Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand by Carla Kelly

been a long time," Helen added.
    She sighed and looked at Felicity, who already had a finger in the gravy that pooled in the bottom of the platter. "Very well," she grumbled. "I may have to take Lord Winn to task, but we will eat to bursting tonight. Pass your plate, Helen. Lissy! Wait your turn. Oh, we are forgetting grace!"
    It was a good dinner, complete with Yorkshire pudding covered in gravy so creamy that Helen sighed. "Mama, you know what Papa would say," she commented as she leaned back finally and pushed away her empty plate.
    Roxanna looked at her daughter. You have never spoken of him, she thought as she set down her own fork, fearful that her hand would tremble. "You tell me, dear," she said, her voice low with emotion.
    Helen sat up straight, and put both elbows on the table in an imitation of her father that made Roxanna close her eyes for a moment. " 'Well done, Mrs. Drew. It couldn't possibly be any better, not even if the Lord Almighty himself sat for dinner,' " Helen said, pitching her voice lower.
    Felicity laughed and clapped her hands. Helen burst into tears, and then they were all crying, and laughing, and hugging each other, until Meggie hurried in from the kitchen where she was removing the plates, and joined them. Roxanna pulled both girls onto her lap and held them close to her, feeling better than she had in a long time.
    Helen blew her nose vigorously on a table napkin. "Mama, do you mind?"
    Roxanna shook her head, her lips on her daughter's hair.
    "Somehow, it makes me feel better to talk about Papa."
    "Me, too, dear," Roxanna said. "Let's do it whenever we feel like it."
    After the girls were in bed, she went onto the front porch, breathing deep of the cold air, more content than she had felt in months. She drew her shawl closer, surprised at her own peace of mind. For someone with such an uncertain future, Roxanna Drew, you certainly are as merry as a grig. She smiled to herself, then found herself listening, her head tilted to one side.
    She could hear the faintest sound of a piano coming from the estate. She listened harder, and her grin widened. The piano tuner must have found his way through the melting drifts, after all, she decided, as she strained her ears and concentrated until she identified a Beethoven sonata. It ended with a flourish and a crash of chords, just before her toes started to tingle from the cold. She clapped her hands softly, and went inside, closing the door behind her.
    Her teeth chattered as she undressed and crawled into bed, wishing almost that Felicity would climb in with her for warmth. But I must not encourage that, she thought. Gradually, the heavy blankets warmed her and her eyes closed. Before she drifted to sleep, she ran her hand over the indentation in the other pillow. The scent of lemon shaving soap was long gone from the room, but she imagined it anyway, and places like Spain where it was warm.
    Lord Winn and Tibbie returned from Retling in the afternoon, when she was trying to count the sheets and stack them back on the shelves. At the sound of horses' hooves on the gravel drive outside, Helen set aside the towels she was folding and looked out the window.
    "Mama, can I go to the stables? Maybe Lord Winn will let me curry his horse!" she asked, her eyes lively.
    " 'May I,' not 'Can I,' " Roxanna corrected absently as she began her count again. She looked up as Helen tugged on her arm. "Of course, my dear. Only do not make a nuisance of yourself."
    "Mama, I would never!" Helen declared. She looked at Felicity, who slumbered on a pile of rejected linen, still wearing her red mittens. "Now, Lissy might."
    Roxanna put her finger to her lips. "Then don't wake her, silly!" She returned to her count, stacked the sheets, and opened yet another carved chest. At least it is the last one, she thought. I wonder if the inmates of Moreland ever threw out anything? She opened the chest and gasped out loud, then looked around to make sure she had not wakened