“That I was a boy scared to leave for war,” I said. “Please, don’t give it another thought.”
“Wonderful.” Mama clasped her hands together. “I worry about your tender heart. I worry about all of our children, but especially you and Addie.”
My little sister Adelaide was sensitive and observant, as I had been. Those two in combination made it harder to maneuver our way through life. Today, at the gathering, I’d noticed she hadn’t played with the other children. She’d tucked herself away in a corner of the porch, reading or writing in her notebook. Not terribly unusual for a twelve-year-old girl, I supposed. The age between childhood and young adulthood could be confusing. No longer little and not yet grown.
“She’ll be fine,” Papa said. “Just as Theo is. Look at him. A doctor.”
“Yes, he is. I always knew you’d do something scholarly,” Quinn said. “From the moment I set eyes on you at nine years old.”
I smiled. Of all the days in our family’s history, that was the one day we all remembered best. Quinn Cooper, a young woman who’d come all the way from the east to be Emerson Pass’s first teacher, had hit her head when Harley’s horses were spooked by a gunshot and lost control of the sleigh. He’d brought her here when she was still out cold. When the five of us children came into the library and found her lying supine on the couch, we’d all thought she was dead. To our delight, she wasn’t. We’d decided right then and there that Quinn Cooper should be Papa’s wife. And our new mother. Happily, fate agreed.
“I should spend some time with the little girls,” I said. “I missed so much.”
“They’d love to do most anything with their big brother,” Mama said. “You’ll have to keep an eye on Delphia. She’s like Cymbeline.”
I laughed. Enough said. We all knew exactly what that meant.
***
The next afternoon, I arrived home from work shortly before teatime. I parked the car in the garage and strolled out toward the barn, enjoying the late-afternoon sun on my shoulders. Our chickens were in their outside coop pecking at the ground. A kingly red rooster strutted around them as if supervising. This was a new rooster since I’d been away. One morning, the girls had found our former rooster, Doodle, dead. Sadly, no one mourned him much. Not even Flynn and Cymbeline, who loved animals a little more than they did most people. Cymbeline claimed Doodle was the meanest rooster that had ever lived. This new one the little girls had named Red. Not a terribly creative name, but it did the job.
Red eyed me as I approached but didn’t come over to threaten me as Doodle always had. The hens didn’t pay me any mind, too busy with their search for bugs.
I walked back toward the house, passing by the vegetable garden. Our gardener, Marc, was bent over a tomato bush. A stone pathway went around the house as well as out to the cottage and garden. Today, flowers bloomed in fiery reds and luscious pinks. Our lawn, kept green from regular watering, sprawled out to the picket fence. Beyond, the wild grasses swayed. As warm as it was today, the children might all be down swimming at the creek. I suddenly longed for those lazy summer afternoons of my childhood. We’d had such adventures. Our imaginations were as big as the Colorado sky.
The cottage was quiet with no sign of its new occupants as I headed toward the back of the house. This time of day, my family would be having tea. My stomach rumbled. Lizzie’s cakes and biscuits were always welcome, but especially after a long day’s work.
To my surprise, no one was on the back porch. I went inside and down the hallway. For a moment, everything was dark before my eyes adjusted. The house was cool. Mama always asked the maids to close all the shutters during warm afternoons. Hearing voices, I made my way down the hallway toward the front of the house. Mama and Mrs. Lind were talking quietly in Papa’s study. So quietly that they jumped when they saw me. I wondered for a moment what had been so secretive that they had to speak in hushed voices.
“Theo, you’re home early,” Mama said.
I explained that Dr. Neal had insisted I go home first. “He said something about having time to find a wife,” I added.
Mrs. Lind and Mama exchanged a glance.
“Where is everyone?” I asked, deciding to ignore the distinct feeling that they’d been talking about me. Along with the subject of marriage.
“They’re all down at the swimming hole,” Mama said. “We convinced Louisa she could take off her mourning clothes and cool off in the creek with your sisters.”
“That sounds nice. I was feeling nostalgic for the summer days of my youth,” I said.
“Join them,” Mama said.
I thought longingly of the cool water. “You know, I just might. Why not?” First, though, I grabbed a few biscuits from the tea tray.
***
My sisters plus Louisa were at the swimming hole. Although it was only a creek, the water was deep enough to swim in if you could stand the temperature. This time of year, the water had warmed some and on a hot afternoon like this one felt good.
I stopped to watch the scene before alerting them to my presence. Reflecting the summer sky, the waters of the creek appeared blue. The swimming hole was a deep section of the creek with gentle rapids on either end, as if they’d been placed by God as bookends. The water deepened gradually, making it the perfect spot for even the younger of the Barnes children. Papa had taught Flynn, Josephine, and me to swim when we were small. Flynn, as was true with all things physical, was a strong, sure swimmer. When they were old enough, he’d taught Cymbeline and Fiona to swim. In turn, Cymbeline had taught the youngest of my sisters. Addie was the only one of us who didn’t care for the water. She’d told me once she worried sharks lurked at the bottom waiting to bite her feet. Cymbeline and Flynn had laughed and assured her sharks were only in oceans. She remained unconvinced.
Wildflowers mingled with wild grasses on this side of the creek. The thick forest started on the other side. Through those woods the Cole family had once lived. Mrs. Cole a
nd her daughter had moved to Chicago. The boys remained here, running a café in town. When we were younger, all of us had played together, not realizing that the color of our skin was noted in other places in the world. A lesson I’d learned during the war when the black men had been assigned their own battalions. I couldn’t understand it to this day.
***
Cymbeline stood waist-deep in the water and tossed a ball to Delphia, who was knee-deep in the shallower part of the creek. Delphia missed but grabbed the floating ball from the surface and tossed it back to Cymbeline. She caught it with one hand in a way that made me think of a frog and a fly. Cymbeline had muscles in her arms and legs that were odd for a girl. Also, she must have been down at the creek a lot this summer, because her skin had a toasty glow. Not surprising given her activities—skiing and skating in the winter, helping in the barn as well as assisting Poppy in her veterinarian duties from time to time.