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Daniel glanced around. His books lay in piles around the bed. They should have been arranged in the study. He leaned Francine’s photograph atop a chest of drawers .

Her letter, where was it? What book had she been holding? The fog of an endless journey and an over-long day visiting fell upon him. But the letter might be too important to ignore.

The book she had been holding had a green spine with gilded pages. She had slipped it into Pascal’s Pensees . He bent down to the book pile and ran his fingers down the spines. It was second from the top. He pulled the book from its place, jumped onto his bed, and tossed his shoes to the floor.

Daniel,

By the time you read this, Mother will have remarried.

She asked me not to tell you until you had been settled.

So, you see, our reputation is saved, for the most part.

Circumstances last April (do not worry, Daniel, we all believe you) propelled her decision to accept Mr. Johnson’s offer.

Gossip will die when there is no true root to it.

I say “will die” because it has not happened yet.

He is a man of good standing, as you well know. His school is admired by many. You yourself have said you wouldn’t be half the man you are today if you had not enjoyed his instruction...

Daniel punched his mattress. Precisely why women had no place in his bedroom. Ever. Had the situation dented his family’s character sufficiently to force his mother into matrimony? He’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Taking communion to Effie had been an act of mercy. Her wicked mother had schemed to leave them alone in her bedroom for mere minutes before he realized she was not there. A trick to marry off her sickly daughter.

His own mother shouldn’t have married the schoolmaster unless she loved him. He read on.

“I believe our mother does care for him. She now has a companion to share the rest of her life. I could not begrudge her that. I realize that much of this will be surprising. We did try to keep the worst of the gossip from your ears .

Mother convinced Mr. Trent at church to send you out. This is why you are now on an adventure in the south. As you know, Effie’s family practically owns the church.

Mother and I will attend across the street with Mr. Johnson. (They actually have cushions in his pew and Henry says not near as many baptisms are performed there.)

I’m explaining, Daniel, because I want you to be wary.

We will not be around to buffer idle tongues.

Next time, defend yourself. No more weak apologies to simpering ladies.

And for my sake, do not visit marriageable girls without a proper chaperone.

It might be different if you were bald and gray.

As it is, you are much too handsome, though you do not seem to realize it.

Now, Mother will scold me awfully if she finds out I wrote to you in this manner, so promise me you will keep it under hat, a fortnight at least?”

Daniel blew air out in a long sigh and rested his head against the bedstead. Francine was wrong. His mother had not married Mr. Johnson to regain respect. Mother never played social games.

Francine had been compelled to remind him. His position did require delicacy, and he’d best remember it. Point well taken.

DEAR FRANCINE,

Our reputation, rather, my reputation doesn’t need saving and mother’s marriage to Mr. Johnson is a rather dramatic move on her part to cover my non-existent sin.

She has always been sensible; why must she do this?

Is mother truly married? If she is, all I can do is wish her well when she decides to inform me.

I wish you had said something before I left.

You know as well as I do that idle gossip should be left idle and never tampered with.

The fact that it played a part in my removal from my post is not news to me, I kept silent on the subject to spare you frustration.

As it is, I assumed the chairmen immune to the biddies.

At least one was sensible enough to find me this position.

How have the biddies enacted so much power of you, too?

To write such a note? Am I to feel guilt over your predicament, if there indeed is one?

If it is a matter over presumed guilt and spoiled reputation that requires you, Mother, and our brothers to live with Mr. Johnson, then I can say with an open heart that you are in good hands.

He is not Father; no one could be. But he is a warm-hearted gentleman to the core and I shall dare to say that God will bless you for being his new family.

No worries over my manners, dear sister. Our parents taught me well and you know that I am careful. Not everyone is as desperate or dishonorable as Effie and her mother.

Do you hear from Mr. Crawley?

Your loving brother,

Daniel.

He sat back. Had he been too sharp? Sometimes one had to speak pointedly. Francine herself had urged that in her own missive. He was still slightly annoyed with her.

He held a chunk of wax over his candle and allowed it to puddle three times across the folded letter. He blew to cool it and sealed with an old signet ring he never wore.

THE NEXT MORNING DANIEL grabbed his coat and entered the kitchen.

He’d dubbed it Kilgore’s place, but he’d begun to regret the name.

The cook had claimed the wide fireplace to mend and what have you, to keep a minister’s home in order.

He wouldn’t mind propping his feet there now and then, especially when winter assaulted with snow and ice.

His toast lay on the table soaked with melted butter, next to a bowl of congealed oatmeal .

Mrs. Kilgore was up in an instant. “Cream, sir? Tea, sir?” Her penitent voice an acknowledgement of his reprimand.

“Both, thank you. Won’t you join me, is that your husband at the door? Tell him to come in and partake. I should like to meet him.

A great bear of a man stepped in carrying a large basket. A fluff of hair added to his height. “Heard from m’ wife you was in. I hope the house is well set ‘nough for your likin’? I plugged them mouse holes as best as I could. Brought you kittens to choose from.” His grin as wide as the river.

“Kittens?” Such a gift. Cats were as inconvenient as rats in the city. Snowballing them as a child had been his greatest pleasure until he realized he might be causing them pain. But this was not the city. This was a small farming town. Rich in land, and evidently cats as well.

Mrs. Kilgore took a white spotted one from the basket. “I wouldn’t mind having two around here. For the company.”

“Mr. Kilgore, you are most generous. I suppose one cat in the kitchen wouldn’t hurt anything.”

“You’ll need a cat wherever the mouse may be, beg your pardon, sir.” She sounded worried. “Don’t you have mice in New York? Especially up in th’ larder?”

The kitten leapt out of Mrs. Kilgore’s arms to the creamer in front of Daniel. “Oh for shame, it’s spoiled your milk.” She scooped it up and placed it back into the basket and grabbed a dishrag. Tiny mewings increased.

Daniel cautiously lifted the lid. “Uh...” One was smaller than the others. A bit of a runt with an odd hole in its ear. Probably die soon and he wouldn’t have to bother with it further. “I’ll have that one.”

“Naw. You don’t want that one. I’m going to drown it soon as you’ve picked a healthy one.”

“Drown it? By no means. This is the one I’ll have. King David was a mere shepherd boy, you know? ”

The couple looked at him blankly.

He felt a sudden pang of affection for the pitiful looking creature. He plucked it from the basket and instinctively let it curl against his chest. “You never know about those runts, she may be the best mouser this parsonage has ever seen.” Daniel lifted the toast to his mouth and took a bite.