Livia: A Solace or An Heir?

by lkaz

The books and films create a wonderful environment that is destroyed. What happens to it? How could a headmaster who cared about it leave it vulnerable? Why would he question his Potions Master about his allegiances if the latter loved one woman his whole life? Why would that man grasp at straws before acting as asked of him? Only if a Plan B existed. This is HER story.

1. A Humble Beginning

She was called Livia, though she her birth certificate indicated her name as Olivia Mary Woodcock. At least that is all that family told her until she was about six years old. She lived in the quaint market town of Framlingham in Suffolk, sometimes called just "Fram" by locals. A picturesque, mostly quiet locale that had existed for centuries, most people knew of it owing to its intact castle exterior, which eventually became a notable tourist destination. The town's long historical associations dated back to the Domesday Book commissioned by William the Conqueror. Castle inhabitants included members of the Plantagenet family and several dukes of Norfolk. Even the St. Michael's Church's clock had a notable past, though Livia did not often think of Queen Victoria's surgeon Sir Henry Thompson as its donor when she scurried past it to make her mother's set supper time. As soon as she was old enough to walk, Livia liked to spend time outdoors near the castle alongside its Mere, a watery meadow where she daydreamed. At first she joined her brother but when older she would often venture there alone. When her brother could not go, birds kept her company. They flocked to her.

Her family lived in a Victorian-era dwelling constructed nearly adjacent to St. Michael's, where Livia's father served as rector. St. Michael's essentially served as the town's focal point, and few who lived in its vicinity did not know the reverend and/or members of his family. The Woodcocks celebrated Livia's birthday on 4 September, but the first time Livia could truly remember it she found the celebration odd. She was only five but somewhere inside of her she had misgivings about the situation; she got the distinct notion that what took place somehow appeared as less than a real birthday, at least compared to everyone else in the household. Her mother, Emma, had never shown great enthusiasm for it. Sure, there was a cake and her father, Rev. James Woodcock, the rector, made sure she had at least one nice gift and her brother, Thomas, the eldest child, would make sure to tell a story that amused everyone. Tom, as everyone called him, endeavored to make the day most enjoyable, especially for her. He even reminded her of her birthday starting about a week beforehand – only later did she realize why he did so. He continued reminding her like that for as long as both remained in Framlingham.

Livia started to show an ability to understand the motivations and emotions of those around her, particularly her sisters Cathy and Lydia. Cathy usually appeared amiable that day, but something seemed, for a lack of a better word, un-sisterly. Cathy dutifully participated but generally held only a slight amount of enthusiasm. She behaved far more sincerely and acted more fondly towards Livia on Christmas. Perhaps the choir inspired her or it had to do with her time in the back of her mother's 1970 Vauxhaul Viva with Livia, in order to prevent Lydia from trying to hurt her (the bonus of Lydia feeling special by being in front and saying nothing derogatory to Cathy was a great bonus). The younger sister, Lydia, the sister only a year older than Livia, held back a great deal of contempt for the day as with any other involving Livia – as if biding her time for the right moment, usually when her father attended to clerical duties without them or when they were away from the house and his oversight. Livia's first attempt to peer inside a person's mind involved trying to understand her sister's emotions. On the surface, Lydia did everything her father might expect from her. Beneath that, she wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. A hateful sneer lay hidden beneath her polite well wishes. Only when Livia pointed this out to Tom did he note it as well. He marveled at Livia's keen abilities of perception.

Livia truly began to understand her sister once she formally enrolled at Sir Robert Hitcham's Primary School, a small structure of only a few classrooms. Already at that school for a year, Lydia had amassed a number of female friends. As a group, they taunted Livia mercilessly, as if looking for the right button to push to make her cry, be it a physical or emotional trigger. To these girls, the prospect of making Livia cry became a challenge, but she never did. At recess behind the school, the bullying often became relentless and included a retort Livia never forgot. Lydia, usually sly about her behavior, had unwittingly allowed a teacher to witness her pushing Livia down onto the blacktop. This teacher reported the action to the headmaster after confronting Lydia with the fact of what she had witnessed and that it was particularly callous of her to lead a group in bullying her own sister. Lydia quite angrily told this teacher, "Why should I care about her? She's not really my sister anyway!" Only because the headmaster spoke to Mrs. Woodcock versus her husband did Lydia escape serious punishment. Emma Woodcock merely reminded Lydia that her behavior was "unacceptable for a daughter of the parish rector," and she warned Lydia that she would have to tell her father if it happened again. The school put Lydia and her friends in detention for a week and the other parents, when notified, took a harsher view of the incident than Mrs. Woodcock had. The only thing Mrs. Woodcock did was pay more attention to separating Lydia and Livia in her car, wherever possible.

