Page 4

Cora was already at the door. “Finish your breakfast. Try to have a bit of something, at least. You’ll be no good to anyone if you’re half famished.”

Emily refilled her cup from the brass and copper coffee pot decorated with Egyptian figurines, a style that had been so desirable during the Tut-mania craze of the early twenties.

She remembered Annie’s excited plans to see Luxor’s tombs and temples like Lady Evelyn Herbert, or to fly across the Atlantic like the aviators whose daring exploits she followed avidly in the news.

Emily could see her so clearly, head tipped back in laughter, charming everyone in the room during a dinner party.

What would she say if she could see her once more?

What would she change if they could have their time over?

Cora returned shortly and started to tidy the breakfast things. “What time is your appointment?”

Emily glanced at the clock on the sideboard. “Ten.” She was dreading the formality of the attorney’s office, but it was a necessary part of the process. “We’ve to be there for ten.”

“Plenty of time, so. Dorothy just needs her coat and hat and mittens. And a clean handkerchief in case she gets one of her nosebleeds.”

“Nosebleeds!”

“Nothing to worry about. Common enough in children her age. She knows what to do. And best make sure she’s used the loo before you go. Nothing worse than being caught short.”

Emily felt lightheaded as she stood up. “There’s a lot, isn’t there. To remember.”

Cora paused for a moment. “I suppose there is. But it’ll all become second nature to you before you know it. Maternal instinct is a wonderful thing.”

The words crouched in Emily’s heart, afraid to be considered too closely.

Any maternal instinct she’d ever felt had been carefully folded and packed away, like an unsold department store dress no longer in fashion.

She’d put her focus into the farm instead, raising her crops and animals, nurturing the land, turning all her unused love loose to roam the prairie.

She wondered now if she could ever get it back, capture it and corral it and train it, like a wild mustang.

She made her way upstairs and knocked lightly on Dorothy’s bedroom door.

“Dorothy? It’s Auntie Em.” She felt like a fraud every time she said the words. What sort of an aunt was she? A stranger. An interloper. “Can I come in?” She pushed the door open a crack to find Dorothy sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by her toy animals and teddy bears.

Emily joined her, sitting beside the circle of toys. “Are they having a tea party?” She kept her voice bright and breezy, friendly and encouraging. Everything a performance. “They look like they’re having a lovely time.”

“They’re at a funeral.”

The words landed on Emily like knives. “Oh dear. That’s very sad.”

Dorothy pointed to a stuffed monkey beneath the bedstead. “Monkey is dead and the other toys will never see him again, just like I’ll never see Mommy and Daddy again, and it’s not fair.”

The words were so blunt and raw that Emily didn’t know what to say. A knot of emotion stuck in her throat as she reached for Dorothy’s hand.

“I’m so sorry, Dorothy. It isn’t fair at all. I miss your mother, too. Ever so much. And I miss my mother.”

“Granny Frances?” Dorothy’s eyes met Emily’s as she seemed to respond to the idea that she wasn’t the only one to have such a devastating thing happen to her.

“Yes. Granny Frances. She was my mommy—mammy, as I used to call her.”

“Can you remember what she looked like?”

Emily nodded. “I remember everything about her—the sound of her voice, the scent of her hand cream, the way her nose crinkled when she was about to sneeze. And you’ll remember everything about your mommy, too. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You don’t look like Mommy.”

“You don’t think so?”

Dorothy shook her head.

“People always said we had the same smile.”

“But you never smile.”

Emily faltered. The child had an unsettling ability to notice her failings and insecurities. “Well, I guess I don’t have much to smile about at the moment.”

Dorothy’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t remember what color her eyes were. And I can’t remember her birthday.”

Emily pulled Dorothy gently to her feet.

“Her birthday is February fourteenth. St. Valentine’s Day.

Her eyes are—were—as green as emeralds. And when she smiled, they sparkled like jewels.

” It was many years since she’d last looked into Annie’s eyes.

She could still feel the hurt they’d carried as she’d stepped into the car the last time she’d visited them in Kansas. “Your eyes are the same color as hers.”

This pleased Dorothy. “The exact same?”

“Almost. Except one of her eyes had the smallest fleck of brown in it, like a nut she was keeping there for the winter. That’s why my father—your grandpa Joseph—nicknamed her Squirrel.”

This brought the first hint of a smile to Dorothy’s lips. “Squirrel?”

“Funny, isn’t it! And my nickname was Emmie. Our older sister, Nell, was just Nell, because that’s already short for Eleanor.”

Dear Nell. How she’d wept when Emily had telephoned her with the terrible news.

California had always felt impossibly distant, but it now seemed farther away than ever.

Nell wished she could do more to help, but with five children of her own and a sick husband to look after, she already had more than enough on her plate.

Besides, it was Emily and Henry who’d been named as Dorothy’s guardians, much to both sisters’ surprise.

“Perhaps John wanted her to be with his cousin,” Nell had suggested.

“Retain the Gale family connection. And despite all your disagreements, I know Annie still loved you the most.” Emily had promised Nell she would write with an update as soon as she returned to Kansas with Dorothy.

“Do you have a nickname?” she asked as Dorothy began to tidy up her toys.

Dorothy nodded. “Dot. It was Mommy’s special name for me.”

Of course. Emily remembered that now. I’ll call her Dorothy. Dot, for short. “Would you like me to call you Dot sometimes?”

Dorothy shook her head.

“Oh. That’s a pity. Why not?”

Dorothy turned as she picked Lion up from the floor. “Because you’re not my mommy.”

And there it was, the brutal unchangeable fact, laid bare.

The room seemed to spin as Emily stood up too quickly. She took a moment to compose herself before telling Dorothy to be downstairs in five minutes, with a handkerchief in case she got a nosebleed.

Emily’s heart raced as she walked along the landing to her room, where she lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling: mind whirling, heart lurching, all her courage leaching from her. How would she ever endure this? How would she ever fill the gap left by Annie?

She couldn’t.

The fact was that she would never be enough, could never be enough for this heartbroken little girl. Dorothy had nothing, and she now needed her Aunt Em to be everything.