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Chapter 7
“Pippa, we must go now. Please come down,” Mabel said, drawing in a sustaining breath. Her gaze sought the clouds above, tracing them with her eyes as she waited for Pippa to climb down from the tree, forcing herself to feign patience where it was far from natural.
“But I don’t want to come down. I would rather stay in this tree all day than play with those silly girls.”
Mabel clenched her teeth. “The Traynor girls are perfectly lovely, and just about your age. They will arrive any moment, and I would like for you to meet them in the house like a proper lady and not from the branches of that wretched apple tree.”
Pippa’s tiny head poked out from between two full branches, wrinkles above her small nose as she scrunched it in distaste. “But what if they don’t like me?”
Her delicate voice pierced Mabel’s heart. “Oh, Pippa, of course they will like you.” Her voice dropped, a wry note lilting her tone. “You do realize it is impossible not to love you, right?”
“You have to say that,” Pippa said. “You are my sister.”
Mabel resisted the urge to stomp her foot like her younger sister did so often, clenching her hands instead. “Phillipa Jane Sheffield, you vex me to no end. Please come down from that tree and prepare to greet your guests.”
Pippa’s scoff ripped through the air. “I will not!”
Mabel held her breath, watching the branches for any sign of movement. But the girl refused to climb down. If anyone understood the fear of not belonging, of fearing a lack of acceptance, it was Mabel. That she had suffered in her youth with the same insecurity was little balm at present, however, and she stepped closer to the trunk of the tree, lifting her gaze to find her sister; the girl’s head was squarely turned away.
As a child, Mabel had often trailed behind Charles and his friends, begging for inclusion before finding her place among other local girls, Hattie Green and Amelia Fawn. Those friendships had changed Mabel’s life, giving her a sense of belonging and love.
“You will never know, Pippa, unless you meet them,” Mabel said softly. “What if these girls are about to become your dearest friends?”
Pippa’s head came around, her eyes holding Mabel’s. The air seemed to freeze until Pippa let out a tiny, long-suffering sigh, her shoulders dropping. Without a word, Pippa began to climb down the tree, and Mabel stepped back, relief filling her chest. She had enough to worry over with her papa’s return and her cousin’s guests without the added anxiety of sending away the Traynor girls because Pippa refused to play.
“You will remain with me, will you not?” Pippa asked.
Mabel considered her younger sister. The girl had such confidence in every other regard—at home with visitors, with the servants, and even when facing her nemesis, Jacob Tucker—this insecurity was coming as something of a shock. “Of course I will. Though you only have the three dolls.”
“You needn’t play with us, Mae. Just be there.”
Mabel smiled, taking Pippa’s hand in her own to lead her back to the house. She was unsure how much longer Pippa would rely on her so heavily. The child was already independent to a fault. Mabel would enjoy being wanted while it lasted.
“That sounds perfectly reasonable to me.”
They stepped in front of the house as a gig came through the trees lining the gravel drive, Mrs. Traynor at the reins, and her two young daughters nestled snugly on either side of her.
“Good day,” Mabel called as the horse came to a stop. If they couldn’t meet in the drawing room, at least Pippa was out of the tree. “We are so pleased you could make it. Do come and meet my sister.”
Mrs. Traynor stepped down from the gig, clutching the skirt of her rose-printed cotton gown as one of Mabel’s stable hands ran to hold the horse’s head. Turning to help her daughters hop to the ground, Mrs. Traynor whispered something to them, and they both nodded, their curly blonde hair bobbing in rhythm.
“You must be Miss Sheffield,” Mrs. Traynor said, bending her head as she spoke to Pippa.
“I’m the younger sister, ma’am. You can call me Miss Pippa.”
“Well,” Mrs. Traynor said, sharing an indulgent smile with Mabel, “will you allow me to present my daughters to you, Miss Pippa?”
Pippa inclined her head softly, and Mabel had to swallow her amusement. It appeared Pippa was learning from her comportment lessons, after all. And perhaps taking a few tips from elsewhere. The girl was mimicking a fine lady beyond anything Mabel had taught her.
Mrs. Traynor continued, “This is Katie, my oldest. And her younger sister here is June.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Pippa said, spreading her pinafore as she bobbed a curtsy. “Would you care to see my dolls?”
“I’d much rather climb trees than play with dolls,” June, the younger of the sisters, said abruptly.
Mrs. Traynor gasped in time with Pippa. Though the mother’s cheeks colored, Pippa’s eyes lit at once.
“June,” Mrs. Traynor admonished, “that is not—”
