The Blessing

By Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

May Somerville has suffered a year worthy of the Bible's Job, and the man who unknowingly prompted all her troubles has fallen in love with her.
Isolated in Colorado's rugged mountains, her beloved family shattered by tragedy and loss, May Somerville questions her Creator amid her struggles to survive. Beset by unexpected storms, both physical and spiritual, May seeks blessings—reasons for hope as she works to restore her family.
Separated from May by unforeseen circumstances and the expectations of others, Alex Whittier is determined to reverse injustices suffered by the Somervilles. But is it too late to redeem himself for the sake of the courageous young woman he's been unable to forget?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gram-Co-Ink
• Release date: Oct 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393360155

Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

Kacy Barnett-Gramckow is the author of Dawnlight, a Biblical Novel inspired by Matthew 27:52-53, as well as Moody Publisher's THE GENESIS TRILOGY: The Heavens Before, He Who Lifts the Skies, and A Crown in the Stars. Kacy also writes Christian Fantasy Fiction as R. J. Larson. Kacy finds research almost as interesting as writing, and she brings a lively knowledge of history to bear on her settings and characters. She and her husband, Jerry, have been married for more than thirty years, and they live in Colorado.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Brooklyn, 1890

Alexander Courtland Whittier stepped out of his carriage, signaled the coachman to wait, then faced the modest brownstone residence. He’d avoided this task long enough—time to walk up those stairs and throw the James Somerville family into chaos.

The chaos couldn’t be helped. Business was business, and Somerville of all people would understand the importance of following the company’s orders. March, Alex, he commanded himself beneath his breath, brandishing his walking stick lightly. Near the top step, Alexander paused again, arrested by a sudden jingling cascade of musical notes, evidently produced on a piano inside. He couldn’t imagine the stately, reclusive Somerville playing a piano, much less enjoying such a modern tune. Hoping to be heard above the lively din, Alexander pulled a bronze lever set within the doorframe, chiming the interior doorbell.

Door! a boy bellowed from inside. With a whoop and a thud, the youngster flung open the door, his neat sailor suit and shining boots at odds with his brash manners and impish face. Alex guessed him to be eight years at most. Raising one dark eyebrow, the boy demanded loudly over the jangling music, Who’re you calling for?

Alex cleared his throat, struggling to remain solemn. Is Mr. James Somerville at home?

Yes, but—

A light, feminine voice interrupted, Will?

The boy huffed then turned toward the unseen girl. May, come here. It’s someone looking for Father.

A dark-haired young lady picked her path toward the door. Gather your marbles, please, Will. You don’t want Mother or Mrs. Thomas falling here, do you?

The boy wrinkled his lightly freckled nose, but knelt without protest, gathering his marbles from the entry’s gleaming wooden floor. The young lady glanced up at Alexander and, though they hadn’t been introduced, he couldn’t help smiling. Those huge dark eyes, her fresh ivory complexion, and her obvious shyness at being compelled to greet a stranger were certainly appealing. Was this James’s daughter? She must be. Her coloring resembled his.

Alex lifted his hat and inclined his head, then produced his business card from his inner coat pocket. Miss Somerville accepted the card cautiously, lowering her dark lashes as she read.

Alexander Courtland Whittier

Whittier & Kingstone

New York

Visibly flustered, she stepped backward, her brown eyes widening. Oh ... M-Mr. Whittier, forgive us! Please, step inside and I’ll tell Father you’re here.

She scurried into a nearby room, seeming thoroughly frightened. The piano music stopped, muted voices exchanged sharp words, then an adolescent boy and a younger girl dashed through the entryway, flinging curious looks at Alexander as they turned and clattered up an adjacent flight of stairs.

If he’d ever wanted to experience the dubious thrill of being a particularly horrifying exhibit from a carnival’s freak show, Alex felt that he need look no further. Of the four Somerville siblings, only young Will seemed unaffected, stretching out prone on the polished floor, shooting his bright glass marbles one by one into a leather bag.

Marbles. Alex hadn’t played with them as a child. Watching Will enjoy his target practice now, Alex rued never having the chance.

A door opened opposite Alexander, and a woman of perhaps thirty-five years glided into the entry, her brown silk skirts rustling gently as she turned to shut the door behind her. Alex removed his hat. Was this Mrs. James Somerville? Her dark hair and eyes were striking—her expression sweet and her movements graceful despite her extremely delicate condition. Somerville hadn’t mentioned that his wife was expecting another child. In fact, Somerville rarely discussed his family while in the office.

