Moonshadows by Mary Ann Artrip

like an injured bird’s wing and she appeared incapable of further conversation. Janet didn’t press for an answer but she knew something was left unsaid and wondered what else her grandmother had tried to tell her.
    The door opened and Lettie entered the room. “Seven o’clock,” she spoke softly. “Time for your medicine, Mrs. Lancaster. Cook will have dinner shortly, and I’ll bring your tray.”
    “Seven o’clock,” Janet repeated and glanced at the darkened windows. “I had no idea it was so late.”
    Lettie smiled at Janet. “Cook said to tell you that dinner will be served in thirty minutes, if you care to freshen up.”
    “Thank you, Lettie. I’ll do that.” She turned to the bed. “Grandmother, you need to work on getting stronger, so try to eat a bite or two and I’ll see you again before bedtime.” She leaned over and kissed the wrinkled cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, “and please don’t worry.”
    Janet was aware that her grandmother was still trying to tell her something, but the words were forced back by a kind of strange rattle that vibrated against the bony chest. Janet thought it just as well that any further news wait until a later time. She had already received almost more than she could readily digest.
    She held the cold, hard fingers between her warm strong ones for a minute before touching them to her lips. They reminded her of icicles, brittle and easily broken. She placed the old lady’s hands beneath the sheet, pulled the covers up over the meager shoulders and tiptoed from the room.
    Janet sat alone in the formal dining room. She picked at the rich roast beef and jabbed a fork into fluffy potatoes. Her head was still spinning from the revelations of the past hour. How she would love to meet Aunt Isabella and her cousin Etienne. They could be a real family. And like a real family, they would celebrate birthdays and Christmas and Thanksgiving. Janet would stuff a turkey, make three kinds of pies, hot cider with cinnamon sticks, and invite Aunt Isabella to give the dinner blessing. All the while she could hear her favorite song for giving thanks: Bless this house, oh, Lord we pray—
    Then Janet realized that her imagination was running wild and about to go off into the ditch, and she forced herself back into reality. Before any of these things could happen, Mr. Newkirk’s detective would have to locate what was left of her family.
    For the first time in memory, love for her grandmother was touched by an outside force. Resentment settled heavily in her breast and she felt cheated by being denied this remarkable gift for so many years. She took a bite of food and concentrated on chewing. She took another, and then another, and found that the act of eating helped to tame the turmoil whirling around in her brain.
    Later, she cracked the bedroom door to say goodnight to her grandmother. A dim light from the small lamp on the nightstand cloaked the room in a somber aura and she could make out the slight body in the center of the bed. The hump beneath the mounds of covers lay quiet and still and Janet knew she was sleeping. Without entering, she closed the door and climbed the stairs to the third floor.
    Janet lay awake in her darkened bedroom and tried to remember her grandmother’s exact words. Why had the secret been kept for so many years? Was family pride so important that a parent would deny a child her birthright? And then the child’s child. In her innermost ear, Janet could hear her grandfather as he must have shouted at Isabella. Janet knew his terrible temper. Many times she had witnessed his wrath when he was displeased. It seemed to be a family trait—this need for perfection and domination. Thankfully, Janet thought, she’d never strived for such foolishness. While she did possess a certain amount of determination—spunk, her grandmother called it—Janet’s volume for compassion was far greater than her desire to over-expect or to dominate. She cared for