“I don’t think there’s an age limit.” I crossed over to her bed and sat on the end. With my fingers I traced the stitches of the red-and-white flower pattern on the quilt. “What a pretty quilt.”
“My mother brought it with her from New York.” She folded her hands under her chin and looked toward the sleeping form of her sisters. “I’m the only one who remembers her.”
“The boys don’t?” I asked, surprised.
“They remember some things, but not very many. They’re bad memories mostly. I remember good things too.”
“Like what?”
“There was a time when Mother tucked me in. Before the boys were born, I guess it was. She used to sing to me when I was very little.”
“Do you remember any of the songs?”
“Not really. Did your mother sing to you?”
I smiled, thinking of my mother’s raspy, off-key voice. “My mother’s talents aren’t musical, but yes, she sang to us when we were young until we asked her to stop.”
Josephine’s expression turned wistful. “I can’t remember if my mother ever laughed.”
“She must have at one time or another,” I said.
“What’s your mother’s laugh sound like?”
I thought for a moment. How could I describe one of the most precious sounds in the world? “Quiet, like she wants the laugh to stay in her throat but can’t quite manage.”
“Do you miss her?” Josephine asked.
“I’m trying hard to be brave but yes, very much.”
“What’s your sister like?”
I smoothed the quilt up over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Right now, you need to go to sleep. The morning will come early.” Standing, I took the lantern from the bedside table.
She yawned. “Thanks for reading to us.”
I turned to go, but a cold hand reached out to me. “Miss Quinn? I wouldn’t mind if you kissed my forehead.”
“All right, then.” I leaned over and kissed her softly, as I’d done the others. “You have sweet dreams.”
“You too.”
I left the door open a crack and headed across the hallway to the boys’ room. They were in their beds and turned on their sides talking quietly. I wanted to stand in the doorway and eavesdrop, but resisted.
“Gentlemen, are you ready for your tuck-in?” I asked.
They rolled onto their backs in perfect time, as if they’d choreographed the move. I suppose they’d learned to work together for space in their mother’s womb.
I stood between their two beds and gazed down at Theo, then Flynn. They wore matching red-and-white plaid pajamas, but even in the muted light I could tell them apart. Not only did the scar give Flynn away; their personalities were in stark contrast, which made them appear to look different even though they were identical. The scholar and the scoundrel, I thought. I adored them equally.
“Miss Quinn?” Theo asked.
I sat on the end of his bed. “Yes?”
“Are you ever afraid of the dark?” Theo wrinkled his nose.
“Not really,” I said. “I’m usually so tired at the end of the day, I fall right to sleep. Are you?”
“Not if Flynn’s here. But sometimes I can’t fall asleep.”