A/N: If you haven't read the previous chapter, please do. These two go together. Thank you for sticking with this!
St. Louis, New Year's Day, 1883
"Oh my, it was warm with everyone in there." Mam sank into a chair facing the front door. She fanned her glowing face. "Did you tell Beryl to save us a piece of cake as well?"
"No, but she will. It's more likely she'll save one for you than for me." Elsie said. Da paged through a well-worn book in his hands.
"Why?" Mam asked. "Is she angry with you? She seemed to be a moment ago."
Elsie sighed, leaning against the chair. "I suppose it's my own fault. I was teasing her about Mr. Patmore."
Da looked up. "That made her upset? I would think she would joke with you instead." He shrugged.
"What did you want to speak with me about?" Elsie wondered what was going on.
Her parents exchanged a look. Mam sighed. "It's about Becky."
"Becky? Is she all right?"
"She's fine," Da said. He hesitated for a moment. "Elsie, we know you love her. It's one of our greatest joys that despite her condition, you still care for her. Not everyone would. There's been more than one family that have shunned one of their own for being…different."
Elsie's heart swelled. "I could never abandon her. She's my wee sister, I had to wait a long time for her," She wiped away a tear from her face. "I will always care for her. I'll do whatever I have to, to make sure she's cared for."
Her parents held hands. Mam wiped away a tear of her own. "My girl, you have a gentle heart. We are so proud of you, for the work you've done. We wanted to tell you how grateful we are, both for our sake, as well as for Becky." Mam bit her lip. "The truth is, I was so proud of you when you went into service. But I was afraid as well. The housekeeper wrote to me, telling me how happy the master and mistress were, and how well you were doing. When your Da sent for us, I was afraid you would stay in Scotland. That we'd never see you again." She looked up, her eyes watery. "You are a woman now, not a child. If you had decided to stay in service, I would have no right to demand that you come with us. I was being silly, wanting to hold onto you." Her voice cracked. "But I was glad – so, so glad that you did come with us. Forgive me, for being selfish."
Elsie hugged her mother. "Of course I forgive you," she choked. "You are my mother – I should hope you would want me with you, no matter how old I am."
Da gently put an arm around her shoulders. "We would always prefer you to be with us, lass. But we would never ask you to sacrifice your own life to make us happy."
Swallowing another sob, Elsie turned to her father. "I haven't sacrificed anything." Now is as good a time as any. She took a deep breath and told them about Mrs. Donnelly's letter. Mam gasped when she heard the wages offered. "So you see," she concluded, "I can still write and ask for the position. The Schwartzmanns are very generous, but I can hardly expect to do better there, unless they sold me the store. I don't foresee that happening. If I returned to service, I could rise – perhaps be a housekeeper in a few years. I would make enough to pay for Becky to be cared for. Neither of you would have to worry about what happens later. I wouldn't be able to care for her myself, but she would be happy. And as long as she is happy, then I will be, too."
"You have thought about this for a long time." Da said. His expression was inscrutable. "But Elsie, I think you are getting ahead of yourself a little. Mam and I are still here." He quirked a small smile. "And both of us intend to live for a good long time yet." His eyes softened. "You shouldn't be worrying about what 'happens later', as you say."
She opened her mouth to argue, but was stopped by Mam's quiet voice. "Sacrifice can mean more than the work you do. What about your friends? Would you be happy to go back into service and leave them?" She squeezed Elsie's hand. "You have never had such good friends before."
Elsie closed her eyes. It was true. A painful throb thumped in her chest as she remembered Mrs. Donnelly's words. A housekeeper does not have the liberty of making friends with those beneath her. A life in service would be isolating. As a housemaid, she was concerned primarily with her work. When, and she had no doubt it would be when, she became Housekeeper, any real friendships would be scarce, if not impossible.
Six months ago, she would have been fine with that life. But now…
They told her not to worry about Becky. About what would happen after they were gone. How could she not? It was foolish to think someone else would care for her sister as much as she did. Pen and Beryl do. Yes, but they won't be able to take care of her themselves, or to pay to have her cared for.
She did not want to think about Charles Carson at all.
"I would miss them," she whispered. "But what choice do I have?" She looked up, almost fierce. "Becky comes first. She has to."
"Love, were you listening earlier?" Da traced his thumb down her cheek. "Mam and I don't want you to sacrifice your own happiness out of an obligation. And that won't change, even after we are gone." He exchanged another look with his wife. "You are right to care for your sister. But we care about both of you."
"It's not just your friends," Mam took a deep breath. "Who knows, if you meet a young man-"
Elsie's heart sank. "Mother. Do you really think someone would want to take me on? Most men would see Becky as a burden at best, a black mark at worst. I couldn't love someone who would want to send my only sister to an asylum and forget about her!"
"Speaking on behalf of men, I think you are being rather harsh." Da remarked drily. "There are good men out there. Unless, of course, you have made up your mind to never love someone." He paused. "We would never force you to, lass."
"I only mentioned it before because most people do find love and marry," Mam said quickly. "Do you-have you decided that you will never will? Has there ever been someone you thought you could love?"
