That alone could prove her undoing if she did not guard against it.
He was going to marry Miss Haviland. At least, that was the general assumption. Why, after all, would he have allowed her to be invited here to Ravenswood with her parents if he did not have serious intentions toward her?
Miss Haviland was perfect in every way. Except, perhaps, that she lacked something in warmth. It was because she was shy, Winifred had concluded, and because she had been raised always to be dignified and behave as a perfect lady was expected to behave. She would be the perfect wife for Colonel Ware.
Except that…
Oh, he deserved someone who matched him in warmth, someone wholovedhim. And not just him but everyone. Her brothers and sisters did not like Miss Haviland, though only Sarah had actually said so.
But he had just asked her something—Do you want to talk about it?
She did not. Oh, she did not. She wished he would go away. Sheneverspoke of her pain. Not to anyone, even Mama or Papa.
“I do not know where I came from,” she said. “I do not know who I am.”
It sounded so foolishly abject. He would think she had taken leave of her senses. He did not say anything. He did far worse. He reached out and took her hand in his and rested their joined hands on the grass between them.
“You were born and grew to consciousness of your existence with a mother and father and two brothers and a sense of identity and belonging,” she said. “You learned of the parts of your life you could not remember. Baby stories. And you met other relatives and learned of your family history. You grew up with all the security of knowing exactly who you were.”
Still he said nothing.
“My life began abruptly in a basket on the doorstep of an orphanage,” she said. “But it had an actual beginning before that. No one has ever been sure how long before. It was estimated that I wasabout one month old. My birthday was set accordingly. No one knew if I had been given a name during that month of my preexistence. I suppose my mother and my father both had surnames. I do not know either. I was randomly named Winifred. Winifred Hamlin. It has never felt quite like my name, which is probably a stupid thing to say. Do youfeellike a Nicholas? Nicholas Ware?”
“Yes,” he said when she waited for his answer. “Were you treated kindly at the orphanage?”
“Oh, I was,” she said. “One hears horror stories about some orphanages. None of them applied to the one in which I grew up until I was nine. I was always fed well and clothed adequately and treated kindly. I was played with and educated well at the school on the premises. Papa was my art teacher. My first teacher of everything else was Aunt Anna, whom I knew at the time as Miss Snow. I loved her dearly. And eventually, after a brief spell with an unkind teacher, Mama was my teacher.”
He did not speak. Nor did he break away, get to his feet, announce his intention of going to the lake or back to the house. He waited.
Why had she even begun this?
“I was always anxious,” she said. “I was always afraid of being turned out. And IknewI would have to leave when I was fifteen, though I would be helped to find employment. I would have nowhere, however, where I belonged. I tried very hard always to be good, always to be better than the other children, in the hope, perhaps, that I would not have to leave when the time came but space would be found for me on the staff. I became pious. I became detestable. And the more I tried to be liked, even loved, the more the other children and even the staff were repulsed by me. For I liked nothing better than to instruct the other children in what they weredoing wrong and reporting them to the housemothers and the teacher when they failed to change. For their own good, of course, and to highlight the contrast with me.”
Why was she doing this? She had never spoken thus to anyone.
“I was very unhappy,” she said. “And very self-pitying. I had been abandoned because I was unlovable. But I could not make the strangers among whom I lived love me.”
“And this is why you are sad now?” he asked her. “Even though all that has changed?”
“Usually I count my many, many blessings,” she said. “But these moods come upon me occasionally. I do not invite them. I fight them and refuse to sink deeper into depression. It would be so…ungrateful.”
“I think you have all the reason in the world to throw a massive tantrum,” he said.
She turned her head toward him, startled. She laughed.
“I never talk about these things withanyone,” she said. “There is nothing less attractive than a person who is constantly low-spirited and attempting to drag someone else down with her for company by whining. I beg your pardon for speaking of them to you.”
“Tell me,” he said. “In all the experiences you have had of life in the past twenty-one years minus a month or so, what was your happiest day?”
“I do not even have to think about it,” she said. “It was the day Mama—Miss Westcott at the time—announced in school that she would be leaving as our teacher in order to marry Mr. Cunningham. I felt at first as though the bottom had fallen out of my world—again. I tried so hard to be happy for her and to tell her so. And then she sent for me for a private talk. She asked me if I wouldlike to go with them as their adopted daughter. They wanted it, she explained, for no other reason than that they loved me. I had to offer nothing in return. They would not expect gratitude or endless piety and good behavior. They would always love me no matter what.Thatwas by far the happiest day of my life, Colonel Ware.”
He was holding her hand tightly, almost to the point of pain.
“I want you to promise me something,” he said. “I cannot console you for your basic sadness. I cannot offer you any knowledge of your past, what preceded that basket. But I want you always to remember that day, the happiest of your life, when you are feeling overwhelmed by depression. Not a vague feeling of gratitude for all the blessings your life has given you but just that one day. Promise me.”
She continued to gaze at him despite the fact that her vision had blurred.
“Remember that day?” she said. “I could never forget it if I tried. But I know what you are saying. Focus upon that to recover my happiness. I promise.”
