7 years later

April 21, 1919

Kate absentmindedly tapped her pen against the desk, her gaze drifting to the open window where the sun shone through and a cool breeze rustled the pink rhododendrons in their vase. As she ran her fingers through the petals, a sudden wail from a baby jolted her back to the present. She looked down to see the ink on the desk and without a second thought, she wiped her hand across it. She frowned at the dark stain on her hand and wiped it across the half-written letter, crumpling it up in frustration and tossing it aside along with her pen.

"I hear ye," she called to the crying child as she stepped into the kitchen to scrub the ink from her hands. But her palm remained stained black. She approached the bassinet, scooped up the child, and was immediately smacked in the face by one small fist. "Well, that's a grand welcome, isn't it?" she chided, bouncing the child until the cries subsided and her frustration dissipated with them. "Look at that now, it's not so awful, is it?"

She checked the clock on the wall and smiled. "Time to go see Sarah," she said, looking down at the baby in her arms. "And let's be hopin' she's in a better mood today." The baby gurgled and Kate chuckled. "Maybe I should be sendin' ye in on yer own. No one could stay cross with the likes of ye around." Gently, she placed the baby in the cradle and wrapped a soft knit sweater around its small frame. "There we go," she murmured, lifting the child back up and cradling it against her chest.

As they stepped out of the house, the sweet fragrance of rhododendrons enveloped them. Despite the pleasant spring weather, the road was nearly empty, with only a lone man sitting on the porch of the house across the street. Kate offered him a friendly smile, but he didn't return the gesture.

She turned in the direction of Sarah's house. Without sidewalks this far from the city center, she had no choice but to walk on the road, stepping aside once to let a motorcar pass, its engine humming loudly as it raced by. A brown butterfly fluttered in front of her face. It was hard to feel down on such a day. She silently prayed that Sarah would feel the same.

Sarah swung slowly back and forth on the porch swing, her bare feet trailing across the deck. They were cold but she ignored the feeling. There was a skirt on her lap that she was attempting to hem up shorter. It was her third attempt to get it just right. She had a sewing machine inside the house but she didn't like using it. It was too fast and she believed that sewing should be a slow hobby. Was it a hobby? It was a way to pass the time, in any case.

Her son was around somewhere, poking through the grass. John, the child who wouldn't stop collecting. Piles of glittering stones in the kitchen, stairs lined with pine cones from largest to smallest, unusual branches in a row on the porch. Why did she name him that? Magpie would've been more suitable. But everyone expected John so John he became.

Seven years and she could still hardly push down the anger over how incredibly unfair it was for her husband to leave her so soon after their wedding. Sarah was torn between wanting to forget entirely and to cling desperately to his memory, his ghost. She looked up suddenly as though expecting to see him but there was nothing but the row of knotty branches and the wind chimes that never stopped tinkling. She had once considered ripping them down but it wasn't her house, not really. Could it ever be?

She had wanted to sell it along with his business or give it back to his family who so desperately wanted everything he had owned but Cal pointed out that she still needed a place to live unless she was willing to set foot on a ship to return home. And as he had paid for the lawyers that battled through the multiple contentions and legal matters in the aftermath of the sinking, she could hardly tell him no and the very thought of sailing back through the ice-strewn North Atlantic gave her nightmares for a week.

She didn't know how he had managed it.

Her needle slipped and caught her finger with a sharp prick. "Damn it," she muttered, as always surprising herself with her own language. She saw the drop of blood and put her finger in her mouth.

"Such language!" A voice called out.

Sarah looked to see Kate walking up with her baby on her hip. "Where did you come from?"

"Me home," Kate replied. "Where I always come from." She sat next to her on the swing and shifted the baby to her lap. "Don't ye have a sewin' machine?"

Sarah shrugged. "The machine is too fast. I prefer this."

Kate bounced the child for a few minutes before speaking again. "Tomorrow's yer birthday."

"So it is," Sarah replied, not looking up from her sewing.

"I was thinkin' it might be nice to invite a few folks over…have a nice dinner."

"I'd rather not," she was quick to reply.

"Surely not even a couple of people?" Kate asked. "It's only dinner."

"Kate," Sarah looked at her. "You've already invited someone, haven't you?"

She shrugged. "I wasn't expectin' ye to say no."

"Who?"

"Fabri."

Sarah sighed and she returned to her sewing. "When's he getting here then?" She couldn't keep the note of irritation out of her voice.

"An hour," Kate said. "And I was hopin' ye'd go to meet him at the station."

"I'd prefer not."

"Well, he won't be findin' his way on his own and it'd be rude to leave him stranded," Kate replied. "I would go but with the wee one here…"

Sarah put down her sewing. "Oh, for God's sake, Kate," she snapped. "You should've just asked me in the first place instead of waiting until the last moment and then hinting around it."

"And you would've said no."

"I'm still saying no," she insisted.

"Sarah."

Sarah wanted to argue. She wanted to stubbornly insist on staying home, staying out of whatever it was her friend had planned, but she knew it would be a waste of time. Kate was not the sort of person to back down and no matter what she said, she would still be the one thrust into the middle of everything. "Fine," she replied, feeling defeated. "But you'll need to keep an eye on the magpie wherever he's gone off to."

