When I say nothing, Mrs. Lewis goes on. “He doesn’t hug or kiss her. He doesn’t worry about her or wonder why she’s not talking. It’s not right.”
I feel my mouth drop open as I realize I have also noticed this about Martin, that he doesn’t hug or kiss Kat. He doesn’t touch her at all. I’d decided it is because he is a man wrapped up in his grief, and maybe he is, but he is also a father. Even a grieving man remembers his child, doesn’t he?
“It makes me wonder if she is his true child,” Mrs. Lewis says. “I know I shouldn’t wonder such a thing but I do, and you’ve only been knowing Mr. Hocking for such a short while. I just...” Her voice falls away. “The child whispered to me once that it was her fault her mother was dead. She said she made her mother sick. And of course I asked her why she should say such a thing. She wouldn’t answer me. She never said another thing to me after that. Not one thing. I told Mr. Hocking she said that to me and he behaved as though he didn’t care.”
I stare at her, mute.
A second later Mrs. Lewis abruptly stands. “I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll leave now.”
I rise, too, my mouth still unable to form words as I follow the woman to the front door.
“Thank you for bringing the hair ribbons,” I say woodenly as I open the door. I, too, am wishing Mrs. Lewis hadn’t come.
We stand in silence for a moment, and then Mrs. Lewis reaches out to touch my arm.
“I’m sorry if I’ve said too much, but you seem like a good person, and the child... It’s not right that she’s not speaking and that he does nothing about it. It’s kept me up at night thinking about it, but I’m truly sorry if I should have said nothing.”
I swallow hard against the knot of alarm that’s taken hold of me. Mrs. Lewis is mistaken. Martin is just sad and flattened by his grief. He bought this lovely home for Kat and me to live in. He is good to us both in so many other ways. Mrs. Lewis is mistaken.
I clear my throat. “My husband and I believe the best thing to do for Kat is to let her recover from losing her mother without harsh expectations, Mrs. Lewis. She is in fact getting better every day, I assure you. And perhaps Martin did not realize Kat is too young to be left alone like that. But then you helped him see that it wasn’t wise, and that is why he sent for me. And I’m sure as Kat matures I will be able to help her understand consumption isn’t brought on by having to take care of a child.”
Even as I say these things, it all seems to make sense.
“He’s a caring father and a good husband,” I continue. “He, too, is still recovering from the loss of his first wife. And you don’t know all of the other heartaches he has suffered in his life.”
Mrs. Lewis regards me for a moment. “Of course,” she says, but I can tell she is not convinced. “Might I say good-bye to the child?”
It is on my tongue to tell the woman no, but that will only reinforce her strange notions. For both of us.
“Certainly.”
We make our way through the kitchen to the back patio, where Kat is dutifully sprinkling water from a metal can onto the flower beds. She looks up at me.
“Mrs. Lewis is headed home. Come thank her for coming and bringing the ribbons.”
The child sets down the can and walks over to Mrs. Lewis and blinks at her with beautiful eyes that are so like Martin’s. So very much like Martin’s.
Mrs. Lewis bends down to look at her at the level of those eyes. “I’m glad that you have this pretty house to live in and a new dear mama to care for you.” She strokes the child’s cheek and Kat does not flinch, but nor does she reach out to embrace the woman who had cared for her before I came, when Martin had been on the road. “You be a good girl, now, and mind your new mama, all right?”
Kat nods.
“Can you tell her good-bye, love?” I say, inwardly begging the child to please, please say the word.
“Good-bye,” Kat murmurs.
Mrs. Lewis smiles, perhaps a bit reassured by hearing Kat speak. She rises to her full height and then turns to me. “If you ever need anything, come to me.”
“Certainly,” I say, as politely as I can; then I escort Mrs. Lewisback to the door and open it. “Thank you again for coming, Mrs. Lewis.”
Mrs. Lewis says good-bye and I shut the door. Kat has a bevy of new hair ribbons, so it is easy, as I make my way back to the patio and my daughter, to toss Mrs. Lewis’s package into the bin.
•••
Libby and Timmy come for lunch the following afternoon. Kat and I made little sandwiches with the crusts removed and a tray of relishes and an aspic and a lemon chiffon cake. The day is sunny and the patio is pleasant and Kat and Timmy draw pictures on the patio stones with chalk after they’ve eaten.
Everything about the afternoon seems perfect. But I sense that Libby sees me not as her new neighbor but as someone who needs care and attending—a woman of misfortune who was so desperate to escape her lot, she married a man she didn’t know. I am someone Libby should look after from time to time as is befitting a woman of Christian character. The lunch invitation was accepted because that was the charitable thing to do.
As they are leaving, I remind Libby that I am happy to mind little Timmy if she has obligations to attend. Libby thanks me sweetly for the offer and for the delicious lunch.