Meantime, Lydia even resented that Mrs. Woodcock would give Livia clothes that Lydia could no longer wear owing to her growth. Lydia's friends could tease Livia for lacking her own wardrobe, of course, but Livia never complained because she generally accepted or even liked how she looked in what she wore. Lydia thought she could torment Livia but only because Lydia was jealous that Livia usually looked better in whatever she wore than Lydia ever had, regardless of how Livia or Mrs. Woodcock manipulated Livia's long, loosely curled locks (Mrs. Woodcock preferred Livia have a hair bun straight out of a Jane Austen novel; it was the only time Mrs. Woodcock showed great interest in her). Lydia merely tried to exercise her own anger by acting it out on Livia. Livia knew it very early on but also figured there would be zero benefit in speaking the truth so she learned to show nothing and hide her own thoughts and feelings so adroitly that no one knew what they were other than a cat named Sarah who came later and the crows she happened to encounter. A few teachers remarked how they had never seen so stoic a young student ever. The only time she showed any enthusiasm occurred when she saw her grades on an assignment or exam – which would have appeared as a slight flicker of satisfaction to anyone else. In Livia, any emotion stood out. A standardized school uniform eventually resolved the issue – at least at school – regarding Livia's attire.

Yet that small statement by Lydia to a teacher spoke volumes to Livia. She started to remember how Lydia constantly resented Livia having even the slightest interest in any of her toys, which helped Livia gravitate toward those Cathy possessed. Cathy tended to be at least more civil, and she more generously shared or simply gave them to her, if she felt she had grown indifferent to them. Cathy's abiding love was her collection of stuffed animals. Livia played with them carefully and often was seen gently trying to clean them or dress them or groom them. Livia also ensured they were perfectly arranged on Cathy's bed or on her dresser, depending on the time of day. Cathy may not have been a perfect sister, but she appreciated Livia's care and believed Livia was less spoiled and more amiable than Lydia.

Upon more reflection over Lydia's remark, Livia realized that she did not greatly resemble anyone in the Woodcock family other than Tom. Both girls had blonde hair and brown eyes and when sunbathing in Brighton could become very tan, much like Mrs. Woodcock. Tom had dark brown hair and blue eyes, much like Rev. Woodcock, but both also could tan and had a more medium-white skin tone when not tanned, just a bit lighter than Cathy and Lydia. Livia was very pale and had very dark hair with pale blue eyes. If she did not wear heavy sunscreen, she would burn miserably, her skin would peel and she would return to her pale pallor very quickly. She had to remind her father to buy it, since Mrs. Woodcock often forgot to bring it, even though all the children would benefit from at least some sunscreen.

The only member of the household to really dote on Livia was Tom. In turn, she was curious about his work at school. She always asked him questions, and he patiently would explain his homework or his lessons for that day. Tom oddly found himself to have a better grasp of his school subjects because Livia's questions reinforced what he needed to know. And sometimes her queries led to Tom's recognition of his own mistakes in his homework. In this fashion, Livia almost functioned as a tutor though she was five and he was already 11 and had started attending Framlingham College, a preparatory school that would serve him until he went to university. In fact, this arrangement had actually even begun before Livia set foot in a classroom herself. She knew the alphabet, she knew basic maths and she could even print her name. Tom even steadied her hand so she could write her name since someone that young had great difficulty holding a pen.

