forbidding Kate to leave the house were nearly tortuous. And this momentary reprieve, her clean escape after Mrs. Herman fell asleep in the middle of the afternoon, was a balm. She drew in a deep breath. Whatever punishment awaited her return was worth this gulp of fresh air.
A stilted bird call sounded in the distance and wind rustled through the tall grass, but all thoughts of wildlife and scenery left Kate when the infamous split tree came into sight. There, off to the right of the lane was the glorious tree, with not one but two trunks shooting out of the base in a slight “v” formation. Kate gawked up at the biological marvel. She hadn’t seen anything quite so amazing in all of her nine years.
Removing the small, blank book from her apron pocket, Kate sketched a rough picture of the tree before including the rolling hills behind it and the country lane beside. She added in the plump blackberry bushes on the opposite side of the road before closing her book and tucking her lead pencil into her hair.
Scooping up the empty basket, Kate skipped over to the blackberry bushes and gathered as many berries as she could without staining her dress. She was faintly aware of the sun moving along the sky, but the berries were so ripe and juicy, more of them were making their way into her mouth than into the basket. Glancing over her shoulder, she drew in a quick breath, noticing how low the sun had fallen.
She needed to return to Split Tree Manor, and fast. Uncle never allowed her to leave the house, and if he noticed she was missing, she would certainly regret it.
Turning back for the lane, Kate heard the same bird call she’d heard before followed by a chorus of laughter. It sounded like boys, but could it be children? Perhaps there was another girl her own age who lived nearby.
Was there time to investigate? Her gaze dragged from the lane which led back to Split Tree Manor to the woods just beyond the hedge of blackberry bushes. The thick copse of trees beckoned her with their intrigue, dim and deep. 
Curiosity ever her downfall, Kate tucked the basket neatly under the bushes before tiptoeing into the dense forest. She could be quick about it. The bird call sounded again, followed by more laughter, and Kate took careful, soft steps toward the noises. 
The less muffled the sounds became, the quieter Kate made herself. Two boys appeared on the bank of a small creek, a few years her senior, at least. Crouching behind a green bush littered with small, purple berries, Kate peeked through the leaves to watch them. She swallowed hard at the sight of the boys, quite savage with their shirts stripped off and cases of arrows slung over their bare shoulders. They took turns shooting at a birch tree and missing by a large margin. 
Pulling back on his arrow, one of the boys tilted it higher, shooting it to the uppermost branches. Losing the arrow among the branches, he scowled, and Kate squinted to see better through the bush. 
A faint bird call floated through the air, followed by tiny baby bird chirps. Mocking calls made by one of the savage boys met her ears and she shivered. They docked more arrows and aimed them at the nest.
What animals!
Kate stood to intercede, indignation coursing through her, when something fell on the top of her head. She rubbed her skull, lifting the piece of tree bark that had fallen on her and tossing it aside. 
The larger of the two golden-haired savages was aiming his arrow once again. How could he purposefully hurt a nest of baby birds? She opened her mouth to call to him when she was pelted with multiple pieces of tree bark. 
That was no accident.
Kate looked up this time, sweeping her gaze over the tree. She saw nothing but a canopy of tree leaves and branches. Shaking her head to loosen any remaining bark, she took a step away from the bush and collapsed when something hard hit her square between the shoulders. Ouch. That was certainly too hard to be tree bark.
Sprawled on her hands and knees, she scrambled to her feet and cringed at the mud smeared across her pinafore. There would be no hiding this mess from Uncle. She searched the branches above her, shielding her eyes from more falling debris. They appeared empty. 
Another horrid attempt at a bird call pulled her attention toward the savage boys. She had to do something. 
A quiet whistle reached her, and she whipped her head up again. A small hand waved from within the branches nearly at the top of the tree. She couldn’t quite make out anything beyond the waving hand at first, but her eyes focused, and she narrowed her gaze on brown breeches and a shoeless foot dangling from a high branch. 
