I sat cross-legged on the bed, with Reg on a pillow beside me, and a lump in my throat big enough to choke a rhino. Would Aunt Dimity answer when I called, or would the pages remain stubbornly blank, as they had for the past two years? I opened the journal, cleared my throat, and called out, “Dimity? Can you hear me?”
I should think Emma could hear you back at the cottage. You must speak more softly, my dear. Sir Poppet would no doubt have a word to describe our little chats, but I don’t think you’d find it complimentary.
I clapped a hand to my mouth to suppress a semihys terical gurgle of laughter as I watched the familiar copperplate loop and scroll across the page. Aunt Dimity was back and all was right with the world. Or it very soon would be.
“Dimity, what are you doing here?” I asked, making a valiant attempt at selflessness. “Why have you left William to fend for himself?”
I don’t think Anthea will pose much of a threat to him, do you? Up there on Cobb Farm all alone, living quietly near a sleepy little village like Lastingham? And I must confess that life as a stowaway did not suit me. William is a dear man, but he’s distressingly proficient at keeping his thoughts to himself. Whereas you ... How I’ve missed you, Lori.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I said fervently. “Where have you been?”
You may be celebrating your second honeymoon—such a charming idea!—but I’ve only just finished my first. Bobby and I never had a chance for one, you know.
“Oh,” I said, croggled by the notion of a two-year-long honeymoon. “Sounds wonderful.”
Furthermore, I assumed that you and Bill would like some time to settle into married life. Nothing poisons a new marriage faster than an old biddy prompting from the wings. Forgive me for asking, Lori, but is it the fashion nowadays for a bride to spend her second honeymoon without her groom?
“No,” I admitted ruefully. “Bill was supposed to come, but he got tied up with work and had to cancel.”
A long pause ensued; then: Lori? Is there a telephone nearby? If so, would you please pick it up THIS INSTANT and contact your husband? If you don’t know what to say to him, I’ll be more than happy to supply a few gentle hints.
“I can’t reach him,” I explained. “He was caught in a monsoon up in Maine. The phone lines have been out all day.”
Let that be a lesson to him! Dear me, it seems that you could do with some prompting from the wings. Foolish of me to stay away for so long. No one knows better than I that the road to true love is paved by the lowest badder. The handwriting stopped for a moment, then went on. Lori? I’m sorry, but I must be going. Another of my children has need of me. I’ll be back soon, my dear Give Reginald a hug for me
I closed the journal, feeling a little hurt. Another of her children? I’d always thought of myself as Dimity’s spiritual daughter—her only spiritual daughter—and for a moment I felt a pang of jealousy that threatened to put a damper on our joyful reunion.
Reginald came to my rescue by toppling from his pillow onto the blue journal, as though demanding his hug. The simple act of picking him up made me realize how silly I was being. It was absurd to think that I’d been the only child Dimity had comforted with her stories and stuffed animals. When she’d worked at Starling House after the war, she’d touched the lives of dozens, perhaps hundreds of orphans. It should have come as no surprise to me, of all people, to hear that some of those lives still required her guidance.
I returned the journal to the fruitwood box on the bedside table, leaned back against the pillows, and stroked Reginald’s whiskers with my index finger. “Well, Reg,” I said, “Bill’s still marooned in Maine; Willis, Sr., is hundreds of miles away in Yorkshire; and Nell and I are slowly sinking in a swamp of Willis family tragedies. So tell me—why do I feel so damned happy?”
There was a knock at the door, and Nell slipped into the room. She was wearing an ivory silk robe over a cornflower-blue nightgown and carrying a dress and a pair of beige flats. She placed the shoes on the floor near the dressing table and draped the loose-fitting, smock-topped cotton dress over a chair. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said diffidently, “but I picked this out for you to wear tomorrow. I think you’ll find it even more comfortable than your jeans and sweater.”
“Thanks, Nell,” I said. “The jeans are beginning to look a bit scruffy anyway.” I patted the bed. “Now, come over here. I have a surprise for you.”
Nell hesitated. “I don’t know that I want any more surprises today.”
“Trust me,” I said, reaching for the fruitwood box. “You want this one.”
I had to describe my encounter with Cyril three times before Nell was able to take it in. She kept turning the journal in her hands and riffling through the pages, as though she couldn’t quite believe that Aunt Dimity had joined our merry band. I knew exactly how she felt.