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

much to bear, much to dread. Yet I had to remain strong. I had wanted this, begged for it. If I suffered, it was my own fault.
    Crow tucked a blanket around me as the driver finished tying our trunks. “There you be. All snug.” She gave me the pointed look she often utilized, lowering her head, her eyes intense. “You all right, miss?”
    I hugged Flush closely, finding comfort in his warmth. “I have to be, don’t I?” I whispered.
    Crow glanced at Henrietta and Arabel as they settled on the facing seat of the carriage and whispered back to me. “I will help you through this. I will. There will be no turning back, not with me here.”
    I squeezed her hand, taking succor in her presence—and her strength. God had been very wise and merciful when he had brought Elizabeth Crow into my life. And now it had come to this, two Elizabeths, united by determination.
    I had the feeling this was not the last time we would be so joined.

    I reminded myself to breathe.
    The carriage was moving. We were off to London. Soon, very soon, I would be ensconced in our Wimpole Street home, a part of the family again, no longer separated by endless miles.
    Henrietta looked out the window and sighed. “Oh, how I will miss this place,” she said.
    Again, the differences in our opinions astounded me. But I did not argue with her. I, for one, was glad to be finally away from this place that had taken the life of our brother and that had not granted me the full health that had been promised.
    “Look out the window, Ba,” Henrietta said. “Most likely it is the last time we will ever see this vista of the sea.”
    I shook my head and leaned it against Flush. To further express my view, I closed my eyes.
    Thankfully, she turned her attention to Arabel, and together my two sisters recounted the good times they had experienced in Torquay.
    In defence, I forced myself to remember Bro and our good times long before this awful place had come between us . . . until sleep came and blessedly took me into its arms.

    “Ba, contain yourself,” Henrietta said. “Papa would never forgive us if you expired before you got out of the carriage.”
    She was right, of course, and I closed my eyes and forced my breathing to abandon its rapid rhythm. I was less successful with the beat of my heart but hoped that agitation resulting from such a happy occasion would not prove detrimental. I wanted to show Papa that his decision to let us come home was made wisely. For even though the eleven-day trip had been exhausting, pushing me beyond many levels of comfort and its opposite, I had persevered. We were home!
    The carriage passed Portman Square, and I looked upon the trees and gated gardens in front of Montagu House knowing that in just a few blocks . . .
    I hoped Papa and the boys would be at home. We had sent word after our last stop that we would be arriving today, but such messages were only partially reliable, as there was little to stop the messenger from lagging along, or never delivering our message at all.
    But if they weren’t home . . . I had allowed my imagination a pleasant succession of circumstances to cover this possibility. We would get fully settled, and if there was time, we would have the cook put up a grand tea and be waiting in the drawing room when the men of our family arrived. Upon seeing their surprise, I would rise to my feet as casually as my weakness allowed and simply say, “Tea, Papa?” We would fall into each other’s arms, and the three years of my absence would dissipate with our laughter.
    The carriage turned from Wigmore Street onto Wimpole. The familiarity of our neighbourhood warmed me as no blanket ever could.
    I suddenly wondered if I looked too pale. “Do I look well?” I asked.
    Arabel reached over and took my hand. “You look fine, Ba.”
    “Fine as you ever look,” Henrietta said. “Though you could pinch your cheeks a bit.”
    I did as she suggested, causing Flush to nip at my hands’ unaccustomed