A boy hid, perched in the branches, his thin face angled toward her, eyes wide with fright. Was he afraid of the savages, or afraid for Kate? Regardless, the magnitude of his fear was warning enough for her, and she crouched down behind the bush once again, watching helplessly as the two older boys shot arrow after arrow at the poor defenseless bird and her chicks.
Time stretched slowly, dragging on before the boys ran out of arrows. Instead of gathering what they had shot, they discarded their weapons, pulled shirts over their heads and turned to walk away from the scene—and directly toward Kate. 
She looked up to the branches. The shoeless boy put a single finger up to his lips, and she nodded. It would be a mistake to call out, but she desperately wanted to ask why he was hiding. Would the boys hurt him if they found him? Would they hurt her?
Crouching lower into the bush, she squeezed her eyes shut as the sound of boots crunching twigs grew steadily louder in her ears. 
“Charles, take a look,” a voice said directly beside her.
Her shoulders jerked in surprise, startled to hear the refined accent of the upper class on so savage a boy. But a peek at the blond boys’ clothing revealed quality fabric and well cared for boots. Though, the credit for the shine to the boots likely went to their servants. 
Kate shuddered before peeking into the face of the one called Charles and immediately wished she hadn't. His expression was a display of mild curiosity, but within his eyes was a gleam which she recognized from Uncle. 
Hate.
“I see,” Charles said in an uncomfortably tranquil tone. “Looks like we’ve found a lost little girl in need of a helping hand. Shall we help her?”
“I’m not lost,” Kate said belligerently before snapping her mouth closed. If Uncle’s switch had taught her anything, it was that talking back only made things worse.
The savages looked at one another in silent conversation before narrowing in on her once again. 
Charles, obviously the leader, said, “You’re on our land. Do you know what the penalty is for trespassing, little girl?”
Kate tried not to cringe as Charles’s breath washed over her face. He had evidently eaten fish and had chosen to skip cleaning his teeth afterward. She edged back into the bush as far as she could but immediately saw the mistake of boxing herself in. Quick thinking had always been Kate’s saving attribute, and she glanced around to see what she had at her disposal. Her small fingers felt behind her until they closed around a shoe. 
It took all of her self-control not to glance up at the boy in the branches and his stockinged foot. This must be his shoe; it was too random, otherwise. She wanted to commend his quick thinking, for he must have tossed the shoe at Kate when the bark hadn’t done the trick. 
Taking a quick glance behind the boys, she routed her escape, and with an arm quick as lightning, she flung the shoe into Charles’s face and took off in the direction of the blackberry bushes.
Footsteps thundered behind her, and Kate hiked up her skirt to run faster, zigzagging a path through the woods. She glanced over her shoulder to gauge her attackers’ distance and before she knew it, her foot snagged on a root, the ground rushing up and colliding with the side of her head. 
Pushing up from the dirt forest floor, she groaned. Her ears rang, and the entire left side of her face throbbed where dirt and small rocks had scraped it raw. Something warm and wet dripped into her eye, but she wiped it with her sleeve and tried not to panic at the sight of blood. 
The pounding grew louder as she pushed herself into a seated position. 
“Grab her!” Charles yelled as his minion crashed toward her. The other boy came behind and grabbed both of her arms, yanking her to stand and pinning her hands behind her back. 
She winced when Charles stepped up to her, holding the shoe she’d thrown in his face. Looking Charles in the eye, she swallowed a smile. A faint blue bruise was already beginning between his nose and right eye, and Kate imagined it would only grow with time. 
“Where is he?” Charles asked through his teeth, his face distorted in anger.
Kate swallowed. She glanced at the empty forest on either side of Charles before trying to look over her shoulder at the boy who held her back. 
“Not my brother, you nitwit,” Charles said in exasperation. He held up the shoe and spoke again, enunciating each word laced with anger. “Where is he?”
Realization dawned. He was asking about the little boy hiding in the tree. Kate lifted her chin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Charles’s minion tightened his hold on her arms, and she cried out. 
“Tell me where the little brat is!” Charles shouted. 