Perhaps her relationship with Tom was the reason why Cathy and Lydia especially took issue with her. But Livia sensed Lydia's grievance went beyond that. Tom enjoyed a strong bond with Cathy but had very little relationship with Lydia. Tom even went so far as to criticize Lydia for her incivility to Livia. Lydia ignored him, however, as she tended to do. Since Mrs. Woodcock singularly doted on Lydia, Lydia felt no inclination to alter her behavior towards Livia. Lydia merely concealed her disdain around her father, since she knew he would view it rather dimly. As the rector, he would scarcely allow his congregates to treat anyone poorly, let alone a child under his own roof. But Mrs. Woodcock's clear feelings limited his ability to reprimand Lydia; he also avoided getting in the middle of any family drama whenever he possibly could do so.

Two other events stood out in Livia's mind as to how vexed Lydia felt. Around that same time, a moggie female tabby with white pawed mittens first appeared near the door where the family lived. The cat apparently had been taking shelter around or even inside the parish church for some time when she decided to try to get the family to let her in. Lydia enthusiastically wanted the cat, but actually liked to mistreat her. Indeed, Lydia chose the cat's name: Sarah. Despite this, Lydia acted toward the cat as if the cat was a substitute for what she wanted to do to Livia. Once, towards the end of the fall that year, Lydia threw the cat against a wall, and the cat ran into Livia's room. From that point on, Sarah was Livia's cat, much to Lydia's displeasure. Livia became Sarah's protector and her friend. Only then did Livia actually discover that she could communicate with Sarah. Sarah also could recognize Livia's voice as well as the snap of her fingers.

Sarah did not mind her name, she liked Livia's nickname Sairy, but she did not like Lydia at all. Livia and Sarah understood each other perfectly. Livia told Mrs. Woodcock what food to get for the cat, what kind of litter to buy and even if the cat required a veterinarian's attention. No one could understand how Livia knew these things, given her age and given that no one should know these things. Mrs. Woodcock would have dismissed her recommendations entirely had not Rev. Woodcock pointed out that there was no harm in trying what Livia suggested. Livia was never wrong, either, another point which greatly peeved Lydia. The rector tended to indulge whatever Livia said – at least according to Lydia. Rev. Woodcock found Livia credible, convincing and astute. He did not know why, though. Sometimes he wondered how she could be this and yet be so young, but he kept his thoughts on the subject to himself. He and Tom discussed it once, since Tom noticed the same thing and opted to ask if his father had noticed. He had.

Cathy, who had a stuffed toy cat herself, was delighted and greatly respected Livia's concern for the cat's wellbeing. Sarah sometimes slept among Cathy's stuffed animals on school days, which would thrill Cathy when she came home early enough to see it. Cathy even got her father to photograph the scene, and it became a treasured picture as Cathy grew up. Cathy imagined working in a veterinary clinic.

Livia spent a great deal of time in her own room, especially if unable to wander the castle grounds and Lydia was around. Occasionally, she kept company with one of Cathy's stuffed animals there or just with Sarah and the odd crow now and then. She found she could speak to them, also. Cathy was never upset about the borrowed animals because she typically only noticed how precisely lined up and well cared for they were in her room. She knew only Livia, rather than Mrs. Woodcock, would do this. This realization gave Cathy the idea to buy Livia stuffed animals for herself, usually ones Cathy herself did not own, like the first one she gave that Christmas, a bobcat. A wild feline, the bobcat only existed in North America, not England or anywhere in Europe. Finding one to buy for Christmas took some doing for a nine-year-old, but Rev. Woodcock thought it so great an idea when she told him about it that he helped Cathy locate one and have it sent to the rectory in time. The bobcat became very special to Livia, the only American possession she ever prized, especially given what she learned later. The fact that it somewhat resembled a brown tabby like Sarah only added to Livia's gratitude for it.

Otherwise, Livia spent time in Tom's room. She never made any friends at that point, in part because she loathed going to the local park where Lydia and her friends might be – or even to the town's green by St. Michael's. Furthermore, whether she attended Sir Robert Hitcham's Primary School as a nursery charge, a pre-school student or a first year student, the other children her age were not nearly as sentient as Livia was becoming or even vaguely interesting. Cathy rarely stayed home, playing with her own friends at their homes instead. Livia could not really tag along, but it did not matter. Tom was typically in his room once he got home, doing schoolwork. And Tom was grateful when Livia inquired about his work. Almost immediately, he perceived how valuable her questions were because he made the realization usually reserved for college tutors or graduate students – one truly masters a subject only when one begins teaching it.