Kate returned her frown with a smile of her own. "Thank ye, Sarah."

Sarah didn't reply. She simply slid off her seat and went in search of shoes, trying to tell herself that one person–Fabrizio at that–wouldn't be so bad.

With a quick search to make sure Sarah's son was still alive—he was halfway up a tree searching for birds' nests—Kate let herself into the house. She deposited her baby on the floor in a nest of her own creation made of soft blankets and shoved a wooden spoon—borrowed from Sarah's kitchen—into its chubby hand. It worked well enough as a toy and immediately the child shoved the end of it into its mouth.

Kate looked around and frowned. It seemed that Sarah had lost interest in keeping her house tidy once again. There were several cups spread about the room, filled with various levels of tea long since grown cold. She began picking them up one by one, ignoring the dust that laid beneath them—that would be her next task. But as she reached a small desk along the wall, she set the entire pile down.

The corner of a letter stuck out, hidden beneath another cup, the writing though seldom seen, was all too familiar. She pulled the letter out and glanced around the room, despite knowing that she was alone, except for the child who had given up on his spoon and was now trying to eat his foot. As she read through it, her frown deepened with each passing word. "—considered it meself quite a bit—how can you not? I know it's not the same, I had stayed but not by choice but would I have made the same choice? I reckon I would've stayed if it were Katie left behind but I know she wouldn't have been staying for me. If you were wishing anything, you should wish the boats came back sooner. Fabri did say that they were both seeing the lights of—" She sighed and shook her head. "Damn it, Pat. I swear to Mary, I'm goin' to hunt ye down and—"

A knock on the door interrupted her train of thought and she hastily shoved the letter back into its hiding place. She gathered the cups in her arms, placing the new one on top, and made her way to the door.

"Me hands are full but sure it's unlocked, so it is," she called through the door. "But if yer a robber, the neighbors have nicer belongin's."

"Not a robber," Cal said as he opened the door. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Tidyin' up. Take these." Without waiting for a response, she dumped half of the cups in his arms.

"Sarah's not one for housekeeping is she?"

"Not so much at the moment," Kate said as she led the way into the kitchen.

"Are you aware there's a baby on the floor?" He asked as he followed her.

"Aye, that'd be mine," she replied. She turned on the faucet and smiled. "I will never not be amazed by havin' this hot water come straight from the tap. We didn't have that in Ireland."

"Since when did you have a baby?"

"Since last December."

"He's a cute little fellow."

Kate shrugged. "Not really. He looks a bit like a turnip but sure, given enough time, I think he'll turn out right handsome."

"Where is Sarah?" Cal asked. He grabbed a towel and started drying the cups as Kate washed them. "I saw John outside. I think he was poking at a wasp nest."

"I sent her to the train station."

"By herself?" There was a note of surprise in his voice.

"Sure, and why not? It's only three miles down the road. She'll be back in a couple hours," Kate replied. "Ye won't be goin' to drive her, mind. She needed to be gettin' away from the house for a bit. She hardly ever leaves, God bless her." It was the same every time she seemed to retreat into herself. Kate hated watching it happen. Self-isolation did no one any good.

Cal sighed. "She doesn't know I'm here, does she?"

"Not so much and she likely won't be happy to see ye either," Kate admitted.

"I'm not sure she's ever happy to see me but she's never turned me out," he replied. "How is she?"

"Yesterday she was carryin' on about séances so how'd ye think?"

"What's wrong with a séance?"

"It's not natural, that's what it is," Kate said. "She should be gettin' on with her life, but she'd rather be unhappy." She understood that Sarah had lost her husband immediately after her marriage, but it had been seven years. Life was complicated and painful enough on its own without clinging to old griefs. She chose not to cling to her own losses, even though she had plenty she could hold onto. As she heard the baby babbling in the next room, she thought of her own brief marriage. But it didn't matter. Time moved on and so did she.

Cal looked at her skeptically. "And you think a party is a good idea?"

Kate turned off the faucet. "I'm thinkin' it couldn't hurt," she said, taking the towel from him and drying her hands.

She had her own suspicions about the cause of Sarah's changing moods and who might be behind them, but she knew she couldn't voice them. She couldn't imagine what Sarah might have thought if she knew that someone had been reading her letters. But she had no other choice. How else would she know whether her brother was still alive or not? He certainly had no interest in writing to her.

"Ye ever get to meet me brother?" Kate suddenly asked. "Pat?"

"I don't believe so," Cal replied. "Why?"

Kate folded up the towel and set it on the table. "I was just wonderin' is all," she said. "Not important."

As Sarah entered the house two hours after setting out, the aroma of cooking and the faint sound of voices emanated from the kitchen. She noticed at once that the house had been dusted, the dishes gathered up and she frowned. While she didn't mind Kate dropping by and letting herself in, the fact that she had silently cleaned made Sarah feel useless. At once, she left Fabrizio with the baby on the floor and followed the sounds into the kitchen.