Kate dropped her head to protect herself in what little way she could. She wasn’t quick enough, for Charles pelted the shoe at her stomach and she let out a cry that reverberated among the trees.
Kate felt the slightest slack of the minion’s hold on her arms. “Charles, maybe we should—” His voice just behind her ear was softer than she’d expected. She wanted to turn around and look in his eyes, to see if they held the same hate as his brother’s.
“No,” Charles cut him off, his voice steel. “I will find him.”
Kate was terrified, but not for herself. She had lived through her share of bullying and was tough enough to get through this. She was worried for the boy. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but she’d seen that he was scrawny. A few good knocks from these larger boys and he’d be done in.
“You mean that little boy?” Kate said, breath heaving as she formulated a plan.
The minion stilled behind her, but she kept going. “The scrawny one, right?” Her gut roiled from bad-mouthing the boy, thus placing herself in league with the bullies. But this was the only way. “I saw him picking berries out by that weird tree. You know the one?”
“Yeah. Split Tree.” Charles nodded, too dumb to realize she was misleading him completely. 
“Right. The split tree.” 
“Well, go on,” Charles bellowed.
Kate tried to look over her shoulder again, but Charles’s brother wouldn’t slacken his hold on her arms. She swallowed and kept going, trying to sound as tough as the older girls she used to share a room with at the parish orphanage. “The little runt was eating the berries I picked so I pummeled him. I took his shoes for sport and threw one of them in the stream.”
A sick smile tilted Charles’s lips, and he locked eyes with his brother above her head. When he turned his attention back on Kate, she felt like she might vomit. “Where is he now?” Charles asked.
She tried to shrug. “I left him cryin’ by the berries last I know. Not too long ago, either.”
Charles flicked his head to indicate they should take off. 
Kate rolled her shoulders once she was released. She watched their burly forms head toward Split Tree and the blackberry bushes. The minion brother glanced over his shoulder and held her gaze. She was correct—he didn’t have the same evil in his blue-gray eyes. But regardless, she wouldn’t back down to a bully. She stood tall, watching him until he looked away.
A long sigh escaped her throat before a shudder joined it. She froze when Charles paused and turned back to her. 
“How do we know you aren’t lying?”
She pointed to the shoe lying on its side amidst the stones and twigs and lifted a tiny eyebrow. “How else would I have that?”
He seemed to accept this and jogged away, his brother falling in behind him. 
As soon as the savages were out of sight, Kate picked up the shoe and sprinted back to where she had last seen the boy up in the tree. She made it to the stream and searched the foliage. He was either very good at blending in, or he was gone.
“Thank you.”
Kate was startled by the voice behind her and spun around, ready to strike with the shoe once again. She let out a pent-up breath when she laid eyes on the sandy-haired boy before tossing his shoe to him.
“It was nothing,” she said with a shrug. 
His face was serious. “Not to me, it wasn’t.”
She smiled at him and tried to laugh, his somber tone leaving her uneasy. “They were just bullies.”
The boy looked past her to where the others had retreated and then focused on her face. “Come to the water and I’ll clean you up.”
“There is no need,” Kate said, shaking her head. “I’ve got to return before my uncle finds me missing or I’ll be back on chimney duty.” She shuddered. She needed to somehow burn her dress and create a new one, too. She didn’t have any more time to waste.
The boy nodded in understanding. “Bullies are everywhere, aren’t they?”
She didn’t know how to respond to this. It was true for her, but she somehow didn’t think the boy needed an answer. And she still had to find a way back to Split Tree Manor without going by the split tree or the blackberry bushes. She turned to leave, but the boy’s hand shot out and stopped her.
His gaze locked on her, rooting her to the spot. “Someday I will repay you for what you did for me.”
Kate scanned his face, trying to read through the intent and seriousness that belied his tender years. He had to be her age, at least, but he spoke so desperately.
She nodded slowly until he released her arm. Then she ran for the edge of the woods.

