So much of the house was dark, unused. I made my way slowly with a candle and found the hallway that looked down on the ballroom. Every time I paused, I thought I heard footsteps. I suspected that either Mrs. Steiner or Dora was shadowing me, worried that I might in some way hurt myself. A pregnant woman should be concerned about tripping and falling, especially in these dark areas of the mansion. But I was bored enough to be courageous and found myself opening the door of another upstairs bedroom. It was so far from everything I wondered who would have used it. There was no doubt it hadn’t been used for years. A doorway inside it opened to another, narrower stairway. Surely, I thought, it led up to the attic, but right now, I had no interest in going up there.

Since Garland wasn’t returning for dinner and there would be no one but me, I didn’t bother to change. I took a short rest in the Swan Room, what was now my room, admiring everything in it. I so wanted to show it to Daisy. Wasn’t it a bit cruel to just forget her the way Garland wanted me to? I understood his logic, but maybe I could figure out a way to get her to come visit. If she did so before my pregnancy was obvious, why would Garland oppose it?

When I was in Charlottesville to shop, I would find that telegram office and send her one inviting her next Monday. But then I thought, what if it really upset Garland so close to our wedding? Maybe later, I reasoned, while there was still time before my pregnancy was obvious.

Dora came to tell me dinner was ready. The prospect of eating at that big dining-room table alone discouraged my appetite, but Mrs. Wilson had prepared a turkey breast with cranberries and yam, which was one of my favorite meals. Apparently, my mother had left her a list of things I liked. Dora served me and stood behind me while I ate, until I told her she was making me nervous. If something fell, I promised, I’d call her. Afterward, I went to the library to wait for Garland and plucked a book off the shelf because of its title, Wired Love. When I opened the cover, I saw there was an inscription.

For Garland . . . this could have been about us.

Love, Claudette