Rosie was quiet for a moment, considering. “Marianne is in my heart too. Even when she is in my room and I am in the garden.”
Serena smiled, blinking against the sting of tears. “Yes. That is a very good way of understanding it.”
“Miss Collard?”
“Yes?”
“Are you in my heart too?”
The question hit Serena like a physical blow. She had not been prepared for it, nor for how much it would mean coming from this small, wounded child who had learned too soon that love might vanish without warning.
She ought to have answered carefully. She ought to have preserved the professional distance that had protected her through four years of temporary positions and inevitable partings. She ought to have remembered her rule.
Instead, she heard herself say, “I should like to be. If you will allow me.”
Rosie smiled, a real smile, the first Serena had seen from her. “I will,” she said. And then, because she was five and the world was still mercifully simple, “Good night, Miss Collard.”
“Good night, Rosie.”
Serena rose, smoothed the blankets, and went to the door. She paused there, looking back at the small figure in the bed, at Marianne tucked beneath one arm, at the fair hair spread across the pillow, at the peaceful expression on a face that had known too much sorrow.
Her rule, her sensible and carefully maintained rule about not becoming attached—she was already breaking it.
And the most unsettling part was that she could not summon the will to regret it.
Chapter Five
“Dear Mama and Papa…”
Serena paused in the doorway of the schoolroom, her hand lifted to knock upon the frame. She had come in search of Samuel, who had wandered off during the afternoon interval, but what she found rooted her in place.
The boy sat at the writing desk by the window, his back to the door, a single sheet of paper spread before him. His pen lay beside it, the ink not yet dry. He drew a careful breath, as though gathering his courage, and began to read.
“I hope you are well up in the sky,” Samuel said softly. “Miss Collard says it is very pleasant there, and that you have everything you need. She says you can see us, even though we cannot see you. I hope that is true. I hope you can see how hard I am trying to be good.”
Serena’s throat tightened. She ought to announce herself. She ought to step away. It was not right to overhear something so private.
But she remained.
“Ella is still bossy,” Samuel continued, his voice steadier now. “But Miss Collard says it is because she worries about us and does not know how else to show it. I think she may be right. Ella cries at night sometimes. She thinks we do not hear, but I do.”
Serena pressed her hand to her mouth, determined not to betray herself.
“Rosie is getting better. She does not ask for you as often now, but I do not think that means she has forgotten. I think she is only learning to miss you more quietly. Like I am.”
He paused; his gaze fixed upon the page. When he spoke again, his voice was smaller.
“Uncle Nate came to luncheon yesterday. He spoke to us. Truly spoke, not only the polite questions that do not mean anything. He told us you were proud of us, Papa. He said you wrote to him about us.” His voice faltered. “I did not know you wrote letters about us. I wish I could read them.”
Serena’s sight blurred. She blinked hard against it.
“I miss you,” Samuel said, and now there was no disguising the tears. “I miss you every day. Sometimes I forget what your voices sounded like, and then I remember again, and it hurts even more because I forgot. Miss Collard says it is all right to forget sometimes. She says it does not mean I love you less. But it feels as though it does.”
He set the letter down and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, quick and furtive, as though even alone he felt ashamed of being seen.
“I must go now,” he said to the page. “Miss Collard will be looking for me, and I do not wish her to worry. I love you. I hope you know that. I hope you can hear me.”
Only then did he fold the paper, carefully and with exactness, and slip it into the pocket of his jacket. He remained seated for a long moment afterwards, gazing out at the grey Derbyshire sky beyond the window.
