THEY TOLD STORIES, Jack about his family and his time studying in Italy, Cap and Sophie and Anna about their childhood misadventures, most of which put Anna in a central and less than angelic spotlight. As the sun was setting they ate a light supper of lamb, new potatoes, and peas braised in cream and dressed with mint. All Cap’s favorites, which reminded Anna that it was also the last time he would sit down to Mrs. Harrison’s cooking. Her appetite left her just that suddenly, and it was hard work to get down even half of what she had been served.
When Jack went to sit closer to Cap to talk about the journey, Sophie’s mind turned back to Janine Campbell.
“She came to see me weeks ago, asking questions I couldn’t answer for fear that Comstock was behind it. She was distraught but I didn’t think she was in such despair that she would risk—what she risked. You think she aborted herself?”
Anna said, “From the angle of the puncture wounds, yes. But in the end I don’t think it’s possible to know unless whoever did it comes forward to confess, and you know that won’t happen. The coroner will have an opinion.” Anna took her cousin’s hand. “It’s a terrible thing, Sophie. But you have to put it out of your mind now. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”
“I don’t feel guilty,” Sophie said quietly. “I am just terribly sorry and sad. For her and for those little boys. And I’m frustrated, that I have to admit. I may as well have been bound and gagged when she came to see me, for all the good I did her.”
? ? ?
IT WAS HARDLY seven when Cap excused himself to retire for the night. The fireworks were still an hour off but he was wan, his hair and face damp with perspiration. They all knew what these things meant and it would do no good to point out the obvious, and still Anna found it difficult to stand back when he was so clearly in distress. If by some miracle he lived another thirty years with tuberculosis, she knew she would never be able to accept the necessity of distance between them.
She heard herself say, “Do you remember when we were little, how we napped together in Uncle Quinlan’s hammock between the apricot trees?”
“I remember you turning over so suddenly that I ended up on the ground.” Cap’s smile was faraway and sad and still Anna was glad to have raised this image, this picture of themselves as children with no worries on a summer afternoon, able to sleep in the shade of trees heavy with fruit, simply because it pleased them.
To Jack Cap said, “You’ll have to watch out for her, she’s a turbulent sleeper.”
“It will be my privilege to watch out for her,” Jack said. “Always.”
? ? ?
WHEN THEY WERE alone they sat in companionable silence for a good while.
“Sophie has always been the soul of calm in any storm,” Anna said. “She is fearless when it comes to her patients; she’ll confront anyone even against her own best interests. But after tomorrow her natural inclination to protect Cap will be underwritten by law. And I’m glad of it, for both of them.”
“You find it hard to let him go,” Jack said. “To say good-bye.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. When she had control of it again she said, “I’ve always wondered if what Sophie experienced in New Orleans during the war took the ability to be frightened from her.”
“She had a difficult time of it, I take it.”
Anna gave him a grim smile. “I don’t know exactly. She has never spoken of it to any of us. I’m sure Cap knows, but I have never pressed her for the details. Someday maybe she will talk to me about it. I’ve been short with everyone this last week, but I’m especially sorry to have been short with her.”
Jack leaned forward, took her by the wrist, and pulled her out of her chair and onto his lap.
“They’ll be gone at this time tomorrow,” Anna said, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. “I know that, but it still doesn’t feel real.”
The urge to tease her was more than he could withstand. “Just now you feel pretty real to me.” He slid his hand from her waist down over her hip, and she shivered and turned her face to hide her smile.
“You make me blush like a little girl.”
“You are anything but a little girl to me, Savard.”
Anna began to yawn and then caught herself.
“You have a busy day tomorrow too,” Jack said. “Do you want to skip the fireworks for a good night’s sleep?”
After a very long pause she said, “It will be hours before anyone comes home.” Her voice had gone low and a little rough. “I can’t remember the last time I was in the house by myself.”
The sound of band music came to them on the breeze, drums and trumpets and horns too faint to make out a melody. “Such a fine summer evening,” Jack said against her hair. “It would be a shame to spend it alone.”
? ? ?
THEY WALKED TO Waverly Place at a comfortable pace, holding hands and talking very little. The city streets were far emptier than usual but as it turned out, the citizens of Manhattan had only migrated upward onto roofs. It seemed that everyone who had not gone to the new bridge had found a high place to perch, and voices drifted down to them now and then. Fretting children, young people excited by the novelty and the day’s festivities. There were rooster calls back and forth followed by laughter.