Her shoulder shrugs. “You can’t fix this.”
“This sounds very serious. Maybe you and I can fix it together.”
Lydia nods. “Katherine didn’t think that I care about her.” She folds her arms. “I care, but I’m still mad. Can’t I still be mad?”
“You can be whatever you want to be. Say the word, and I’ll do anything to make it happen.”
She studies me and then dips her head. “You can’t give us time back.”
My mouth dries. My heart stings. “We have now, Lydia. That is more than most.”
“You could’ve been my papen’ka for my whole life. Not just now.”
She pouts, and it’s my sister’s angry face. Why didn’t I see it before? Maybe I couldn’t. Some truths are too painful.
Part of me understands why Katherine ran from me. Yet, like my daughter, I can care and be mad at Katherine for taking away our time.
I brush Lydia’s curly hair and memorize the smell of coconut oil and the feel of the fine texture. “We must live in the moment. Do as much as we can while we’re healthy.”
Pulling her face close to mine, I say, “The best day ever was when I met you.”
“’Cause Tavis died?”
“I was thinking of how you held on to my legs so I couldn’t leave. I think I loved you then.”
“Is that it, Papa Duke, my papen’ka? If I hold onto you and you hold onto me, then we can’t go?”
“That isn’t … Da, we hold onto each other. And live every day big.”
“Big.”
“Da. Huge.”
“Gigantic.”
“Daaa. Every day.”
She puts her arms tightly about my neck.
I lift myself and, first with my cane and then without support, spin her. “You’re a bird, Lidochka. You will fly high.”
“Like an angel?”
I stop and ease her to the floor. My gaze fixes on my sickbed and this large bedchamber that seems too small to fit all my hopes and dreams for my child, or even for me.
“You are an angel, but we must stay here as long as we can.” Winded, I settle back in my chair and drink more of Scarlett’s tea.
Lydia holds onto my leg. “You don’t lie. Even though I do wish you would. Wish you’d say we’re going to be alright.”
“We are fine, Lidochka, right now.”
She beams, clamps onto my unsteady knee, and chatters about her lesson, talking louder than the banging from the tub and the pails of water servants are carrying to Katherine.
Forcing myself not to think of what new things are affecting my mistress, I focus on the sounds of my daughter’s happy voice, telling me of Lada and the dreams that any little princess should have.
The lack of movement in Katherine’s adjoining room puzzles me. Servants’ footfalls quieted an hour ago. Lydia went with her nurse, too. I sit at my table, away from the bed, and enjoy the last of my buttery kartoshka.
As I finish another cup of Scarlett’s tea, I feel restless.
