CWMBR 40

Chapter 40

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*The past 

"What on earth is my uncle talking about…”

She got that he wanted to win Finn Emerson's favor, but how much of their family affairs was he going to go around talking about?

Bridget closed her mouth with a displeased expression.

She still often cried late at night, missing her parents. Talking about her parents in front of others was still difficult for her. But Ronan would blab about it all the time, no matter where he was. As a result, people who were close to Ronan thought he was a poor guy who was supporting his naive niece, who didn't know anything about the world.

He probably said similar things in front of Finn as well. In the process, he exaggerated the emotional details of his relationship with her father and how he came to run the theater.

Perhaps it should have been Ronan who wrote the letter, not her father. Given how naturally he embellished his own life and told stories, it was clear that he had a talent for writing novels.

Bridget, who had been moving her lips, fell silent. She felt annoyed at her uncle for using family history for his own purposes, but she also understood why he had to go to such lengths.

However, Patrick seemed eager to hear any response from Bridget.

“It’s fascinating. To believe so blindly just because he resembles your father.”

Of course, Bridget's weakness for Ronan was largely due to his resemblance to her father. To be honest, it had an absolute influence on her. When Ronan occasionally spoke to her gently, she felt as if her father had come back to life. Then Bridget couldn't help but soften her heart and give in to his demands.

However, at the same time, she became increasingly aware that he was not her father. Ronan smelled of alcohol, cigars, and strong women's perfume, which her father never did. Unlike her father, Ronan spoke sarcastically and raised his voice easily. His taste in expensive clothes was also the opposite of her father's.

Bridget, who had unconsciously clasped her hands together, lowered her gaze slightly.

“It’s not exactly that, but he’s been helping me a lot. And he’s the only blood relative I have left.”

Ronan was the type of person Bridget didn't particularly like, but he also shared the same surname as her. Neither her mother nor her father had ever interacted with any relatives, so he was effectively the only blood relative Bridget knew.

Bridget, who had lost her parents, needed a blood relative. Someone who shared her surname, someone she could mourn her deceased parents with. Someone who could share her memories of her parents and remember them together with her.

“Is that what you call family love?”

“Mr. Sherman, you have parents too, so you must understand.”

“Well, not everyone feels familial love just because they have parents.”

Bridget looked at Patrick with a slightly startled expression. His dry, emotionless face revealed that he didn't really have much affection for his parents. Bridget, who had been pursing her lips, replied cautiously.

"It doesn't have to be parents. It could be siblings or a spouse. The definition of family is broader than you think."

“I’m an only child.”

“Oh, I see.”

Bridget closed her mouth awkwardly. She stood there moving her eyes, then slowly raised her gaze and spoke softly.

“Then a spouse.”

"I'm single."

"Ah."

Bridget let out a short exclamation and quickly blinked her eyes.

"A lover, perhaps?"

"Do you feel familial love from your lover?"

"If it's a lover who has promised eternal love, then maybe."

Patrick, who had been standing with his arms crossed, staring at Bridget as if to see how far she would go, said with a look of disbelief.

“Ah, Miss Pennington must feel familial love even toward her lover. That family must be quite broad and generous.”

The pronunciation of "Miss Pennington" was strikingly clear and smooth. Bridget looked at Patrick in surprise, then suddenly realized that this was the first time he had called her "Miss Pennington." The fact that the man who had always referred to people using generic pronouns like "that person" or "you" had now specifically addressed her by name gave her a fresh sense of emotion.

It was nothing special, really. It was a name she heard every day from Finn and others. But when Patrick said "Miss Pennington," it was different.

Bridget quickly lowered her gaze. She desperately hoped that the flush on her cheeks was just her imagination, and replied in a slightly brusque tone.

“I’ll admit it. The last part was a bit of a stretch, even by my standards.”

"Hmph."

Bridget thought for a moment that she had heard wrong. But when she looked up at Patrick's face, she realized her hearing was perfectly fine.

The man who had always seemed to mock her was smiling at her. As if he had heard an amusing story, with a face devoid of any ulterior motives.

He had always given off an unapproachable vibe, but just by smiling, his atmosphere changed completely. She had always known he was quite handsome, but when he smiled, she couldn't take her eyes off him. Bridget suddenly understood the admiration of the local girls who lingered around the theater, even though they had no business there, just to catch a glimpse of Patrick.

The man's face had sharp features. His cool eyes, as dark as his black hair, were so vivid that they seemed to gaze out at the middle of the ocean, and his straight nose boasted a flawless, elegant line. She could also see dimples slightly indented along his slightly upturned lips.

Ah, he had dimples. They were so faint that only when he smiled could they be seen, so most people probably didn't even know they were there. But she had just noticed them.

Bridget, who had been staring at Patrick in a daze, suddenly came to her senses when she saw the puzzlement in his blue eyes. She swallowed hard and quickly turned her head away. That alone was not enough to calm her pounding heart, so she approached the brewery building and fidgeted around.

"Why are you looking around here? Are you planning to buy this farm?"

Bridget quickly changed the subject and walked past him. She took long strides around the winery building and moved to the back, where a withered tree came into view. Seeing it, Bridget pulled out a story that was very effective in calming her erratic emotions.

“Actually, a tenant farmer once died on this farm. But the culprit secretly buried the body in this vineyard.”

It was one of the few heinous crimes to have occurred in the relatively peaceful town of Glynford. As a result, it had become a very famous incident that everyone in Glynford knew about.

Although the incident occurred quite some time ago, its terrifying nature caused it to be passed down from person to person. Every child in Glynford must have been warned at least once not to enter the vineyard carelessly.

"Since then, many people have reported seeing ghosts here. They say that if you work late into the night, the dead tenant farmer appears in his bloodstained work clothes and offers to help. I don't know why he continues to work even after death. Some say they taste blood in the wine, others claim to hear someone plowing the empty field at night, and there are even reports of people witnessing machinery operating in the empty winery."

All sorts of unverified eyewitness accounts spread by word of mouth. The gloomy atmosphere among the workers naturally affected the quality of the wine.

"As a result, the farm's situation has deteriorated further, and many workers have left. Everyone in this area knows about the rumors, so keep that in mind if you're considering a purchase."

"Ghost stories don't really affect my purchasing decisions."

“The latter part was a ghost story, but the murder was a real event. You can verify it at the Glynford Police Station right away. It was also widely reported in the newspapers.”

"I wasn't planning to buy it anyway."

Patrick, who had been casually looking around the barren brewery, suddenly narrowed his eyes and looked at Bridget.

"But you seem to believe the urban legend wholeheartedly."

The tone of his voice was as if he were treating her like a child, and Bridget couldn't help but bristle. She raised her chin and replied in a deliberately innocent voice.

"Ha! Not at all. When giving a tour, it's boring to just list the facts, so I make sure to check the anecdotes as well. It's purely for business purposes."

"What's that?"

Patrick suddenly pointed somewhere. Bridget's gaze followed his.

"What? Where? What is it?"

Where he was pointing, there were several bare trees. Compared to the other trees around them, they were unusually leafless and black in color, with branches twisted in a bizarre manner, giving off an ominous feeling just by looking at them.

Bridget's expression twisted slightly as she looked at the trees.

Could that be the spot where the body was buried? I think someone mentioned that it was buried under a tree...

As if reading her thoughts, Patrick muttered in a puzzled voice.

"Is that a human shadow?"

“Ahhhh….!”

"Oh, no."

"...ohh….”