Alex wished he had. Not that it would change their discussion today.

Before Mrs. Somerville could speak, Somerville himself strode into the entry, tall and lean, subtly adjusting his suit coat and cuffs, his dark, deep-set eyes somber. Mr. Whittier, welcome. I apologize for keeping you waiting. I see you’ve met my wife.

Mrs. Somerville. Alex inclined his head toward her courteously. She smiled, bowing her head in turn, perfectly composed despite young Will scrambling around her feet, snatching up his marbles in earnest.

Trapped by her son’s maneuvers, Mrs. Somerville held her ground, obviously amused. Welcome, Mr. Whittier. I heard more than the usual amount of noise and decided to check on the children. But now that you’re here, James, I’ll go back downstairs. Would you gentlemen like some coffee?

Please don’t trouble yourselves on my account. Alex smiled. I have an engagement and must hurry. He nodded to Somerville. James, I should have spoken to you while we were both in the office—the matter’s important, which is why I looked up your address.

Would you like to talk in my study? James motioned Alex inside.

Mrs. Somerville retreated, quietly urging young Will out of the entryway. She held open a far door just long enough for the inviting aromas of fresh bread, roasting chicken, and the proffered coffee to reach Alexander. What a shame he’d had to refuse the coffee.

No doubt this evening’s heavy meal, reserved for him at his father’s club, couldn’t match the aromatic feast the Somerville family would be enjoying. The company here would be more pleasant as well. The Whittiers’ business partner, Kingstone, habitually monopolized dinner conversations, testing everyone’s temperaments.

Alex followed Somerville into the parlor, where the sweet fragrance of violets replaced the aromas of food. The lovely Miss Somerville was in the parlor, swiftly gathering a clutter of books, embroidery, and dolls. Her father cleared his throat. Mr. Whittier, this is my eldest daughter. He omitted her name, as would any sensible father.

Alex bowed. Miss Somerville.

How do you do, Mr. Whittier? She blushed, offered a modest bow, and hurried out, pausing just long enough to slide the carved pocket door closed behind her. Charming girl. Extremely ... Alex caught himself, realizing Somerville was waiting for him. Watching him.

Your family is delightful.

Thank you, James said, taciturn as always. But then he smiled unexpectedly, revealing a bit of understandable pride. Please, be seated.

Settling into one of two leather chairs near a pair of tall windows, Alexander reached into his coat pocket, removing a thick fold of papers. Because your dinner is waiting, James, I’ll be brief. The company is hoping to expand its interests in Colorado to supplement our dealings in the silver mines. You know we’ve had Barclay there overseeing our mines and acquisitions, but he’s sent word that he’ll resign the first of June. We need a trustworthy man to take his place. My father and Mr. Kingstone chose you. Here are the notes from their last meeting, along with Barclay’s summary of his work as of last month, and his offer to remain until you are familiar with the district. I have time enough to await your initial opinion.

Somerville flinched perceptibly but, to his credit, he accepted the papers quietly and began to read. As Alex waited, he glanced around the room. Nothing gave a better testimony of a man’s soul than the books and objects in his private study. And Alex was quite curious about Somerville. The man’s habitual reserve and uncompromising work ethic had caused envious coworkers to spread rumors, casting veiled slurs against his character.

James Somerville, the gossips muttered, never joined others for dinner or drinks, therefore, he was a miser and socially inept. He also never spoke of his family, so he must be ashamed of them. Worse—a particularly malicious person hinted—others had said Somerville was hiding his Jewish religion with a British name, implying he was secretive, avaricious, and never to be wholly trusted in business.

As if the gossipmongers themselves could be trusted.

Alex wished the gossipmongers could be here now, perusing Somerville’s study with him. Numerous theological tomes by men such as John Knox and Charles Hodge lined the oak shelves. In addition, Alex noted, Footprints of the Creator. Testimony of the Rocks. And all four volumes of Discourses on the Christian Revelation, viewed in connection with the Modern Astronomy.

Amid the books, Somerville had scattered various scientific helps: a gleaming brass telescope, glass-encased selections of fossils, ferns, and semiprecious stones. Where did the man find time to pursue so many interests?

Noticing the nearby desk, Alexander smiled. The office’s most spiteful detractor would be silenced by Somerville’s obviously worn Bible—with a raggedly tasseled bookmark tucked into the portion Alex gauged to be the New Testament.

