“He would be proud of what you’re doing,” my grandmother said. Her English accent carried traces of years spent with a Russian husband and decades in Switzerland, but beneath it all, she was still unmistakably British. “If he were here, he would tell you to stop worrying about leaving and start thinking about arriving.”
My throat was tight. I closed the case and held it against my chest, then put the compass in my jacket pocket next to the molding.
The estate filledwith departure noise for the rest of the morning. Bags accumulated in the front hall, and voices carried between rooms.
Anna’s chair in the parlor was bare. Her blanket was folded on top of her suitcase near the front door, and that one detail made the leaving more real.
I found her in the dining room. She was alone at the table, with a small wooden box in front of her that I hadn’t seen before.
“What is that?”
“Come sit with me for a minute.”
When I took the seat beside her, she pushed the box across the table.
I lifted the lid, and inside was a photograph worn soft at the corners. A girl sat at the edge of a wooden dock with her legs in the water and her head tipped toward whoever was behind the camera.
“That’s your Amelia at Onteora. She was nine years old.” She brushed away a tear. “I carried this box in my hand luggage when we came to Switzerland. I’ll take it home the same way.”
“I should, um…”
She patted my hand. “Off with you, then. I’m sure you have lots to do.”
Lyra was in the study. When I passed the doorway, she looked up.
“Come here.”
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I went to the site.”
“Was that the only place you went?”
“Yes.”
She stood and crossed to where I leaned on the crutch, put her hands on my shoulders, and her eyes held mine.
“I have never been prouder of anyone in my life.”
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
“Good. Scared means you understand what we’re doing.” She squeezed my shoulders and let go.
I was at the door when she spoke.
“I handed my father’s work to the person best suited to carry it. What I can’t reconcile is what it cost to get here.”
Her voice held. Her tears didn’t. They tracked down her cheeks, and she didn’t wipe them or look away.
I waited. My chest stayed tight and my eyes dry.
“I’ll protect it,” I said.
“I know.” She reached up and touched my cheek. “Now, go. We have a house to close.”
Mrs. Eggers was in the corridor when I opened the study door.