Kate stood over the stove, stirring something in a pot that, admittedly, smelled delicious and Cal stood next to her. Both looked up at Sarah's arrival.

She put on a smile that she didn't fully feel and greeted Cal. "It's good to see you," she said, her voice tight. "It's been too long."

A flicker of disbelief passed over his face. "Well, you know you're always more than welcome in Philadelphia."

"I can't think of a city where I'd be more out of place," she replied. She looked over at Kate who was still stirring the pot. "Kate, can we talk for a moment?"

Kate stared into the pot and for a moment Sarah thought she was pretending not to have heard her, but then she nodded. "Stir, this will ye?" She asked Cal.

After he had taken over, they went into another room.

Sarah began at once. "I've told you several times that I don't want this," she said. "I don't need a party."

"It isn't a proper party," Kate insisted. "Just a few friends gathered together for dinner. And it just so happens to be on the day of yer birth."

"Did you make a cake?"

"I'm always bakin' cakes." Kate retorted.

"Then you can take your cake and all of your friends over to your house and leave me alone," Sarah replied.

"They're your friends."

"Are they now?"

Kate's eyes narrowed. "I didn't invite Pat if that's what yer hintin' at. Can't exactly send an invitation if I don't even know where he is, now can I?" She crossed her arms. "I wouldn't want him in this house anyway."

"Kate," Sarah began. She tried to keep her voice calm, but she could feel her frustration building. "It's my house. I can decide who—"

Kate's brow furrowed as she cut her off. "Sarah, ye need to be talkin' to folks who don't spend their days ruminatin' over everythin' that's happened," she said firmly. "There are people who care for ye and want ye to be happy. Ye can't just be—" She stopped, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

"Can't just be what?" Sarah's voice was sharp.

"Sittin' alone at home every night, stewin' in yer grief isn't good for ye."

"I'm never sitting alone because you're always here."

Silence fell between them and Sarah could feel the tension in the air.

"I was only thinkin'…I was only—" The sound of a baby crying broke her off. "I need to be tendin' to that," Kate said. She wiped her hands on her apron and pushed past out of the room.

Cal watched the food he was stirring and wondered if he had time to sneak a bite. Just as he made up his mind to do so, Kate appeared in the doorway.

"I thought we could be havin' our meal outside," she said, snatching the spoon out of his hand. "There'd be more space and—" Her expression darkened as Sarah came in, grabbed a stack of dishes and stormed out. "There's a lovely table out there that's hardly ever used." She sighed. "Sarah's a bit cross with me at the moment."

"I'm sure she'll get over it in time," Cal said.

"Maybe," Kate mused.

"Anything else you need help with?" He asked. The thought of what his father would think if he had known that his son would one day be offering to help prepare a meal crossed his mind.

She nodded and gestured to a box on the floor. "I came across these earlier and I was thinkin' they might come in handy, if they actually work that is."It's still gettin' dark so early, and it'd be nice to see each other while we eat," she said. "Could ye take them outside and see if ye can get them workin'?"

Cal looked inside the box and nodded. "I can certainly do that. No problem at all."

He carried the box outside, praying that no spiders would crawl out—he thought it must've been filled with them—and dumped it on the table. Carefully, he pulled out two dusty lanterns, wincing as his hand brushed a cobweb, and set them beside it. "Don't know how she expects me to know what to do with these things," he said.

Sarah didn't say anything and he looked up to see her staring off into space, the dishes still in her hands.

"So not having a great day?" he asked gently, touching her arm to draw her attention.

"Why do you say that?"

"I was engaged to Rose for over a year," he replied. "I can recognize a forced smile when I see one." A forced smile, feigned interest, the artificial politeness…he had seen it all during his time with Rose. "Kate means well, you know," he said, setting the lanterns on the table.

Sarah shook her head as though to clear her thoughts. "I know she does," she said. "It's just…sometimes I feel like I'm being treated like a child. Or like I'm something fragile about to crumble to pieces at any moment." She set the dishes on the table harder than she intended. "Or like I can't make my own decisions."

"No one thinks that."

"No?" Sarah challenged. "Did you know that she's forbidden certain topics around me?"

"She did not."

"She did. Ship, Titanic, water," she counted them off on her fingers. "Ocean, John, her brother—of course," Sarah said. "Ice. Can't say ice. It might make me fall to pieces. Ice. Ice. Ice. Ice. Ice. Look, I'm fine."

"Clearly," Cal replied. "She's only—" He fiddled with one of the lanterns, turning the knob, but it only produced a hissing sound.

"Trying to help," Sarah finished for him. "I know." She looked at him and frowned. He had lit a match and was attempting to insert it into the globe. "Have you any idea what you're doing?"

"How could I possibly?"

"Here. Don't do that." She took the lantern from him and twisted the valve in the opposite direction, silencing the hissing sound. "You try to light it with a match and you'll burn yourself." She rummaged in the box and pulled out a tool that looked like a small length of wire, wrapped in one end with fabric. She examined it. "This should work," she said, striking a match and carefully lighting the fabric. She inserted the wire inside the globe and turned the valve until she heard the gas catch. "You can do the other one."

