CHAPTER FIVE

Elijah returns an hour later. He is subdued and doesn't meet my eyes at first.

"I'm sorry for being angry earlier. I just… it's been hard."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"No," he says quickly. "Thank you. I just… I'm going to hang out with Samuel and give Isabella a break. She's been taking care of him a lot since Dad died."

I smile at him. "I'm sure she'd appreciate that. Thank you."

I wait until Isabella leaves the room. She stops when she sees me, and then rolls her eyes and walks away. I follow her, but I don't say anything until we reach Isabella's room. When she opens the door and walks inside, I ask, "Why did you give me that paper earlier?"

She shrugs and tries to close the door. I take a risk and stop it. "Isabella, will you please talk to me? We don't have to talk about that if you don't want to, but I want to talk to you. I've spent time with Samuel, and I've even had a few moments to get to know Elijah. I'd like to talk to you. We're going to be spending a lot of time together. We should at least get to know one another."

She sighs and looks pensively past me. "I don't want to talk about Elena."

"That's all right. I'm more interested in getting to know you than Elena, anyway."

She chuckles, and there's a substantial amount of bitterness in her laugh. "Yeah, you don't want to know her. She's a bitch."

"That seems to be the general consensus. Though I feel obligated to tell you not to use that word."

"Why not? It's true. Dad's the reason she's not delivering pizza in Hoboken for a living, and she wants to act like she's the reason his company's succeeding?"

I only barely stifle my surprise at this. It could explain so much if Elena felt envious of Johnathan's success. Or perhaps she felt frustrated that everyone saw her success only as a byproduct of Johnathan's patronage and ignored her own merits.

I notice Isabella looking at me and remember I'm having a conversation with her. "It must be frustrating to see someone act so selfishly."

"It's stupid. I don't understand why Mom's still talking to her. She knows Elena was trying to take over the company. She shouldn't allow her in the house, but now they're having dinner together?"

I frown. "They're having dinner together?"

"Yes! Why do you think Mom's not here?"

My frown deepens. I hadn't realized the Cecilia was gone. I should pay more attention to that from now on. Perhaps it would be worth a conversation with Cecilia to inform her how her children perceive her actions. Not now, but later.

"My feet are sore from walking," I tell her. "Why don't we go have some tea?"

She rolls her eyes at me. "There's no way your feet are sore. You're just saying that to get me to sit and talk to you."

"That's true. However, my feet are sore. And tea is wonderful regardless."

"I hate tea."

"That is a serious character flaw I shall consider it my primary mission to correct."

She laughs. It's a genuine laugh, and she looks surprised to hear it. I smile at her and say, "So? Shall we?"

She smiles slightly, just barely enough to be visible. But it's a start.

"Sure. Just don't tell Mom. She doesn't want me to have caffeine until I'm sixteen."

"It will be our secret," I promise.

I was planning to brew some chamomile, but I can brew some green tea instead. It's not enough caffeine to make Isabella any more anxious, and the plant's other wonderful properties should calm her instead. It truly is a shame that more Americans don't drink tea. Though I suppose if I were a true Briton, I would prefer Earl Grey to Japanese green.

I make the tea and serve it to Isabella. She looks suspiciously at the jade liquid and asks, "You're not supposed to put cream in it?"

"In green tea? Heavens, no. That's only for black tea."

She makes a face and pushes the cup away. "I'm all right. Thank you."

"Isabella, you must try it before you decide you don't like it."

She pulls the cup back, takes a small sip, then pushes the cup away again. "I don't like it."

"Very well," I say cheerily before sipping my own cup.

She watches me, nonplussed by my reaction. "You're weird."

"I'm sure you are too. You're simply afraid to show it."

"You want me to show my weirdness in front of you?"

"I'd like you to feel comfortable around me, yes."

She laughs. This one isn't as joyful as her previous laugh, but it's not bitter. "That's asking a lot. You've been here three days."

"I know. I don't expect us to be the best of friends right away. But if I am to care for you, it would be helpful if we were at least on speaking terms."

I look frankly at her, and her eyes fall. "It's just…" I wait patiently while she searches for the words. "I just… I want things to go back to the way they were."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You're not, though." Tears are filling her eyes again. "You're eventually going to go back to your life like nothing happened."

"That's not true, dear. Just because I didn't know your father and don't yet know you or your brothers well doesn't mean that I am unaffected by your loss. As I said before, I know what it's like to lose a loved one. It's true that losing a sister isn't the same as losing a father, but it hurts to live without her."

"Even now?"

What she's really asking is if her father's loss will ever stop hurting her. I answer her truthfully. "Yes. It will always hurt." Then I lie. "But I've learned to give that pain its place and not allow it an inch more than it deserves."

