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“I do,” Edwin said. “He was a present for William. From me.”

“Mm-hmm.” William’s father nodded. “From back when William had those . . . events in the evenings, when he’d start screaming like he was having a nightmare.”

“Night terrors,” Mrs. Whitney chimed in. She shook her head. “Oh, how horrible they were. I think they lasted for . . . heavens, maybe for three years. He was nine or so when they stopped.”

“I wanted to help him,” Edwin remarked with a small wistful smile as he ran his hand over the wooden doll’s clothing—a small, but well-made, black wool suit. “And I thought maybe Mr. Licorice would be a comfort.” Edwin huffed a light laugh before looking back over his shoulder at Andrew and Agnes. His cheeks warmed when he made eye contact with them. “That’s what I named him. Licorice was my favorite treat as a kid.”

“Do you remember when you first got him?” Mr. Whitney asked.

Edwin shut his eyes to help him think. “Vaguely. He was a present, I believe. From my mother.”

“Yes, he was,” Mr. Whitney said. “Only I remember your father saying that you rejected him at first. He said you were being obstinate. You weren’t interested in dolls. But, then—”

“My father made him the suit,” Edwin said slowly.

“And then you liked him enough to play with him,” Mr. Whitney said.

Mrs. Whitney chuckled. “Oh, we all thought it was so funny at the time. We’d never heard of a little girl who wanted her doll to be a boy. William’s cousins weren’t that way. Their favorite part of playing with dolls—the ones that weren’t babies, that is—was to put them in pretty outfits.”

“But William and I took Mr. Licorice on adventures,” Edwin said happily, a smile bursting to life on his face. “He came with us to find treasures in Washington Park a few times.”

Mr. and Mrs. Whitney both chuckled and nodded. And then Mr. Whitney furrowed his brow.

“You know, Edwin, Frances and I had many conversations over the years about whether or not it was acceptable for William to keep being friends with you, especially as you both grew older. Everyone said it wasn’t proper for a young man to be friends with a young woman. Even when you were both little, we hesitated to keep letting the two of you play together, though of course I liked it when William was sufficiently occupied whenever I visited your father, either for his tailoring services or as the friend he eventually became. But we knew how much you meant to each other. Especially once you gave this, ah, this Mr. Licorice man to William. His nighttime troubles ceased soon after, which, in all likelihood, was probably a coincidence, but still, we tried to see it as proof of your bond. I was a little sad when you stopped coming to the estate so much. And then, eventually, I was sadder still when you ceased to visit at all, though at least I was still able to see you once in a while, in fleeting moments of passing, whenever I visited your father. Until he died. And your family moved. But even then, William continued to talk about you and visit you. And he reassured me that the two of you remained close friends.” He heaved a long breath. “I can’t pretend to understand you changing your name. Or your appearance. Frances and I are both struggling to make sense of it. But we know how important you are to our son. And your father—he was important to me, too. So, well, what I’m trying to say, I suppose, is that Frances and I . . . we take no issue with your continued friendship. Or your continued employment here, should you still want to be our nurseryman.”

Edwin’s breath caught, hopeful excitement making his heart swell.

He crooked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

Edwin turned to William, and they smiled at each other. Mr. Whitney cleared his throat.

“Well, we won’t take more of your time, but maybe you can come by the estate tomorrow morning so that we can discuss what I thought we were going to discuss? Regarding the plants?”

“Happy to,” Edwin said with a smile and a nod.

Mr. Whitney nodded back, and then he started over to Andrew.

“I was surprised to see you here, Mr. Thompson, though I suppose I shouldn’t have been. William mentioned that you two had recently become friends. It seems as though you must have become friends with Edwin as well.” He stuck out his hand for Andrew to shake, and Andrew took it. “Apologies for not acknowledging you before. Clearly, I was a bit . . . distracted.”

“Not a problem, sir.” Andrew smiled. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Mrs. Whitney came up to Andrew as Mr. Whitney released his hand.

“Good to see you, Mr. Thompson,” she said with a cordial bow of her head.

Andrew mimicked her movement. “You as well.”

Mr. and Mrs. Whitney exchanged pleasantries with Agnes next. Edwin, though, remained too stunned to properly internalize everything that had just happened. And so, he stood rooted to the same spot, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while everyone else chatted. Soon, William came by to clap him on the shoulder—a sweet gesture of reassurance.

After William’s parents finally left, it felt as though they all exhaled a long, soundless sigh of relief at once, everyone’s posture noticeably relaxing a little at the same time. Edwin himself could feel his muscles unclenching as his heart rate slowed.

When William caught Edwin’s eye next, he smiled what had to have been the cockiest smile to have ever been smiled in the whole of human existence.

“I knew they’d react well,” he said.

Edwin let out a fast breath through his nose.