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She waited a moment for them to comply, then continued. “Dear Lord, we don’t know where Robert Markham has been or what kind of trouble and heartache he’s had, but we ask you—now that he’s home again and safe—please guide us so we can know what to do for him, and please don’t let us do anything to add to his worries and make them worse. Amen.”
Mrs. Justice smiled and looked around at each of them. “There. I feel so much better now.”
So do I, Kate thought. Incredibly, Mrs. Justice, with her gentle, forthright prayer, had reminded all of them that Robert Markham would likely need help—but none of them should arbitrarily decide what that help should be. She wondered if Robert had any idea what a staunch ally he had in this kind and pleasant woman.
Someone knocked softly on the door, and without waiting to be admitted, Mrs. Kinnard’s daughter Valentina swept into the room.
“Ah! Here you are, Mother,” she said. She looked...stunning. She would have been perfectly at home in any salon in Philadelphia.
“Imagine my surprise when I arrived home— finally— the snow on the road from Mocksville was terrible—Aunt Matilda and Uncle Bart send their love, by the way. And here I discover you’re nowhere to be found and the servants tell me you’re in the middle of all this excitement about Robert Markham—and my word, there are soldiers all over the place. How is it that this house is always overrun with soldiers?”
“Perhaps because a colonel lives here,” Kate said mildly.
“Oh. Well. Yes. Hello, Miss Woodard,” Valentina said, smiling. “You’re looking very...fine today.”
Kate was well aware that she didn’t look fine at all. She’d been alternating the same travel dress with a plain calico morning dress she kept at her brother’s house specifically for getting down on the floor and playing with the boys. The fact that most of her wardrobe was likely sitting in the Philadelphia train station meant she might be alternating the two dresses for some days hence, turning whichever one she’d just worn wrong side out and hanging it on the rack in the airing room next to the nursery each night.
“You’re very kind, Valentina, but I’m not at my best, I’m afraid. What a lovely dress and hat you have on,” Kate said truthfully, openly admiring the bright orange shantung day bodice Valentina wore above a pale blue skirt with a pleated cream underskirt showing beneath it, and cream-colored lace at her throat and wrists. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes—”
“No,” Mrs. Kinnard assured them both.
“No,” Valentina said dutifully. “I’m very apt to spill. Or break,” she added, completely ignoring the look her mother gave her.
“So am I,” Kate said. “I was only just telling your mother I ought not pour the tea because of it. Do you suppose there is anything we can do about it?”
“Perhaps there’s hope for you, Miss Woodard,” Valentina said. “As for myself—I am quite useless. Or so my mother tells me. You wouldn’t believe the number of dresses and tablecloths and teacups I’ve wrecked.”
Kate couldn’t keep from smiling. For the first time in their numerous encounters since Max and Maria had married, Kate found herself coming very close to liking this young woman. Today she seemed to have no guile at all, despite what must have been her mother’s diligent tutelage.
“So tell me. Is it true that Robert Markham has returned?” Valentina asked the room at large.
“Yes,” Kate answered, because no one else seemed inclined to.
“Is he very changed— Oh, that’s right. You wouldn’t know. Is he changed, Mother?”
“I couldn’t say. I haven’t been allowed to see him,” Mrs. Kinnard said, and Valentina actually laughed.
“Oh, dear. Someone is going to suffer for that.” Valentina was openly teasing her mother—and somebody was going to suffer for that, too, Kate thought.
But Valentina didn’t seem to be worried in the least. She
Mrs. Justice smiled and looked around at each of them. “There. I feel so much better now.”
So do I, Kate thought. Incredibly, Mrs. Justice, with her gentle, forthright prayer, had reminded all of them that Robert Markham would likely need help—but none of them should arbitrarily decide what that help should be. She wondered if Robert had any idea what a staunch ally he had in this kind and pleasant woman.
Someone knocked softly on the door, and without waiting to be admitted, Mrs. Kinnard’s daughter Valentina swept into the room.
“Ah! Here you are, Mother,” she said. She looked...stunning. She would have been perfectly at home in any salon in Philadelphia.
“Imagine my surprise when I arrived home— finally— the snow on the road from Mocksville was terrible—Aunt Matilda and Uncle Bart send their love, by the way. And here I discover you’re nowhere to be found and the servants tell me you’re in the middle of all this excitement about Robert Markham—and my word, there are soldiers all over the place. How is it that this house is always overrun with soldiers?”
“Perhaps because a colonel lives here,” Kate said mildly.
“Oh. Well. Yes. Hello, Miss Woodard,” Valentina said, smiling. “You’re looking very...fine today.”
Kate was well aware that she didn’t look fine at all. She’d been alternating the same travel dress with a plain calico morning dress she kept at her brother’s house specifically for getting down on the floor and playing with the boys. The fact that most of her wardrobe was likely sitting in the Philadelphia train station meant she might be alternating the two dresses for some days hence, turning whichever one she’d just worn wrong side out and hanging it on the rack in the airing room next to the nursery each night.
“You’re very kind, Valentina, but I’m not at my best, I’m afraid. What a lovely dress and hat you have on,” Kate said truthfully, openly admiring the bright orange shantung day bodice Valentina wore above a pale blue skirt with a pleated cream underskirt showing beneath it, and cream-colored lace at her throat and wrists. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes—”
“No,” Mrs. Kinnard assured them both.
“No,” Valentina said dutifully. “I’m very apt to spill. Or break,” she added, completely ignoring the look her mother gave her.
“So am I,” Kate said. “I was only just telling your mother I ought not pour the tea because of it. Do you suppose there is anything we can do about it?”
“Perhaps there’s hope for you, Miss Woodard,” Valentina said. “As for myself—I am quite useless. Or so my mother tells me. You wouldn’t believe the number of dresses and tablecloths and teacups I’ve wrecked.”
Kate couldn’t keep from smiling. For the first time in their numerous encounters since Max and Maria had married, Kate found herself coming very close to liking this young woman. Today she seemed to have no guile at all, despite what must have been her mother’s diligent tutelage.
“So tell me. Is it true that Robert Markham has returned?” Valentina asked the room at large.
“Yes,” Kate answered, because no one else seemed inclined to.
“Is he very changed— Oh, that’s right. You wouldn’t know. Is he changed, Mother?”
“I couldn’t say. I haven’t been allowed to see him,” Mrs. Kinnard said, and Valentina actually laughed.
“Oh, dear. Someone is going to suffer for that.” Valentina was openly teasing her mother—and somebody was going to suffer for that, too, Kate thought.
But Valentina didn’t seem to be worried in the least. She
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