How Do I Love Thee? by Nancy Moser Read Free Book Online

children.”
    “Those children” attended a school nearby and benefited greatly from Arabel’s philanthropy. I was quite certain Henrietta would have had trouble even spelling the word, much less understanding its meaning.
    “I will not be gone long,” she said, ready to leave. Then she stopped and turned back to me. “Oh. A letter came from Papa—for you.”
    The “for you” included a hint of bitterness that was justified. And yet Henrietta frustrated me anew. “Why did you not bring it to me?” I asked. “You know I’m trying to get us home.”
    She shrugged—a common answer. Then she thought more of it and answered fully. “Have you ever considered that perhaps I do not wish to go home?”
    I was shocked. “But I thought . . .”
    “You think only of yourself, Ba.” She looked towards the hallway leading to the door below. “I enjoy it here in Torquay. I have friends here. And the beauty of this place versus dark and grimy London . . . I would miss the sea.”
    I was once again stunned by the differences between us. “The sea that took our brother’s life.”
    “The sea, which acts according to its nature, came into contact with our brother, who acted according to his. If there be any fault, it is with—”
    “No!” I would not let her say it. For if Bro acted in any way impetuously, it was I who was to blame for spurring him towards that action.
    Henrietta’s face softened. “Oh dear. I apologize. I know how sensitive you are, how vulnerable.”
    How guilty.
    “I will fetch the letter for you now, before I go out.” She made her escape from the awkwardness of the moment—another Henrietta trait I had come to expect.
    I pulled Flush’s head close and let him lick my cheek. “She will get us the letter,” I reassured him. A few moments later she returned, letter in hand. I greedily read through the contents looking for the magic words You may come home now, Ba.
    I came away from the reading confused. Papa was still uncertain regarding our return. It seemed Dr. Scully, my doctor here in Torquay, had told Papa that although he would not forbid me to go home, no trip could be taken any later than the tenth of September.
    I stared at the words. “But it is already August the fourth. A mere month to arrange our journey?” As I reread the page a question arose. Why September tenth? Why that date in particular?
    I did some calculations. The tenth was a Friday. It was not a holiday. And as far as I had ascertained in all my time in Torquay, the world did not change on this day. And the weather . . . September was far too early to worry about snow or sleet. I saw no reason or logic for the time limit.
    Yet reason or logic aside, I knew Papa would elevate Dr. Scully’s proclamation to law. I felt like a prisoner who had been given a date of release, but whose joy was unfairly burdened with conditions bordering on impossible.
    If only we could discuss it in person. The exchange of letters was excruciatingly slow and time was running out.
    Yet what alternative did I have but to send a message accepting the offer and pleading with Papa to facilitate our departure before the ominous September the tenth.
    As I took up my pen to create my petition I added a plea to our heavenly Father. Surely He would allow us to go home.

    Calm, Ba. You must stay calm.
    Finally, we were leaving Torquay. After my letter earlier in the month, Papa had relented. I saw no reason for his decision, as the words I had chosen in my argument were no more persuasive than any others I had used over the past fifteen months, and so, I gave credit to God for changing my father’s mind.
    The question upon everyone’s mind—especially my own—was whether I was well enough for the journey, which was expected to take a week or more. Over two hundred miles of travel. Four women and a dog, unaccompanied by male escort other than the driver. Papa had ordered a carriage specially altered, allowing me to recline, but I knew there would be