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Papa looked disappointed when he saw Emily follow me into his room. I set his tray on his bed table and then, before he could begin, Emily began the morning prayer.

"Keep it short this morning, Emily," he said. She shifted an annoyed look at me as if she blamed me for Papa's temperament and then abbreviated her reading.

"Amen," Papa said, the moment she finished. He dug into his eggs. Emily watched him eat for a few moments before turning to me.

"Get dressed," she ordered, "and come down for your own breakfast promptly. You still have your morning chores to do in my room and prayers to say."

"And then get right back up here," Papa added. "I have some letters for you to write and some orders for you to make out."

"Mamma's not feeling well today, Papa," I said. "Vera told me."

"Vera will look after her," he said. "Don't waste any time on her nonsense."

"I'll go in and see that she says a prayer," Emily assured us.

"Good," Papa said. He gulped his coffee and fixed his eyes on me. I looked away quickly and then hurried out to empty Emily's chamberpot and got dressed to go down to breakfast with her. Before I did, however, I snuck into Mamma's room.

Beneath her quilt, alone in her big bed with its thick dark o

ak posts and its wide headboard and footboard, and with her head settled softly in the middle of her large, fluffy pillow, Mamma looked like a little girl. Her face was as pale as a dull pearl and her unbrushed hair lay softly around her head. Her eyes were closed, but they snapped open when I approached. A gentle smile formed around her lips and brightened her eyes as soon as she saw me.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she said.

"Good morning, Mamma. I heard you weren't feeling well this morning."

"Oh, it's just a nasty tummyache. It's almost all gone already," she said, and reached for my hand.

I seized hers eagerly. Oh how I wanted to tell her what had happened. How I wanted to bury my head in her lap, to have her embrace and comfort me and tell me not to hate myself. How I needed to hear her reassure me and pet me and promise me I would be all right. I needed Mother-love, that link with something warm and tender. I longed to inhale her lavender scent and feel the softness of her hair. I hungered for her tender kisses and the peace that came over me when I felt secure in her arms.

I wanted to be a little girl again; I wanted to be that age before all the terrible truths were rained down upon me, when I was still young enough to believe in magic, when I sat on Mamma's lap or beside her with my head on her lap and listened to her soft voice as she wove the wonder of those fairy tales she used to read to Eugenia and me. Why did we have to grow up and enter a world full of deceit and ugliness? Why couldn't we be frozen in good times and kept prisoners of happiness?

"How is Eugenia this morning?" she asked before I could even think of telling her anything unpleasant.

"She's fine, Mamma," I said, choking back a sob.

"Good, good. I'll try to see her later. Is it warm and bright outside?" she asked. "It looks like it is," she said, turning toward the windows.

I realized I hadn't even looked out myself this morning. Vera had opened Mamma's curtains, but I saw a sky covered with dark gray clouds and not the blue sky Mamma thought she saw.

"Yes, Mamma," I said. "It's lovely."

"Good. Perhaps I'll take a walk today. Would you like to do that?"

"Yes, Mamma."

"Come by after lunch and we will then. We'll walk through the fields and pick some wildflowers. I need fresh flowers in my room. Okay?"

"All right, Mamma."

She patted my hand and then closed her eyes. A moment later, she smiled, but kept her eyes closed.

"I'm still a bit groggy, Violet," she said. "Tell Mamma I want to sleep a little longer."

Oh God, I thought, what's happening to her? Why does she still drift from one world to another and why doesn't anyone do more about it?

"Mamma, it's Lillian. I'm Lillian, not Violet," I insisted, but she didn't seem to hear or care.

"I'm so tired," she muttered. "I stayed up too late last night counting stars."