February, 11th

Maria:

Margaret gave me some of the pills she was given at the hospital but didn't need and they've worked wonders. I've been able to rest better, fortunately, and I feel our Lord is helping me prepare for the mystical step from life to death. I am ready to go in peace.

It's early in the evening and I'm lounging on the living room sofa, my daughter lit a fire and I'm enjoying the sizzling and crackling sounds and the smell of wood fire. Although this home is cozy, nothing compares to huddling under a blanket before an open hearth on a winter night. Margaret sits on one of the club chairs and lazily pages through a news bulletin from Richard's old college. My husband is away on a rare outing.

I observe my daughter's face, bathed by the side table's amber light: flawless complexion, almond shaped eyes fixed on some note of interest, plump lips pursed in concentration, hers is a face that went from round and chubby to heart shaped. She never truly liked her looks and took some time to grow into her rather strong features, but she has become stunning and beautiful in her own style. It's a pity that she seems unaware of it, but that's also part of her undeniable charm.

If there is something I regret of having her grow up with Edith, it would be that she tends to sell herself short. Albeit, on second thought, it's more the feeling I missed out some of her personal milestones. That it was the school nurse who provided her with pads when she had her first menstruation and not me. That it was my sister who took her to buy her first bra. That I don't know if she ever was infatuated with a celebrity or fictional character, or when she started seeing Henry, or why they broke up. Not even if she ever went out with other men, although I'd find that hard to believe.

I hope she doesn't feel I've been indifferent instead of respectful, I hope she does know how much I've cared and still do. I hope she doesn't think I'm hurt or jealous because she reached out to Mrs. Bell, because I was only surprised but never felt dismissed.

Oblivious to my mental ramblings Margaret points out something from the bulletin. "I didn't know the library's main reading room is named after Mr. West's wife", she says. "That's a very nice detail".

Mr. Adam West used to be the Dean at Richard's college, and while he was more successful than my husband in terms of scholarly achievement he was also a good friend. Along with Alice, his wife, we used to attend concerts or exhibits and were quite close. She passed away some five years ago; Adam retired immediately and moved to Majorca. Their oldest daughter Fiona kept the family home, and Adam stays there when he goes to Oxford, which as far as I know, happens often.

-"I think so. Do you think Richard should go see Adam?" I wonder aloud omitting the end of the sentence, that is, "after I died".

-"I don't know. I haven't seen Mr. West in about ten years", she replies distractedly. Oh, I hadn't noticed we never met with the Wests when she was home.

-"I wish he was home with me instead of out with Mr. Thornton", I say suddenly allowing myself to voice the persistent feeling I've had for many years, of feeling neglected by my husband. I know I sound querulous, but well, I feel querulous.

-"Oh, don't say that mama", says Margaret putting down the paper and frowning in concern, "you know how papa is... He has a hard time taking some things. If he weren't out with Mr. Thornton he'd be arranging his stamp collection or sorting socks by length or thickness. It doesn't mean he doesn't care about you."

Margaret knows but doesn't judge. How wonderful is that?

-"Margaret", I need to voice things that I've avoided for too long, "I wish you weren't alone, my dear... it is so nice to find someone special".

Margaret blushes for a moment but then regroups and laughs amiably.

-"Mother, I am twenty-two years old. I am hardly a spinster, am I?" she says, her dark eyes twinkling.

-"No, you are not", I agree. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but why did you part ways with Henry? You seemed to get along so well".

My daughter seems pensive for a long moment.

-"We were good friends, that's right. But..." she lets out a sigh. My daughter never lets out a word she hasn't considered thoroughly. "It didn't work, we weren't happy together. There was something missing... I don't know, something like passion", she finishes.

-"What do you think of Mr. Thornton?" My question surprises me because I really don't care about that man; it's just that we saw him yesterday and he was pleasing company. For a moment Margaret seems caught red handed but again takes her time to think her reply.

-"I don't know", she shakes her head. "I really don't know. Don't you think he is a little... old for me?".

Now it's my turn to laugh, which comes out cackling.

-"Old?", I repeat amused and incredulous, "Maggie, it is perfectly alright not to like Mr. Thornton, for any reasons you may have and even more", but that's not the point of her reservations and it didn't escape me. "He's only thirty-four, I was older when I got pregnant with Frederick! You and I have a forty-five year gap! Why would you mind that?"

Margaret seems sad and I suspect she thinks she might widow young if she marries an older man.

-"Sweetheart, we don't know the Lord's plans for each one of us. Bertha married a young man and was a widow before she turned twenty-four. Keep with facts, not assumptions, will you?"

Margaret's smile is lovely and forlorn.

-"Of course, mama", she says.

A/N: I have no idea how the Vicodin drug may work wonders with someone undergoing pain therapy, but I beg you take it as a license, just as Mr. Hale being able to prepare students for their examinations.