The Snow Globe Read Free Page A

onto the sandy earth around them.
    â€œYou’re not still thinking of emigrating, are you?” Daisy asked.
    It was an idea Stephen had only recently mentioned to her. He’d told her that he’d seen advertisements offering help with one’s passage to New Zealand, as well as help with finance to set up a farm.
    â€œI’m not sure,” he said. “What do you think?”
    â€œI told you, I think it’s an awful idea,” she said quickly. “Think how sad your mother would be.”
    â€œAnd you?”
    â€œYes, and me . . . I’d hate it if you weren’t here.”
    â€œBecause?”
    â€œBecause,” she said, smiling back at him, “who would there be to annoy me?”
    â€œI’m sure you’d find someone.”
    High above, two birds fought with each other, ducking and diving, moving in circles, squawking loudly in the otherwise silent valley.
    â€œI think it’s an awful idea,” Daisy said again. “To leave your home and go off to the other side of the world.”
    Stephen turned to her. “But it’s not my home. It’s
your
home, and my parents’ home, I suppose. I don’t really know where I fit in here.”
    â€œI thought you were happy, thought you loved this place.”
    He nodded. “I do, I do, but . . . well, it’s hard to explain and probably impossible for you to understand.”
    â€œTry me,” she said, reaching over and taking the bottle from his hand.
    He sighed, pulled out his packet of tobacco and cigarette papers. “It’s complicated,” he said. “But I imagine I might feel differently if I’d known my real parents.”
    â€œAh, I see,” said Daisy, as though it all made perfect sense to her now.
    â€œIt’s not that I’m unhappy,” he said, glancing up at her.
    â€œWhat is it, then?” she asked, watching his fingers roll the tobacco.
    He shrugged. “Just the not knowing, I suppose.”
    â€œI’ve told you before, you should ask your mother.”
    Stephen shook his head. “I can’t. She’s never raised the subject with me, and I don’t want to upset her, don’t want her to think I need something more, or that she’s not been a good mother to me, because she has and I love her dearly,” he added, lighting his cigarette. “I love both my parents.”
    â€œThen you can’t leave them. I know it would break your mother’s heart if you sailed off to another continent. She’d never see you again. You’d never see her.”
    â€œPerhaps . . . perhaps,” he said, nodding, pondering, looking downward. “But I can’t stay here. Not if I want to do something with my life,” he added, looking up at Daisy.
    By the time they set off back in the direction of Eden Hall, Daisy had forgotten about Mrs. Christie’s disappearance. The only disappearance she could think of was Stephen’s: suggested, impending and hanging in the damp, pine-scented air between them. But it was impossible for her to imagine the world—her world—without him in it.
    To Daisy, Stephen Jessop belonged more to that place than she and her sisters, or even her mother and father. He knew every pathway, each copse and dell. Together, they had pioneered the woodland, fields and valleys around them. Together, they had named every plant and tree. He had been the one to teach her which mushrooms were poisonous and which were not, and about didicoysand travelers, and the legends of the Devil’s Punchbowl. He’d risked his life climbing up trees, crawling along branches, just to bring down a nest or eggs to show her; been the one who’d taken her to see the fox cubs and watch the badger set at dusk, the one who’d made her a slingshot and shown her how to use it, and the one who’d given her three marbles, a jar of tadpoles and a hawk-moth caterpillar for