Finished reading the business proposal, Somerville refolded the pages and straightened. This appears to be at least several years’ worth of work. Do I have the option of refusing this position?

Yes. However, we strongly prefer that you accept. There’s no one else at Whittier & Kingstone with your aptitude for so many different facets of the business. Nodding at the rock specimens on a shelf, Alex added, Or with your knowledge of minerals and metals.

Somerville remained silent. Alex said, You’ll have the company’s house when Barclay leaves, and we’ll pay for your family’s journey to Colorado. There will also be a small pay raise—to two hundred per month. I don’t expect an answer from you tomorrow, but Monday would be helpful. And, of course, keep this matter in confidence.

You have my word.

Alexander wished Somerville’s expression were easier to read. He would have liked to report success to his father and Kingstone tonight. But, as he departed from the now hushed Somerville home, Alex feared James would refuse the proposal. Surely the man knew refusal could potentially end his career with Whittier & Kingstone.

Kingstone would be implacable.

Somerville had to accept.

I THOUGHT HE WOULD never leave, thirteen-year-old Leonie complained to May as they dropped their Friday allotment of coins—part of their weekly allowance—into the family’s wooden charity box on the shining walnut sideboard. I’m starving!

May smoothed one of the linen napkins on their dinner table. I thought he left almost too quickly. They couldn’t have discussed much business. Leonie, wait.

May tugged her younger sister to a halt so she could fluff her hair bows. Leonie waited willingly. She loved having her hair and clothes fussed over. To become a perfect lady was her main goal in life. Finished with Leonie, May double-checked the table as well. The linens, china, and silver were impeccable. The food was waiting, covered. The candles .... Matches, she realized. We’ve forgotten the matches.

Prim and proper, Leonie opened a drawer in the sideboard and picked out a box of safety matches, which she’d gained parental permission to handle only this past year. Giving them to May, she glanced around, then whispered. I didn’t think Mr. Whittier looked old enough to be Father’s boss. He is very handsome, though.

May almost sighed, remembering Mr. Whittier. His warm voice, bright blue eyes, and thick dark blonde hair. And the way he’d smiled at her—well, she’d be a long time forgetting that smile. Or forgetting that he’d seen her holding Leonie’s dolls as if she were a child herself. So humiliating. Before Leonie could see her blush, May turned and set the matches on the table. Leonie would tease her in front of the boys if she thought for an instant that May had admired Mr. Whittier. The boys would never let her forget it either. Father and Mother would scold.

The boys entered the dining room, their hands and faces scrubbed, hair combed, wearing their black caps. Will’s pockets rattled as he plunked his small donation into the charity box then took a hop toward his chair. His dark eyes sparkled as he scrutinized the table—obviously just as hungry as Leonie.

Harry on the other hand, sulked, indulging in his usual Friday night gloom at being forced away from his beloved piano for the next twenty-four hours. He dropped some coins into the box then gave May a baleful look. Where’s Father and Mother?

Still upstairs. She stood behind her chair and waited. Standing at her own chair beside May’s, Leonie’s stomach growled loudly enough to pitch Will into a fit of irresistible laughter. May couldn’t help giggling. Even Harry grinned as Father and Mother entered the dining room.

Father smiled, but Mother looked pale and distracted. She shook out the folds of lace in her hands and nodded to May and Leonie. As expected, the girls reached for matches and lit the two new candles set nearest their plates. Leonie fumbled only slightly, obviously aware that their parents watched, ready to beat out any flames if she should accidentally set anything on fire. With the first candles of the evening safely glowing, everyone hushed, light reflecting in their brown eyes.

Mother draped the veil over her head, took the small box of safety matches from May, and lit the two candles before her own plate. Dropping the match onto a silver dish, she gracefully drew her hands over the flames, toward herself three times. Covering her eyes, she murmured, Barukh atah Adonai, Elohaynu, melekh ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu l’had’lik neir shel Shabbat. Amein.

Uncovering her eyes, Mother gazed into the candles, whispering prayers. May closed her eyes, willing herself to be at peace, accepting Shabbat into her heart. When Mother’s whispers ended, May looked up. Tears glittered in her mother’s wide brown eyes as she wished them all, Shabbat Shalom.

