whom you cannot come first. That you must turn to a virtual stranger before you approach your own mother.”
“You have often viewed my work suspiciously, Mother.”
“Well do I know it. And no better than this moment, when I see you sitting there prepared for yet another quarrel.”
“Mama, I … I don’t know what to say.”
“No. And that is also most distressing.” Mildred sat very precisely, poised and erect as always. But the sunlight coming through the streetside window formed a gentle crown upon her graying hair, one that matched the soft light in her eyes. Erica realized for the first time just how much her mother had aged in the past two years. Mildred went on, “Let us begin by assuming you will be departing for London.”
Nothing that her mother might have said could have shocked her more than this. Erica felt the strength drain from her. “What—I mean how—?”
“I must trust your reason,” she continued. “I trust you every day to do what would have made your father very proud.” Only a faint trembling of Mildred’s cheeks revealed the strain these words caused. “Now explain to me why this trip to London is so vital, and tell me more about it. When do you hope to depart? With whom will you travel? Where will you lodge when you reach England?”
Erica answered her mother’s questions, although she remained numb throughout. Of all the ways this conversation might have gone, this was the most astonishing. She talked of the bankers. She talked of trade. She talked of the newly appointed emissary from America to London. She talked of her hopes and her plans. And not once did her mother object or interrupt or demand that she put aside these ridiculous notions. Erica paused several times in the telling, not because she expected these protests, but because she was confounded by their absence.
Mildred sat and watched and did not speak. What was more, she listened .
Erica did not stop so much as drift into silence.
At that moment, the clock chimed the noon hour. Twelve long strokes. The bell’s music resounded through the still air.
When the ticking resumed, Mildred said, “That was very clear, my dear. Thank you.”
“Mama, I don’t know what to say.”
“Nor do I.” She grasped her daughter’s hands. “So let us join together in prayer and ask for God’s wisdom in finding both the right words and our way through all that lies ahead.”
Over the ensuing days Erica found the idea of her journey gradually growing and taking root. She would start awake in the night, scarcely able to breathe. There were so many emotions tied to the very idea of traveling. She yearned for this trip fiercely and yet feared it with almost equal intensity.
She found herself pondering her conversations with Abigail and her mother through the long, dark hours. The two women were so different and yet tied so intimately together. Abigail’s words became a reflection of her own inner state. The last two years had taught Erica a great deal about loneliness. Shunned by those she had once counted as friends, at least close acquaintances, Erica had neither the time nor the interest to develop new connections. Most of the time, she remained too busy to care. In these hours of reflection, however, she could not escape how desperately lonely she felt. How she yearned for someone in whom she could truly confide!
Her mother’s words seemed connected to such feelings, raised to the surface by Abigail’s discussion. Time and again Erica found herself thinking about the astonishing change in Mildred Langston. She could discount the transformation no longer, for it affected everything about her own future and her plans. When they were together during the day, Erica often observed her mother discreetly. Her mother’s calm agreement seemed to challenge her in some subtle way.
Erica could not explain precisely why she felt this way nor why she often watched and waited for the storm. Yet it was this new calm that came
“You have often viewed my work suspiciously, Mother.”
“Well do I know it. And no better than this moment, when I see you sitting there prepared for yet another quarrel.”
“Mama, I … I don’t know what to say.”
“No. And that is also most distressing.” Mildred sat very precisely, poised and erect as always. But the sunlight coming through the streetside window formed a gentle crown upon her graying hair, one that matched the soft light in her eyes. Erica realized for the first time just how much her mother had aged in the past two years. Mildred went on, “Let us begin by assuming you will be departing for London.”
Nothing that her mother might have said could have shocked her more than this. Erica felt the strength drain from her. “What—I mean how—?”
“I must trust your reason,” she continued. “I trust you every day to do what would have made your father very proud.” Only a faint trembling of Mildred’s cheeks revealed the strain these words caused. “Now explain to me why this trip to London is so vital, and tell me more about it. When do you hope to depart? With whom will you travel? Where will you lodge when you reach England?”
Erica answered her mother’s questions, although she remained numb throughout. Of all the ways this conversation might have gone, this was the most astonishing. She talked of the bankers. She talked of trade. She talked of the newly appointed emissary from America to London. She talked of her hopes and her plans. And not once did her mother object or interrupt or demand that she put aside these ridiculous notions. Erica paused several times in the telling, not because she expected these protests, but because she was confounded by their absence.
Mildred sat and watched and did not speak. What was more, she listened .
Erica did not stop so much as drift into silence.
At that moment, the clock chimed the noon hour. Twelve long strokes. The bell’s music resounded through the still air.
When the ticking resumed, Mildred said, “That was very clear, my dear. Thank you.”
“Mama, I don’t know what to say.”
“Nor do I.” She grasped her daughter’s hands. “So let us join together in prayer and ask for God’s wisdom in finding both the right words and our way through all that lies ahead.”
Over the ensuing days Erica found the idea of her journey gradually growing and taking root. She would start awake in the night, scarcely able to breathe. There were so many emotions tied to the very idea of traveling. She yearned for this trip fiercely and yet feared it with almost equal intensity.
She found herself pondering her conversations with Abigail and her mother through the long, dark hours. The two women were so different and yet tied so intimately together. Abigail’s words became a reflection of her own inner state. The last two years had taught Erica a great deal about loneliness. Shunned by those she had once counted as friends, at least close acquaintances, Erica had neither the time nor the interest to develop new connections. Most of the time, she remained too busy to care. In these hours of reflection, however, she could not escape how desperately lonely she felt. How she yearned for someone in whom she could truly confide!
Her mother’s words seemed connected to such feelings, raised to the surface by Abigail’s discussion. Time and again Erica found herself thinking about the astonishing change in Mildred Langston. She could discount the transformation no longer, for it affected everything about her own future and her plans. When they were together during the day, Erica often observed her mother discreetly. Her mother’s calm agreement seemed to challenge her in some subtle way.
Erica could not explain precisely why she felt this way nor why she often watched and waited for the storm. Yet it was this new calm that came
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