know his last name. As I said, his father ran a grocery at
the time. I hadn't seen Louis there before although I'd shopped there often
with the maid. Louis simply appeared one day at a time when we needed him most.
He was a bright spot in our otherwise saddened lives."
I sat back and
regarded my sister. She seemed to think her tale finished, but I had more
questions. "So what happened to Louis? Where did he go and why did he
leave after Mama became pregnant with his child?"
Even with her
head bent I could tell she winced. I knew how babies were made, but Celia had
never liked that I knew, preferring to think of me as an innocent on that
matter. "He left before the pregnancy became known."
"So why
didn't Mama contact him? Did he not leave an address so she could write to him
and tell him?"
"He went to
the colony of New South Wales."
I gasped. "But
that's on the other side of the world!"
"It is. But
there was no life for Louis here. London doesn't like people who are...different."
I could vouch
for that. "Why New South Wales?"
"There were
opportunities there. Our government had a scheme whereby they paid the
traveling costs of able-bodied people who wanted to move to the colonies. He
applied and was accepted. He promised to send for us when he was settled, but
we never heard from him again."
He could even be
dead. An unexpected lump lodged in my throat and I couldn't swallow past it.
"We visited
his father at the shop some time after you were born," Celia went on. She
was rigid, her back as straight as a plank of wood, her eyes focused on her
embroidery that she continued to work with alarming intensity. "We wanted
to know if he'd heard from Louis. The old man said he'd received a letter in
which Louis stated he no longer wished to have anything to do with his past
life in London. He had made a new beginning in New South Wales and wanted
nothing to...to ruin it." She held her embroidery at arm's length and
studied it, her eyes bright in the lamplight. "There. Very pretty, don't
you think?"
"Louis...my
father...he never wrote to Mama? He never came back?"
She packed her needle
and thread away in the basket. "Why would he? It sounds like he was quite
content with New South Wales. He didn't need the things he'd left behind."
Tears stung the
backs of my eyes. My poor mother. "You did tell the old man about me,
didn't you? I was his granddaughter after all."
"No. He...unnerved
us. Mama and I never liked him. He had a strange way of looking at us, like he
never trusted us. Perhaps he was so used to the prejudice that he could not
identify kindness and friendship when it was genuine." She looked up as
Lucy entered with a tray of tea things. "Ah," Celia said, cheerful,
"perfect timing. A good cup of tea is just what I need."
I watched as
Lucy poured the tea for each of us, including herself. My sister sipped then
began a conversation with Lucy about the following day's meals. I hardly heard
them. I was disappointed at first to have our conversation cut off prematurely,
but I quickly changed my mind.
I did not want
to tell Celia that Louis may have returned to London approximately ten years
ago and fathered another child. She didn't need to know that he hadn't cared
enough for Mama to see her again.
Perhaps it would
have been different if he'd known about me. Then again, perhaps not.
I wanted to curl
into a ball and brace myself against the tide of sadness washing through me. I
got up and embraced Celia instead. I would always have her, and one family
member was enough. After all, it was better than having none.
***
Jacob waited
until after breakfast to tell me about his search for Wallace Arbuthnot. I was
alone in the small parlor, Celia having already left to speak to Lucy in the
kitchen. She and I had barely spoken over our coddled eggs and the weight of
all she'd told me hung heavily in the air.
I wondered if Jacob
timed his appearance with her departure. It wasn't that Celia disliked him. She
just didn't like
the time. I hadn't seen Louis there before although I'd shopped there often
with the maid. Louis simply appeared one day at a time when we needed him most.
He was a bright spot in our otherwise saddened lives."
I sat back and
regarded my sister. She seemed to think her tale finished, but I had more
questions. "So what happened to Louis? Where did he go and why did he
leave after Mama became pregnant with his child?"
Even with her
head bent I could tell she winced. I knew how babies were made, but Celia had
never liked that I knew, preferring to think of me as an innocent on that
matter. "He left before the pregnancy became known."
"So why
didn't Mama contact him? Did he not leave an address so she could write to him
and tell him?"
"He went to
the colony of New South Wales."
I gasped. "But
that's on the other side of the world!"
"It is. But
there was no life for Louis here. London doesn't like people who are...different."
I could vouch
for that. "Why New South Wales?"
"There were
opportunities there. Our government had a scheme whereby they paid the
traveling costs of able-bodied people who wanted to move to the colonies. He
applied and was accepted. He promised to send for us when he was settled, but
we never heard from him again."
He could even be
dead. An unexpected lump lodged in my throat and I couldn't swallow past it.
"We visited
his father at the shop some time after you were born," Celia went on. She
was rigid, her back as straight as a plank of wood, her eyes focused on her
embroidery that she continued to work with alarming intensity. "We wanted
to know if he'd heard from Louis. The old man said he'd received a letter in
which Louis stated he no longer wished to have anything to do with his past
life in London. He had made a new beginning in New South Wales and wanted
nothing to...to ruin it." She held her embroidery at arm's length and
studied it, her eyes bright in the lamplight. "There. Very pretty, don't
you think?"
"Louis...my
father...he never wrote to Mama? He never came back?"
She packed her needle
and thread away in the basket. "Why would he? It sounds like he was quite
content with New South Wales. He didn't need the things he'd left behind."
Tears stung the
backs of my eyes. My poor mother. "You did tell the old man about me,
didn't you? I was his granddaughter after all."
"No. He...unnerved
us. Mama and I never liked him. He had a strange way of looking at us, like he
never trusted us. Perhaps he was so used to the prejudice that he could not
identify kindness and friendship when it was genuine." She looked up as
Lucy entered with a tray of tea things. "Ah," Celia said, cheerful,
"perfect timing. A good cup of tea is just what I need."
I watched as
Lucy poured the tea for each of us, including herself. My sister sipped then
began a conversation with Lucy about the following day's meals. I hardly heard
them. I was disappointed at first to have our conversation cut off prematurely,
but I quickly changed my mind.
I did not want
to tell Celia that Louis may have returned to London approximately ten years
ago and fathered another child. She didn't need to know that he hadn't cared
enough for Mama to see her again.
Perhaps it would
have been different if he'd known about me. Then again, perhaps not.
I wanted to curl
into a ball and brace myself against the tide of sadness washing through me. I
got up and embraced Celia instead. I would always have her, and one family
member was enough. After all, it was better than having none.
***
Jacob waited
until after breakfast to tell me about his search for Wallace Arbuthnot. I was
alone in the small parlor, Celia having already left to speak to Lucy in the
kitchen. She and I had barely spoken over our coddled eggs and the weight of
all she'd told me hung heavily in the air.
I wondered if Jacob
timed his appearance with her departure. It wasn't that Celia disliked him. She
just didn't like
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