Livia did not necessarily believe it helpful, but Tom did. He admired how smart she was even though she was so young. She seemed to know what to ask and when to ask it. Some of Tom's friends teased him for being Livia's tutor, openly questioning why he wanted to spend any time with a girl too young and ignorant to be anything other than a distraction and waste of his time. Tom did not see it that way, but he could not explain himself to their satisfaction. Livia almost seemed to understand what Tom needed to be asked and what Tom needed to know or be able to explain. She read his papers, she listened to his presentations and gave him feedback or asked for clarification. Ultimately, Tom even could show his friends how to do complex maths problems based on his interactions with Livia.

A few of Tom's friends came over one day to witness Tom's instruction of Livia for themselves, believing they could prove to him how mistaken he was. At first, they remained unconvinced, so he set up a game that essentially was like Hasbro's Trivial Pursuit where they could choose sides and answer questions about topics the boys had been taught or were being taught. It was Tom and Livia versus Tom's friends Adam and John. The first time Tom and Livia won, Adam and John considered it a fluke or achieved entirely because Tom wrote the questions or was just smarter than both of them. But they played a number of times over the course of that year and Tom and Livia always won, even after Adam and John added questions to the bag. Livia requested Tom write down her questions, too. When Adam and John could not answer one she asked him to write, he proudly pointed out to them that she came up with the question that had stumped them. Still, Tom never revealed how much input Livia had; he always acted as if the two were consulting each other before Tom gave an answer. Adam and John thought it was merely a ruse, and Livia did not say much. Only Tom knew that Livia was a budding genius, and any test of her intellect would reveal a very high IQ. Late that school year, when he found what constituted a standard IQ test, he got her to complete it and calculated the result as being about 165, probably higher. In other words, trying to measure her intelligence was ridiculous. Tom took the test himself and got 142, which he considered fairly accurate. To him, it meant he was smart but not hugely so – just smart enough to recognize true brilliance, such as in Livia. When Tom eventually showed the results to Adam and John, they no longer doubted his claim that she assisted him with his schoolwork. They asked him what they should call his little female Einstein girlfriend. He simply said, "Her name is Livia. She is my sister."

Tom wondered even before he tested her: How bright was she? What accounted for her being so bright? Should not his father look into the matter and have Livia skip at least one grade in school? Shortly before spring term began, Tom suggested it. Rev. Woodcock thought it best to keep the matter quiet. He was thinking about the future, including Tom's future academic success, as well as what might happen if Livia was promoted either to Lydia's grade or higher, since Lydia was at the same school. The only hope for Livia, Rev. Woodcock explained, would be to place Livia in a different school than Lydia. That could involve an expense the rest of the family would find objectionable, even if Lydia could think of it as "getting rid of" Livia.

"Surely, there must be some form of scholarship Livia could get," Tom suggested. "Could she not attend Framlingham College with me?"

"That's an idea – and you are probably right, Tom," Rev. Woodcock answered. "But I daresay there might be obstacles given her background and I probably would have to deal with loud protests of various kinds unless she were to be boarded far away from the only home she's ever known. I think that would be hard on her as well as you at this point. Perhaps when you finally leave home yourself it would be easier for her to do so, also. I think we need to wait, and I think we need to explain to her exactly from where she came first. I think this will be a hard needle to thread. Investing in her future could yield us all great benefits, but I scarcely think anyone other than Livia or ourselves will accept this point."

"I think Livia already wonders about her background," Tom said. "I do not think you can keep the truth from her for much longer. She already suspects something is amiss. She knows there is something behind Lydia's disdain for her. But is she not your daughter, Dad, as far as the state goes?" Tom asked.