ACHING, JAMES LIFTED the small silver cup of wine to make Kiddush, the blessing to welcome the Sabbath. He should have waited to tell Rose about the job in Colorado. But she had asked about Whittier’s visit. James hated to see his wife in tears. Particularly during Shabbat, when their household should be happy and at peace.

He met her gaze and smiled in silent gratitude for all her preparations, and for all she had become to him since their first meeting. No woman alive was more beautiful in every way. Thank you, Lord, for my Rose.

Aloud, he recited the blessing, ending with ... Barukh atah Adonai, m’qadesh ha-Shabbat. Amein. Blessed are You, O Lord, who sanctifies the Shabbat. Amen.

James drained the small cup and smiled at his family, his soul lifting in quiet pride.

Yet ... would his children ultimately scorn him for giving them such a spiritually mingled heritage? Through no fault of their own, they were caught in a netherworld inhabited by few. James refused to delude himself. Would melding their Hebrew ancestry with the Christian faith he and Rose had accepted shortly after their marriage bring their children lasting grief?

The next few years would reveal answers to his fears—the children were growing up so quickly. And whatever he decided about this Colorado proposal would have lasting implications as well. Three years, he’d told Whittier.

Three years was probably optimistic. Five years was a more accurate estimate. A lifetime to his children, particularly to May and Harry, who were so close to adulthood.

As he uncovered the two soft braided loaves of challah, James prayed. Let the Lord bless his children with the strength to endure the consequences of his own choices, made on their behalf.

COULD HE DINE WITHOUT eating? Alex edged his knife into the fricandeau of veal, so strongly urged at him by Kingstone that refusal would have been insulting. Although the veal was larded with plugs of fat and thickly sauced with tomatoes and onions, it was dry. Alex grimaced. At least he wasn’t being fed kidney. He eyed diners at nearby linen-draped tables. They all seemed satisfied with their choices, talking genially, sometimes laughing amid the clinks of silver against fine china and the obsequious murmurs of their waiters.

What about Somerville? Kingstone demanded, forking a rice croquette into his mouth, his white mustache curls wagging as he chewed and talked. How soon can we send him to Colorado?

Alex hedged deliberately, wanting time for Somerville’s family and for himself. I’m unsure. I need him to clear up business in the office and train another fellow to take his place. To divert Kingstone, he added, I forgot to speak to Somerville this morning so I stopped by his home this evening and gave him your notes.

Kingstone, ever the snob, grimaced at the mention of stopping by Somerville’s home.

Alexander continued, The man has a rock collection in his study. Specimens of almost every mineral worth mining. If he doesn’t know about scouting mine sites yet, I’m sure he will within a week of setting foot in Colorado.

Hmph! Kingstone stabbed another croquette. From what I’ve heard of his background, Somerville ought to have a natural ability to scent silver and gold.

Gripping his knife, Alex reminded himself not to throw food across the table. He shrugged, keeping his tone smooth. Yes, I’ve heard those rumors about his background. What the rumormongers don’t know is that James Somerville is a scholar and a Christian. He has a well-read Bible on his desk at home and enough scriptural study books to fill a small library.

Alex’s father, Geoffrey Whittier, interposed. His pale blue eyes glittering sharp in his lined face, Geoffrey told Kingstone, This isn’t one of your club memberships we’re discussing, Ethan. In any case, a man’s personal beliefs aren’t my concern, nor should they be yours. Above all, Somerville’s integrity persuaded me that he’s perfect for our Colorado venture.

Looking at Alex, Father said, I’ve never told you this, but years ago, when Somerville was one of our accountants, he couldn’t be bribed to adjust the books. I sent a man to test him. Somerville personally walked the man outside, and then marched up to my office and told me.

Green of him. Kingstone swallowed a chunk of veal. None of the clerks have ever dared interrupt me in my office. They wouldn’t be so rude.

He was by no means rude. Geoffrey Whittier cut into his beef roulette. Indeed, I saw him as honest to the core.

Kingstone harrumphed and lifted his wineglass in a mock salute. Well, here’s to honest men. And to the Colorado venture.

Needing to rinse down a particularly dry bite of veal, Alex answered the sham salute, raising his coffee cup. To honest men.

The coffee went down like acid. Alex grimaced and carved at his veal again, longing for the fresh coffee he’d refused at the Somerville home. With warm bread, roasted chicken, a discussion of marbles, and charming company.

Particularly the charming company.

Remembering Miss Somerville’s enchantingly dark eyes, Alex regretted the necessity of sending her away.

