CHAPTER TWO

The children, not surprisingly, don't warm up to me nearly as fast as their mother does. They sit in stony silence as we eat our breakfast. I allow them their silence for the moment as I look them over and try to decide how best to approach each of them.

Elijah is doing the best at not showing his grief, not surprising since he's the oldest. The risk with him is that he'll take a parental burden on himself and neglect to experience his own sadness. That is very dangerous for a child, especially for a young man. I will need to give him a chance to be alone so he can feel what he thinks he can't feel right now.

Isabella still regards me with distrust, but I can see the heartbreak behind it. Though seemingly absurd that a fifty-year-old governess could be seen this way, to her I represent a replacement for her father foisted upon her by her mother. I will need to be very gentle and patient with her.

Samuel will be the easiest. He is too young to feel a need to be independent and not yet complex enough to see me as a replacement for his father. He will just need to be showered with affection and be told that it's okay to cry.

I break the silence with Elijah. As the oldest, the younger ones will follow his example even if they don't do so consciously. If he shows that it's okay to talk to me, that I'm nothing to be afraid of, it will be easier for me to break the ice with them.

"Elijah, I hear you're quite the scholar. You're hoping to be a linguist one day, is that correct?"

He looks at me strangely and answers somewhat warily, "Yes, that's the plan."

"That's wonderful. I'm curious, what do you find fascinating about linguistics?"

Isabella chuckles. "You're seriously going to talk to us about school?"

"Yes. I'd like to know what interests each of you. I would love to see some of your photography later as well."

She rolls her eyes and says nothing else. I turn back to Elijah and prompt him. "Elijah?"

"Um, I like how words come together to create meaning," Elijah says. "It's really fascinating how we evolved to make certain sounds to mean certain things, and then you can put those sounds together so they mean other things, then you can create structures that make that meaning complex and varied, and then you can somehow communicate all of this to everyone."

"It really is fascinating," I agree. "That ability to communicate in such a rich and varied manner is what makes us different from the rest of the animals."

"Exactly." He's growing excited now. "And the fact that so many cultures developed so many different language patterns across the entire world and that they communicate the same concepts but do it with different structures and syntax. It's just incredible. It's universal, but it's not universal at the same time. It's really…"

His voice trails off, and his face changes suddenly. His eyes fall, and his shoulders slump.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says. "I just… Dad always used to do crossword puzzles with me. He would do the puzzle, and each word, he would ask me the etymology. Or he would try to guess, and I would tell him if he was right. It's silly, I know, but it was…" I wait patiently, and he finally finished with. "Our thing, I guess."

"He must have been very proud of you," I say gently.

Elijah looks away and doesn't say anything. After a moment, he pushes his plate away. "I'm not hungry anymore."

He stands abruptly and leaves. As soon as he's out of the dining room, Isabella bolts to her feet. "I'm done too. I'm going to go to the pond and feed the ducks. Samuel, do you want to come with me?"

Samuel nods and follows his sister, leaving me alone to reflect on my failed attempt to connect with them.

I'm moving too fast. I need to give them time to get used to me before I worry about building relationships with them. They've endured a catastrophic change. It's only natural they would be wary about accepting more change.

I finish my breakfast, then clear the plates and head to the pond. It's quite a walk, perhaps a quarter mile away. I'm told the estate owns four thousand acres, though only about a tenth that much is developed.

Today is sunny, and up close, the bare trees are just that: trees. There's nothing skeletal or sinister about them. I smile and realize how much of my fear was simply anxiety. There's nothing here to be afraid of. In a few weeks, the snow will come, and the barrenness of the grounds will transform into a bright wonderland. The dark, brooding house will wear a blanket of soft white, and I will have had time to become accustomed to my new surroundings.

I'm not as reassured as I want to believe I am, but I push that unease aside and focus on the children. I have made an inroad with Elijah. I must do the same with the other two.

I reach the pond and see Isabella smiling at Samuel, who is chasing ducks off of the shore into the water. I wonder why they're still here? Even without snow, I would expect all the waterfowl to have flown south.

Then I see a small brood of ducklings swimming in an orderly row behind their mother. It's late in the year for ducklings, but life has a way of happening whether we plan for it or not.

The same, unfortunately, can be said of death.

Isabella sees me, and her smile vanishes. Just before cold aloofness fills her expression, I see a flash of guilt. She doesn't feel she should be allowed to enjoy anything with her father gone.

She will be the hardest to reach.

I approach Samuel, who has given up chasing the ducks and now walks atop a stone bench near—but not too near—the edge of the lake, arms outstretched for balance. He positions himself on the edge and flaps his arms like wings as he jumps off.

