Secrets shape the qui­et ten­sion in David’s heart as he returns from Sun­ny­crest, eager to speak with Jack about all he’s seen and felt. Yet only Jill is home, and though their ear­li­er con­ver­sa­tions had been shy and cau­tious, this time the air between them feels eas­i­er. Sit­ting under the open sky, David tells her about the Lady of the Ros­es and how Sun­ny­crest seems to sparkle in his mind like a page from a fairy tale. His delight dims when he hears Jack is away, “pot-boil­ing,” as Jill puts it—working hard at some­thing he dis­likes just to get by. Jill’s words slip out too eas­i­ly, paint­ing a pic­ture of Jack­’s ongo­ing ill­ness and dis­ap­point­ment with life, which weighs on David more than he can admit. Still, he lis­tens close­ly, stor­ing each detail like a pre­cious note in a song he wants to one day play for Jack—one that might lift him from the weight of things unspo­ken.

Try­ing to recov­er from her acci­den­tal can­dor, Jill changes the sub­ject, but David cir­cles back to what mat­ters to him: the small gate by the brook and the foot­bridge lead­ing to Sun­ny­crest. To David, that path isn’t just a walkway—it’s a thread between two lives that seem unjust­ly kept apart. When he hears that Jack for­bids Jill from cross­ing it, he’s gen­uine­ly con­fused. In David’s world, beau­ty is meant to be shared, and hid­den path­ways are invi­ta­tions, not bar­ri­ers. He speaks earnest­ly of how Sun­ny­crest blooms with qui­et joy, how the Lady of the Ros­es wel­comed him, and how the whole place seems like a secret gar­den wait­ing to be under­stood. Jack’s refusal, though nev­er explained, feels to David like a mis­un­der­stand­ing, one he hopes to resolve—not with argu­ments, but with music, kind­ness, and pres­ence. The deep­er truth, David sus­pects, is buried in some­thing Jill can­not or will not say.

When Jack final­ly returns that evening, David seizes the moment not with ques­tions, but with melodies. He plays his vio­lin with a light that speaks loud­er than words, and Jack, exhaust­ed yet enthralled, for­gets his wor­ries in the stream of notes. David’s music, drawn from mem­o­ry rather than sheet music, spills out in tones that dance and ache with the joy of the day and the sad­ness of what’s held back. The absence of writ­ten scores is no hindrance—his fin­gers know the way like roots know the soil. Jack’s face, often tight with strain, soft­ens. He hears not just tunes, but possibilities—the kind of work that comes from love, not labor. In those few qui­et min­utes, David’s dream finds fer­tile ground in Jack’s weary heart.

Jack, stirred by what he’s heard, speaks of help­ing David grow that dream. He won­ders aloud about the cost, throw­ing out a sum—one hun­dred gold pieces—that could change every­thing. The moment hangs heavy for David, who knows he has that sum, care­ful­ly hid­den. A surge of hope ris­es, but it’s quick­ly tan­gled by fear. What if Jack doesn’t believe him? What if the truth about the gold shifts how Jack sees him, or worse, makes the gift seem like a boast rather than an offer­ing? The words remain locked behind David’s teeth. Instead, he nods and smiles, qui­et­ly tuck­ing away the thought like a note not yet ready to be played.

Their con­ver­sa­tion mean­ders gen­tly back to Sun­ny­crest, and Jack’s tone stiff­ens. He speaks of it only when prompt­ed, brush­ing off mem­o­ries with prac­ticed indif­fer­ence. David, attuned to under­cur­rents, hears the notes behind the words—the kind that trem­ble with some­thing left unre­solved. Jack doesn’t need to say he’s been hurt; David can feel it in the hes­i­ta­tion between his sen­tences. Yet even so, David believes the bridge isn’t bro­ken, only for­got­ten. He vows silent­ly to keep nudg­ing Jack toward it, not with pres­sure, but with presence—just as he does with his music. A bridge, after all, was made to be crossed.

As the evening draws to a close, David rests with the hum of dreams in his chest—dreams of notes once lost now slow­ly return­ing. Secrets hov­er around him, not as weights, but as songs wait­ing for the right moment to be sung. The chap­ter clos­es with a del­i­cate bal­ance of trust and silence, as David learns that tim­ing, like music, depends as much on pause as it does on sound. Secrets remain, but the heart behind them begins to stir with courage. And in that, David’s world con­tin­ues to grow, one truth at a time.