offered you.”
Chapter 9
Erica’s conversation with her mother was as great a surprise as her meeting with Abigail. When she returned to their apartment, Erica found Mildred seated in the upstairs parlor, the one formerly used by Forrest and his business guests. Now it contained a number of their most treasured belongings. Every surface held pictures and mementos. Upon the walls hung paintings of her father, her grandmother, and a ship now sailing under a different name. The room overwhelmed Erica with memories.
“Erica, there you are. Where have you been?”
“Downstairs, Mama.” She watched her mother set aside the prayer missal she had been studying. “Did you rest well?”
“What an odd question to ask at midday. What were you doing in the coffeehouse?”
“Visiting with Abigail Cutter.”
“Abigail was here? Why was I not invited to join you?”
“I needed to speak with her alone.”
“Did you, now.” Her mother indicated the place beside her. “Am I permitted to ask what this was all about?”
“Us. The family.” Erica had worked and reworked the way she wanted this discussion to go. But the effects of her conversation with Abigail still lingered.
“You are wearing the most extraordinary expression.”
The silence spanned several ticks of the clock. Mildred spoke again. “I did not realize you two were in contact.”
“I have not spoken to her in almost two years. She wants to be my friend.”
“Well. I suppose it is good to renew such connections.” Then her mother waited, an aura of deep calm emanating from her.
Actually, calm was not precisely the word Erica sought. Her mother sat with the same formal posture as always. She displayed no bitterness or anger over their situation. Instead, she observed her daughter from a haven of peace that Erica most certainly did not share.
Although Erica had faithfully accompanied Mildred to Sunday services, she had no inclination to join her the many other evenings her mother spent at church. She felt grateful that her mother was not just sitting upstairs in her cramped little parlor, surrounded by relics of a bygone era and dusty reminders of a man now in his grave.
“I invited her to come,” Erica now said. “I needed to ask a favor.” She had not intended to come into this so directly. But so little of this world came about as she wanted. “Mother, I must travel to London.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“And soon. Time is not our ally here.”
“Daughter, be sensible. London is …”
Erica actually observed the change. Her mother had started to respond that London was out of the question. And she was going to revert to the haughty tone of command Erica had heard all through her childhood. “Yes, Mother? London is what?”
But the sharp edge was gone from her mother’s voice. Instead, Mildred Langston’s attention seemed at least partly held by something Erica could not see. “Perhaps it would be better if you told me what this is about.”
Erica laid it all out, not attempting to gloss over anything. At one point she went back into her bedroom and returned with the ledgers. “Our existence remains poised upon a knife’s edge of debt and expenses. We have no hope of ever rising above our current station unless I go to London and recover these funds.”
“Please, daughter, close the books. I trust you and your calculations. I also know you could tell me anything you like about the figures written there, and I would have no choice but to accept your words.”
“I am sorry, Mother.”
“For what? For managing our affairs so that we have a roof over our heads and food on the table? I know how hard you and Reggie are working.”
“I do the best I can.”
“I know. It defines your very nature. Now I want you to do something for me.”
The words rocked her. They were almost exactly what she had heard from Abigail downstairs. “Yes?”
“I want you to treat me as a friend as well. I am sorry that I have become someone to
Chapter 9
Erica’s conversation with her mother was as great a surprise as her meeting with Abigail. When she returned to their apartment, Erica found Mildred seated in the upstairs parlor, the one formerly used by Forrest and his business guests. Now it contained a number of their most treasured belongings. Every surface held pictures and mementos. Upon the walls hung paintings of her father, her grandmother, and a ship now sailing under a different name. The room overwhelmed Erica with memories.
“Erica, there you are. Where have you been?”
“Downstairs, Mama.” She watched her mother set aside the prayer missal she had been studying. “Did you rest well?”
“What an odd question to ask at midday. What were you doing in the coffeehouse?”
“Visiting with Abigail Cutter.”
“Abigail was here? Why was I not invited to join you?”
“I needed to speak with her alone.”
“Did you, now.” Her mother indicated the place beside her. “Am I permitted to ask what this was all about?”
“Us. The family.” Erica had worked and reworked the way she wanted this discussion to go. But the effects of her conversation with Abigail still lingered.
“You are wearing the most extraordinary expression.”
The silence spanned several ticks of the clock. Mildred spoke again. “I did not realize you two were in contact.”
“I have not spoken to her in almost two years. She wants to be my friend.”
“Well. I suppose it is good to renew such connections.” Then her mother waited, an aura of deep calm emanating from her.
Actually, calm was not precisely the word Erica sought. Her mother sat with the same formal posture as always. She displayed no bitterness or anger over their situation. Instead, she observed her daughter from a haven of peace that Erica most certainly did not share.
Although Erica had faithfully accompanied Mildred to Sunday services, she had no inclination to join her the many other evenings her mother spent at church. She felt grateful that her mother was not just sitting upstairs in her cramped little parlor, surrounded by relics of a bygone era and dusty reminders of a man now in his grave.
“I invited her to come,” Erica now said. “I needed to ask a favor.” She had not intended to come into this so directly. But so little of this world came about as she wanted. “Mother, I must travel to London.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“And soon. Time is not our ally here.”
“Daughter, be sensible. London is …”
Erica actually observed the change. Her mother had started to respond that London was out of the question. And she was going to revert to the haughty tone of command Erica had heard all through her childhood. “Yes, Mother? London is what?”
But the sharp edge was gone from her mother’s voice. Instead, Mildred Langston’s attention seemed at least partly held by something Erica could not see. “Perhaps it would be better if you told me what this is about.”
Erica laid it all out, not attempting to gloss over anything. At one point she went back into her bedroom and returned with the ledgers. “Our existence remains poised upon a knife’s edge of debt and expenses. We have no hope of ever rising above our current station unless I go to London and recover these funds.”
“Please, daughter, close the books. I trust you and your calculations. I also know you could tell me anything you like about the figures written there, and I would have no choice but to accept your words.”
“I am sorry, Mother.”
“For what? For managing our affairs so that we have a roof over our heads and food on the table? I know how hard you and Reggie are working.”
“I do the best I can.”
“I know. It defines your very nature. Now I want you to do something for me.”
The words rocked her. They were almost exactly what she had heard from Abigail downstairs. “Yes?”
“I want you to treat me as a friend as well. I am sorry that I have become someone to
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