Chapter Two
Eleven years later
Kate

Leaning precariously over the edge of the ladder, Kate stretched her arm as far as it would go. The tips of her fingers brushed the rounded edge of a juicy plum that hung just out of reach. She had the ladder wedged securely against the trunk of the aged tree, but any more leaning could topple her in an instant. She pulled her arm back and shook it out as if that would add the needed length before trying for the fruit one last time. Her basket was full of enough juicy plums for Mrs. James to create at least four cakes for the school social, but that last plum would be a nice treat for Kate’s walk back.
She had a penchant for fruit of any variety. But this plum was so tantalizing—deep red with just the barest hint of violet. It was sure to be worth the effort.
She took a step up on the ladder and moved her foot to wedge it into the crook of a nearby branch. Reaching as far as her slender arms would go, she tapped the plum once and set it to swinging. Stretching just a little farther, her fingers found purchase on the fruit, and she plucked it from the branch. 
Slipping the plum into her apron pocket, Kate climbed down the ladder, jumping from the lowest rung with both feet onto the ground. It was a blessing the hedgerows separated the orchards from the main schoolyard, for if Mrs. Presley had seen Kate’s unladylike display, she would certainly be forced to sit through a lecture on the behavior befitting a head art teacher. Well, Kate was the only art teacher, but she accepted the title regardless. 
“Afternoon, Miss Kingston,” the groundskeeper called, lifting his cap. He rested against his shovel and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. 
“Good afternoon,” Kate said. She lifted her basket to show her bounty to the older man. “There is going to be plenty of plum cake for everyone at the school social. I hope to see you there.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” came the craggy reply.
Kate turned onto the lane that led to the school, biting into her juicy prize and wiping the drizzle from her chin with her wrist. She rounded the bend around the hedges and the school came into view—a two story gray brick building erected long ago as a manor house and repurposed as a school not thirty years prior. 
Nestled in the rolling countryside of Leicester, the county she had spent her entire life in, Lytle’s School for Girls was a wonderful place to work and a decent place to have spent her defining growing-up years. When Uncle had shipped her to this school, Kate hadn’t known she was never to return to his house, but it had turned out for the best. Regardless of Mrs. Presley’s stern rules and tightly run staff, there was kindness and joy to be found within the old, stone walls of the school. Kate had found her calling in teaching the finer points of drawing and watercolors to young minds and reveled in the ways her students blessed her soul every day. 
She took another bite from her plum and watched the activity as she neared the lawns in front of the school that were overrun with townsfolk setting up booths and preparing for their games. The social on the morrow was held annually by the school as a fundraising opportunity to assist those girls that could not afford full tuition, and it was a cause dear to Kate’s heart. One of Kate’s first and dearest friends from Lytle’s School for Girls had been one of the scholarship students. And though Emily was off using her hard-learned manners and propriety in London’s ballrooms, they had remained close friends.
The sticky syrup dripped down her fingers, and she tossed the plum pit into the slop bucket beside the back-kitchen door before doing her best to wipe her hand on her dirty apron.
“Now you set those plums down just on the table there and wash up,” Mrs. James said as she rolled out some kind of pastry dough on her worktable. Her youthful cheeks were rosy from exertion that caused her freckles to stand out all the more, and wisps of red hair escaped her cap to trail along her brow and neck. She wasn’t much older than Kate herself, but she sure could bake a grand pheasant pie. “Mrs. Presley was in here asking ‘bout you not ten minutes ago, so you best be getting yourself upstairs now.”
“Yes ma’am,” Kate said with a wink and a curtsy. She skirted the worktable as best she could but still felt the faint swat from the rolling pin on her behind.
Racing up the stairs to the staff bedrooms, she quickly removed her apron and hung it on a peg beside her door before pouring cold water into the basin on her washstand and cleaning her hands and face. Aside from one drip of plum juice on her collar, she was otherwise spotless, the apron having taken the brunt of the fruit-picking dirt, and she deemed herself acceptable to meet with Mrs. Presley before dinner.