Cal started playing with the other one.

"How's your wife?" Sarah asked.

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I haven't seen Diana in three months." Three blissful months without her jabs and criticism. It was like being on an extended holiday.

"Dinah."

"What?"

Sarah sighed. "Your wife's name is Dinah."

He shrugged. Dinah, Diana…it didn't matter to him. She was the same person no matter what he called her.

"And how's your children?" She asked.

"Wouldn't know that either," he replied. "Dinah won't let me near them." He had seen them several times, of course, but whenever his wife took one of her trips—of varying lengths, he hoped her current one would never end—she always brought them with her. Her excuse was that he would spoil them in her absence. He knew that she was actually worried about him turning them against her. He lit another match.

"Oh, just move. You're going to set yourself on fire that way," Sarah said. She pushed him out of the way and turned his lantern toward her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he replied, bitterly. "I knew better and I married her anyway." John had warned him what would happen if he married anyone who didn't love him but he bowed to societal pressure regardless. Sometimes he wondered if it would have been different with Rose, but deep down, he knew it would've been the same.

The lantern burst into flame. "I'm sorry about your children, not your wife. I've never liked her," Sarah said.

"Me neither," Cal replied, watching as the flame flickered and danced inside the glass globe.

The sky had turned a brilliant shade of pink as the sun was dipping down below the horizon. The table, caught in the glow of the two quietly hissing lanterns, sat beneath several steaming dishes—Kate's handiwork. They were surrounded by the heavy perfume of rhododendrons and the green smell of spring, the peeping of tree frogs just beginning their nightly calls. Above them a breeze rustled the newly formed leaves.

Sarah wished she could enjoy it.

She never understood her moods. She knew that she had a good life, considering. She had friends—Kate was nearly aggressive in her friendship, a home, a child who looked startlingly more and more like John the older he grew. At times she was able to appreciate it all and she felt like her old self…the self that existed before it happened. Other times, it was all she could do to try to shake off the heavy weight that settled over her like a blanket. Why did she feel so alone?

"You see Great Adventure?" Fabrizio asked, as they all dug into their meal.

"What great adventure?" Cal replied.

"The film, Great Adventure."

He made a face. "Why would I want to see that?"

"But you see director?" Fabrizio persisted. "Rose Dewittiker."

"Dewitt-Bukater," Cal corrected. "And she did not." He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Did she?"

"She did The Empress too," Kate added. "I fancied that one. It was a love story."

"Blech, a love story," the Magpie spoke up from where he sat on a pile of pillows.

"Well, what do you know," Cal said. "I knew she was acting. I hadn't realized that she was making the films now. Good for her." He looked at her son. "And smart lad. If there's no action in the film, it's not worth seeing." He looked up to see everyone staring. "What?" He asked. "I meant it. I'm happy for Rose. She's doing quite well with her life. Better than me."

Kate scoffed. "Didn't you just inherit a great lot of money?"

"And yet here I am with you people."

"Are we supposed to be feelin' insulted or flattered?"

"Feel what you want," he replied. "I like it here. There are less obligations."

Sarah watched a moth floating around one of the lanterns, dancing its way closer and closer to the flame. Always pulling back at the last moment. She envied its control.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not servin' ye caviar."

"I don't care for caviar."

"And I'm sorry I don't be havin' any servants to cater to ye."

"Do you not want me here, is that it?"

"No, I'm just teasin' ye," Kate said. "I like ye just fine. I have always wondered what it'd be like to step in yer world…just for a moment."

The conversation brought back several memories with startling speed. Her husband attempting to sneak into first class and Pat's descriptions of the rooms…the fancy ceilings. Without even thinking, she spoke up. "Pat said that…" There was a sharp intake of air from Kate. "…there was…a…" Sarah fell silent and a chill seemed to descend over the group. She picked up her napkin just to have something in her hands.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to be hearin' about that good for nothin' fecker." Kate said from across the quiet table. "Why would ye be bringin' him up?"

"I can bring up who I like."

"Not that varmint."

Sarah shook her head. "For God's sake, you're overreacting."

"Overreactin'?" Kate scoffed. "If I could go back and do it all again, I'd push him over the side of that ship and we would all be better for it."

"He's your brother." Sarah felt a sudden tightness in her chest.

"I stopped havin' a brother the day he left me in Ohio without even a note sayin' where he was goin'," Kate snapped. She picked up her fork but after a moment set it down and continued. "It was the second time I thought he'd died."

"You can't blame him for the first—"

"And what's yer excuse for the second?" Kate asked. "He's never for a moment thought of anyone but himself. He best be stayin' gone because if I ever see him again, I'm goin' to kill him."

Sarah fell silent. She couldn't excuse it, no matter how much she tried. Pat had left without a word to his sister. Instead, he had sent her a letter filled with everything he couldn't tell Kate and left her to break the news. Not knowing what else to do, Sarah had invited her to stay.

Fabrizio looked between them and changed the subject. "Winters very bad here, yes?" He asked.

Kate brought a hand over her face and shook her head. "We do get a fair bit of snow at times, but it's not too terrible once ye get used to it," she said. There was a slight tremor to her voice but she still put on a smile.

