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prove very valuable. The Anchorage has any number of do-gooders who volunteer there because, I fear, it gives them a faint sense of superiority. I’m sure they would vehemently deny that fact, but I was not comfortable with some of the people I saw there recently. You I would be comfortable with and your background in both social services and nursing is as perfect as it gets. Are you willing to at least see what we’re all about?”
    I confess, I was not immediately enthusiastic. The vision of a Gothic-style house with unfortunate, pregnant, abused, downtrodden, and abandoned girls locked in the attic held no attraction.
    But then I met Kate Barrett’s dark eyes, serious and challenging me to answer, and in spite of myself replied, “Yes. What about a Monday morning visit?”
    “Monday is fine. I’ll let Hilda know to expect you.” She and my grandmother exchanged a look before she asked about London and we moved onto another topic. When a man stopped to introduce himself to Dr. Barrett, I drifted away with Grandmother.
    “Thank you,” I told her.
    Because she always understood me, Grandmother immediately responded, “Kate Barrett is a remarkable woman and I knew Charles Crittenton. Richard considered him a good man and his organization highly respectable.”
    “Grandfather was an expert judge of character.”
    “Yes. He had a legal mind, sharp and uncluttered by excessive emotion. Unlike you, Johanna.”
    “I’m not sentimental,” I replied indignantly.
    “I didn’t say sentimental. I said emotional, and you are that, whatever appearance you choose to show the world. I think the Anchorage might be a good place for you, somewhere you can put all your energy to valuable use. Might even give you dragons to slay.”
    “You think I need dragons to be happy?”
    “You have always needed to feel challenged, the greater the odds against you and the more forceful your opponent, the better. Exactly like your mother.” Her voice softened at the last word, unusual for her, and then she said briskly, “I see Kitty’s cousins are coming our way to offer their good-byes. The evening must be officially over.” We shared a smile and turned together to say good night.
    When Allen approached with his coat over his arm, I walked with him out onto the porch and down the front steps.
    “I’m glad you came,” I told him, “even if it was the buffet that drew you.” He seemed more animated than usual, happy and boyishly good-looking.
    “Not just the buffet,” he responded. He looked past me at the large front window through which we could see people still mingling and chatting in the elegant front room. “I’ve always liked your family, Johanna, but now even more so since they saw fit to give you such a pleasant homecoming.” He turned back to me and leaned to kiss me lightly on the cheek, another chaste and boring display of affection. He might as well have patted me on top of my head and handed me a lollipop. “I’m glad you’re home. Perhaps we’ll be able to see more of each other now.”
    Something in his voice seemed not quite right for a moment, a tentative or even mystified tone, and I looked at him quickly. There was nothing to be seen on his face, however, except his usual attentive and kind expression.
    “I hope so, but I may have found something to keep myself occupied for a while.” I told him of my planned visit to the Anchorage Home on Indiana Street.
    “Does that work appeal to you?”
    I shrugged and answered, “I can’t say. I have completely unworthy notions of such a place but I’m going with an open mind. It is 1912, you know, not 1812. The times are different and people more accepting. Society has changed for the better.”
    “Is that what you believe, Johanna?”
    “You don’t?”
    “I don’t fool myself with your progressive ideas. People weren’t very forgiving in 1812, and they’re no more forgiving a hundred years later. Good night.” He went down the walk and I turned