Willis, Sr., sat beside me on the couch. “Dr. Hawkings, my dear. He telephoned after you went to visit Emma, with the results of your most recent test. Lori, my dear, dear girl—it was positive.”
“Dr. Hawkings released my test results to you?” I squeaked.
“Test results?” said Bill.
“He told me that you had given him permission to shout them from the rooftops,” said Willis, Sr. “He also said that you should have noticed definite ... symptoms by now.”
“Symptoms?” Bill echoed.
“Hmmm ...” I scratched my head and reviewed the past few days—the unusual fatigue, the persistent backache, the mood swings ... How could I have been so obtuse? I looked down at the loose-fitting cotton dress Nell had picked out for me and said wonderingly, “I even tossed my cookies in a hedgerow.” My head snapped up and I stared accusingly at Nell. “You knew.”
“I had a hunch,” said Nell, crossing from the hearth to the couch.
“Emma warned me about your hunches.” I jumped to my feet and enveloped her and Bertie in what could only be described as a bear hug.
“Tossed your cookies in a hedgerow,” Bill was murmuring. Suddenly his face was suffused with what seemed like a heavenly radiance. “Lori? Do you mean to say that you‘re—”
“Yes, you great thundering idiot,” I said, beaming up at him. “I’m pregnant! You’re nearly as slow on the uptake as I—Quick, Gerald! Catch him!”
We stayed at the Georgian that night, after a local physician had stitched up the cut on Bill’s head, and returned to Finch the following day. Emma and Derek were waiting for us at the cottage, with an overjoyed Ham at their heels. Bill insisted on carrying me not only over the threshold, but everywhere else he could think of, until I told him I’d give him a clout on the head that’d make him forget about the comer of Gerald’s coffee table if he didn’t put me down.
Emma had prepared a welcome-home feast of vegetarian dishes, which promptly became, in Derek’s words, “A Salute to Fertility,” and although I passed on the wine, I ate more than enough for two. Replete with food and happiness, I left Nell to describe our adventures and slipped into the study with my briefcase and Reginald.
The study was just as I’d left it, still and silent and dappled with green shadows from the sunlight pouring through the ivy. I sat in Willis, Sr.’s tall leather chair and pulled the briefcase toward me, unsnapped the locks, and took out the blue journal. I placed the briefcase on the floor and Reginald in my lap and opened the blue journal, calling, “Dimity? We’re home.”
At last. Do I sense that someone else is with us?
I hadn’t cried till then, but a tear splashed on the top of Reginald’s head as I answered, “If she’s a girl, may I call her Dimity?”
I would be honored. And if he’s a boy?
“Rob, I think. For Bobby, your fiancé.”
Have you told Bill?
“About not naming our boy William?” I shook my head. “Not yet. But he’ll get used to it.”
Bobby always wanted a big family. As did I.
“Dimity,” I said, “you already have a big family. I think the only reason you sent me on this wild-goose chase was to get me out there to meet some of them. I’m glad you did. I love being a part of your family. And it’s going to grow by one, pretty soon.” I brushed away another tear that had trickled down my cheek. “Would you tell my mom?”
She knows.
“I wish...” I looked at the window. The ivy leaves fluttered in a vagrant breeze, like a hundred banners welcoming me home. I laughed suddenly, as a wave of deep contentment flooded through me. “I wish I could learn to stop wishing.”
Lori, my dearest child, your wishing days have only just begun!
Epilogue
Bill’s stitches should be out well before the baby’s born, but I’ve already told him to forget about coming into the delivery room. There’ll be too many sharp metal objects in there, and I want all three of us to leave the hospital in good health.
Swann has promised that Bill’s arm will be completely mended in time for Lucy and Gerald’s wedding, a great consolation to Willis, Sr., who winced visibly at the thought of having to ask his tailor to design a morning coat around a protruding thumb and an arm encased in plaster. I’ve bought a formal tent for the occasion, since I should be about the size of the Hindenburg by then. The baby is showing signs of achieving Arthurian dimensions.