Chapter 2

Seated in the parlor’s glowing lamplight, May closed her book, unable to concentrate on The Mayor of Casterbridge . Harry was celebrating Saturday night, playing an enthusiastic rendition of The Mikado March , which was impossible to ignore. In her chair on the opposite side of the lamp, Mother was supposed to be tatting, but May noticed her foot tapping in time to the music, while the silver shuttle slowed between her fingers.

Harry played on, oblivious to everything except his precious piano. Even Leonie and Will’s squabble at the nearby ottoman over chess didn’t disturb his joy.

Cheater! Will snapped at Leonie. It was my turn!

Leonie sniffed. "Well, you are taking so long that I forgot you hadn’t moved yet. Do you need help?"

No!

Children, Mother warned. Bedtime will be early if you fight.

They hushed. Will moved a castle. Leonie captured it immediately. Will flopped backward on the floor, covering his eyes in disgust. Aw!

Harry finished The Mikado March with a flourish. The instant the last note faded on the piano, someone clanged the doorbell. Mother set aside her tatting. Who on earth would call after dark? Harry, answer the door please. Mrs. Thomas is out for the night.

Sighing, Harry glided his fingers over the keys, then went to open the door.

Good evenin, Harry. Grandfather Somerville’s lilting Scottish-accented voice echoed into the parlor. I heard you playin. You’re improvin.

Thank you, Grandfather. Harry’s lowered voice hinted that Grandfather’s greeting disheartened him. Even if Grandfather meant his words as a compliment, he was patronizing. Grandfather had all of Father’s formality but none of his warmth, and not even the lilting accent—which he’d long sought to lose—could soften his tone.

Mother stood hurriedly, beckoning May. Go tell your father we have company.

Already in the parlor, Grandfather pushed his hat, cane, and gloves at Harry while speaking to Mother. Good evenin, Rose. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen you. Are you well?

Yes, Father Somerville, thank you. James will be here directly.

Don’t trouble yourself, my dear. Please, be seated. Is he in there?

May was already knocking at the study’s door, but Grandfather was at her elbow. He gave her a rusty smile. Your father’s forever readin, isn’t he? His question demanded agreement rather than an answer. He rapped smartly on the door. James? Open the door, man. Never mind.

Grandfather slid open the pocket door and strode inside, dispensing with formality. Whatever he wanted to discuss was clearly too important to wait.

Inside the study, James pushed several books into a shelf and stepped back. Good evening.

May caught the tension in her father’s voice. Grandfather’s visits had been rare during their two years here and always planned in advance, with James packing away a number of his favorite books in order to avoid conflict. Usually they visited Grandfather in his small residence across the river in the city. Why was he springing in on them tonight?

Father asked, Would you like some tea? May, bring us some tea. And Mrs. Thomas’ shortbread. Turning to Grandfather again, James said, We were going to visit you tomorrow. Come, let’s sit in the parlor with Rose. Are you well?

Yes, I’m quite well, James; don’t fuss—you’re doin my head in. Had I known you planned to visit me tomorrow, I would have spared myself the fare tonight. Listen: I sold the shop today and want to invest the money. Now, I know this is a surprise to you, but....

Not only did Grandfather remain in the study, but he sat in one of the chairs and continued to talk. How could they pry him out of there, away from Father’s telltale books? May looked at her mother. Rose paled. Do as your father said, May. In a whisper, she added, Quickly! Leonie, Will, go upstairs.

Leonie and Will departed, scuffing their feet until May nudged them along. Without waiting for orders, Harry seated himself at the piano and began to play one of Beethoven’s sonatas.

As Leonie and Will trudged upstairs, May sped down the back stairs to the kitchen, leaving all the doors open as she went. The kettle sat at the far side of the stove, barely simmering and—thankfully—full. May spoke to their absent housekeeper, Bless you, Mrs. Thomas!

Grandfather, forever fussy about his tea, might say the water had been heated too long and tasted too strongly of minerals. But haste was more important than taste this night.

Removing a tray from the cupboard, she readied Mother’s rose-garland teapot and its matching saucers, cups, creamer, and sugar bowl. Scald the teapot. Spoon tea from the caddy. Strain the leaves .... She poured the steaming water over the tea leaves in the china pot, and arranged the shortbread on a dish—for once, not tempted to nibble these rare treats—all the while listening for noise upstairs.

The sonata stopped. Had Harry finished it properly or was he being sent away? Heavy footsteps on the stairs above answered her question.

