Chapter 29

That evening, we gathered in our family’s sitting room to play games. Charades had always been my favorite. Comfort and I seemed able to read each other’s minds as we acted out each word, and I was excited to play again. We hadn’t had a game night since Father died.

Mother was the referee. In hindsight, we should have had Cynthia or her father be the referee and time keeper; Algernon and Cynthia were both clearly inexperienced in Charades. Algernon made the best of it, laughing at his own incompetence. Cynthia was another matter though. Still hurt by Comfort’s disdain toward her, she only reluctantly participated in the game. After the first round, it was clear that our stepfamily was no match for Comfort and I.

“I know! Let’s switch up the teams!” said Mother cheerfully. Comfort and I exchanged glances. “Algernon and Comfort, you be a team, and Cynthia, you can be with Truly.”

Algernon and I switched places on our couches, and I sat next to Cynthia. Comfort and Algernon were up first. Comfort was an excellent actress, and Algernon had more success with her as his partner than he had when paired with his daughter.

“A bird! Eagle? Falcon? Owl!”

“A boat? A…a stream? River? Oh, float!”

“Your head? Hair? A crown! The king!”

“Time’s up!” called Mother. Comfort and Algernon cheered and Comfort sat back down.

Mother turned to us. “Next!”

I looked at Cynthia and gestured to the front of the room. “Do you want—”

She shook her head adamantly. So I got up and picked up a scrap of parchment. “Reading” was my word. An easy one.

I nodded to Mother, showing that I was ready. I placed my palms together and opened them, pretending to scan the words on an imaginary book in front of me.

“Praying,” Cynthia said in a bored tone.

I shook my head and pretended to turn a page.

“Clapping.”

I shook my head again, licked my thumb, and pretended to turn another page.

“Tasting.”

For goodness sakes, how much more obvious could I be? This was such a simple word! Comfort would have guessed it immediately. I sat on the floor, pretended to lift a heavy tome onto my lap, and turn the pages.

“Sitting.”

“And time’s up!” Mother called out.

“Reading!” I burst out.

“Oh,” was all Cynthia said.

“That is okay,” I said, vexed but trying hard not to show it. “We will get the next one.”

But for the remainder of the evening, Cynthia and I had no luck in Charades. Algernon did propose a history quiz, at which Cynthia excelled. History had never been a subject that intrigued Comfort or myself.

It was difficult to like Cynthia, but I did get along with Algernon. He was easy-going and good-natured. He doted on Mother, and though he wasn’t as talented at storytelling as Father was, he had been to some fascinating places and loved to recount his experiences there. Mostly, I was just glad to see Mother happy again.

After games, everyone discussed wedding plans. Comfort and Cynthia wanted a grand wedding, with everyone in town invited and lots of music and dancing. But Mother, after glancing at me, had refused the idea, saying that she would really prefer a quiet, simple wedding. That the engagement party had been enough, and no reception was needed. I wasn’t fooled. I knew Mother was saying that for me. And I was grateful.

Then came more talk about living arrangements after the wedding, which was only two weeks away. Cynthia wanted to stay at her manor, but Algernon and Mother agreed that Cynthia and her Father would move here. At this point, Cynthia stood up in a huff, saying that she really needed to get home and was tired. She stood waiting for her father, but he forestalled her.

“You go on ahead. I will be there in just a moment.”

Cynthia left, shutting the front door with an astonishing amount of force. I didn’t suspect that such a small girl had so much muscle.

“I hope you will forgive my daughter,” Algernon directed his comment specifically at me. “She really is a lovely girl. This is most unusual behavior for her.”

“It is alright,” I said automatically.

“And I would like to sincerely apologize most sincerely on her behalf for what she said yesterday,” Algernon went on.

“It is really okay,” I said, more earnestly this time. “I am sure she didn’t mean it.” I smiled at Mother. “People sometimes say things they don’t mean.”

Relief broke over Algernon’s face. He took Mother’s hand. “Lenora, your daughters are both remarkable.”

Mother beamed at us. “I know they are. They always have been.”