her mother’s face. Would another day at home be so difficult? “I plan to remain in Stirling through Boxing Day,” Meg announced, surprising herself and her parents as well.
Her mother was smiling once more. “You’ve been most helpful, Mrs. Corr.” She linked arms with her husband and with Meg. “We’d best go. Alan will be anxious to see us.”
As they slipped and slid their way home, Meg turned over in her mind what she might do or say to mend things with herbrother.
I care for you
. Aye, that was the most important thing he needed to hear. If she pictured Alan at ten—happy, laughing, carefree—those words would come more easily.
Clara welcomed them home with a pot of hot tea. “Mrs. Gunn is preparing dinner for two o’clock.”
Meg looked down at her gray flannel bodice with its many tiny pleats and lifted the watch pinned there.
Almost noon
. Time enough to sit down with Alan and talk things through. If he had no response—or a bitter one—she would take refuge in her bedroom until dinner was served.
When her father started up the stairs, Meg caught her mother by the elbow and pulled her aside, taking advantage of the quiet entrance hall. In a low voice she explained, “Mum, I must speak with Alan before dinner. We’ve been estranged for too many years.”
Her mother clasped her hands, a tender expression on her face. “I have long wished for the two of you to be reconciled. Meet your brother in the parlor, and I’ll see that you’re not disturbed.”
Meg paused by the hallway mirror to pat her hair into place and pinch a bit of color into her cheeks. Then she smoothed her damp hands across her skirt and walked into the parlor. Though it was empty at the moment, she could hear her father in the next room helping Alan stand, assuring her brother he had a firm grip on him.
Since visits from Alan’s few friends had dwindled over the years, her brother often spent most of the day in his bedchamber, which adjoined the parlor and was situated across from the kitchen. It was a large room fitted with low shelves he could reach without assistance. Alan filled them with stacks of playing cards, wooden figures he’d whittled from fir or pine, chess and backgammon boards, and all the mechanical gadgets and curious trinkets Father could bring home for him.
When the adjoining door opened, Alan had a wary look on his face. “You wish to speak with me?”
“I do.” Meg exchanged glances with her father. She saw hope in his eyes and apprehension as well. He seated Alan in the most comfortable chair, then drew another close to it, meant for her. She waited until he closed the door before she sat across from Alan. Only the small end table, perched on its spindly legs, stood between them.
“I am so pleased with your Christmas gift,” she began, lifting her glass snow globe and watching the particles drift onto the miniature cottage.
Alan’s gaze was even, his voice flat. “Mum thought you would like it.”
Meg nodded absently, at a loss where to begin. She could hardly say, “I forgive you for being difficult.” Alan would rightly be offended. Then she remembered what she most wanted him to hear. “Alan, you must know I care for you. Very much.”
He scoffed, “Is that why you summoned me here? To tell me that?”
“As a matter of fact—” She stopped before the scolding tone of a teacher crept into her voice.
Love one another. Aye, only love
. Perhaps if she confessed some mistake or shortcoming of her own and asked his forgiveness, her honesty would demonstrate how much she cared for him.
Meg moistened her parched lips and considered the various flaws in her character and the many errors she’d made of late, searching for one that would matter to Alan.
Mr. Gordon of Glasgow
. Her spine stiffened.
No, no
. She couldn’t possibly tell Alan that. He would never forgive her. But her conscience would not be silenced.
Alan is the one you wronged most
.
No!
If she told her brother, the
Her mother was smiling once more. “You’ve been most helpful, Mrs. Corr.” She linked arms with her husband and with Meg. “We’d best go. Alan will be anxious to see us.”
As they slipped and slid their way home, Meg turned over in her mind what she might do or say to mend things with herbrother.
I care for you
. Aye, that was the most important thing he needed to hear. If she pictured Alan at ten—happy, laughing, carefree—those words would come more easily.
Clara welcomed them home with a pot of hot tea. “Mrs. Gunn is preparing dinner for two o’clock.”
Meg looked down at her gray flannel bodice with its many tiny pleats and lifted the watch pinned there.
Almost noon
. Time enough to sit down with Alan and talk things through. If he had no response—or a bitter one—she would take refuge in her bedroom until dinner was served.
When her father started up the stairs, Meg caught her mother by the elbow and pulled her aside, taking advantage of the quiet entrance hall. In a low voice she explained, “Mum, I must speak with Alan before dinner. We’ve been estranged for too many years.”
Her mother clasped her hands, a tender expression on her face. “I have long wished for the two of you to be reconciled. Meet your brother in the parlor, and I’ll see that you’re not disturbed.”
Meg paused by the hallway mirror to pat her hair into place and pinch a bit of color into her cheeks. Then she smoothed her damp hands across her skirt and walked into the parlor. Though it was empty at the moment, she could hear her father in the next room helping Alan stand, assuring her brother he had a firm grip on him.
Since visits from Alan’s few friends had dwindled over the years, her brother often spent most of the day in his bedchamber, which adjoined the parlor and was situated across from the kitchen. It was a large room fitted with low shelves he could reach without assistance. Alan filled them with stacks of playing cards, wooden figures he’d whittled from fir or pine, chess and backgammon boards, and all the mechanical gadgets and curious trinkets Father could bring home for him.
When the adjoining door opened, Alan had a wary look on his face. “You wish to speak with me?”
“I do.” Meg exchanged glances with her father. She saw hope in his eyes and apprehension as well. He seated Alan in the most comfortable chair, then drew another close to it, meant for her. She waited until he closed the door before she sat across from Alan. Only the small end table, perched on its spindly legs, stood between them.
“I am so pleased with your Christmas gift,” she began, lifting her glass snow globe and watching the particles drift onto the miniature cottage.
Alan’s gaze was even, his voice flat. “Mum thought you would like it.”
Meg nodded absently, at a loss where to begin. She could hardly say, “I forgive you for being difficult.” Alan would rightly be offended. Then she remembered what she most wanted him to hear. “Alan, you must know I care for you. Very much.”
He scoffed, “Is that why you summoned me here? To tell me that?”
“As a matter of fact—” She stopped before the scolding tone of a teacher crept into her voice.
Love one another. Aye, only love
. Perhaps if she confessed some mistake or shortcoming of her own and asked his forgiveness, her honesty would demonstrate how much she cared for him.
Meg moistened her parched lips and considered the various flaws in her character and the many errors she’d made of late, searching for one that would matter to Alan.
Mr. Gordon of Glasgow
. Her spine stiffened.
No, no
. She couldn’t possibly tell Alan that. He would never forgive her. But her conscience would not be silenced.
Alan is the one you wronged most
.
No!
If she told her brother, the
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