Sons of an Ancient Glory (4 page)

Sitting up in bed, feeling even more restless and bored than usual, Nora Whittaker watched Evan's Aunt Winnie attend to the household chores. Chores she should be doing herself.

The older woman was scurrying about the room like a ballerina, humming cheerfully and whisking a feather duster over the furniture with fluid motions. Despite her pique at feeling so worthless, Nora had to smile. Aunt Winnie was petite and lithe in a rose-colored morning frock, her blond coiffure fresh and neat. Indeed, she looked for all the world as if she should be presiding over a Fifth Avenue tea instead of cleaning house.

Evan's aunt returned Nora's smile, making a graceful pirouette as she gave the wardrobe a few hasty swipes. Standing off as if to admire her work, she nodded with satisfaction, then came back to the bed and sat down beside Nora.

“You're just lying there seething because you can't be up doing your own work,” she said, taking Nora's hand. “I can tell.”

Nora's smile gave way to a sigh. “That's the truth. I feel so—”

“Bored?”

“There's that,” Nora admitted. “But mostly I'm feeling guilty. And entirely useless.”

“But you're
not
useless, and you certainly have nothing to feel guilty about! Oh, I know you must be weary beyond imagining of just lying in, but taking care of your baby is much more important than housework, dear!”

“Aye, I know,” Nora agreed. “It's just that I hadn't counted on having to stay in bed all this time. It seems the next two months will drag on forever.”

“But they won't,” Aunt Winnie said practically. “And in the meantime, you must remember that it will all be worthwhile in the end. And,” she added, her tone allowing for no argument, “you must also remember that I don't mind helping out. Not in the least. To the contrary, I'm actually enjoying it. I've never kept house before, you know.”

At Nora's startled look, Aunt Winnie went on to explain. “My first husband, George Mountjoy, was outrageously rich—didn't Evan tell you about him? Goodness, even George's
servants
had servants!” She put a hand to her cheek. “Dear George. We'd been married only seven years when he passed on.”

She paused, giving her flawless coiffure a reassuring pat. “My next husband—Neville—wasn't exactly rich. But he was
Old Family
, you see. His servants were ancient, like the rest of the family, but he had an entire household of them, so I never got to do anything domestic there either. Except,” she added with a deep sigh, “for pouring tea.”

For the life of her, Nora couldn't decide whether to laugh or commiserate. Impulsively, she squeezed Aunt Winnie's hand—a small hand, delicate and exquisitely manicured. “I can't imagine how you managed. Being widowed twice, I mean. When Owen—my first husband—died, I wanted to die, too.”

“I know,” Evan's aunt said with another small sigh. “But one does one's best.” She looked at Nora, her expression brightening. “And at the moment, you are to do your best to stay strong and cheerful. For the baby. And for Evan, too, of course. Just
see
how happy you've made him, Nora. You're very good for Evan, dear, you really are!”

Nora looked away. “Lately, I feel more burden than blessing to Evan,” she confessed softly. “The man has little to look forward to each day when he comes home. An invalid wife who can do nothing at all but lie here like a great lump.”

“Oh, pshaw!” Aunt Winnie retorted. “Such foolish talk! So long as Evan has
you
to come home to, you won't hear him complaining, I promise you! Goodness, his heart floods his eyes every time he looks at you. Why, if a man looked at me the way my nephew looks at
you
, I'd simply swoon! Really, I would.”

Nora laughed. “You'd best have a caution about Mr. Farmington, then, I'm thinking.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” replied Evan's aunt, the faintest hint of pink flushing her cheeks.

Nora lifted one eyebrow, but Aunt Winnie merely smiled prettily, saying, “Lewis is a thoroughly charming man.”

“He is, indeed,” said Nora.

“Well,” said the other, springing to her feet, “I must get on with the dusting. I'll start dinner in a few moments, dear, before Lewis and Evan arrive from the yards.”

“Perhaps Mr. Farmington would stay for the meal if you'd ask,” Nora suggested.

“Oh, we can't, dear! Lewis is taking me to see Macready at the Astor Place theater tonight. I'm going to change here before we leave so I won't have to stop at the flat on the way.”

She started toward the door, then turned back. “As for
you
, my dear, I want you to do what
I
do when I'm tempted to feel sorry for myself.”

Unaware until this instant that she
had
been feeling sorry for herself, Nora stared.

“I take pen and paper and make a detailed list of all the things I'm thankful for,” explained Aunt Winnie, smiling. “Then, once I've written them all out plain to see, I read each one aloud. By the time I've finished reading the list, I've forgotten why I was feeling blue.” She stopped. “Would you like me to get you some writing paper, dear?”

Again Nora burst into laughter. “Yes, please do, Aunt Winnie.”

Evan's aunt beamed. “Wonderful! You'll head
your
list with Evan and those delightful children, of course. And the little one on the way.”