"Cold?"

"Not nearly so cold as it gets in New York," Cal jumped in. "Not nearly so nice as Philadelphia though."

Kate laughed. "Stop tryin' to get us to go to Philadelphia. We're not goin'."

Sarah stared at the food on her plate, hardly hearing the conversation going on around her. How easily everyone turned away from uncomfortable topics, how easily they pretended that everything was fine. She couldn't tell if she was the one who didn't understand or if they were. Why did she still feel as though she were still trapped on the bobbing lifeboat, alone and forced to listen to everything fall apart around her? Except nothing at the table was falling apart. And she was the only one there.

"I just don't see why I always have to…" Cal began, his gaze falling on her. "Sarah?"

She looked up to see everyone staring at her with varying degrees of worry on their faces. Except the Magpie who seized the moment of distraction to snatch the biscuit off of Cal's plate. Sarah attempted to smile but wasn't sure if it worked. "Excuse me," she said. She pushed back from the table and walked away.

She heard Cal's voice follow her. "Should we?"

"Let her be," Kate replied. "She wants to be left alone so badly, we might as well oblige her."

Sarah ignored the flutter of anger and pushed through the house out onto the front porch. It was quieter there, except for the wind chimes that never ceased tinkling, mocking her with their cheerful sound. In a fit of rage, she reached out and ripped them down, throwing them into the grass.

She collapsed onto the steps and put her face in her hands. At once she was overcome with guilt as she realized what she had done. She shouldn't have touched them. They had belonged to John as did the house. It felt wrong to undo anything he ever did, to replace him with thoughts of anyone else. To move on. How could she possibly?

"I don't really care for wind chimes either." The voice was familiar and Sarah felt her heart skip a beat. It couldn't be. She looked up. Pat stood in front of her, looking uneasy, as though he was unsure how he had even arrived there in the first place.

Without a word, she rose to her feet, feeling a lump form in her throat as she struggled to hold back tears. She took a step forward and as she drew near, she wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face into his shoulder and let herself cry, the weight of her emotions too much to bear alone.

Pat held Sarah tightly and spoke softly, "I missed ye too." As he started to pull away, her voice stopped him, "Not yet." He understood the unspoken plea behind her words and held onto her for a little longer, letting her cry until she was ready to let go.

At last, she stepped back and wiped the tears away with her sleeve. Her hair was coming undone and she looked thinner and paler than he remembered, her eyes red from crying. He kept a hand on her arm.

"How…why are you here?" Sarah asked. "The last time I asked you to come, you said and I quote 'Not even if the Son of God himself were to be comin' again would ye catch me settin' me foot on a ship.'

He grinned at her. "Ah, well done with the accent."

"Patrick," she said, sharply.

The smile faded from his face as he hesitated. Why had he come? He considered coming up with some story but as he looked at her, he couldn't be anything but honest. "I was fair worried about ye," he admitted.

"You didn't need to be worried about me."

"Ah now, that'd be more believable if ye hadn't just been cryin' yer eyes out," he teased.

Sarah's cheeks flushed as she hastily wiped her eyes again with her sleeve.

Pat gave her arm a gentle squeeze and let go. "Yer last few letters had a different feel to them," he explained. With every recent letter he had received from her, there had been a noticeable change in tone. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was but it left him with an unsettled feeling that he couldn't ignore. "I needed to see ye to make sure yer doin' alright."

"I'm fine," she said. "Everything is fine. I'm fine." A weak smile flickered across her face.

"Would ye be wantin' me to leave then?"

"No," she quickly replied. She looked back at the house then to him. "But I should tell you that Kate is here."

"Sure, ye told me before that she lives nearby."

"That's not what I mean," Sarah replied. "She's here in my house right now."

Pat felt a flutter of alarm in his stomach. He remembered the last time he had seen his sister, six years earlier, and how their argument had ended with him leaving in the middle of the night. He thought of the letters she had written to him during that first year, letters that he had left unanswered. "I reckon I should be off then," he said, taking a step backwards. "She'll not be wantin' to lay eyes on me."

She reached out and took hold of his arm. "You can't leave," she pleaded.

"I can't be stayin'."

He couldn't even begin to imagine what Kate would say if she saw him. He doubted she would be forgiving. If he were her, he wouldn't have been.

But Sarah wouldn't let go. "If you leave, you won't come back," she said. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He tried to argue but the look in her eyes silenced him. He knew deep down that she was right.

"That's what I thought," she replied, holding his gaze. "Please stay."

The thought of facing Kate again filled him with dread, but the desperation in Sarah's eyes was even more daunting. Pat felt his resolve faltering and he knew deep down that he couldn't leave her like this.

"Sure and this isn't goin' to go well," he muttered as he thought of what was sure to be his sister's reaction.

Kate felt terrible about Sarah's reaction but she didn't understand why she had gotten so upset in the first place. Pat wasn't her brother and Sarah had no right to make excuses for him. She thought of the letters she had found on Sarah's desk. She and her brother had been writing to each other for years but yet Kate's letters had always gone unanswered–until she had given up writing altogether. She swallowed back her own envy. She owed Sarah so much and it was unfair to push her anger over Pat onto her. She forced a smile and excused herself from the table.

