Chapter 32

The next few months that followed were relatively pleasant. Algernon often traveled for business while Mother, Comfort, and Cynthia entertained groups of people at the house. I had occasional jobs translating for local merchants, which I did mostly to pass my time rather than earn any sort of significant income. I lacked the extensive hobbies that my mother, sister, and stepsister enjoyed.

Occasionally, I would attend the cotillions that Mother and Comfort would host. Cynthia was an excellent dancer, and she and Comfort were the center of attention at parties. When Algernon was in town, he and Mother would lead the dances, and just like they had at the castle, people admired Mother for her grace and charm. I cheered on the dancers, helped the housekeeper keep the refreshment trays filled, and talked with our guests. I was rarely asked to dance, and declined every time I was asked. My only dance partners had been Father and Curtis, and a stab of pain went through me every time I imagined dancing with anyone else.

During one such party, I had descended from my room and was reading in a corner when a young boy happened to pass by. I glanced up, and he gasped in fright at the sight of my face and scurried away. I bit my lip, trying not to be hurt. He hadn’t meant any harm. I had simply forgotten to apply my cosmetics that evening, and my face was still jarring at first glance.

Similar incidents happened occasionally, either with children or with adults nervously avoiding me, or else looking at me out of the corners of their eyes, hoping I wouldn’t notice them staring. As an effort to live in a way that would make Father proud, I merely resolved to remember to apply my cosmetics daily. I had to get them specially ordered; cosmetics were expensive and difficult to come by. But fortunately, Algernon often traveled to where he could purchase them with relative ease, and it became part of our regular routine.

I felt guilty for my dependence on the makeup. Guilty for the cost and work that went into procuring them for me. I was ashamed and embarrassed that my face was frightening to the people around me. But I didn’t feel confident without the makeup. Comfort and Mother were constantly encouraging me to do the things that buoyed me up, to help me become more self-assured again.

Eventually, it became part of my daily ritual to apply the cosmetics after waking up. I still couldn’t do as good a job as Comfort or Mother could, but for day-to-day use, I felt confident. Assured that I wouldn’t scare any children or make people nervous.

We didn’t have the family game nights or storytelling sessions that we did when Father was alive, but we did begin going on regular family walks. Algernon always encouraged us girls to stop by the Fairy Godmother tree on the last leg of our walks and reach our hands into the trunk’s hole. It was a tradition he had developed with Cynthia when she was young, visiting the tree with her each week while they talked about her mother.

Invariably on these trips, we found something inside for each of us: a new book, a hair clip, or a bracelet. More than once, Algernon remarked that he thought fairies were formed from the souls of people we loved who had passed on, and that our father and Cynthia’s mother were probably fairies watching over us and protecting us. I loved how Mother would smile adoringly at Algernon when he said these things. Of course we knew that it was Algernon putting those things there before our walks, but it made the legend of the tree seem all that more magical, even though we were far too old to believe in fairies.

Cynthia in particular seemed to love the idea that her mother was still watching over her and gifting her with presents. It made me feel horrible for mocking the idea of the Fairy Tree when the legend had first been told to me.

A few months after Mother and Algernon had been married, Algernon came back from one of his business trips with a dreadful cold. He complained of aches, chills, and fatigue, and it soon developed into a hacking cough.

“Was there something going around where you were?” Cynthia asked, concerned as she pressed her palm against her father’s feverish head.

Algernon nodded weakly. “They said it was the gripe there. But most people don’t get it this bad. I must be a wimp.”

Cynthia smiled sympathetically and laid cool cloths across his forehead.

“I will send Truly for the physician,” Mother said, patting Algernon’s arm.

“In the morning,” Algernon said. “Don’t go to any fuss. It isn’t that bad.” But his words trailed away as he was taken over by a spasm of coughing.

“Are you sure, Dad?” Cynthia asked. “We can go get him right now.”

“No,” Algernon insisted. “I am just getting old. My body isn’t quite up to fighting off infections with the speed it did when I was a young sprout.” He waggled his finger at the three girls. “You appreciate your youth while you still have it.”

Mother laughed. “You aren’t all that old.”

“Yes, only half of your hairs are silver,” Comfort joked.

Algernon pretended to faint in horror. “Say it isn’t so!”

Cynthia giggled. “Get better soon, Dad.”

He pressed his fist against his chest like a soldier preparing for battle. “I wouldn’t dare not recover, with four beautiful ladies depending on me!” He coughed yet again, even harder this time, his body wracked with the deep hacking spasms.

“Algernon, I really do think we should send for the physician. You aren’t well.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I am sure it is just a cold. A couple of days of rest and I will be right as rain.”