Mama, indignant with outrage. “If you were determined to exclude Maggie, you might’ve at least muzzledyour daughter with common decency before bringing her into my home.”
Veruca’s mother, polite but dismissive. “I regret that she spoke out of turn.”
A veil of white fell over Mama’s face. “How much did you hear?”
Margaret wet her lips. “Everything.”
She’d heard Veruca’s mother abandoning all pretense of politeness.
“Maggie is no longera companion. She’s a complication. Honestly, you must sympathize with the inconvenience of accommodating her condition. If she’d come,the girls would’ve felt obligated to keep her company, and they wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun as they did riding about the park.”
She’d heard Mama’s outrage wither to wearied frustration.
“Maggie could’ve ridden with them. She has a cart—”
“And it is a bothersome nuisance that would’ve slowed the girls down. Admit it, Clara. Catering to Maggie’s needsis a burden. An exhausting chore. Isn’t that why you don’t travel anymore? Just because you’re willing to sacrifice your comforts and dreams doesn’t mean my child should have to do the same.”
The memory of the conversation twisted Margaret’s stomach into knots. “You couldn’t refute Veruca’s mother because her words rang true. You wept when she left because she was right. You forfeited your comforts and dreams for my sake, and I cannot help thinking I’m not worth the sacrifice. That I’m a burden not worth carrying.”
Mama and Papa exchanged a look, communicating silently. As one, they reached for Margaret, sandwiching her hand in their unified clasp. Mama choked back emotion, her voice as watery as her silver eyes. “You listen to me, Margaret Marie Kingsley. You are not a burden. You are our most precious treasure and our greatest adventure. I’ve never told you this, but before your birth ... there were losses.” The word caught in Mama’s throat, and Papa rubbed her shoulder until she’d composed herself. “The doctors told me I might never carry to term and then you came along. My Margaret Marie, my dear one, my pearl of great price.”
Papa nodded. “To us, my girl, you will only ever be beloved.”
Beloved.Like the kintsugi tea set, the word filled the fissures of Margaret’s heart with golden assurance, mending what was broken and creating something beautiful from the scars.
Chapter
32
At long last, the Daughters of Genius Society had been issued an invitation to Margaret’s inner sanctum. Today, her fellow inspectors and dear sisters were to join her at the Kingsley home for afternoon tea, little realizing she’d be pouring out her soul along with the Assam. No doubt, she’d need several cuppas to bolster her courage during the upcoming conversations.
And two scones, minimum.
Yesterday, three days into her crash, Margaret had felt improved enough to allow Mama to wash, brush, and plait her hair. Then today she’d helped Margaret change from nightclothes into a tea gown of sky blue, which helped her to feel more presentable. They’d discussed hosting tea in the parlor, but in the end, they’d agreed it was wiser for Margaret to remain abed. With her current deficiency of spoons, traversing downstairs, even assisted by her wheeled chair, was simply too strenuous. What little energy she had must be reserved for the visit itself.
A knock resounded on her chamber door, indicating Mama had escorted her newly arrived guests upstairs. Margaret took a deep breath.Lord, please don’t let me lose a friend today. But be my strength and comfort if I do.“Come in.”
One by one, her friends crossed the threshold bearing gifts as though it were her birthday. With a smile, Helena presented a potted plant, which she situated in a puddle of sunlight by the window. “I thought you might find the chamomile blooms soothing.”
Louisa presented a copy ofCranfordby Elizabeth Gaskell, “so the village ladies might keep her company,” while Jane handed her the day’s edition of theLondon Dispatch, having marked the science and technology section with a pink ribbon for her perusal.
Lastly, Iva Leene strode in with a wicker picnic basket slung in the crook of one arm. From inside she withdrew a pocketknife, placing it atop the book and newspaper. “When I’m laid up, nothing eases my mind so well as embroidery and whittling. I assumed you’d everything needed for embroidery but reckoned you didn’t have a decent whittling knife. Made this one myself. Sharpened it good just this morning, so take care not to lose a finger.”
As Iva Leene set the basket on the quilt, something rustled inside the wicker, startling Figaro. Curious but cautious, the cat tiptoed toward the basket, pausing to sniff the air with every tentative step. Iva Leene shrugged. “In case the knife didn’t strike your fancy, I brought another gift guaranteed to make you smile.” She opened the basket, and up popped several pairs of floppy pink ears.
“Piglets!” Margaret laughed, ignoring the pain it triggered.
Iva Leene grinned with pride. “Yes, siree. My folks, Jimmy Dale and Barb, brought these here little piggies all the way from their farm in North Carolina. Maggie, meet Fern, Wilbur, and Babe. Winners of the blue ribbon at this year’sTransylvania County Fair. Don’t fret about your linens, now. I bathed the lot in buttermilk just this morning, so the piggies are clean enough to eat off of, as Pa would say.”
Margaret smiled. “Thank you, Iva Leene. Thank you all. Please, help yourselves to some tea and have a seat.” She motioned to the full tea service Mama had arranged on her dresser and the semicircle of chairs Papa had positioned about her bedside.
Once her friends were settled, tea in hand, Margaret wet her lips. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you here out of the blue.”
They nodded.
“In truth, I’ve been woefully remiss in not welcoming you to my home sooner. Despite your being my dearest friends, I’ve kept you at arm’s length, but today I intend to rectify that and offer an explanation. To start, I’d like to clarify the state of my health.”
Louisa gasped, “You’re dying, aren’t you? Oh, Maggie...” A sob fractured her voice as tears sprung from her eyes. “I just knew the unexpected invitation was an ominous foreshadowing. I can’t bear it! Saying goodbye to another friend. It’ll be like losing Beth March all over again, and—”
