She felt Kirsty relax against her, she wasn’t crying anymore. She was munching on the pie and not paying any attention to the storm outside.
A few minutes later she turned her small face up with its pie-crust crumbs on her chin. She looked up at Georgina. “I didn’t think grownups were afraid of anything.”
“Everyone is afraid of something, Kirsty.” She hugged the girl a little tighter.I’m afraid I’m falling in love with your father.
Chapter Fifty-Five
There was a young maid who said, “Why,
Can’t I look in my ear with my eye?
If I put my mind to it,
I’m sure I can do it
You can never tell till you try.”
—Anonymous
Georgina found the old clock the next morning. It was in a room on the other side of the house. She was standing there staring at it when Calum came in.
“It’s one of your family’s clocks.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Do you have any of the clocks?”
She shook her head. “They were all auctioned with the house.”
Calum crossed the room, took down the mantel clock and handed it to her. “It’s yours.”
“No.”
“We don’t need it,” he said. “And I think you might.”
She looked at the clock as he placed it in her hands and felt as if she might do something really idiotic like cry.
“Go on,” Calum said. “Take it.”
“Thank you.” She started to leave the room, then hesitated at the door.
He was watching her as if he expected this. Before she could ask her question, he answered, “I’m sure.”
She smiled then and left, carrying the clock upstairs to the small bedroom that was hers. She went inside and crossed directly over to a small pine dresser.
In it was everything she owned in world. She set the clock on the dresser top, wound it, leaned down a bit, and opened the small walnut door. With a flick of one finger she started the pendulum in motion. She started to close the door but saw the Bayard signature on the inside.
She ran her finger over the carving, then took a deep breath and closed the small door. She stood back and looked at the clock. It was a walnut clock, the kind with a moon face on it. It ticked and tocked and kept perfect time.
She stood there for a long time, thinking back over the years, over time that had been spun away by the hands of so many Bayard clocks. She remembered her life, her childhood and how her family had lived.
Part of her wondered what kind of life her ancestor who crafted this piece had had. Did he and his wife have a house filled with love? Did they care about their children? Did they love their daughters as much as they loved their sons?
For a long time past, years and years, deep down inside of her she had thought it was her fault that her parents hadn’t cared about her. She thought there was something missing in her.
But last night, as she sat in that closet with Kirsty and held her while they both spoke of only happy things, she had learned something important about herself.
It wasn’t that she was unlovable. But that her parents were incapable of giving love to her.