On the landing outside of her room, Kate nearly ran into Lissie, the chambermaid for the teachers’ rooms, and quickly stepped back again.
“Sorry, ma’am.” Lissie bobbed a quick curtsy. “Mrs. Presley is waiting on you in her office. You’ve got a visitor.”
Kate had started toward the headmistress’s office but stopped short and spun back to the maid, her mouth going slack. “A visitor?”
“Yes’m. A handsome one too, if you don’t mind my saying,” Lissie added with a little grin. Kate absentmindedly shook her head and turned back toward the office, but her feet were fastened in place as though by paste. In her eight years at Lytle’s School for Girls, she had not once received a visitor. Not once. Even when Uncle had revoked his financial support upon her completion, he had delivered the news via note. The footman who had brought it from Split Tree Manor had not even felt the need to wait around until the note was in the proper hands.
“Right, then.” Kate took a deep breath and flurried down the stairs. 

***

The man standing in Mrs. Presley’s office with his hands clasped behind his back and his mustache carefully groomed was not what Kate would consider particularly handsome. He was not an ugly fellow by any means. His nose was straight and not overly large, and his wide eyes were a fair brown color. But his hair was too severe and his features too stiff. He seemed the preacher or lawyer type that didn’t smile often, and a face unused to smiling was not, in Kate’s opinion, a handsome one. With slight disappointment, she walked into the room after knocking lightly on the door.
“Miss Kingston, please come in.” Mrs. Presley gestured to the open seat across from her desk. Kate swept into the room and stood behind the chair with a healthy dose of uncertainty. With the stranger standing so tall beside her, she felt uneasy. Mrs. Presley soon took care of that situation as school headmistresses are easily capable of doing. “This is Mr. Montgomery, and he has come to see you on a matter of business.” Folding her hands together, she asked primly, “Shall I give you the room?” 
Kate gave her a beseeching glance. Was it childish to not want to meet with this man alone? For propriety’s sake alone, Mrs. Presley ought to stay.
“Or perhaps,” Mrs. Presley said as she walked around her desk and closed the door to her office slowly. “I shall remain.”
Kate’s shoulders relaxed. It was so like Mrs. Presley to be perceptive to the needs of others.
“The choice belongs to Miss Kingston, ma’am,” the stodgy Mr. Montgomery said, his voice as unremarkable as his face. He stepped to the chair beside Kate’s and waited for the ladies to take their seats before subtly flipping back the tails of his coat and perching on the edge of his chair. Kate stifled her mirth. He even acted without any embellishment. 
Mr. Montgomery turned to look her square in the face. “Miss Kingston, I have come to inform you that your uncle, Mr. Bartholomew Kingston, has died.”
Silence sat thick in the room as Kate absorbed the information, her surprise quickly deflating. She curled her hands around the arm rests on her straight, wooden chair and squeezed as hard as she could, willing herself to feel a measure of grief appropriate for such news. But nothing presented itself. After she felt like an acceptable amount of time had passed, she looked into Mr. Montgomery’s staid eyes and nodded. 
“Oh, right.” Mr. Montgomery seemed taken aback by her composure. Or was it simply her nod? He pulled out a folder of papers from a leather case and began sorting through them frantically as if he was not quite prepared for this part yet. She noticed a crisp white handkerchief float to the floor and cringed. The man had been prepared to offer it to her for her tears, most likely. Tears, for Uncle. Should she have cried? Perhaps it was expected, but she was never one to cry on cue. She would have made a wretched actress.
“I am here today on particular business for the law firm of Montgomery and Montgomery. We would like to first offer our sincerest condolences on the loss of your belov—” Mr. Montgomery cleared his throat awkwardly and redirected “—loss of your family member at this time. We are here to assist you in any way you deem necessary.”
“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery, that is most kind,” Mrs. Presley said, jarring Kate out of her stupor. She had forgotten that the headmistress was seated directly across from her, so preoccupied she was in her recollection of Split Tree Manor. She’d not allowed herself to think about the place in years. She had only one fond memory of it, and it involved seeing the manor out the back window of the carriage taking her away for the last time.