She looks away, and the tears start escaping her eyes and coursing down her cheeks. "I can't stop it, though. I just want my Daddy back."

Her voice breaks, and she buries her head in her hands. I let her cry for a moment, then lay a hand on her shoulder. She stiffens but doesn't pull away, and after a moment, she relaxes.

We sit there in silence for a while. Adults underestimate the value of silence when it comes to children. We feel that everything must be explained to them and that we must direct all of their steps, but often, the best thing we can do is allow them to navigate the hardships of life themselves.

But not on their own. Never on their own.

Finally, she draws in a wavery breath and lifts her gaze. She eyes the tea, then takes another sip. "I guess it's not that bad."

"My dear," I say seriously, "it is the greatest beverage known to humankind."

She meets my eyes. "You're weird."

"Yes. You've said that already."

She chuckles and takes another sip of tea. "I'm sorry I've been mean to you. I just…" she shrugs. "I don't know. I feel like… I don't know."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," I say. "But know that I'm here when you do."

She gives me a small smile. "Thank you."

After tea, we head upstairs to Samuel's room and keep him company while he convalesces. I put on a nature documentary and enjoy the sight of Isabella tenderly stroking her brother's hair while he rests.

The moment is heartwarming, but not enough to shake the disquiet I feel. Isabella gave me that note for a reason. Her disdain for Elena is motivated by more than her father's business rivalry and her mother's dislike of the woman.

I know it's too early to draw any conclusions, but the more I learn about Elena, the more likely it seems that she could have something to do with Johnathan's death.

***

The children retire early that evening. Their own choice. Samuel is exhausted from his illness. The medicine cools the fever and calms his symptoms somewhat, but his body understands instinctively that the best way to combat this malady is to rest and allow his own immune system to fight.

Isabella is exhausted from the emotional weight of our conversation. It's not easy to confide in someone else, let alone a stranger. Her mind understands that with the same instinct as Samuel's body and chooses to sleep to process those emotions.

Elijah is exhausted from the emotional weight of being the oldest child and not knowing how to accept his own grief without feeling that he's betraying his siblings. That's why he flees for his excursions to the deep grounds. He wants to grieve, but he can't do it in front of them. He can't do it in front of anyone. He's supposed to be a man, and men don't show weakness.

I wonder when we'll finally rid society of that ridiculous notion. I wonder if that ridiculous notion is necessary for society to survive. There are too many rabbit trails to follow there.

I thought at first that Isabella might be the most difficult one to reach because of her vulnerable age, but now I wonder if Elijah will be harder. At sixteen, he is developing into a man, and he won't accept the need for comfort the way Samuel does so easily. He isn't desperate to talk the way Isabella is, so he won't be motivated to open up the way she was once she finally accepted that I truly cared for her. His instinct is to run from others and hide his emotions away. That is an incredibly difficult instinct to overcome.

Wrestling with these thoughts has the opposite effect on me. I find myself utterly unable to sleep.

So, I choose to walk. While I consider myself a reasonably brave woman, my bravery isn't such that I feel comfortable walking among the barren trees of the grounds alone. So, I explore the house a little more.

I find a new room on the second floor of the north wing. One of the storage closets—this one containing enough linens to coat the entire house in fabric—has a smaller closet at its rear. I open this one and gasp.

The room is small, perhaps the size of an ordinary closet. It is an ordinary closet, in fact. A rack stretches across the interior. On the rack hang over a dozen dresses, all of the finest silk and wool. The dresses range from low-cut evening gowns that stretch the limits of modesty to warm winter outfits that must cost thousands of dollars each.

I also find a box on the floor of the closet filled with jewelry. Diamond earrings, pearl necklaces, bracelets with all manner of precious stones. I don't even want to think about how much money is represented here.

Where could all this have come from? Why is it here? The dresses are the wrong size to fit Cecilia. I can't believe that Johnathan was cheating on her, but after all I didn't know the man. My desire to think of him as a perfect father and husband is motivated by my compassion for the children.

I recall Cecilia's words to me my first morning here. "For all you know, he was a cold monster who terrorized my every waking moment and made the children's lives a living hell."

But why would these be here in a storage closet in the servant's wing? Could Theresa have stolen these? The woman is far from pleasant in my limited experience, but could she really have stolen from the family she's worked decades for?

I shake my head. It's late. I'm tired. Suspecting Theresa of theft is serious. It's not an accusation I can make right now. I need to rest and approach this issue from a calmer frame of mind.

I close the box and carefully place it back where I found it. Then I head upstairs to my room. In the morning, I'll have a better idea of how to act on what I've just discovered.

After what I've just seen, I fear sleep will be a long time in coming to me tonight, but exhaustion overpowers my concern, and I quickly fall into a dreamless slumber.