“And
you
, Aunt Winnie,” said Nora sincerely. “You will also be at the very top of my list. Sure, you are a special blessing to us all.”

Approaching the bank of the pond, Tom glanced down over himself. He saw that his shirttail was out, and grinned. If Johanna could see, she would be wagging her finger. She was as bad as Aunt Nora when it came to shirttails tucked in and noses wiped clean.

With a backward glance, he reassured himself that the girls were still out of view. Then he turned back to the bullfrog.

If the creature knew he was being stalked, he seemed to be enjoying the game. Having leaped atop an old fallen tree trunk that lay across the narrow end of the pond, the bullfrog now sat studying Tom with fat, bulging eyes, as if waiting to see what came next.

Grinning at the frog, Tom trundled on, imagining the shrieks he would get from the girls when he shook that old frog in their faces. Or, better yet, slipped it up under Dulcie's petticoats.

His grin widened and he put on speed.

I'm going to get you, sure enough, you funny-looking old frog. Going to get you and scare those silly girls out of their wits!

Reaching the gnarled tree trunk, Tom looked at the pond. This part of the water was almost completely coated with big leafy plants and some other green, slimy stuff. Tom thought the pond looked a bit disgusting, with all those things growing out of it.

Turning back to the bullfrog, he watched as it flicked out its tongue to snatch a bug from the air. Tom imitated it with his own tongue, then grinned and stepped gingerly onto the log.

The frog's bulging eyes gave no hint of fear. Tom decided this was going to be easier than he'd thought.

Foot over foot, Tom began to pace off the distance between him and the bullfrog.

“I'm coming to get you, old Bull-Frog. You and me, we'll have ourselves the time of it, we will! Just don't you be moving, now. Stay…right…there.…”

Suddenly, Tom's foot slipped on the log. His heart raced. He lurched forward, then weaved, finally righting himself.

The frog didn't so much as blink, just sat staring at him. Ignoring the pounding of his heart, Tom wondered if frogs could think, and if they could, what this one was thinking right now.

“Do you want to play, old Bull-Frog? Want to help scare those silly girls?”

A cloud passed over the sun, and all at once the afternoon seemed to go dark, as if the sky were sliding down to meet the pond. The wind that had been blowing most of the afternoon now turned sharper, slicing over the water and causing Tom to shiver in his shirtsleeves. He wished he'd worn his jacket, as Aunt Nora had cautioned.

He was close enough now that he could almost look right into the frog's eyes. When the creature still made no attempt to move, Tom slowly crouched down to his knees, then dropped to his belly. Hugging the log, he began to creep forward. He didn't take his eyes off the bullfrog.

But he hadn't counted on the rough, splintered bark of the tree trunk. “Blast!” He jerked when the bark raked the tender skin exposed by his loose shirttail.

Suddenly, as if Tom's sharp movement had set off a warning, the frog leaped from the tree trunk into the pond.

“Blast!”
Tom cried again, louder this time, breaking his crawl to watch the frog disappear under the water.

Johanna let out a gasp of horror at the sight of the big black cat trotting into the woods at the far side of the park. With a tiny bundle of fur in its mouth, it fairly swaggered with feline satisfaction.

Grabbing the sleeve of Dulcie's dress, she gestured toward the cat. The younger girl opened her mouth to let out a shriek. Then they both took off running.

Johanna, with her long, thin legs, easily outdistanced Dulcie. As they ran, they flailed their arms and Dulcie screamed, hoping to frighten the cat into dropping the baby rabbit.

Johanna began to cry as they crashed through the trees, her heart wrenching at the sight of the tiny bunny in the clutches of the cat. Hiking her skirts up still more, she cleared decaying tree stumps and bramble bushes with ease, never taking her eyes off the cat.

With the baby rabbit still in its mouth, the cat continued to dash into the woods, but aimlessly now, lunging first in one direction, then another, as if uncertain which way led to escape.

Sprinting far out in front of Dulcie, Johanna managed to bring herself up almost even with the cat. The animal acted as though it didn't see her, veering off to the right, leaning into the wind as it ran. But Dulcie, shrieking and wildly waving a tree branch, cut around Johanna to close in on the cat.

Unexpectedly, the animal seemed to lose all sense of direction. It darted first one way, then another, whipping back and forth. Finally, it tossed its tiny prey on the ground and took off in a frenzied run into the heart of the woods.

Johanna dropped to her knees to retrieve the baby rabbit, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand. Cradling the pitiful little bunny against her, she got to her feet. She could feel the tiny heart racing beneath her hand and thought perhaps the rabbit was as frightened of her and Dulcie as it had been of the cat.

Suddenly, a flash of remembrance struck her.
How long had they been gone? Little Tom…he's been alone all this time.…

With her free hand, she motioned to Dulcie that they had to get back to the park right away!