“Of course,” Mr. Montgomery nodded solemnly, “we had some trouble sorting the will and inheritance, which is why a few weeks passed before I could locate and inform you of the situation. I am afraid your uncle was buried a fortnight past in the local parish cemetery in Larkfield. The estate was not entailed, as I’m sure you are aware.”
“The estate?” Kate asked, her brow pulling down in confusion. 
“Split Tree Manor.”
“Yes,” she said, no less confused.
“The estate in all of its entirety, along with the sum set aside by your late father are now yours, except for…” He perused a document in front of him before tapping it once with his forefinger and grinning. “Any and all horses.”
“Any and all horses?” Kate was stunned. Surely she hadn’t followed Mr. Montgomery’s explanation very well. Baffled, she cleared her throat. “You are saying, sir, that I have inherited an estate from my uncle and a sum of money from my father, but not any horses?”
He delivered a self-satisfied smile. “Precisely.”
“Well, now that we’ve got that sorted,” she muttered to herself.
Quiet settled in the room. Mr. Montgomery looked through the documents on his lap, most likely trying to see if he’d missed anything. Mrs. Presley remained seated with her hands tightly clasped on her desk and her mouth pinched. Kate would have worried about her headmistress if that wasn’t her regular demeanor. 
Part of Kate felt an overwhelming rush of relief. Not that she’d inherited a dilapidated manor, no…that was not something she was ready to consider. She was relieved that the ever-looming man in the back of her mind was now gone. She had never actually believed Uncle would snatch her from her present life and thrust her back into one of servitude and isolation. But irrational fears were just that: irrational.
Mrs. Presley’s voice sliced through Kate’s musings. “Are you able to provide Miss Kingston with any numbers today? For the purpose of planning.”
“Oh, of course. Of course!” Mr. Montgomery hurriedly looked through his papers. He really was a bit unorganized, so perhaps he wasn’t entirely boring. “Let us see here…your father left you a sum total of ten thousand pounds to be—”
“Ten thousand pounds?” Mrs. Presley and Kate exclaimed in unison before glancing at one another briefly, both of their expressions laced with self-consciousness.
“—obtained upon your twentieth birthday or date of your marriage.” He looked up at Kate. “Of course you know about that. You've been benefitting from the interest for some time. Now, the matter of Split Tree Manor is a different conversation. It is my understanding that—”
“I am sorry, Mr. Montgomery, might we pause for a moment?” Kate crossed her ankles under her chair and clasped her hands together, only to release both of them, stand up, and walk to the window. The implications were clear, and Kate was intelligent enough to follow them quickly. Only, she didn’t want to believe them. Certainly her uncle wouldn’t have kept her inheritance from her. “Would you explain the concept of interest? You said I’ve been benefiting from the interest for some time, yet I am afraid I do not follow.” She tried to give Mr. Montgomery a sweet smile and was rewarded with a condescending one. He turned in his chair and let out a sigh as if he was preparing to address a child, lowering his voice a bit. 
Kate bristled but clenched her teeth and let her irritation pass. 
“Your father was the oldest son and heir to the estate of Split Tree Manor and all that his own father possessed. The estate was not entailed, so when your father and mother died, it was passed on to you. Of course, as you were only a small child at the time, the property was placed in the hands of your guardian until you were either married or turned the age of twenty.”
Despite her request for further understanding, Kate was no simpleton. If she’d heard the man correctly, then she should have gained the rights to manage Split Tree on her last birthday. An unwelcome snake coiled in her stomach. “But I’ve been twenty these six months past and I’ve heard nothing from my uncle about any of this.”
Mr. Montgomery paused, as if pondering the new information. “It is my understanding that your Uncle Bartholomew was not entirely coherent this past year. His illness was advanced. He must have been unable to contact you and begin the transfer of the money and property to you, the rightful owner. Of course, with the extent of Mr. Kingston’s illness, it may come as no shock that the manor has fallen into slight disrepair.” At this point he looked up into her eyes and tried to give her a hopeful grin. “But it is nothing that cannot be put to rights with proper time and money, both of which you have.”
