a soft, gentle smile on her face. I was sure Aaron was there for her, waiting for her on the other side, his hand out, his arms ready to embrace her soul and bring it together with his.
"My mamma was too old and sick to care for a child, so I brought you back to The Meadows. The Captain and I decided we would raise you as if you were our own. Emily was four years and some months old by then, so she knew we had brought my sister's baby home to live with us, but we talked to her about you often and impressed it upon her that she should keep the secret. We wanted you to have a wonderful childhood and always feel you belonged with us. We wanted to shield you from tragedy and sorrow for as long as we could.
"Oh Lillian, honey," Mamma said, embracing me, "you must always think of us as your mother and father and not your aunt and uncle, for we love you just as much as our two other daughters. Will you think of us that way? Always?"
I didn't know how else to think of them, so I nodded, but in my secret putaway heart, I felt an ache, a deep down dark and cold ache that I knew would not disappear. It would linger forever and ever and remind me that I was once an orphan and that the two people who would have loved me and cherished me as much as they loved and cherished each other had been taken from me before I had a chance to set eyes on them. I couldn't help but be curious.
I had seen pictures of Violet and I knew where there were others, but I had never looked at her with as much interest as I knew I would look at her now. Up until now, she was just a face, a sad story, some dark part of our history better not discussed and remembered. I sensed that I would have a thousand questions about her and the young man called Aaron, and I was smart enough to understand that every question I asked would be painful for Mamma and she would draw answers reluctantly from the pool of her memory.
"You shouldn't worry about all this," Mamma said. "Nothing will change. Okay?"
When I look back on those days, I realize how innocent and naive Mamma was then. Nothing would change? Whatever invisible rope of love had bound us together snapped. Yes, she and Papa would be my mother and father in name, and yes, I would still call them that, but knowing they were not filled me with a sense of deep loneliness.
From that day forward, I would often go to bed feeling unhappy with my life, feeling an undercurrent that was pulling my feet from under me until I was floundering like someone bound to sink and drown. I would stare into the darkness and hear Mamma telling me over and over that I belonged where I was. But did I? Or had some cruel fate simply dumped me here? How sad it would be for Eugenia when she found out, I thought, and decided then and there that I would be the one who told her. I would do it as soon as I was positive she was old enough to truly understand.
I saw how important it was for Mamma that I pretended none of this really mattered, so I smiled after she told me the family secret, wanting me to agree that nothing would change.
"Yes, Mamma, nothing will change."
"Good. Now you must concentrate on getting better and not think of unpleasant things," she commanded. "In a little while, I'll give you your pills and then you can go back to sleep. I'm sure in the morning you'll feel a lot better." She kissed my cheek and stood up.
"I could never think of you as anything but my own," she promised. She beamed her most comforting smile and left me alone to ponder the meaning of all that she had told me.
In the morning I did feel a lot better. The chills were completely gone and my throat was less dry and scratchy. I could see that it was going to be a beautiful day with small puffs of clouds looking pasted against the deep blue sky, and I regretted having to spend it all indoors. I felt so good I wanted to get up and go to school, but Mamma was there first thing to be sure I took my pills and drank my tea. She insisted I remain bundled up
"My mamma was too old and sick to care for a child, so I brought you back to The Meadows. The Captain and I decided we would raise you as if you were our own. Emily was four years and some months old by then, so she knew we had brought my sister's baby home to live with us, but we talked to her about you often and impressed it upon her that she should keep the secret. We wanted you to have a wonderful childhood and always feel you belonged with us. We wanted to shield you from tragedy and sorrow for as long as we could.
"Oh Lillian, honey," Mamma said, embracing me, "you must always think of us as your mother and father and not your aunt and uncle, for we love you just as much as our two other daughters. Will you think of us that way? Always?"
I didn't know how else to think of them, so I nodded, but in my secret putaway heart, I felt an ache, a deep down dark and cold ache that I knew would not disappear. It would linger forever and ever and remind me that I was once an orphan and that the two people who would have loved me and cherished me as much as they loved and cherished each other had been taken from me before I had a chance to set eyes on them. I couldn't help but be curious.
I had seen pictures of Violet and I knew where there were others, but I had never looked at her with as much interest as I knew I would look at her now. Up until now, she was just a face, a sad story, some dark part of our history better not discussed and remembered. I sensed that I would have a thousand questions about her and the young man called Aaron, and I was smart enough to understand that every question I asked would be painful for Mamma and she would draw answers reluctantly from the pool of her memory.
"You shouldn't worry about all this," Mamma said. "Nothing will change. Okay?"
When I look back on those days, I realize how innocent and naive Mamma was then. Nothing would change? Whatever invisible rope of love had bound us together snapped. Yes, she and Papa would be my mother and father in name, and yes, I would still call them that, but knowing they were not filled me with a sense of deep loneliness.
From that day forward, I would often go to bed feeling unhappy with my life, feeling an undercurrent that was pulling my feet from under me until I was floundering like someone bound to sink and drown. I would stare into the darkness and hear Mamma telling me over and over that I belonged where I was. But did I? Or had some cruel fate simply dumped me here? How sad it would be for Eugenia when she found out, I thought, and decided then and there that I would be the one who told her. I would do it as soon as I was positive she was old enough to truly understand.
I saw how important it was for Mamma that I pretended none of this really mattered, so I smiled after she told me the family secret, wanting me to agree that nothing would change.
"Yes, Mamma, nothing will change."
"Good. Now you must concentrate on getting better and not think of unpleasant things," she commanded. "In a little while, I'll give you your pills and then you can go back to sleep. I'm sure in the morning you'll feel a lot better." She kissed my cheek and stood up.
"I could never think of you as anything but my own," she promised. She beamed her most comforting smile and left me alone to ponder the meaning of all that she had told me.
In the morning I did feel a lot better. The chills were completely gone and my throat was less dry and scratchy. I could see that it was going to be a beautiful day with small puffs of clouds looking pasted against the deep blue sky, and I regretted having to spend it all indoors. I felt so good I wanted to get up and go to school, but Mamma was there first thing to be sure I took my pills and drank my tea. She insisted I remain bundled up
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