“That’s so long ago, I can’t even remember,” said Harry. Jessica remained silent as she waited for him to answer her question. “What about being arrested for murder?” he finally managed. “Does that count?”
“But you were innocent and it was all a terrible mistake.”
“The judge didn’t seem to think so, because he sentenced me to four years in jail, and if I remember correctly, you only managed one night.” Jessica frowned, and didn’t respond. “And then there was the time I disobeyed orders and advised a German general to lay down his arms and surrender, when all I had at my disposal was a pistol and an Irish corporal.”
“And the Americans decorated you for that action.”
“But that’s the point, Jessie. Often in war you’re hailed as a hero for something that had you done in peacetime, you would have been arrested for and possibly shot.”
“Do you think my father will ever forgive me?”
“There’s no reason why he shouldn’t. He did something far worse at your age, which was the reason your mother left him and returned to America.”
“She told me they drifted apart.”
“True, but what she didn’t tell you was why. And they have you to thank for bringing them back together.”
“And whom do I have to thank?”
“Your great-aunt Grace, if you’re asking who made it possible for you to return to the Slade in September.”
“I assumed it was you or Grandmama who intervened.”
“No. Although she won’t thank me for telling you, Grace joined forces with Professor Howard, proving that when two people work together, they can become an army.”
“How can I ever begin to thank them?”
“By proving they were right. Which leads me to ask how your work’s coming on.”
“I don’t know, is the honest answer. Can you ever be sure how one of your books is shaping up?”
“No. In the end I leave it to the critics and the public to make that decision.”
“Then I guess it will be the same for me. So would you be willing to offer an honest opinion on my latest work?”
“I could try,” said Harry, hoping he wouldn’t have to dissemble.
“Then no better time than now,” said Jessica, grabbing him by the hand and leading him out of the library. “It was kind of you to allow me to come down for the summer and see if I could pick up the pieces,” she added as they climbed the stairs.
“And have you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m hoping you’ll tell me,” said Jessica, as she opened the door to the old playroom and stood aside.
Harry walked tentatively in and looked at row upon row of preliminary drawings scattered across the floor. They didn’t begin to prepare him for the huge canvas that stood on an easel in the center of the room. He stared at a painting of the Manor House, which he had thought he knew so well. The lawn, the rose garden, the lake, the folly, the vast oaks that led your eye to the horizon. Every color was wrong, but when put together …
When Jessica could bear it no longer she said, “Well? Say something, Grandpops.”
“I only hope my latest book is half as good.”
28
“BUT IT’S A FAMILY TRADITION,” insisted Emma.
“Couldn’t we have a year off?” mocked Sebastian.
“Certainly not. I promised your great-grandfather that the family would always spend Christmas together, and on New Year’s Eve we would tell each other our New Year’s resolutions. So who would like to start this year?”
“My father was even worse,” said Samantha. “He made us write down our resolutions, and a year later we had to read them out to remind everyone what we’d foolishly promised.”