Sliding the tray into the dumbwaiter, May worked the pulley to send it upstairs, praying she’d spilled nothing. Snatching her skirts, she ran upstairs, retrieved the tray, and headed for the parlor. Voices echoed from the study. Grandfather’s words rose most harshly. ... such a betrayal! James, I did not raise you to believe their rubbish!

You didn’t raise me to believe anything! Father retorted. You were so absorbed with your business and social life that we never talked. I knew little of your true beliefs.

That is a lie!

Is it? Father’s voice lowered. I don’t wish to argue with you, but....

You’ve no need to argue, Grandfather snapped. For until you throw that book away—and that one and that one!—we have nothing else to say to each other. Attending university ruined you, James!

May set the tray on the marble-topped table near Mother, who stood and clutched May’s arm as if needing support.

Grandfather stalked past them both without a glance. He paused just long enough to snatch his hat, gloves, and cane from the entry’s table before charging outside, slamming the door behind him.

Well, now he knows. Father dropped onto the settee and rubbed a hand over his face. I’ll go talk with him tomorrow. If he doesn’t lock me out.

James, I’m so sorry. Mother sat beside him, touching his shoulder. He took her by the hand and kissed her fingertips.

Rose, don’t distress yourself. We knew this day would come, didn’t we? Actually, we’ve staved it off longer than I thought possible. May, pour us some tea. I don’t think we’ll sleep much tonight anyway.

She obeyed, trying to pour and pass the cups without a sound. Father accepted his tea, but continued to talk. He reacted as I knew he would. To him, I’m spiritually dead and we’re ending his bloodline.

Mother sipped at her tea, set her cup and saucer back on the tray, then folded her hands over her rounded belly. Tears glittered at the edges of her lashes. My parents would have agreed with him, if they were still alive. Will Susan stop speaking to you if your father cuts you off?

Aunt Susan. May couldn’t imagine Aunt Susan refusing to speak to her only brother. However, being a spinster, she lived with Grandfather.

I fear she might, James said. She has no one else except Father.

Neither do we.

Too disheartened to hear any more, May kissed her parents goodnight, retrieved her book, and went upstairs to read. In the shadows at the top of the stairs, someone stifled a laugh. Will. May leaned down and ruffled his thick hair, then nudged Leonie, who was sitting beside him. Did you think you’d frighten me, you scamps?

Will grumbled, as if May had ruined everything by hearing him. Well, I would’ve scared you if you hadn’t heard me laugh because Harry tickled me.

In a small voice, Leonie said, I’m glad Grandfather doesn’t visit very often.

Sitting with them on the narrow hall floor, May gave Leonie a hug and chose her words carefully. It wouldn’t do to have the children thinking ill of Grandfather because of something she’d said. Grandfather has loved us in his own way, and I’m sure there are many things we don’t know, which would explain why he became so angry.

Will drummed his heels against the floor. It’s too early for bed. Can’t we go back downstairs?

No, Father and Mother are talking.

In the darkness, she heard Will’s growl of frustration. Then I suppose you’ll have to read to us, May. There’s nothing better to do.

Harry sighed heavily and slouched on the floor. That’s the end of my playing for tonight.

Tomorrow will be here soon enough. After church, you can play all day and we’ll be glad to listen. May relaxed against the nearest wall as much as her corset would allow. She tried to not think of Mother and Father being cut off by Grandfather and Aunt Susan. What shall I read?

Their squabbling started immediately.

AFTER PUTTING THE BREAKFAST dishes to soak, May went upstairs to find her brothers and sister. The house was as still as a crypt, and no wonder. With the news Father had announced over their stewed apples and oatmeal mush, the whole day was blighted. The whole week. Actually, the next three years.

Colorado. No one lived there except cowboys, gamblers, miners, and women of dubious virtue. In other words, Colorado was no place for a growing family, and the Whittier & Kingstone Company ought to find another man. May huffed beneath her breath, Mr. Whittier should take the job himself!

Really, she was being unfair. Colorado was a state, with a governor, and cities and schools, which could not exist except by being civilized. Even so, she couldn’t help being angry with the Whittier & Kingstone Company for demanding that Father accept the job

May tapped on Harry and Will’s door. Will answered. Poking his head outside, he whispered, Harry’s crying.

She sidled into the room. Seated on the edge of his bed, Harry looked up at her, his eyes very red and streaming tears. His face, usually pale, was crimson-splotched and miserable. Gently, May began, Harry, I’m sure we’ll take the piano to Colorado.

