thought better of it. She returned to the side of the stooped old nun. ‘Perpetua, dear, you must sit down again. Here, let me help you.’
I took her other fragile arm and we supported her and guided her back into her chair.
Sister Jerome stared at me and tried to speak quietly into my ear, but her excitement was impossible to subdue. ‘They are the first words she’s spoken in twenty years! This is remarkable!’
It was remarkable, but I wasn’t Barty. And it made me sad knowing that I had to look into her hopeful eyes and let her down.
‘I’m not Barty,’ I finally said to my great-aunt as she searched the evidently familiar features of my face. ‘He’s my uncle. My great -uncle,’ I added. ‘I’m Cal, not Barty.’
‘You must look like he did—when he was a boy,’ Sister Jerome whispered to me. ‘She’s a tad confused.’
Again, my great-aunt tried to stand up, but this time her strength failed her and she fell right back into her chair.
‘You mustn’t tire yourself like this, Perpetua,’ said Sister Jerome tenderly. ‘We’ve all been wondering if we would ever hear your voice again. Praise the Lord. Speaking after twenty years. You’ve worked a miracle, young man,’ she said to me, with a pat on my back. ‘Now you two stay here, and I’ll fetch us some warm drinks.’
I stood there looking at the old lady whose features reminded me of Great-uncle Bartholomew —without the bristles. Well, without all the bristles.
‘Sister Mary Perpetua,’ I started, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. ‘I’m afraid I’m not Barty. I’m your great-nephew, Callum Ormond. Tom’s son and William’s grandson.’ I thought of William, the grandfather I’d hardly known. The family lost him shortly after I was born.
‘I visited your brother Bartholomew recently,’ I said, hoping it wasn’t too early to be drilling her with questions. I didn’t want to waste time, so I pressed on. ‘He told me that you might have information about the Ormond family—about a will made by Piers Ormond. It’s really important that I get hold of anything you might have. It’s more important than anyone could imagine.’
She didn’t move or speak for what seemed a long time, and I wondered whether she’d even heard what I’d said.
‘I have been praying this moment would never come,’ she finally spoke again, in a voice that cracked and scraped like a rusty gate. ‘For a moment, I thought eighty years had slipped away and I was a girl again. Silly Milly,’ she said with a hint of a childish smile.
‘What do you mean, you’ve been praying this moment would never come?’ I asked.
The hint of a smile disappeared and her lips tightened. She shook her head, remaining silent.
‘Please, please tell me? What did you mean by that?’
I leaned forward as her rusty voice returned. ‘Because it means that Billy’s boy—your father …’
‘Yes, please go on,’ I begged. ‘What about my father? Please tell me?’
It was just days away from the anniversary of Dad’s death, and I had a queasy, sick feeling around my heart at the thought of him. I stared into Millicent’s eyes, urging her soul to open up to me. Her silence almost made me feel like shaking it out of her—it was obvious there were many memories stirring inside. But when I saw that tears were now rolling down her pale, wrinkled cheeks, I calmed myself down.
‘Please Sister,’ I said in the gentlest voice I could manage. ‘What does my visit mean? What does it mean about my father?’
‘It means,’ she said in a voice so soft that I had to move closer to hear, ‘it means that your father is dead.’
Her words floored me. How did she know that?
‘He wrote to me, asking me about the Ormond Singularity,’ she said.
I could hardly breathe.
Suddenly questions poured out of me as tension and exhilaration battled in my mind. ‘And did you have any answers for him? Do you know anything? Can you tell me? Did he say what the
I took her other fragile arm and we supported her and guided her back into her chair.
Sister Jerome stared at me and tried to speak quietly into my ear, but her excitement was impossible to subdue. ‘They are the first words she’s spoken in twenty years! This is remarkable!’
It was remarkable, but I wasn’t Barty. And it made me sad knowing that I had to look into her hopeful eyes and let her down.
‘I’m not Barty,’ I finally said to my great-aunt as she searched the evidently familiar features of my face. ‘He’s my uncle. My great -uncle,’ I added. ‘I’m Cal, not Barty.’
‘You must look like he did—when he was a boy,’ Sister Jerome whispered to me. ‘She’s a tad confused.’
Again, my great-aunt tried to stand up, but this time her strength failed her and she fell right back into her chair.
‘You mustn’t tire yourself like this, Perpetua,’ said Sister Jerome tenderly. ‘We’ve all been wondering if we would ever hear your voice again. Praise the Lord. Speaking after twenty years. You’ve worked a miracle, young man,’ she said to me, with a pat on my back. ‘Now you two stay here, and I’ll fetch us some warm drinks.’
I stood there looking at the old lady whose features reminded me of Great-uncle Bartholomew —without the bristles. Well, without all the bristles.
‘Sister Mary Perpetua,’ I started, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. ‘I’m afraid I’m not Barty. I’m your great-nephew, Callum Ormond. Tom’s son and William’s grandson.’ I thought of William, the grandfather I’d hardly known. The family lost him shortly after I was born.
‘I visited your brother Bartholomew recently,’ I said, hoping it wasn’t too early to be drilling her with questions. I didn’t want to waste time, so I pressed on. ‘He told me that you might have information about the Ormond family—about a will made by Piers Ormond. It’s really important that I get hold of anything you might have. It’s more important than anyone could imagine.’
She didn’t move or speak for what seemed a long time, and I wondered whether she’d even heard what I’d said.
‘I have been praying this moment would never come,’ she finally spoke again, in a voice that cracked and scraped like a rusty gate. ‘For a moment, I thought eighty years had slipped away and I was a girl again. Silly Milly,’ she said with a hint of a childish smile.
‘What do you mean, you’ve been praying this moment would never come?’ I asked.
The hint of a smile disappeared and her lips tightened. She shook her head, remaining silent.
‘Please, please tell me? What did you mean by that?’
I leaned forward as her rusty voice returned. ‘Because it means that Billy’s boy—your father …’
‘Yes, please go on,’ I begged. ‘What about my father? Please tell me?’
It was just days away from the anniversary of Dad’s death, and I had a queasy, sick feeling around my heart at the thought of him. I stared into Millicent’s eyes, urging her soul to open up to me. Her silence almost made me feel like shaking it out of her—it was obvious there were many memories stirring inside. But when I saw that tears were now rolling down her pale, wrinkled cheeks, I calmed myself down.
‘Please Sister,’ I said in the gentlest voice I could manage. ‘What does my visit mean? What does it mean about my father?’
‘It means,’ she said in a voice so soft that I had to move closer to hear, ‘it means that your father is dead.’
Her words floored me. How did she know that?
‘He wrote to me, asking me about the Ormond Singularity,’ she said.
I could hardly breathe.
Suddenly questions poured out of me as tension and exhilaration battled in my mind. ‘And did you have any answers for him? Do you know anything? Can you tell me? Did he say what the
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