Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga D.A. Randall (top 5 ebook reader TXT) 📖

one needs to invite me. I just want to make something beautiful for someone to wear. Something bright red. If I can’t have a pretty face, I can still make pretty dresses like you.”

Mama stared at the material in her lap, saying nothing.

I frowned. “Too bad Father Vestille couldn’t come.”

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“Yes. We missed seeing him.”

I pretended to study my needle. “Mama?

Do you think what Monsieur Laurent said is true?

Do you think Father Vestille wants to leave?”

Her face screwed up. “Not a word. With all respect, our Duke doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“How do you know for sure? What if Father Vestille wants to move somewhere else, like back to Burgundy?”

She put down her sewing. “Father Vestille came here when we learned there had been no priest in La Rue Sauvage for eight years. He’s been here ever since. He has no intention of leaving.”

“But that was before.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Before what?”

I stiffened. “Before the wolf.”

She leaned forward. “You imagine he’s running away?”

I shrugged. “We never see him anymore.

He’s always traveling, always visiting other people. Ever since last year.”

She lowered her chin. “Listen to me, Helena. Your father and I trust Father Vestille with our lives. He would not leave without telling us first, if he ever actually considered leaving. And he won’t abandon us.”

“But how can you know for certain? What

if he’s changed? He’s not like Francois or Duke Laurent. He’s just an ordinary man. Maybe he’s worried there’s another wolf out there.”

Mama sighed. “Helena. Father Vestille has always helped us whenever we needed it. He 73

always will. I don’t know what his trips involve.

He never wants to discuss it. But I trust him. You don’t have to know all of a person’s activities to know you can depend on them. And you don’t have to be strong or influential to be brave.”

I hoped she was right. That Father Vestille would never leave us. But I couldn’t stop wondering. “All right. If you’re certain.”

She smiled into her lap, returning to her sewing. “There are many things I’m not certain about,” she said. “But I’m certain of Father Vestille.”

I didn’t dare argue with her further.

I heard Papa’s boots clomp onto the porch, then stop. We both turned. The front door creaked open, letting in the early morning chill.

Papa entered as though he had seen a ghost.

“Papa, what’s wrong?” I asked. We had left the banquet early last night and made it home well before nightfall, but Mama and Papa had let me sleep as late as I wanted. My head was still filled with memories of the roast duck and caviar and raspberry tarts, and meeting Monsieur Touraine and the Duke’s friends. What could possibly have spoiled Papa’s mood after such a thrilling party?

“Celeste. I need – I need to speak with you.”

“Papa?”

His eyes warned me to keep still. “Stay inside.”

Mama dropped her sewing and swept

toward the front door. She hurried outside and Papa shut the door behind her.

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I stayed inside as I was told and continued working on the practice patch, determined to sew a straight line. My thread snarled into another knot and I grumbled. How could I concentrate when Papa was on the front stoop sharing some dreadful secret? But I kept to my place. I tried to loosen the tiny knot and start over with my line. I didn’t even creep closer to listen.

Until Mama wailed.

I ran to the door and threw it open. Mama covered her face with both hands, sobbing. Papa held her by the shoulders. She looked as though she might crumple to the ground if he let go.

“What happened? What is it?”

“Back inside!” Papa barked.

I stepped away from his glare of rage. I slammed the door and marched back to the table. I snatched up my patch, with its needle and tangled thread, and slapped it down on the tabletop. Stupid patch! Why couldn’t I at least make something that wasn’t ugly?

They were keeping something from me.

Something terrible. Like they kept everything else.

I couldn’t venture outside. I couldn’t be left alone.

I couldn’t go anywhere, even with them, if it got too late in the day. They meant to keep me cooped up in our cottage forever.

I slumped back into my chair. I was still seething when the door