“Tired?” she asked, bending over him to push back a lock of his hair and kiss his forehead.
“We are going home tomorrow,” he said.
At the foot of his bed, his trunk was almost completely packed.
She felt weak-kneed at the thought and sat down on the side of the bed.
“Yes,” she said. “It is time. We have been here a whole month.”
“I do not see,” he said, sounding aggrieved, “why everyone has to go home when we are all having such a jolly time.”
“But the trouble with jolly times,” she said, “is that they would lose their jolliness if they went on forever and become merely tedious.”
“No, they would not,” he protested.
And perhaps he was right. Who had first mouthed that piece of dubious wisdom anyway?
“Everyone else’s mama went today except you,” he said, the words coming rather jerkily from his mouth.
It was unlike David to be petulant. Anne was smitten with dismay—and guilt.
“I asked you if you minded my not going,” she said, “and you said no. I would have come if—”
“And everyone else’s papa went too,” he said. “Except Davy’s, who is dead. But he has his Uncle Aidan, who is as good as a papa because Davy lives with him and they do things together. They go riding and fishing and swimming and other things.”
“Oh, David,” she said.
“And Daniel lives with Cousin Joshua,” he continued. “Cousin Joshua is hispapa. He takes him into the village where we used to live and out in a fishing boat. And he lets him ride on his shoulders and pull his hair and do all sorts of things.”
“David—”
“I didsohave a papa once, didn’t I?” he asked. “You said no, but Davy says everyonehasto have a papa even if he is dead. Is my papa dead?”
Anne closed her eyes briefly. Why did all of life’s crises seem to come along when one felt least ready to deal with them? She was still feeling raw from a good-bye that had not quite been said. But this was of greater importance. She tried to focus her mind.
It was true that every time David had asked her in the past why he did not have a father she had told him that he was special and had only a mama, who loved him twice as much as any other mama loved her child. It had been a foolish answer even for a young child, and she had always known that she must do better eventually.
She just wished it had not happened tonight of all nights.
“Yes, David,” she said. “He is dead. He drowned. He was swimming at night and he drowned. I am so sorry.”
She braced herself for the question about his father’s identity that was surely going to come next. But it seemed there was a more important question to ask first.
“Did he love me?” he asked, his eyes like two large bruises in his pale face. “Did he do things with me?”
“Oh, my sweetheart,” she said, setting the backs of her fingers against his cheek, “he would have loved you more than anyone else in the world. But he died before you were born.”
“How could he have been my papa, then?” he asked her, frowning.
“He had…givenyou to me before he died,” she said, “and I kept you safe until you were born. I will explain to you one day when you are a little older. But right now you are having a hard time keeping your eyes open and tomorrow is going to be a busy day. Wriggle under the sheets now and I’ll tell you a story and tuck you in and kiss you good night.”
Ten minutes later he looked up at her with sleepy eyes—and then smiled with pure mischief.
“I am glad you did not come to the castle,” he said. “Now I get to tell Mr. Keeble and Matron and Miss Martin all about it myself.”
She laughed softly. “And about cricket and boating and playing pirates and painting,” she said. “I promise to let you tell it all. It will be good to see everyone again, will it not?”
“Mmm,” he said.