"Are you trying to fly away?" I ask.

He looks up at me curiously and doesn't say anything. I smile and ask, "May I sit?"

He cocks his head, confused that an adult would ask him permission for anything. I take a seat and look out across the pond. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

Strictly speaking, that's a lie, but it wouldn't help to say, "It's a bleak and depressing day, and without snow this place looks like a cemetery," now, would it?

"Where are you from?" he asks.

I feel a leap of joy at getting him to talk. I turn to him and say, "Boston."

"You don't sound like you're from Boston."

"Well, I grew up in England. My family didn't move here until I was sixteen."

"Why did you move here?"

"My father received a very lucrative job offer from a brokerage firm in Boston."

"What's a brokerage firm?"

"A brokerage firm is a type of company that specializes in selling portions of other companies to people."

He frowns. "Why would people buy pieces of a company?"

"Well, it's a way to invest money."

"Invest?"

"Yes. It's a way to use money to make more money."

"How can money make more money?"

I smile at him. "I'm afraid I have no idea. I never understood exactly what it was my father did."

Samuel takes that at face value, which is good because I really have exhausted my knowledge on the subject. He looks out over the water and says with the simple brutality of youth. "My Daddy's dead."

"Yes," I reply gently. "I'm so sorry for that."

"Did you know him?"

"No, dear. I never had the pleasure."

"Then why are you sorry?"

The similarity between his line of questioning and his mother's isn't lost on me. At first glance, it could seem that his question is an innocent one put forth by a small child, but four years of studying psychology and twenty-five years of teaching have taught me that very little of what a child asks is as innocent as it seems.

I answer him in much the same way I answer his mother. "Because it's terrible to lose someone you love."

"Have you lost someone you love?"

"I have. My sister, Anne."

"When did she die?"

I stiffen and hope that he doesn't notice. It's my own fault for mentioning her.

"Well, I'm not sure. She went missing a long time ago."

"Did you look for her?"

This is now very unlike the conversation with his mother. My shoulders stiffen further, and there's a note of tension in my voice when I say, "Of course I did."

"Why did you stop?"

"Samuel."

Isabella's interruption is so welcome that I nearly gasp with relief. I turn to her with a grateful smile that dies on my lips when I see the venom in her expression as she stares at me.

"It's time to go inside," she says to her brother.

Samuel doesn't protest. My heart sinks, but then I feel a small hand slip into mine. Samuel shakes my hand and says, "It was nice talking to you, Miss Mary."

I shake his hand back and say, "And it was very nice talking to you, Samuel."

Isabella pulls him away, and I remain where I am. I'll wait until they're inside before I follow them.

Against all odds, it seems I've managed to accomplish what I wanted with Samuel. As for Isabella, patience will win the day. I won't gain anything by forcing her to open up.

What concerns me is that she doesn't seem simply closed off. She seems to mistrust me. She acts almost as if she must protect Samuel from me. What could have happened to her to make her so afraid of others?

I look back toward the house and see her leading her brother inside. She stops on the porch to look at me. I smile and wave at her, and her eyes narrow before she walks into the house.

Give her space. She'll come around.

I tell myself this, but I fear it will take more than patience to heal the rot corroding this family.

I sit a few minutes longer, then stand and return to the house. I am halfway there when I hear shouting from the side of the house. The voice is Cecilia's.

I head in the direction of the voice, ignoring the voice in my head that tells me it's none of my business and I should just leave it alone. I come across her standing in between the south wing and the garage, her phone pressed to her ear. She's pacing back and forth and arguing with someone over the phone.

"I don't care! That decision shouldn't have been made without consulting me first." A brief pause, then, "I'm not asking, Elena. I'm telling you those options are not to be sold. If they are, then you and I will have a very uncomfortable conversation. Do I need to be more specific, or am I—How dare you? Johnathan has nothing to do with this!"

Elena. That's the same woman she argues with over coffee earlier. It's the second time she mentions Johnathan's name to the woman. Just who is she and what is her relationship to Johnathan?

Cecilia sighs and hangs up the phone. I turn and walk quickly away, not wanting her to know I was eavesdropping.

It's nothing, I tell myself. Just a business conversation that is none of your business. Focus on the children. They're your job, not Cecilia.

Still, as I climb the steps to the porch, I can't shake the sense that I've very nearly discovered one of the dark secrets protected by the walls of the Ashford Estate. I can only wonder what other secrets will reveal themselves to me the longer I stay here.