28

Victoria was startled by the depth and intensity of the love she felt for her daughters. In the everyday rounds of care and feeding and tending, she felt it as a steady thrum underneath her every action. Sometimes it would hit her full-force, making her heart swell and her eyes tear up. Always at the oddest moments, as well—seeing the way the sunlight hit Liddie's hair in a certain way, hearing Catherine make up a silly little tune, watching Anne studiously stack blocks, say. She felt the same for Victor, sometimes, that odd moment when her love stopped being just background noise and asserted itself in her heart, and felt fresh and new again. However, her maternal love was a fiercer and more primal thing than her wifely love.

All this to say that Victoria felt strangely at loose ends now that the girls were out of babyhood. Victor was doing just fine, a fact which made her slightly jealous. He could play and instruct and converse with them now that they were a little older. Victoria was still used to cuddling and rocking and tending to every need. Now that there weren't so many needs, she felt a little lost.

Lydia no longer napped in the afternoons, so she sat in the parlor with Victoria instead. It was strange, having company. For years this had been Victoria's few hours to read or to sew or, often, to simply sit and listen to the silence. Today she was sitting in Victor's armchair before the fireplace, knitting away at a new blanket for Anne. Lydia sat on the sofa with a simple quilt block on her lap, arranging and rearranging the fabric pieces. Her feet skimmed the floor. She was so tall! And grew so fast! Her hem would need letting down again very soon. Victoria set her knitting in her lap and studied her first-born. She looked incredibly bored as she moved the fabric pieces to and fro.

Perhaps, instead of simply sitting quietly, they could do something together? An activity was something Victor would do, after all. There was no reason why she shouldn't give his methods a try.

"Liddie," she said at last, setting her project back in her knitting basket, "Would you like to look at the stereoscope with me?"

Victoria smiled at the way Lydia's face lit up. "Yes, Mama, please! May we look at the famous places?"

"Of course. You may fetch them."

Lydia retrieved the stereoscope from its home on the side table with careful hands, as they'd taught her. Then she picked up one of the boxes of stereoviews. The ones of monuments and exotic locales were Liddie's favorites. They sat close together on the sofa and took turns looking through the viewer.

"I'm going to go there someday," Lydia remarked as she studied a scene of the pyramids through the scope. "I will ride on a camel and dig for treasure."

Victoria looked down at her eldest. Her bright, serious, determined little girl. If Victoria had said such a thing to her own mother she knew she would have been discouraged immediately. It had never even occurred to her as a girl that she could, perhaps, have broader daydreams than weddings.

"You may travel wherever you like," she told Liddie, a bit embarrassed when her voice cracked a little. But Lydia didn't notice.

"Will you come with me?" she asked, reaching to choose a new card.

It was on the tip of her tongue to reply that no, oh no, she couldn't possibly, she was far too old and far too ill-suited to adventuring. But then she thought better of it.

"Of course I will," Victoria told her. "I should like to see the Sphinx. It is remarkable."

"You'll ride on the camel with me?"

"I'd have to, I think that is the only way to travel in Egypt."

Lydia pressed the stereoscope to her face. "We can take a boat like this one down the Nile," she said, handing the stereoscope to Victoria. "When we're tired of the camels."

"You have our trip all planned, do you?" Victoria asked affectionately as she took in the view. She imagined herself and Lydia on the deck of the Nile boat. Feeling the heat. Seeing the remarkable sights. And what must it smell like! Victoria's imagination was a little rusty, but exercising it was certainly fun.

"Oh yes," Lydia replied seriously as she plucked a new stereoview from the box. "We'll also go to Venice and ride a gondola. Like this."

Obediently Victoria switched out the pictures and handed the stereoscope back to Liddie so that she could look at the Grand Canal. "And when we're bored of that," Liddie continued, "we'll take an ocean steamer across the Atlantic."

Victoria stared into the middle distance for a moment, imagining a life where one grew bored of Cairo and Venice. She had never traveled more than twenty miles from the village. It had never really occurred to her that she could.

"I love boats," Lydia was saying. She looked up at her mother, her eyes sparkling and a grin just like her father's lighting up her face. "I shall go sailing everywhere. Perhaps I'll have my own boat."