Kate went through the house, stopping briefly to check on the soundly sleeping baby, and out the front door. She froze, her body seizing up as though she had been plunged into icy water. Her heart pounded in her chest and her vision blurred. There, in front of her, was Sarah standing with none other than her brother. It was impossible. It couldn't be him. The anger and hurt that had been festering inside her for six long years bubbled to the surface, and in that moment, she hated him more than anything in the world.

Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest thing, one of the Magpie's branches, and charged towards him. Pat saw her first and quickly stepped back, his eyes wide with shock. "Katie-" he started to say, but it was too late.

Sarah turned around to see her. "Kate, no!" she pleaded desperately. "Stop!" Sarah tried to put herself between them but Pat pushed her aside.

Swinging the branch, Kate heard Sarah yelp as it struck her face, causing her to tumble to the ground. A wave of horror washed over Kate, freezing her in place. The branch was pulled from her grasp and she saw Cal standing beside her. He and Fabri must've heard the noise and come to investigate.

Pat and Fabri both kneeled next to Sarah who kept trying to wave them away. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

Kate let out a strangled sob. "Sarah, I…" Words stuck in her throat, choked by the shame and guilt that flooded her.

She turned and fled back through the house, tears streaming down her face, as the weight of what she had just done began to sink in.

Pat gently moved Sarah's hands from her face. "Just a bruise and a wee cut. I think ye'll live." His eyes flicked over to the house where Kate had disappeared and his jaw clenched. Kate had gone too far. Without another word, he rose to his feet.

Sarah reached out and grabbed his arm. "Don't," she warned. "Pat, leave her be."

But he was too angry. He shook off her hand and headed for the house. The sound of crying drew him through the house and out the back door.

Kate looked up at his arrival. She hastily wiped her eyes.

"What is the matter with ye?" He asked, his voice sharp.

"With me?" Her knuckles turned white as she clutched a plate. "Why are ye even here?"

He ignored her question and went straight to the point. "Ye hit her–"

"Aye and I was aimin' for ye." Kate spat, throwing the plate at him.

He ducked and the pieces shattered against the house. "Ye've gone mad."

"I've gone mad?" Kate's voice rose in volume."Ye've gone mad if ye think ye can just saunter back into me life–"

Pat cut her off. "I wasn't plannin' on saunterin' back into yer life if that's what's troublin' ye," he said, his own voice rising to match hers. "I didn't know ye'd be here."

Hurt flashed across Kate's face. "Of course not, because ye're a feckin' coward. Ye can't face anythin' unpleasant without runnin' away."

He winced at her words, at the painful truth underlying them. "I'm facin' ye right now," he replied coldly.

Kate snatched up another plate, poised to throw it, but the sound of a baby crying stopped her. She hesitated for a moment, then dropped the plate back onto the table with a clatter. She gave him a sharp look and tried to push past him to get into the house.

Pat, still simmering with anger, grabbed her arm. He wasn't ready to let it go.

"I need to tend to that," she said in a strained voice. She tried to pull her arm from his grasp. "Patrick, that is me baby. Let me go," she said.

Realizing what he was doing, he quickly released her arm and stepped aside.

Sarah fought the urge to flee. The bickering and the constant noise were wearing on her, and she was sorely tempted to just run away. Away from everything. She had told Kate that she wanted to be alone but she hadn't listened and now her face hurt and everyone was either angry or still attempting to pretend that nothing had happened at all. It felt like everyone thought she was falling apart, but they were the ones losing their minds.

When Sarah returned to the house, she found Kate sitting on the sofa, holding her child tightly. "Kate?" Sarah asked as she sat next to her.

"I really don't want to be speakin' to ye right now," Kate replied without looking up.

Sarah could feel her own frustration mounting. She didn't want to argue, but she needed Kate to understand. "I didn't know he was coming," she insisted. "I would've told you if I had known."

Kate scoffed. "Maybe he mentioned it in one of his letters and ye just forgot," she snapped.

"Kate, I don't…" Her voice trailed off as she realized she had no excuse, no explanations.

Kate looked up and frowned. "I'm sorry I hit ye," she said. "But I'd prefer if ye'd just let me be."

Sarah looked around the room and suddenly realized that she hadn't seen her son since dinner. "Where's…John." Her voice faltered on the name as it always did. Would it ever grow easier to say?

"Asleep," Kate replied. Her gaze was back on her own child. "I sent him off to bed."

Even her son wasn't her own.

"Pat?" She asked tentatively.

Kate shrugged. "Probably scarpered off already. That's all he knows how to do."

Just then, Cal reentered the house, carrying a large object. Sarah blurted out in surprise, "Oh God, what is that?"

"Victrola the Eleventh. My birthday present to you," he announced.

Sarah let out a frustrated sigh. "I told you not to get me anything," she said.

"And, like always, I chose not to listen." He set it on a table and immediately started fiddling with it. "But don't worry, I didn't go over the $100 limit that you keep me under. Although the floor cabinet is better quality. Now where is the instruction book?"

