Chapter 20

“Just come down for the dinner,” pleaded Comfort.

“No!” This was about the sixth time we had had this same exact conversation. “I am not going to go down there just to have people stare at me.”

“They won’t!” Comfort promised. “You will really like Cynthia and her father. Her dad travels all the time, so you could talk about that with him.”

“No! I am not going to talk to anyone. I am not leaving this room.”

“Honestly!” Comfort was beyond exasperated. “I have been telling Cynthia and her father about you and Mother for months. I finally get Mother to agree to have them come to dinner, and here you are acting like a spoiled two-year-old.”

“So have them over for dinner. But I don’t have to be there. And I won’t be! I am not leaving this room and besides, I’m not hungry.”

I knew Comfort would get tired and give up soon. She kept trying to find ways to get me out of the house and meeting people. She would suggest me going to market with her, or attending a dance, or going to meet new friends. Each time I would refuse. I had to admire her persistence, but my patience was wearing thin. Why wouldn’t she respect my wishes?

I knew what would happen if I left the house. People would gawk and mock how I looked. Mother and Comfort claimed that they couldn’t tell, but I knew they had just become desensitized to my face. It wasn’t that I was any less ugly; it was just that they were used to seeing how ugly I was.

“Well, what am I supposed to tell Cynthia when they get here? That my sister they have never met is still hiding? That you don’t want to meet them? They will think I am making you up!”

“So?”

“So this is important to me. Just come downstairs and meet them and then pretend to get sick so you can run back up to your hidey hole.”

“I am sick. Of people staring.”

“Ugh, you are infuriating!” Comfort snarled. “You haven’t even seen anyone outside the family since Father died. How would you know if they would or wouldn’t stare?”

“I can just tell.”

“Truly, please. I am begging you to do this…for me.”

“No.”

“There is so much more to you than how you look, Truly. I want people to see you the way I do. You are smart and funny and witty. Come down. Please.”

“N-O. No!”

She screamed in frustration, stomped out of the room, and slammed the door.

What did it matter if Comfort and Mother were entertaining guests? I didn’t care, so long as I didn’t have to be there. I pulled out one of my favorite books to pass the time. It was one that Father had frequently read from, and one that I had very nearly memorized in the past few months of solitude—one of fairytales, stories about giants and ogres, daring knights, and beautiful damsels in distress.

Beautiful.

If only I had appreciated my beauty when I had had it. Now I had nothing. Again, I forced myself to not think about my past. It was as if those memories belonged to someone else.

Muffled voices rose up from the first floor. Comfort’s guests must have arrived. I opened the door a crack to listen, but I was too far away to make out more than a few phrases at a time.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“—couldn’t be here.”

“—feeling ill.”

I could hear names being exchanged, a few pleasantries, then they retreated further into the manor where I couldn’t hear them at all. I went back to my book.

Late that evening, Comfort came back to my room. She knocked and entered before I invited her inside. I prepared myself to be criticized for not attending the dinner, sat stiffly on my bed, and kept my nose buried in my book.

“You missed out tonight.”

“No, I don’t think I did.” I replied, turning a page and refusing to look up.

“You really did. Guess what happened?”

“I have no idea,” I intoned in a bored voice.

“I think Algernon is in love with Mother.”

That got my attention. I raised my head.

“What?”

Comfort sat on the bed, snatched up my book and tossed it to the side.

“I know!” She curled her legs under her and hugged one of my decorative pillows. “Algernon saw Mother and got all tongue-tied and started stuttering like mad. You should have heard him introducing himself; he was all of a dither.”

“What did Mother do?”

“Oh, you know Mother. She was the ever-gracious host and asked him all about his work and past and everything. Polite and cordial, but distant.”

I tried to wrap my mind around the idea of someone other than Father being interested in Mother. And what did Mother think about it?

I shook my head. “I can’t believe it. That is just so…bizarre! Mother and…what was his name again?”

“Algernon.” Comfort wrinkled her nose. “Pretty awful name, isn’t it? Cynthia told me that it is a family name. She said that her dad hoped he would only ever have girls so he wouldn’t have to pass it on.”

I laughed. “I guess we shouldn’t be surprised though.”

“About what?”

“Men finding Mother attractive. She is beautiful and elegant. A man would have to not have eyes to not notice her.”

“Especially compared to the other women in town.” Comfort said.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, of course, you haven’t seen them,” Comfort rolled her eyes. “Truly. Believe me when I tell you—all the women in this town don’t know anything about fashion or etiquette or anything. The tailor in town is just horrendous. I am surprised the girls don’t run away screaming when he shows them the dresses he made.”

“Makes you glad you can sew, right?” I giggled.

“More than you know,” Comfort agreed fervently.

“What about your friend, Cynthia?”

“Cynthia is different. She isn’t just some country bumpkin. She goes with Algernon on business trips and gets her clothes tailor-made from people with actual talent. And I am teaching her how to sew too.”

“That is wonderful.” I was glad for Comfort. She hadn’t tutored girls for very long before Father had died, but I knew she had loved it. She had so many talents—dancing, singing, playing the harp, sewing. But I couldn’t see any way she could put that knowledge to use here, in this tiny rural town. She must feel out of place, just as Mother and I did.

“Do you miss before?” I asked her.

“Before?”

“Before Father died,” I clarified. Comfort gave an impression of constant strength. As if nothing would bother her. Almost as though she thought having feelings was weakness.

“Of course I do,” she said. She traced the stitching on the pillow she was still clutching. “But what good does it do to think about it? It just makes me sad.”

I wanted her to talk about it with me. I wanted to have someone to confide in about my struggles. But Comfort had blinders on. She didn’t want to think about anything except the present and future. She refused to look back.

I felt partially responsible for her behavior. Mother and I had been broken, and Comfort felt she needed to carry all of the burdens on her own. Even now, she managed all the finances, all of the marketing and managing of housekeeper. It was a lot to put on any one person.

“Thank you for always being there, for us,” I told her, smiling for what felt like the first time in months. Perhaps it was. “You really stepped up and took on the lion’s share of all the work and let me and Mother just recover in our own time. So I wanted to tell you thank you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Sis,” She reached over and hugged me. “You just focus on getting better, and we will have you back to translating in no time.”