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“Of course she would,” a masculine voice said. “She even likes my fingers, which must taste of alcohol or iodine.”
Sam whisked her valise upstairs and Zane helped her out of the heavy winter coat, laid it over the banister and turned to her. “Are you hungry? Or thirsty?”
“Both,” she said.
“A sandwich? Or some hot soup? There’s leftover tomato soup from dinner and some cold chicken.” He shucked his own coat while he spoke and laid it over hers.
“Both,” she said again. “Oh, it is so good to be here!”
He lifted Rosemarie out of her arms and propped her against his shoulder. “Where did you get that hat, if I may ask?” He reached out and ruffled the dark fur.
“From a fancy store in downtown St. Louis. Do you like it?” She took it off and offered it to him.
“Makes you look like a Russian Cossack.”
“Da.” She gave him a mock salute.
He laughed. “March,” he ordered. “To the table.” He took the chair opposite her, the baby nodding against his shoulder. “Sam,” he said, when the houseboy padded down the stairs. “Could you warm up the soup?”
She felt giddy all of a sudden. From the altitude? From the enveloping warmth in the room? From...
Oh, Lord. She dared not think what the cause might be.
Sam set a bowl of steaming tomato soup before her, then brought chunks of warm bread and a plate of butter. “Make chocolate cake, too. And special cookies.”
“Why, Sam, I didn’t know you could make cakes.”
“Bride come day after tomorrow.” He beamed with such joy Winifred prayed that whoever the girl turned out to be she would be deserving of this unusual man.
Zane chuckled. “I never saw a more nervous groom. Unless,” he added with a sigh, “it was me, when I married your sister.”
As Winifred watched, the smile on his face faded, replaced by an odd, puzzled expression.
“You eloped with Cissy, as I recall. She never told me where you were married.”
“In the chapel at the medical college. She was afraid to tell you beforehand.”
Winifred said nothing. Cissy must have been blinded by love. “Were you happy, Zane?” The question popped out before she could think.
“Yes,” he said simply.
All at once she felt drained. Four days on the train had tired her more than she realized. “Sam?” she called. “Could you make me some tea and bring it up to my room?”
“Try the mint tea,” Zane murmured. He shifted a fussing Rosemarie to his other shoulder. “Bring her some mint tea,” he called to the kitchen. “And it’s time for Rosemarie’s bottle.”
She preceded Zane up the stairs to the same room she had occupied last summer, and Zane disappeared into his adjacent bedroom with Rosemarie. No doubt the bassinet still rested by his bed. Heat spread through her chest like warm molasses. Zane had loved Cissy. And he loved his daughter.
Rosemarie had four new teeth, she marveled. And Sam was bringing a new bride all the way from China! Life moved on. And she...well, she was playing seven concerts this coming year and increasing her teaching hours. She would be so busy she wouldn’t have time to think, but it was the life she had wanted.
She sank down onto the yellow quilt and closed her eyes. Her life at the St. Louis conservatory and on the concert stage was what she’d dreamed of ever since she was five years old and playing on her first piano. And later, with Cissy, they planned for such exciting things—concerts abroad and tours throughout the United States.
Sam tapped on the door, set a tea tray on the dresser and stole into the hallway as silent as a shadow. Then she heard Zane’s bedroom door open and a happy gurgle from Rosemarie.
Oh, Cissy, I am so sorry you are missing this. So very, very sorry. You gave up so much to be with Zane, and then bear his daughter. If there is a heaven, dearest sister, I hope more than anything that you are at peace.
* * *
The next morning Winifred found herself studying the dining room, then moving into the library and assessing it as well. Nothing suggested that it was Christmas, not a decorated tree, no festive ribbons festooning the doorways or winding up the banister, not even a single sprig of holly. She had brought presents, but there was no Christmas tree to put them under. She decided to do something about it.
After breakfast she asked Sam to find a tree she could decorate.
“Will ask sawmill man,” he said. “Bring in afternoon.”
Sure enough, during Rosemarie’s nap, the Chinese man dragged a fragrant Douglas fir into the library and set it up on a wooden stand. Winifred stared at it for a full half hour before deciding how to adorn the bare branches.
