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But she’d come so far, too far to turn back now. Approved the plans. Signed a contract.
What would Father say?
Not much of a question. To everyone else, even Delphie, she could pretend that Luther Cavendish would be pleased to know his building was being used to care for children and support the war effort.
But she couldn’t lie to herself. Her father had loved that library more than anything, even to the end.
———
JUNE 1917
“Absolutely not.” Louise frowned down at her father, leaning weakly against the garden bench, a stack of freshly cut lupines beside him. “Father, Dr. Hoffman is very concerned. You should have visited him months ago. He gave strict instructions that you’re not to leave the grounds, and I mean to enforce that.”
Wasn’t it enough that she encouraged him to be outdoors as often as possible? Old medieval theories about bad air andthe danger of drafts had been proven false by modern science, which now extolled the benefits of sunshine, at least on warm afternoons like this one. It had frightened her, seeing how frail and pale Father had become when she first arrived the week before.
Though in moments like these, when the stubborn scowl appeared on her father’s face, she realized his diagnosis had changed very little.
“So I’m to be a prisoner in my own home? I never imposed such restrictions on you when you lived under this roof. Though perhaps I should have.”
Louise took in a deep breath. He was trying to distract her, and she would not be baited. “This is not just about you, Father. This is about the people you would interact with in a poorly ventilated space while violently coughing. You will not be going to the library today or ever again.”
The way Father drooped, like an unwatered plant, made her hesitate. Perhaps she had been too harsh. Perhaps...
“But ... my books.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.Father hadn’t been ruminating on his mortality at all. “Books are, last I checked, portable. If you compile a list...” She held out a hand, and he paused only a moment before pushing past her, leaning on his cane and grumbling, presumably retiring to his study to comply with her request.
That left her alone with Delphine, who had brought out tea for them. She gathered the lupines onto the tray with work-gnarled hands before straightening and looking Louise square on. “Don’t be hard on him now, Miss Louise. On today of all days, he’s not himself.”
“What do you mean?” Despite Dr. Hoffman’s dire warnings of a man with one foot in the grave, she’d found that, outside of his pale skin and the occasional fit of coughing, Father was very much his old self.
“Only that it’s the day your mother died. Usually, he goes to New York to visit the grave. Now ... I guess it’s hard on him, knowing he might never be back there.”
The flowers ... she picked up a lupine that had dropped to the ground. Purple had been Mother’s favorite color, hadn’t it? “I see.”
“You didn’t remember?”
Louise had only been thirteen years old when Mother had died, and in the decade and a half since, the details had faded. “There’s a good deal on my mind these days.”
The cook grunted. “Can’t argue there.” She shifted the tray to her hip, cups clattering—then paused. “He didn’t think you’d come, you know. After all that happened between the two of you.”
How much does she know?Louise wondered. Servants heard more than anyone realized, and Oliver had been one of them, though not especially well liked, given his reputation as a troublemaker.
“Yes, well, here I am.” When Delphine remained there, Louise sighed. “Is there something else?”
“Thank you.” The words seemed to come with difficulty, like the rusty hinges of an old gate. “For coming. He’d never admit it, but he needs you.”
In all her days, Louise couldn’t recall the dour cook expressing gratitude, outside of a curt nod of acknowledgment, to anyone. “It was my duty, and I’ll stay as long as necessary.”
“Good. And you can call me Delphie.” With that, she retreated, familiar heavy steps dragging toward the kitchen, muttering to herself about the trouble of bringing a vase up to the study.
Soon, Louise took up the list from Father, accepting her role as both nurse and delivery girl. By the time Father’s driver had dropped her off at the library’s door, she thought to unfold it ... and groaned.
A novel with the title writ in gold.
A book with a character or author who shares your first or surname.
One favorite to re-read.
