Read Page 41

The tea burns its way to my stomach in instant penance. "The Christmas psalm."

Grandmama resumes her noisy chewing. "I think it best if we visit Mrs. Rogers."Advertisement

"Mother," Father says, "our Gemma is a young lady with interests of her own."

"Interests of her own? Nonsense! She's not yet out of the schoolroom,'' Grandmama harrumphs.

"A bit of freedom will do her good," Father says.

"Freedom can lead to misfortune," my grandmother says. She hasn't said my mother's name out loud, but she's stabbed Father with the threat of it.

"Did I mention that Gemma had the most extraordinary luck of meeting Simon Middleton at the train station today?" The moment it's out of his mouth, Tom realizes he's made a mistake.

"And how did that happen?" Father demands.

Tom blanches."Well, I couldn't secure a hansom, and you see, there was the most horrendous congestion of wagons at--"

"My boy," Father blasts, "do you mean to tell me that my daughter was alone at Victoria?"

"Only for a moment,"Tom says. Father's fist comes down on the table, rattling our plates and making Grandmama's hands flutter. "You've disappointed me today." And with that, he leaves the room.

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"I'm always a disappointment,"Tom says.

"I do hope you know what you're doing, Thomas," Grandmama whispers."His mood blackens by the day."

"At least I am willing to do something," Tom says bitterly.

Mrs. Jones appears."Is everything all right, madam?"

"Yes, quite," Grandmama says."Mr. Doyle shall have his cake later," she says, as if nothing in the world is the matter.

After our thoroughly unpleasant dinner, Father and I sit at the gaming table to play chess. His hands tremble, but he's still surprisingly good. In only six moves, he's got me solidly in checkmate.

"That was terribly clever of you. How did you do that?" I ask.

He taps the side of his head with one finger."You have to understand your opponent, how she thinks."

"How do I think?"

"You see what seems to be the obvious move, assume it's the only move, and rush in without thinking it through, without looking to see if there is another way. And that leaves you vulnerable."

"But that was the only move," I protest.

Father holds up a finger to shush me. He places the pieces as they were on the board two moves prior."Now, look."

I see the same predicament."Your queen is open."

"Hasty, hasty . . . Think a few moves ahead."

I see only the queen."I'm sorry, Father. I don't see it."

He shows me the progression, the bishop lying in wait, luring me into a tight spot from which there's no retreat. "It's all in the thinking," he says. "That's what your mother would say." Mother. He's said it aloud, the word that could not be said.

"You look very much like her." He buries his face in his hands and cries."I miss her so much."

I don't know what to say. I've never seen my father cry. "I miss her too."

He takes out a handkerchief and blows his nose. "I'm so sorry, my pet." His face brightens. "I've an early Christmas gift for you. Do you suppose I'll spoil you by giving it early?"

"Yes, horribly!'' I say, trying to lighten the mood. "Where is it?"

Father goes to the curio cabinet and rattles the doors. "Ah. Locked. I believe the keys are in Grandmama's room. Could you go for them, darling?"

I race to Grandmama's room, find the keys on her night-stand, and return with them. Father's hands shake so he can barely open the curio.

"Is it jewelry?" I ask.

"That would be telling, I believe." With effort, he opens the glass doors and moves things aside, looking for something. "Now where did I leave it? . . . Wait a minute."

He opens the unlocked drawer below and retrieves a package wrapped in red paper with a sprig of holly nestled into the ribbon."It was in the drawer the entire time."

I take it to the sofa and tear away the paper. It's a copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese.

"Oh," I say, hoping I don't sound as disappointed as I feel. "A book."

"It was your mother's. They were her favorites. She used to read them to me in the evenings." He breaks off, unable to continue.

"Father?"

He pulls me to him, holding me close. "I'm glad you're home, Gemma." pqdm.com