They had never asked before. But then, when had there been an opportunity to meet someone? Not on the farm, not in service. But something in Mam's expression gave her away. They know.
Elsie's face went white, then red. Should I lie? She heard, as if hearing someone else speak, her own voice whisper. "There was. Once. But it's impossible." She kept her eyes trained on the floor.
It was quiet for so long that she began to listen to the music from the parlor, the merriness emanating from the kitchen. So close, yet so far away. Da broke the silence.
"We should have asked you earlier about him."
"Why?" Elsie looked up quickly. "It doesn't matter now. He's gone from St. Louis, and likely won't come back."
"We waited for you to say something, we didn't want to press you," Mam explained. She got up from the chair and put her arms around her daughter, rubbing her back. "I knew I should have said something, Ewan, back in October."
"You should not blame yourself," Da said. "I am as much at fault. We both noticed our girl walking as if in a dream all during the autumn, then coming home barely a fortnight ago, clearly broken-hearted."
Elsie moved out of Mam's embrace and held her hands over her eyes. "You knew all that time? Och, I thought…" She trailed off, feeling guilty for upsetting them. Humiliation crept back. You hid your feelings for nothing.
"You thought we would not notice?" Mam asked, frowning. "Not many people would. Well, Ailsa suspected something, as you heard earlier. You hide your emotions well."
"Not well enough." Da pulled at his thinning reddish-brown hair. "And do not look me in the face, Elspeth Caoimhe Hughes, and tell me that this man matters nothing to you, because it is clear to me that he matters a great deal. Whether he returns or not."
Her chin quivered as she struggled to hold back her emotions. Don't cry now. You have to be strong.
It was no use. A sob rose from her throat. She let the tears flow freely, feeling the damp against Da's shirt. He held her like she was a little girl again. He used to comfort her if she woke from nightmares, but this was different. There was no waking from reality.
"There, now. If you keep this up, I'm going to go after that young man and give him what for!" Da dried her face with his handkerchief. His voice was light, and Elsie knew he was trying to make her feel better. She managed a small smile. "Don't worry, lass. If you like, I'll do the same to Mr. Mason and Mr. Patmore."
She and Mam both laughed out loud, leaning against the wall.
Da opened the book he had been holding the entire time. "I've been meaning to read you this poem on New Year's Day, for a long time. Before any man came into your life." He cleared his throat.
"To Miss Logan, With Beattie's Poems, For A New-Year's Gift, Jan. 1, 1787"
Again the silent wheels of time
Their annual round have driven,
And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime,
Are so much nearer Heaven.
No gifts have I from Indian coasts
The infant year to hail;
I send you more than India boasts,
In Edwin's simple tale.
Our sex with guile, and faithless love,
Is charg'd, perhaps too true;
But may, dear maid, each lover prove
An Edwin still to you."
As soon as he began reading Elsie remembered. The tiny slip of paper in the back of the book. Read to Elsie, at Hogmanay. She would have read the poem again that day, having read it before, except Mr. Carson had yelled for help.
Even listening to Burns reminded her of him.
She was lost in thought until Da said, "Perhaps you don't remember reading The Minstrel, by James Beattie? The long poem about the lad Edwin?"
"Of course I do! You put it into my hands almost the first moment I could read." She gave him a quick smile. "I still remember bits of it.
'And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy,
Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye…'"
She paused, trying to remember. "Ah, right."
"Silent when glad; affectionate, though shy;
And now his look was most demurely sad;
And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why."
Da and Mam clapped. Da raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed you remember even that much."
Mam laughed. "I'm not surprised. You must have read that aloud to her fifty times since she was a bairn."
"So the poem by Robbie Burns…are you saying you want me to marry someone like poor Edwin?" Elsie teased. "Or is that only advice for Miss Logan, whoever she is?"
"If, and only if, you wish to marry, I hope that you would marry a man with a bit of the romantic in him. A man not afraid of a poem or a song. It may not be practical, but you would not be happy with a cold fish." His eyes were soft. "I want a man of integrity and honor for you." He tapped the book and grinned. "If the advice is good enough for Miss Logan, it's good enough for you. Just keep an open mind."
"I hope this cake is good enough for you." Beryl came in, a plate of cake in her hands. "Well, I hardly think you deserve a piece, Elsie, but here's one for you and some for Mr. and Mrs. Hughes as well."
They all thanked her and moved back into the parlor. "You're not in trouble, are you?" Beryl whispered. She almost looked hopeful.
"No, not at all. Just getting some advice." Elsie sat on the ottoman again and swallowed a bite of the moist cake. It almost melted in her mouth. "Mmmm. This is delicious."
It felt as though a weight had lifted from her shoulders. It was as if, instead of only seeing one path in front of her, there were several. Mam and Da were in good health, and happy here. Elsie smiled as Mam chatted with Bridget and Kate Philpotts, and Da engaged the shy Mr. Patmore in conversation. She blushed as they glanced in her direction.
Her heart twinged with the memory of last October. But the year, and the man, were gone.
Perhaps it was time to consider another path.
