“And Mr. Gilroy!” she added. “Let us not forget Mr. Gilroy!”

I looked quickly away from Mother and nodded. Susannah said not a word, but turned back to gaze out the window. Between them, I did not know what to do, so I drew to my usual spot at the table and opened a book.

With a start, I realized I had arrived myself at the end, having flipped through the pages vacantly as a—vacantly, and we shall leave it at that. What stared at me in bold black print were the words THE END, and the words—nay, even the very print—comforted me somehow, for here I was, vagrantly arrived at a firm stop. The end, I thought to myself. That is good. There will always come an ending to every story, and Mother’s moods are merely chapters. In the distance, perhaps in another volume, Mother will return to herself, put up her hair, and smile again at me in her old way. I lifted up my head, gladdened by the possible future, and saw Susannah pressed against the window glass.

“What do you see out there, Sue?” I called to her, a bit desperately. “Your future?”

Her arms dropped to her sides as though cut from a string, and she turned round slowly.

“What will it be?” she asked me gravely, and she left the window and came to sit by me at the table.

Just then, Mother clapped her hands aloud and turned round in her seat to regard us. “Your future is clear to me, Susannah!”

I stiffened.

“What is it, Mother?” Susannah clasped her hands across her chest as though to prepare.

“Well,” Mother drawled, “you shall marry.”

“Who?” Susannah whispered, and I saw that she was shaking.

“Who?” Mother blinked. “Why, Susannah, you shall marry a man as fine as Mr. Thomas; and though he is betrothed, he is your match in every way—more beautiful, more intelligent, and richer by far.”

Susannah gasped, and I opened my mouth to stop Mother from speaking further, but she turned back to concentrate on the undergarment in her hand, delivering a lecture to the linen.

“Women should always strive to marry higher than themselves. Always. A lesser marriage partner would never know how to appreciate all the value in a woman’s heart, and one such as you, Susannah, requires a lord among men.” She held her needle up against the window and threaded it with a sure hand. “Think of it this way. Your hair is your crowning glory—were such a jewel to be fingered by a common sort—an Ames, or, worse, a Quail—the fingers would begrime the very luster simply by not knowing, by not comprehending”—she slowed to knot the thread—“how such natural treasure should be cared for. Within a decade, your silk would turn to tatters and all the color fade to a murky and uncomely gray.”

I cast a glance sideways at Sue, but she sat rigid beside me, her eyes straight forward.