"That remains somewhat of an issue, Tom. The local council allowed me to essentially be her parent – but that could be only as a foster parent. I am not certain they assigned me full custody as an adoptive parent, though I should be allowed to make educational decisions, regardless."

"Perhaps you should formalize this already, if it is not so. We have at least one solicitor among the congregation, do we not? You should ask him."

"I should," Rev. Woodcock said. "I know I would not be denied the request, but should the rest of the family know I am doing this, that I need to do this, it will not go down easy. Lydia will throw a tantrum, and your mother will likely want to do anything to please her. Why your mother indulges her so much has puzzled me constantly. Somehow, your mother thinks Lydia was cheated out of something, but Lydia has never wanted for anything. There is no sense in trying to reason with either of them. Either I try to do this in secret, which might be a problem if your mother has to sign any papers, or things must remain as they are. I will discreetly ask, but I wonder if letting the issue go is preferable – at least for now. It depends on if I can talk to the solicitor unnoticed."

When Livia turned six, Lydia let it slip that the family celebrated what pet owners call a "Gotcha" day, much like Sarah, the cat Lydia wanted to like her, despite the abuse she continually dished out. Lydia said it with great disdain, as if Livia were nothing other than a pet, which to Lydia was practically like equating Livia with an inanimate object, like one of Cathy's stuffed toys. Still, Lydia had no idea Livia could hear her, but Livia was not that far away and had acute hearing along with a number of emerging gifts that she could not fully explain. Livia knew things about people, she could converse with animals, particularly birds and mammals, and she found herself able to produce items like cat treats or birdseed just by thinking about them. She thought it had to do with the animals, but the power to do these things lay entirely within her. Livia had no idea what it meant, except that she had to keep these things entirely to herself, much like she knew Rev. Woodcock was withholding information from her. Livia knew no one else around her shared these abilities, and that they would frighten most people, including those within her own family. So she kept it all to herself, even from Tom. She had to be certain that Lydia, in particular, never knew because Lydia might find a way to use these things against her.

The only part Tom knew about was her ability to understand people, as if mindreading. He called her "the most naturally empathetic person he knew." As Livia came to understand the psychic aspects of being called an empath, she accepted that specific word as the best description of her abilities. She had no exposure to any other word that so aptly captured what she was and what she could do. While it did not explain all of her emerging abilities – no empathy could create birdseed or cat treats in her closed fist from thought alone – it explained her abilities to penetrate the thoughts and feelings of people, birds (crows especially at that time) and mammals completely. She kept the word to herself for a long time, letting Tom's more pedestrian use of "empathetic" stand uncontested. Thanks mostly to Lydia, she learned at a very young age the value of being circumspect, and it served her well for many years to come. Livia alone could decide what to reveal to someone and when to do it. Livia disciplined her mind – both thought and feeling – beginning at an age when some children could do nothing other than be entirely transparent and emotive. The contrast was stark and only made forming friendships with other children all the more difficult. She did not lack emotions; she saw no clear and safe outlet for most of these except to creatures who could not speak of them.

During what seemed to be Livia's sixth birthday, she asked her father (as far as she knew) what a "Gotcha" day was. Rev. Woodcock furrowed his brow and wondered why she was asking. She said she heard Lydia refer to this day as such and had not referred to the cat. Rev. Woodcock finally admitted to himself that Tom was right: the time to tell Livia the whole story of her coming to Framlingham had come.

After her typical birthday celebration (as much as it was), Rev. Woodcock asked Livia to join him in his study, which seemed more like a library of religious materials plus other books. Volumes and stacks of various types of parchment or simple paper seemed everywhere. Livia realized that Rev. Woodcock took his own studies very seriously and that Tom had inherited the same work ethic. Indeed, Livia wondered if Rev. Woodcock often published anything based on what appeared to be extensive research material. While Livia examined the room, Tom stood in the doorway, realizing what was going to happen and insisting on being there. Rev. Woodcock considered the matter with some care, at first thinking that including him was a bad idea. He had only turned twelve weeks before on 6 July. Was he even ready for this? Would he upset her? He had not read the letter, either. He was only told about its contents. Finally, Rev. Woodcock relented and allowed Tom to come into the room. Tom had a role in the story, after all, and Tom probably wanted to say so himself. Really, Tom's insistence on keeping Livia drove Rev. Woodcock to allay his wife's concerns. Tom should probably see the letter as well.