Fabrizio picked up a small pamphlet and opened it. "First unfasten the taper tube. What is taper tube?"

"It's the…uh…the tube that tapers," Cal replied. "This thing…I think." He pointed to the arm.

"And the automatic break yoke?"

"You made that up.

"I not make up," Fabrizio insisted.

"Oh, give me that." Cal tried to grab the book from Fabrizio and they ended up fighting over it.

Sarah could feel a headache starting to form behind her eyes. How could this even be her life? Her house? She felt like a nuisance, a problem that only caused more problems. She waited a moment longer, watching as they continued their argument. Kate was making a pointed effort at pretending she wasn't there. Unable to bear it any longer, she stood up abruptly and left the room. No one stopped her.

In the backyard, Sarah spotted Pat sitting at the table. Relief washed over her - he hadn't left after all. She strode across the grass and settled down beside him. "You're still here," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Pat looked at her. "I'm sorry for everythin'," he said. "Are ye alright?"

"No," she replied. "Not even a little bit. You need to fix things with your sister."

"I think we're well beyond that now."

"Do you want me to beg?" Sarah felt a burning in the back of her throat. "Because I can't…this can't…you have to stop this."

"Kate's the one who—"

"Pat," Sarah cut him off. "You left her in Ohio without a word. Just up and vanished one night."

"I left word."

"With me! Who lived halfway across the country," she replied, her voice rising. "I've been telling you for years that you needed to write to her. She missed you and even though you won't say it, I know you've missed her as well."

He looked away, staring at the ground in silence.

"Why did you leave?" Sarah's voice softened, and she reached out to touch his arm.

There was an uncomfortable pause as he opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but then he shook his head instead. "Is Katie goin' to try to kill me whenever I see her?" he finally asked.

Sarah shrugged. "It's possible. Just don't pass near her unless she's holding the baby."

"Hers?"

She nodded.

"What's she call it?"

"Why don't you ask her?" Sarah replied. Her patience was wearing thin. She couldn't keep picking up the pieces of their broken relationship.

"It's growing cold," she said, shivering slightly. "Come on." She motioned towards the house and Pat followed her inside.

Kate saw them come in together and every emotion hit her at once. Everything she had been holding back, everything she had been trying so hard to pretend she didn't feel. Six years and Sarah was quick to toss her aside for him. Kate's eyes filled with tears as she looked down at the baby in her lap.

Without a word, she stood and gathered the baby closer to her. She couldn't bear to watch it happen in front of her. "I'm headin' home," she announced, her voice shaking, and all eyes turned to look at her. "I can't be stayin' here any longer."

"It's dark out," Sarah pointed out.

"It is night," Kate replied curtly as she walked towards the door

But Sarah stepped in front of her. "That's too far to walk in the dark. You need to stay."

Kate drew in a sharp breath, her eyes narrowing in frustration. "I'd sooner take me chances than be anywhere near him," she fired back.

Pat spoke up. "As if yer—" But Sarah put a hand up, stopping him mid-sentence.

Kate frowned as she saw it. There it was again, the two of them against her as if all the years she had lived there meant nothing at all. "I'll be runnin' if needs be, but I'm goin', and I'm goin' this very moment."

"I can drive you," Cal spoke up. "It'll be quicker and safer."

Kate didn't like riding in a car—they were noisy and uncomfortable—but she was, admittedly, worried about walking in the dark with a baby in her arms. After a moment of internal struggle, she reluctantly nodded "Fine but I'm wantin' to be off now."

Cal let out a weary sigh, his eyes shifting to Sarah. "Well, happy birthday…sort of. I will see you tomorrow."

A look of surprise came over her face. "You will?"

"Alright, let's be off then," he said, turning to the door. "Maybe I'll stop somewhere for a drink."

"I hope you mean of water," Sarah said. "This is a dry state."

He waved her concern aside. "That doesn't affect me. I know a good place."

"I think I go too," Fabrizio said suddenly. "This…uh…" He gestured to the room and shrugged. "I think I also need a drink."

Cal made a face but quickly recovered. "The more the merrier."

"Good night, Sarah…and Pat," Fabrizio bid them farewell, his voice carrying a tinge of regret. He turned to Cal. "We go. Can I drive?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why? I'm good driver," he protested.

Their voices trailed off as they left the house. Kate remained behind for a moment, staring at Sarah. She wanted to say something. She felt as though she needed to say something. But then her gaze landed on her brother and she knew she couldn't. She sighed heavily and turned to follow the two men out.

As she walked towards the car, she noticed Cal's concerned expression. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

Kate shook her head, feeling the tears well up again.

The guilt that Pat felt at seeing the look on Kate's face settled like a weight on his shoulders. Out of all the mistakes he had made in his life, returning had to have been the worst. The realization struck him hard—everyone had been content in his absence and now he had managed to ruin everything. As soon as the door closed, he couldn't help but repeat his apology. "I'm truly sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have come at all."

