“I said that there might be some changes occurring shortly, and your father and I shall discuss them later,” Miss Teres told his daughter.
Roger gritted his teeth. Not that she was wrong, per se. He just would not have used those words, especially not in the rather singsong tone she deployed, which had to grate on his daughter. It certainly was not his favorite.
“Without me?” Fannie’s voice somehow rose an entire octave.
“Yes. Naturally.” Miss Teres blew out a small stream of air. “You’re a child, and we’re adults, after all.”
“It’s my house and my cat,” his daughter snapped.
“It’s your father’s house and shall be mine as well in a couple ofweeks,” Miss Teres countered. “Your father and I shall have final say over its occupants.”
“Rose is part of the family,” Fannie argued.
“Rose is an animal,” Miss Teres scoffed. “You’ll outgrow such things quickly.” She gave his daughter a small sniff. “You’re a young lady and need to comport yourself like one.”
“Like you?” Fannie retorted, a precious sarcasm in her tone.
Miss Teres turned toward him this time. “I think more than a governess is necessary.”
“Beg pardon?” Roger asked, squinting at her.
“There’s a school in the Scottish countryside to which gentile families of means and prominence send daughters who need extra assistance conducting themselves properly. While they wouldn’t accept just anyone from our community, I’m sure they’ll take your daughter and make sure she’s prepared to conduct herself when she returns.” She clucked her tongue. “Yes, I can see I’m joining this household just in time.”
Like hell.
The words rocked through Roger’s conscience, both at the prospect of sending Fannie away and of this woman joining his household.
Miserable. They would all be miserable. Anyone could see that. Especially now that he’d experienced something different. Something he wanted to hold on to more than anything.
This time he turned to Miss Teres’s father. “I’m sorry, Judah, but this is not going to work.”
Because it wouldn’t. Not in a hundred and twenty years.
“Now see here, Berab—” Teres threw down his napkin as he rose to his feet, both his sons following suit, the blind one assisting the other with his crutch.
“Your daughter is a lovely girl, but we’re not suited,” he explained to the man.
There was a gasp.
Maybe more than one.
“What do you mean?” Miss Teres’s voice was now almost as high-pitched as Fannie’s. “I’m perfect for you,” she told him, stamping her foot on the ground as if she were Michael’s age. “No one else could be a better wife to a delegate with your connections. We would glitter together.”
“We probably would,” he admitted. More than probably. And yet his heart wasn’t in it. And more, he didn’t want it to be. Not anymore. He’d changed too much.
“But that’s not me.” The bone-deep truth in the words filling his consciousness. “Or at least that’s not the me I’d like to be,” he explained. “Not for my children and not for myself.”
His sister-in-law rose and came to his side. “But we do thank you for joining us this evening and—”
“We will have a discussion in the morning, Berab. A lengthy one,” Teres said, wagging a finger at David before marching out with his family.
For a moment they all sat in stunned silence, the weight of what he’d done falling upon him. He was not going to remarry. He was not going to be a delegate. But he did not care. Not even a little bit.
“They left without saying Birkat,” Michael piped up.
“They were a touch perturbed,” Roger told his son as he retook his seat. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t need to say it now.” He turned toward his nephew. “Should Cousin Jacob lead?” he asked, his smile, for the first time that evening, real.
Her last dinner in the Berab house was… pleasant. The stuffed pigeon was nicely spiced, as were the peas and greens on the side. The wine was excellent. Really, having no one with whom to converse was a boon, as she was able to think and plan and scrutinize her schedule, so she could prepare for her mother’s return, and everything would return to normal like it should.