It isn’t that, May! Harry wiped his nose on his sleeve. Appalled, she tugged her clean handkerchief from her pocket and dangled it before Harry’s face. He snatched it resentfully, mopping his eyes, then his nose again. I was going to ask Father if I could study music this year and try for the Academy. How can I do that if I’m locked away in Colorado?

Oh, Harry. His dream, finally confessed, made her long to cry with him. Naturally he wanted to try for the musical academy—he was meant to be a musician. But he was only fifteen. Too young to be left alone in New York. She tried to be hopeful. You won’t be locked away. You’ll have time to study.

But not here!

No, not here. At least not for a few years. But by the time we return, you should be ready to try for the academy. You’ll be eighteen then. Talk to Father. He knows you’re devoted to your music.

Silent, Harry held out her wadded handkerchief—undoubtedly his signal for her to leave. May pinched a dry corner and took her handkerchief and herself out of the boys’ room. In the room she shared with her sister, she found Leonie curled up on her narrow bed, sniffling. At least she had her own handkerchief. Like Harry, her eyes were very red. It’s going to be awful, May!

Unlike Harry and Will, Leonie needed cuddling. May dropped her used handkerchief, settled carefully onto Leonie’s bed and hugged her. We’ll get through, Lee, she said, using Will’s baby name for Leonie. Just think. Before we leave Colorado, you’ll be pinning up your hair and enduring real corsets. All the gunfighters will be shooting the gamblers to win your heart.

Actually, it sounded rather thrilling. May smiled, imagining the scene replete with smoking guns, dramatic wounds and broken hearts, but no deaths. Leonie was evidently imagining the same scene because she stopped sniffling. He’d have to be a very rich gunfighter. I want to marry a rich man.

Rich isn’t everything, May reminded her.

It is, almost, Leonie said. Also, he must have all his teeth and be very handsome like Mr. Whittier.

Mr. Whittier? May exhaled fiercely. She couldn’t trust herself to say more.

ONE GLANCE AT HER NEWBORN brother, and May was smitten. All her prayers for his good health had been clearly answered. Not five hours old, he looked up from his cradle, his lustrous dark eyes alert as he tried to focus on his brothers and sisters. He was so snugly swaddled that she couldn’t see his hands and feet, but his little round face was very pink, his mouth puckered in an adorable ‘o’, and his black-brown hair gleamed in a handsome tuft with slight curls at the top. May couldn’t imagine a more perfect baby.

Beside her, gray-gowned and enveloped in a crisp white apron, Mrs. Thomas crooned, pressing her thin hands to her small bosom. Oh, isn’t he the sweetest sugar dumpling you’ve ever seen? The Lord bless him!

Will straightened. What’s a sugar dumpling?

Instantly, the baby looked toward Will, who whooped, He’s looking at me! He likes me best!

You’re just the noisiest, so that’s why he’s looking at you, Leonie told him. He won’t like you because you won’t share your marbles with him.

Will shoved her. I might. But he’d just eat them anyway.

Hovering behind them, Harry said, He won’t remember New York.

May swallowed as grief for Harry’s misery tightened her throat.  We’ll move back before he’s very old.

Mrs. Thomas was still gazing rapturously at the baby, but she patted Will and Leonie. Now, my chickens, let’s leave your brother with your mama so they can rest and you can be off to school.

Mother, Leonie begged as they filed over to kiss her goodbye, can’t we stay home today?

You must go to school, Lee. Mother leaned forward from her heap of white pillows. All of you. You need your education and I need my rest. Give me kisses and go find your books.

I’ll have some sugar dumplings ready when you return, Mrs. Thomas said, ignoring Mother’s frown at the promise of sweets. It’s a special day, after all.

Don’t finish making them until I come home, May pleaded. I’m sure I’ll want to learn the recipe. Mrs. Thomas was a walking cookbook, and May intended to learn everything Mrs. Thomas knew about running a kitchen. No doubt her own love of cookery would be useful.

Who could say if they’d find a reliable cook in Colorado?

Will stopped in the doorway, blocking everyone. Mother, what’s his name? I need to tell the fellows at school.

Mother sank into her pillows again. Father and I are still discussing names, Will. You’ll have to be patient—you’re a big brother now.

Will grinned until Harry shoved him. That’s another way of saying you’ll have to do more chores.

