The family all tried to continue on as they had before—not talking about the cancer in front of Kat unless she chose to bring it up, which happened rarely. But they were all concerned, and the inevitable seemed to be creeping ever closer and increasingly beyond their control. It came up in conversation often when Kat was not present, but more and more there was nothing to say that hadn’t been said many times already. Kat was dying and they all knew it. None of them wanted her to suffer, but neither did they want to lose her. It seemed that both were inevitable.

The great light in the midst of this unspeakable heartache was little Harry. With the perfect innocence of his new life, he radiated a glow of hope and happiness that helped them all keep perspective. He also kept them all gratefully distracted from Kat’s worsening health. If Kat was awake, the baby was with her, and while she slept each member of the family took turns holding him, often joking that he rarely if ever was not in someone’s arms, and he would become so accustomed to sleeping while being held that getting him to sleep in his own bed eventually might prove impossible. But nobody cared. Holding Harry, whether awake or asleep, was a soothing balm for all of them.

A wet nurse had to be hired to feed Harry when it quickly became evident Kat wouldn’t be able to do so. But she was a kind, sensitive woman who fit nicely into the household, as did the nanny, who was always on hand to help but never intrusive on the family’s desire to care for the baby as much as possible and to give Kat every opportunity to spend time with her son.

As the weather became colder, Henry reverted somewhat reluctantly to his English style of clothing. He couldn’t dispute that the fabrics and layers of a waistcoat—and a jacket or coat when going out—as well as the typical boots he wore, were more practical for English winters. Even in the house, every room had a slight chill unless fires were kept blazing in every fireplace, and remaining in close proximity to them was preferable. Still, he preferred the change in season in England, which was more dramatic than that of India. The summer heat of India had meant always feeling sweaty, and even the cooler season there had never been dramatically different. Here in England there was a vast difference between summer and winter, and Henry liked it. He especially liked autumn and spring, when the transitions between seasons were taking place. The changes suited him, keeping a variety in his life that spoke to his spirit.

Henry noticed that Amala too reverted to her English clothing as the weather got colder, although it was impossible not to notice that she was forgoing any corsets or enormous petticoats beneath her dresses, and he liked the way she was choosing to remain more comfortable, which seemed to correlate with how she’d become more serene and at peace with simply being who she was, apparently not caring nearly as much as she once had that she was so different in appearance from the rest of her family.