Rev. Woodcock closed the door and asked both to sit. They sat next to each other, with Tom putting his hand on her shoulder. He acknowledged that Tom probably knew why he wanted to speak with Livia. Livia seemed prepared, too, oddly enough. Rev. Woodcock then produced a letter carefully preserved in an envelope addressed "To whom it may concern." The writer, Rev. Woodcock explained, had pinned this letter to a blanket on a small basket that contained a nearly newborn child, a girl. "You must read this, Livia, if you can," he said. "It is your story."

"She can read it, I am certain," Tom stated. "I doubt there are many difficult words in it. If there are, she will figure them out. Livia, please read it aloud – I never got the chance to read it for myself and I want to know what it says."

Livia carefully read the typed, unsigned letter aloud, as Tom asked. It stated:

I leave you this young girl. I am not the birth mother. She is a young American friend I met in London while studying drama. She was about 20. She became with child over the winter break of 1971 and gave her family a story of her staying in England to do behind-the-scene stage work this summer, for the sake of concealing her situation from them. This girl was born on 28 August at about 1:45 am. I thought she had to be premature, but she looked perfect. I helped with the birth; there are no hospital records.

My friend started calling her Olivia after a famed actress (and perhaps in part for Lord Laurence Olivier). She had no plan of keeping the child, however. I cannot say why she had a child she never planned to keep nor tried to place. She left that up to me and left the country. I am not old enough to care for this child or to know what to do, especially if I am to keep her mother's identity a secret. I know very little of the father. He seemed to be on break from some school outside of London. He was no older than 20 and likely younger. She told me she saw a school gown somewhere in the small room he was staying in while on a break with some friends. This gown had a crest that was prominently green, I believe, as was a striped tie that went with the gown.

I met him once but never knew his name. The father had blond hair and a pale complexion; my friend had the same complexion but dark hair, like this child. My friend took a fancy to him once we met him and his friends while hitting the pubs around Carnaby Street. She told me that she had a specific motive, though I do not believe it related to having this child. I thought he had drugged her, but she said she feigned the effects of something for his benefit and kept a large portion of whatever it was. That's the only motive I can imagine, though I do not understand why she did this. I know he never knew about this girl. She had no further contact with him and did not seek any.

I hope you can find a loving home for Olivia. She is a very pretty baby – she was born with all this dark hair and never seemed anything but pretty, cheerful and easy tempered. I drove through this part of England before and thought your town square and church seemed so idyllic, like she would have a real chance here to be loved and happy. I cannot tell you much else, not even my name. Godspeed to Olivia. Oddly enough, I think I feel more attached to her than my friend ever did. I daresay I will think about her more often and more fondly, though I only spent about a week with her.

The text explained so much but left so many new questions. Rev. Woodcock also showed Livia and Tom a few newspaper stories on the "found baby" and the rector's decision to keep the child and raise her like his own.

Tom wanted to be there when Livia discovered this in case it upset her and to explain that he was the first person to find her by the entrance to St. Michael's. He immediately found his Dad because he felt he should not try to pick the baby up, uncertain if he could carry her safely at age six. Rev. Woodcock made some inquiries, but rather than surrender the girl to a government agency, he requested that he be allowed to keep her. Her name was officially registered as Olivia Mary Woodcock, and though only Tom acknowledged 28 August as a special day then (countdown to her celebrated birthday or not) it was listed as her date of birth. The family chose to mark the anniversary of her arrival, 4 September, though Mrs. Woodcock was never remotely enthusiastic about adding a fourth child, especially given how young Lydia and Cathy were at that time. She agreed to it based on the ease of passing down clothes and on obtaining some childcare help via Sir Robert Hitcham's nursery but, once she saw that Livia was a model baby, she felt after two years or so that extra help was no longer necessary. It was Lydia who had the "terrible twos" in the worst way, not Livia. Once Lydia turned three and Cathy began attending school along with Tom, Mrs. Woodcock could manage the children herself. She said so, anyway.