Aw ...!

May followed them to gather her books for school. Within ten days, after passing her final exams, she’d graduate. Then she would leave her classmates and New York.

May. Mother fluttered a pale hand, beckoning her back into the room. Please, could you bring the baby to me? I’m sure he’ll be hungry soon.

Yes! May returned to the cradle and tenderly lifted her brother. He was drowsing, so tiny and dear that she forgot all her cares. She kissed his perfect little forehead, breathing in his newborn scent before handing him over. He’s beautiful, Mother, thank you. Are you well?

Yes, Doctor Harmon agrees I’ll be fully recovered within a few weeks. But I’m depending on you to help me, May. Mother cuddled the baby deftly, her expression softening, revealing her infatuation with the youngest Somerville. Father will be leaving for Colorado on Monday. We’ll be in charge of packing and moving as soon as you graduate.

Yes, Mother. Heartache returned. Until she looked at her newborn brother, and silently blessed the Lord.

ALEX RAN ONE HAND OVER his smooth-shaven jaw, then adjusted his tie before tapping at the morning room door. His mother’s voice echoed, musical but distracted, Yes ... come in.

Good morning. Alex smiled. If only he could simply lean inside and tell his mother goodbye. But the few times he’d tried such a tactic she came hurrying after him, demanding to know what was wrong. Two minutes of parting pleasantries were better than five unpleasant minutes of anxious maternal interrogation. Crossing through the golden, sunlit room, he bent and kissed her cheek. I’m leaving for the office.

Frances Courtland Whittier, slender, silver-blonde and decidedly regal in a soft blue morning gown, looked up from her writing desk. A remoteness in her blue eyes suggested that her thoughts were still with the letter she was reading and not with her son. Oh, yes, Alex-dear.

He relaxed. She seemed distracted—he might escape quickly this morning. But her expression cleared, sharpening, focused on him alone. What do you think of going to Europe this winter?

Europe? No. He’d be forced to accompany his mother from one fashionable literary salon to another, and no doubt visit every edifying museum and play she could possibly wedge into their frantic schedule. Not to mention dressmakers, milliners, and glove makers.

He loved Mother, but nothing short of an eruption of Mt. Vesuvius could tempt him to visit Europe on her itinerary, particularly since Father had made it clear that he wouldn’t go. Besides, as a Whittier who’d recently been granted a token position in the company after graduating from college, he had much to prove to the company’s workers. Frequent jaunts to Europe wouldn’t earn admiration from the ranks. It won’t be feasible, Mother. I’ll need to monitor the Colorado ventures, and that will be too difficult to manage from the continent.

Your father will see to the most urgent problems. Frances smiled, maddeningly complacent. "And you’ll be able to communicate easily enough through letters and cables. Alex, you must agree. I’ll arrange a delightful programme. We’ll have a wonderful time."

Alex stifled a growl of frustration. Obviously he wouldn’t escape this trip. Worse, riding, hunting, and climbing volcanoes would never be a part of his mother’s programme. He smiled, silently willing her to release him. Living with his parents might be convenient for now, but freedom beckoned. Once he moved out, he could arrange his own programmes, more suited to his tastes.

Perhaps we could discuss this tonight. I do need to go to the office.

She sighed. You’re dying to escape. Yes, by all means, give me a kiss and go.

Seizing the chance to torment her, he said, But I’ve kissed you once. Poor Mother, you’ve lost your memory. No wonder you need a companion in Europe.

Alex, dear, my memory has nothing to do with it. You know it would be completely inappropriate for me to go to Europe unaccompanied. She gave him a severe look, but he saw the hint of a smile lighting her eyes and turning the corners of her mouth. Europe will be good for you. I’ve noticed you’ve been restless lately.

He couldn’t deny the truth of her observation. While he was never bored with business matters, home was a different story. It wasn’t his nature to go carousing through the city’s clubs and chasing actresses or opera singers, but home was dull. However, going home each night to an empty house of his own wasn’t appealing, and he doubted Europe would cure his restlessness. It might kill him instead. As much as he cherished his parents, life would be easier if he had an abundance of siblings to absorb some parental attention while he set sail on his own course. Younger siblings could have taken his place for tasks such as Europe. I’ll consider it. One more thing... It was his turn to give her a severe look. If I do go, you won’t attempt to marry me off to some girl in Europe, will you?

"Not unless she’s eminently acceptable and intends to live in New