After what Loretta and Aunt Di told me, I've had a lot to think about. I've asked Mama for a "private conference" with her this evening. I heard one of Dad's colleagues ask him for that. Mr Davis Barnard is coming for dinner tonight – Aunt Di invited him. I've read a few of his articles since I heard, and they're quite good. Mama showed me some she had kept from when Aunt Di was younger, and I gather she was quite the rebel. Well, I must get on; Anna wants me to play with her. Sorry I haven't written for such a long time, it just seems silly to be writing about what you want to do instead of doing it!
- From the diary of Keller Cutting
"Mr Barnard?" Keller said as they sat in the drawing room for some coffee. Anna and Edith were both in bed, but he and Taylor had been allowed to wait a while.
"Yes?"
"I'm considering becoming a journalist myself," Keller admitted.
"Really?" Diana interrupted. "You never said."
"Well, I only decided recently," Keller justified. "Anyway, I was wondering how I could do it."
"I would suggest you write some articles – just about what you see – and give them to me. I could check them and see how good you are. If they're good, and after a few years of school, I could see what I could do to get you a job on the newspaper," Mr Barnard said. Sincerity rang in his voice.
"Oh, Mr Barnard," Elizabeth smiled. "That really is too kind."
"Not at all, Mrs Cutting. I'd be glad to help," Davis argued. Turning to Keller, he asked, "Have you anything I could read just now?"
"Yes!" It came out rather more loudly than intended. "Mama, may I go upstairs and get it?" His mother nodded her consent.
Keller, since infancy, had been an inquisitive and perceptive child. "Why" was his favourite word, along with "how" and "therefore". For a long time, he had thought he wanted to be an engineer, but more than that he wanted to write instruction books on engineering. But why limit himself to one topic? Journalism, he had recently deduced, offered a wide variety and diversity of topics. He could write about politics one week and hat fashions another with an article on ship building in between.
He rummaged about in his drawer, pulling out his draft of the article he had written. Abandoning all sense of decorum, he bounded down the stairs and into the drawing room.
"Here it is." He handed it to Mr Barnard who took it, holding it by the corners so as not to smudge the ink. He studied it, his eyes taking in every word. He gave no indication of his opinion, merely intense engrossment.
"This is ..." he breathed at last. Seeming not to know quite what to say, he asked, "May I read this aloud?"
Keller considered then nodded, blushing slightly.
" 'We are soon to welcome a new baby to our family, to our home, to our city and to our world.
'Into what kind of family will the baby arrive? A welcoming one.
'Into what kind of home will its first cries be heard? A happy one.
'Into what kind of city will it live its life? A diverse one.
'Into what kind of world will it be exposed? An unforgiving one.
'I see their envy as I walk past, and I hang my head. They stare at my shoes, at my jacket, at my hat. They want them. Not because they are the latest from Paris or because they are the most expensive fabrics. They want them because they will offer protection when winter creeps in to claim its months and summer surrenders her warmth to its cold.
'I come home. As dinner is served to me on porcelain plates and silver platters, I look at the faces of those who serve us – study them. Perhaps she is the aunt of one of those boys on the street. Perhaps he is the brother of the girl who held out her hand for a coin.
'A few days ago I had reason to pass the dock. I stood and watched as concourses of people flooded off ships, their eyes bright with expectation. They are the poorest of the British, arriving in America for the "new life" promised them by the British newspapers. Are they to be the ones serving me food while their sister begs for a coin on the street?
'As New York prepares for the coming of a new Cutting, I would ask of you all: make this world a better place to welcome him or her. When you pass the starving infant, give it food. When you pass the shivering boy, give him a coat. When you pass the crying girl, give her a coin.'"
Silence reigned as the last few words took their effect. Despite his childhood, Keller was not immune to the poverty that surrounded him. He saw the boy on the street as his equal, someone who could be his friend, someone who could, in fact, be him had his family's circumstances been different. It was that realisation that had prompted him to write the article. There was no pretentiousness, no technical genius, but there was a unique innocence and talent in the short section which penetrated the hearts of the reader with incredible accuracy.
Tears coated Elizabeth's cheeks. "Keller," she whispered. "That was beautiful."
"I agree," Davis said. "I wonder if you would allow me to take this to my editor? I imagine he would be very keen to publish it."
"Publish it?" Keller gasped. "I didn't expect – I mean, I don't – I mean – Well, I never imagined it would be published."
"Keller," Davis replied. "I think it would be a crime not to publish it."
Keller waited patiently in the library, reading a book. He tried to read informative books rather than just stories, but occasionally he would indulge himself. He looked up as the door opened and his mother waddled in. He stood up. "Good Evening, Mama," he said politely.
"Good Evening, Keller. I'm here for our private conference."
"Oh. Thank you. I thought you'd forgotten," Keller replied.
"I could never forget you," Elizabeth said. "I want to tell you, your article was wonderful."
"Thank you, Mama. I don't know how I feel about it being published. Happy, I suppose, but also nervous. I don't know what people will think," he confessed.
"What people think doesn't matter, Keller," his mother replied seriously.
"I suppose that leads into what I wanted to ask," Keller said reluctantly.
"What was it?" Keller regarded his mother. He'd always thought she was the loveliest person on earth – she never shouted or scolded him and she was always happy. It was obvious, though, that she had had her fair share of anguish. He had once or twice stumbled upon her merely sitting crying, and so he always tiptoed away, not wanting to intrude.
"Why did you break off your engagement to Mr Henry Schoonmaker?" he asked.
"What?" Elizabeth scoffed. "That's rather an odd question."
"Mama, please don't joke. Aunt Di told me you didn't love him but that there was more to it than that. What is the "more"?"
His mother's smile slid off her face. "You're old enough to know, I suppose, though I really did want to do this with Teddy. Are you sure you want to know?"
Keller nodded.
"Very well. Ever since I was young, I was friends with our valet and stable hand Will Keller. As we grew older, that friendship developed into love. When Henry proposed, my father was dead and we were in severe financial difficulty. My mother, my aunt Edith and Diana all relied on me marrying a rich husband and supporting them. Henry was to be the rich husband. I accepted him.
"But then Will and I realised we couldn't be parted. Penelope helped me fake my death and Will and I went to California together. Penelope wanted to marry Henry, you see. Will and I lived in California until Diana telegraphed us saying my mother was ill. We returned, always careful that no one recognised me, and were married in the parlour of my home."
Keller listened with quiet patience and curiosity. It had not escaped his notice that his mother's husband had been surnamed Keller. The smile that had appeared on his mother's face, however, soon faded, and he knew that her happiness after her marriage was not to last.
"We stayed a few weeks and then we were on our way back to California. But in the train station, Will was – he was gunned down by policemen who believed that he was kidnapping me. He was dead and it almost broke my heart beyond repair. But a few weeks later, I realised I was pregnant with you and it felt like a bit of Will had come back to me."
For the second time that night, tears coated his mother's face. Keller went to his mother's side and allowed her to cuddle him, knowing at least that she found comfort in it. At least he knew. At some point, their tears merged, as Keller wept for the father he never knew.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A strange chapter, I know, but it just came. So, Keller knows pretty much everything now. Baby Cutting will be born very soon – as soon as he/she gets a name! Thank you to those who reviewed, and to those who are reading. Please review! :) In case you don't know how: go to , type in "Ardour" and click on this story and then on a chapter and press review. Sorry for the very long delay in updating - school has got in the way!