The differences between Livia and the Woodcock family seemed so more obvious at that point. Her heart-shaped little face, their more squared jaws, the emerging shape of her slightly turned-up nose, their straight, somewhat wide ones. Later, the contrast between Livia and Tom was a lot harder to see. Still, other points became clear, such as the origins of Tom's gentle regard for her as if his own sister. He was protective of her from the second he saw her. He told her as much, and his insistence on not letting her go stiffened Rev. Woodcock's resolve to keep her. "But who am I really?" Livia said, finally. "Do I have a father? Would he want to know me? What should I make of this?"

Rev. Woodcock tried to reassure her that he was her father, all she knew and all she needed to know. He further emphasized that God gave her to them for a reason. For Livia, he said it was entirely in her hands who she would be, no matter who gave her life or what happened to her, good or bad. Our choices, especially when put under extreme stress, show our true character, and we can only believe that those choices somehow coincide with God's plan.

Tom had a different assessment. "I know who you are already," he began. "You are a kind soul and a very intelligent, well-meaning and sensitive being. My sisters would do well if they but partly followed your example. Lydia, the wannabe queen, will probably never do so, but perhaps Cathy will more fully come round. You are very special and scarcely know how valuable you have been to me. I, for one, know I am a better student for you being here. I am proud to call you my sister, and I always will endeavor to make you proud of me. Always. Maybe that was part of God's plan, Dad. I think so."

"Possibly so, Tom. You show your own strong character by your concern and affection for your sister, Livia."

"I cannot do otherwise," Tom replied. "I am your son, sir. I know you are proud of me for this, among other things, and yet I doubt you are fully aware that we are both indebted to this girl, as well. I know I am. On that account alone, you should be."

"Yes, I do agree with you. When you take your O-level exams, it would be nice if by then everyone else saw it, too. For now, I think only your friends really have any inkling. Of course, if they tell, half your class will be at our doorstep – we would have to open our own school."

"Could they not give testimony as to why Livia should attend Framlingham College with me?" Tom asked.

"I doubt the school would readily accept the word of underage schoolboys, no matter what they have witnessed. Is anyone from the College in our congregation?"

"I think so."

"Perhaps you can point out the right person to me. Did you tell me once you tested Livia's IQ?" Rev. Woodcock asked

"I did. It was so high I am not sure I got an accurate number for her. But what I got was 165. Mine was only 142, which I can believe."

"Really?" Livia asked. "You did not tell me any of this. What does that mean?"

"It means you are smarter than anyone in this room – or this house. And perhaps our entire congregation." Tom replied. "I am only smart enough to recognize that the test did not greatly err regarding your score – or mine. I can recognize genius, but I am not really a genius myself."

"Mensa would disagree with you, Tom," Rev. Woodcock said. "I believe a score of 130 is considered genius."

"Well, I can say I have academic talent," Tom began, "But to say there's no significant difference between myself and Livia dismisses my own experience. There IS a great difference – and I would be a fool to not notice it. I think the test shows I am not that."

"Keep all of this to yourself, Livia – for now," Rev. Woodcock said, turning toward her. "I need to find out what options I have. I am not certain you are formally adopted, despite the birth certificate's obvious assertion of it. And this may or may not relate to your admission. In a way, if you are considered an orphan or technically a ward of the state, Framlingham College actually might be more inclined to admit you at little expense. I need to talk to people about your situation, quietly. Do not talk about this until these matters are settled." Rev. Woodcock explained.

"I understand, sir," Livia said.

That line in itself made Rev. Woodcock almost shake his head in disbelief and contemplate the scene. She's six and she understands? How long would it have taken me to say that? Tom's IQ must be higher than my own, since he asks nothing either, whether for his own benefit or hers. At least Rev. Woodcock comprehended their affinity for each other – he was certain neither his wife nor his daughters possessed anything akin to their innate intelligence. Tom was truly his father's son. Livia? Only God knew but Rev. Woodcock felt thankful he had at least enough ability and concern for her to help her – he just hoped it was enough.