Page 24 of Sophia’s Letter (Ladies of Munro #1)

F or the next two days, Sophia’s father avoided her. He did not come down for meals but ate in his room instead. He did not look in on her or plant a kiss upon her forehead or cheek. Nor did he ask after news from Lord Carthige’s publisher. It was as if he had vanished entirely from her life.

Even George and Bess were neglected. Her brother bore it better than Bess. He could escape to a business appointment or ride into town. In fact, he might have felt his father’s foot lifted somewhat from his neck. But Bess, like Sophia, was trapped within the house and its grounds. With the reigning mood so dark, it was all their youngest sibling could do not to cry with frustration.

Was this going to be their new normal? Had he given up entirely? Perhaps he no longer cared what any of his children did. Sophia could picture him, morose and depressed, skulking like a ghost in a corner of his own home.

Enough was enough.

At her insistence, a footman placed a chair outside the door of her father’s study. She, in turn, was placed upon the chair. She waited until the footman had retreated before she knocked on the door.

“What is it? I gave instructions not to be disturbed.”

“Papa, it is Sophia.”

A lengthy silence followed. Then, a surly and quite unreasonable response.

“Go away.”

Sophia’s eyebrows pricked up.

“That is easier said than done,” she remarked.

Another pause.

“If you found your way to my door, you can manage your way back.”

“The footman has left. I am alone here. Would you like me to scream for help? Or shall I drag myself across the floor so that you may have peace?”

There was only a brief hesitation this time before the sound of footfalls signaled that her father was approaching the door. He pulled it open and glared at her.

“What do you want? I thought you would have eloped with Mr. Mannerly by now.”

Sophia ignored him and peered inside the room.

“That settee looks far more comfortable than this chair. Would you mind?” She lifted her arms up to him to be carried.

He looked at Sophia, then at the settee, and finally, cast a glance down the corridor. For an awful moment, Sophia thought he was going to fetch a footman himself to take her away. Instead, he reached down wordlessly and collected her in his arms, grunting a little as he did so.

“You’ve grown heavier,” he complained as he carried her across the room.

“I’ve grown up.”

“Yes,” he muttered, “that seems to be the problem in general.”

“You would rather I hadn’t?”

He put her down a bit more roughly than the strong, young footman would have done. Then he pushed his palms against his lowered back and grimaced.

“I’m getting old.”

“So am I, Papa. But,” she said cheerfully, “in some ways, I have my whole life ahead of me.”

Her father scowled at her comment. “Well, then, why aren’t you off living it? And take Bess with you so that I don’t have to endure my last daughter abandoning me when I least expect it.”

“You really are impossible!” Sophia cried. “No one is abandoning you. Now stop being so petulant and come sit beside me.”

When her father did not respond, she placed her hand on the seat next to her and added, “This is a welcome space. Why don’t you make the most of it?”

He obeyed—though not with good grace—and sat, facing forward, his hands pressed upon his knees as if he were ready to spring up again at a moment’s notice.

“I’ve let you in,” he grumbled. “I’ve carried you. I’ve sat. What else do you command?”

“Don’t be churlish, Papa,” Sophia scolded. “Mama would never have stood for it.”

“Your mother is gone.”

“That,” declared Sophia, “is not where the problem lies.”

Her father turned toward her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“The difficulty is that she is not gone. She is everywhere, in everything you see and do. And, most importantly, she lives on in us. You hear her voice when Adriana speaks. You see your reflection in Bess’s eyes as if they were Mama’s. George has her dignity, Henry her sense of humor. And I, her artistic flair, though I sketch the world through words. We keep the memory of her alive. When her image begins to fade from your mind, you reawaken it through us. We are her heartbeat, her warm breath. If we go, she goes. And you are terrified of losing her completely.”

“Stop! That is enough!” Her father was shaking now, his skin clammy with distress.

But Sophia persevered. She must pull the barrier down with her bare hands if need be. She could no longer protect him. The only way to save her father was to hold him at the edge of the cliff and show him the danger before he pushed his entire family onto the rocks below.

“She was a wonderful woman, worthy of the degree to which you mourn her. But the manner in which you sustain it cannot continue. You cling so tightly to her memory that you have placed a strangling hold upon us all, squeezing the life out of us. And we have been so afraid to cause you further suffering that we have let you do it. We have not flourished. We have not dreamed of a life beyond these walls. We have claimed no other love for ourselves. And it has not helped you heal. Instead, we have morphed into a monstrous version of family, a miserable, haunted imbroglio. That is why Adriana left. That is why we will all choose to leave, or accept this fate as our final doom.”

She touched her father’s arm, a small act to reassure him that there was still hope and compassion, here, in this space, in this moment.

A strange guttural sound escaped his throat. Sophia jerked her hand back in alarm. His chest heaved. His shoulders scrunched forward. His arms folded in and he hugged himself. A rasping intake of breath followed, then a whimper, until finally her father’s body became wracked with anguished sobbing.

“Oh, Papa!” Sophia reached for him again. “Papa, I am here. Give me your hand. Everything will be all right.”

Her father looked up at her, at the extended hand. Through stuttered weeping, he unfolded his arms from his fetal pose. His hand took hers, gripping it as if it steadied him in a storm. Sophia held on to him until, gradually, his tears became a sniffle. He wiped his eyes roughly with his shirt sleeve.

“I am so ashamed,” he finally said, his voice hoarse from crying. “You must hate me.”

Sophia fixed an honest gaze upon her father. “I do not,” she declared. “But it was hard to accept what you had let yourself become.”

“How did I not see it?” He groaned. “All this time. The harm I have done…”

“It’s not too late. We all love you. We have just been waiting for you to find your way back to us.”

Her father smiled weakly. “You are so like your mother. She always knew how to guide me.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

He hung his head. “Adriana is like me. Willful. Stubborn.”

“And yet she is my dearest friend.”

The smile widened, then flickered and was gone. “I must make amends. So many years have been lost.”

“But not all.”

“No, not all.” Her father pondered this, nodding to himself. Then he looked up at Sophia. “I don’t know where to start.”

How long Sophia had waited for this! How many times she had imagined the conversation, without ever finding the courage to go through with it. Now, here they were, on the other side of it, ready to move forward. She knew exactly what must come next. “A letter to Adriana,” she announced. “Then, perhaps, a family meeting?”

“Yes, yes, I will begin at once.” Her father cast an anxious glance at her. “How can I ever make it up to you? You have suffered most of all.”

How strange , thought Sophia. Now that they had stepped back from the cliff once and for all, she felt no suffering. Nor would she dwell on what she had felt in the past. Rather, peace settled upon her like a healing mist. Within that peaceful center arose an image of Tobias, who had shown her the way. All that had stood between them was now dissolved, their paths converging at last, fully and completely. It just needed one final boulder to be rolled out of the way.

“Well…” Sophia’s lip twitched into a coy smile. “If you really want to make it up to me, I believe there is a neighbor who deserves an invitation…”