This was news to Victoria. Again, she had to bite her tongue when her reflexive answer was that sailing was terribly difficult, that young ladies might find it especially difficult, that travel could be very dangerous. Lydia's eyes were shining far too brightly for Victoria to say any of that out loud.

Besides, it was nonsense. Lydia could do anything. Victoria smiled and put an arm around her.

"Of course you could have your own boat," she found herself saying. "Perhaps you could start on one of your grandfather's fishing boats. And from there, why, you could go anywhere."

"I could," Lydia agreed happily, fishing about for the next stereoview. Victoria, looking at her, felt her heart swell with pride and affection as well as admiration. Lydia was so unlike her. And Victoria loved that about her.

"And you'll come with me," Lydia added, handing back the stereoscope.

"Of course I will," Victoria agreed. "Where shall we sail first?"

29

Often Victoria looked at her second-born and wondered just where she had come from.

Little Catherine was an Everglot, that was certain. Indeed, she was the spit of Aunt Lavinia, and very similar to cousin Hestia—that round face, the rosebud mouth, pink cheeks and heavy eyelashes. It was more her personality that made Victoria wonder. Catherine was such an easy little girl. Cheerful, quick to laugh, deeply affectionate, she was a little joy. With her blonde hair it was like having a plump little ray of sunshine in the house.

Tonight she was giving Catherine her bath while Victor sat with Liddie and the housekeeper fed little Anne. Barring illness or the rare evening plans, Victoria had always insisted on bathing the children herself. Caring for them and spending time with them, unbecoming of her station as it may be, was deeply important to her.

"All clean," Victoria announced, rinsing the last of the soap from Catherine's face. "Out you come."

She lifted Catherine from the bath and set her on the floor, then quickly wrapped her in a thick towel.

"Can you sing me?" Catherine asked as Victoria dried her face. Poor little dear, she was just three and not nearly as good at speaking as Liddie had been at that age. Likely because her sister rarely let her speak. Victoria smiled.

"Will you sing to me," she corrected gently as she toweled Catherine's lovely hair. "I can try."

Victoria had never sung a note in all her life before Catherine came along. A lifetime of discouragement from music was difficult to overcome. Oh, of course she'd enjoy listening when Victor played the piano, but it had taken a very long time for her to even allow her foot to tap along to a tune. And of course she'd hummed to the children, just soothing little nonsense melodies that could hardly be called musical. Now that Victor and Catherine filled the house with music, it was impossible not to learn the words and the melodies.

The singing at bathtime was almost like a secret. The bathroom was a private space. Catherine never asked her to sing at any other time. The first time she'd asked, Victoria had blushed and fumbled and refused, and then had felt terrible when she saw Catherine's wounded expression. So during the next bath, when her daughter had rather timidly asked for "Clementine," Victoria had acquiesced. For the first time, she sang a song. Not with any confidence and blushing the entire time, but she'd sung. Catherine's beaming smile and hearty laugh had been a lovely reward.

"What shall we sing?" Victoria asked now. In her head she was begging, Please not Poor Wandering One, please not Poor Wandering One. That had been Catherine's favorite for weeks and it was far too high and complicated for Victoria, though she'd done her best. At least her daughter had been happy with her performance.

"Daisy!" Catherine said as she attempted to pull her nightgown over her head by herself. Victoria reached to help her.

"How does that one go, again?" Victoria asked.

"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do," prompted Catherine in her sweet, tiny voice. Then she hummed the melody. Victoria had to think for a moment, but then she began.

She pitched it a little too high, but otherwise Victoria felt she gave a satisfactory rendition of "Daisy Bell." When she stumbled over lyrics, Catherine cheerfully filled in. As she sang she brushed and braided Catherine's hair and cleaned her teeth. By the time she'd sung the last note, Catherine was ready for bed.

"Thank you, Mama," Catherine said, reaching out for a hug. Victoria scooped her up in her arms and touched her forehead to her daughter's.

"You are welcome," she said.

"Very pretty singing."

"I would not go that far. But thank you."

Oh, Catherine. What a sweet, charming little girl. She brought out the best in people, Victoria realized, even at this young age. Or if not the best, at least she brought out the fun and the unexpected.

Victoria held her daughter close for a moment, and then carried her to the nursery for bed.