“Neither of which I have,” Kate said unthinkingly. “Well, I suppose…” Her mind drifted into a mass of jumbled thoughts. She turned toward the window and watched from the second story as the townspeople and Lytle’s servants continued setting up for the school social. A smile tilted Kate’s lips at the community she was so thoroughly involved in. She did not have a family who cared about her, but she had a family of neighbors whom she loved, who loved her in return. She wasn’t prepared to leave the only pleasant home she’d ever had.
She supposed Split Tree had been that for her once, but Kate had been an orphan for so long now, she hardly spared a thought for the parents who’d once loved her. The only things she held in her heart associated with Split Tree Manor were unpleasant memories of a tyrannical, controlling uncle. 
She heard the din of voices behind her as Mr. Montgomery and Mrs. Presley spoke to one another, but she couldn’t focus enough to listen to what they were saying. Letting out a shuddering breath, Kate wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing tightly.
“What if I don’t want it?” 
“Pardon me?” Mr. Montgomery said. Kate had spoken so quietly she did not realize she had been heard. 
“Shall we adjourn for the day, Mr. Montgomery?” Mrs. Presley asked, leaning forward on her elbows as they rested atop her desk. “This is quite a lot to take in for Miss Kingston, and perhaps it is better digested in small doses.”
“Absolutely.” He stood. “Forgive me for bearing such news.” He gave Kate a sorrowful look that she accepted with a small nod and an automatic curtsy. She was vaguely aware of Mrs. Presley escorting Mr. Montgomery away before the woman returned some minutes later and closed her door with a soft snap. Gently, she guided Kate to the small sofa on the other side of the room and helped her to sit before taking a seat beside her.
“This is a lot to take in, my dear.” Mrs. Presley spoke in a soft voice. “Perhaps you would like to take some time to consider your options before coming to any decisions.”
Kate nodded automatically. She was obedient to a fault. While her personality had always been a bit more difficult to suppress into a small, graceful package, she was used to taking and obeying commands. It is what had made her such an agreeable student and then employee these past eight years.
“I cannot say I am surprised that he would keep my inheritance from me,” Kate said, her voice sounding small. “Uncle was a tyrant and a brute.”
Mrs. Presley seemed to weigh her words carefully. “I realize we’ve discussed this scarcely in the past, but you once assured me that your uncle did not injure you. Please, be frank with me now. Is that true? Did the man ever—”
“No, he never hurt me. Not beyond taking a switch to my backside. Which I daresay is not the height of abuse.” She continued to stare ahead as memories of her time at Split Tree Manor arrived in her foremind as snatches and images. “I was four when my parents died and was sent to live with a family outside of the parish. I am unsure why, but I always assumed my uncle did not want the burden of such a small girl, so he passed me on to someone of his acquaintance.”
Mrs. Presley nodded, listening intently.
“I was nine years old when I was pulled from that house and brought to live with my uncle, but never given a reason why he suddenly wished to have me at Split Tree—nor do I understand it now. When I first arrived, he merely locked me in my room with a nurse. He didn’t know what to do with a child, I suppose, but he never treated me with any more regard than he did his servants. He was highly irregular, and I am certain I shall never understand him.”
Mrs. Presley offered a sad smile. 
“Then I came here, shortly after I turned twelve.” Kate looked at her mentor and schoolmistress, warmth blooming in her heart. “I found a home here within the strict rules and rigid schedule. I thrived on it.”
“What shall you do?”
Kate felt the ripple of shock flow through her once more. Mrs. Presley was asking what she was going to do? That was a first. She had a choice for the first time in her life. Even when she had been offered the position of art teacher, she had not had a choice—not really. She’d had nowhere else to go.
“I do not know.”
Would you like to keep reading? A Forgiving Heart is available to purchase on Amazon, and in Kindle Unlimited!