She brought the pot over, sat. “It was difficult for us, and my mother was living with Brie in the house until a couple years ago. To keep what peace could be kept, Brie didn’t speak much of Da.”

“Were things really so bad between your parents?”

“Worse than bad. They came to each other late in life. It was impulse, and passion. Though he told me there’d been love once, at the start of it.”

“Maggie?” Brianna hesitated at the doorway.

“Come and sit. She wants to talk of Da.”

Brianna came in, brushing a hand over Shannon’s shoulder, perhaps in support, perhaps in gratitude, before she joined them. “I know it’s hard for you, Shannon.”

“It has to be dealt with. I’ve been avoiding it.” She lifted her gaze, looked closely at each of her sisters. “I want you to understand I had a father.”

“I would think it would be a lucky woman who could say she had two,” Maggie put in. “Both who loved her.” When Shannon shook her head, she barreled on. “He was a loving man. A generous one. Too generous at times. As a father he was kind, and patient, and full of fun. He wasn’t wise, nor successful. And he had a habit of leaving a chore half done.”

“He was always there if you needed cheering,” Brianna murmured. “He had big dreams, outrageous ones, and schemes that were so foolish. He was always after making his fortune, but he died more rich in friends than in money. Do you remember the time, Maggie, when he decided we would raise rabbits, for the pelts?”

“And he built pens for them and bought a pair of those long-haired white ones. Oh, Mother was furious at the money it cost—and the idea of it.” Maggie snickered. “Rabbits in the yard.”

Brianna chuckled and poured out the tea. “And soon they were. Once they bred he didn’t have the heart to sell them off to be skinned. And Maggie and I were wailing at the idea of the little bunnies being killed.”

“So we went out one night,” Maggie said, picking up the story, “the three of us sneaking about like thieves, and let them out, the mother and father and the babies. And we laughed like fools when they went bounding off into the fields.” She sighed and picked up her tea. “He didn’t have the heart, or the head, for business. He used to write poetry,” she remembered. “Terrible stuff, blank verse. It was always a disappointment to him that he didn’t have the words.”

Brianna pressed her lips together. “He wasn’t happy. He tried to be, and he worked hard as any man could to see that Maggie and I would be. But the house was full of anger, and as we found later, his own sorrow went deeper than anyone could reach. He had pride. He was so proud of you, Maggie.”

“He was proud of both of us. He fought a terrible battle with Mother to see that I went to Venice to study. He wouldn’t back down from that. And what he won for me cost him, and Brianna.”