"Don't say that," Sarah said. "I'm glad you're here." She settled herself on the sofa and let out a deep sigh. "Although you could've shown up yesterday or tomorrow. Or during one of the many, many times I've asked you to come over the past six years."

He sat next to her. Every time she had asked him to come back, he had seriously considered it. But every time, the terror he felt at the thought of setting foot on a ship always won out.

Sarah put her face in her hands. "I can't do this."

"What can't ye be doin'?"

"I don't know," she snapped and then her voice softened. "I just…it's all too much all at once and I…I can't think. Everyone is acting like nothing had ever happened and I know it's been a long time and I should be over it but I can't stop thinking about it, you know? And then there's you and Kate going after each other and Cal and Fabrizio acting blind to it all. And I don't even know what's happening. I never asked for any of this."

"I'm sor—"

"If you apologize one more time, you'll have more than just Kate to worry about," she warned, cutting him off with an intense gaze.

He fell silent, fully aware of the weight of her words bearing down on him.

"I don't know what to do," Sarah continued. "I can hardly talk to Kate about this. She'll just change the subject. Everyone here treats me like I'm about to fall to pieces at any moment."

He thought of the way she had reacted when she saw him earlier, falling into tears and couldn't help thinking that they might've had it right. "Are ye?"

"Only sometimes." Sarah fidgeted with the ring that she still wore on her finger. "What do I do?"

"Considerin' I've fair destroyed me own life, I don't reckon I'm one to be givin' advice to ye."

"We're clearly both doing so well," she replied dryly.

He would have laughed if there had been anything funny about it. "Ye're faring better than meself." He reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair back into her braid. His fingers brushed against her neck and he quickly pulled his hand back. His gaze wandered, deliberately avoiding hers, as he looked around the room. "This be yer husband's place, then?"

She nodded.

"It's nice."

"It's not mine," she clarified. "I mean technically it is but it's not. It's John's. I don't think I'll ever feel like I belong here. Not really." Her hands fidgeted nervously. "I shouldn't have torn down his wind chimes."

"Ah, but that's fixable."

Sarah shifted slightly in her seat, unconsciously leaning closer to him and gave him a soft smile.

But in that moment, his thoughts drifted back to Kate again and the look on her face when she left and he shook his head. Why did he ever think he could come back after what he had done? "I don't reckon Katie will ever stop hatin' me," he confessed. "And I can't say I blame her one bit."

"Kate doesn't hate you," Sarah said. "She's been deeply hurt." She put a hand on his arm. "That's also fixable."

Their eyes met and Sarah suddenly looked away.

"Why in God's sake did Cal bring that," she said, staring at the Victrola. "He won't stop buying me things even though I've repeatedly told him no." She stood and went over to it. She looked at it a moment before smacking the side of it. "It doesn't even work."

Pat joined her and examined it closely. Then, he reached into the mechanism and adjusted the arm. "I reckon he just doesn't know what he's about. Ye need to release the break," he explained. The record began to spin, filling the room with the voice of Marion Harris. He shut the lid over it. "It works fine, it does." He extended his hand toward Sarah. "I know yer fond of dancin'."

"You're being absurd." Sarah hesitated a moment longer before giving in. "Fine."

He took her hand and pulled her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his.

"There's not really much room here," she said, her voice low.

He tightened his hold on her and pulled her even closer. "Then it's a fine thing there be no other couples gettin' in our path."

"Pat…" Her voice trailed off as he spun her around and she let out a sudden laugh.

"Are ye havin' a nice birthday?" He asked.

"Did you really just ask me that?" Sarah said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Believe it or not, it's not my worst."

"Ye've had worse happen to ye than gettin' hit in the face?"

A somber shadow crossed her face. "I did," she quietly replied. "Seven years ago."

Regret flickered across his features and his grip on her hand tightened momentarily. He had forgotten. "I didn't mean–"

"It's alright," she reassured him. Her hand gently squeezed his, a quiet understanding passing between them. "Sometimes I forget too."

As the final notes of the music faded into the air, Pat held her close, his hand on the small of her back, pulling her into him. It felt as if time had momentarily ceased its march, and in that suspended silence, he didn't want to let her go. He wondered if she felt the same.

As Sarah looked up at him, a smile broke across her face.

Unable to resist, Pat lifted his hand, his touch feather-light as he gently brushed his fingers against the bruise on her cheek.

"Mama," a small voice called out, interrupting them. "There's a ghost."

He felt Sarah stiffen and she sighed. "Go back to your room and I'll be there in a moment," she said without turning to look.

"A ghost sounds grave," he said. "Ye'd best tend to it, now."

"There's always a ghost," she replied. "Or a monster. Once he claimed to see a duck but there actually was a duck that time. I'm not sure how it got into the house."

"Mama!" the voice came again, a note of panic hardly muffled through the walls.

Pat squeezed her hand and reluctantly stepped back. "Go."

Sarah looked at him, uncertainty lingering in her eyes. "Don't run away while I'm gone."

"I'll not be goin' anywhere at all." The words escaped his lips with unwavering conviction. Yet, a small voice within him urged him to leave, to retreat before everything became too complicated. But in that moment, as the door closed behind her, he knew that it was too late.