“It’s just going to be hell,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the floor facing her grandfather, her back to the fire.

Now, with her instrument in her hands, she looked at ease, bending her head over it so they couldn’t see her face, and listening to the few chords she played to warm up. It was an unexpected song she chose first. “I brought thee flowers to straw thy way,” her small flute voice sang, “but thou wast up at break of day/and broughtst thy flowers along with thee.”

When she had finished, Cornelius and Christina exchanged a glance. But Cathy was absorbed and did not look up. She sang “I Know Where I’m Going” and “The Riddle Song” and ended with “‘The Times They Are A-Changin’.”

“She can sing,” Cornelius said. “Bravo, Cathy!”

“ The times they are a-changing,’” Christina hummed. “It is a good song.”

“I didn’t expect you to like it.”

“Why not?”

“Well …” Cathy hesitated. “Oh, you know, it is sort of against things as they are.” Then she asked, “Shall I sing ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’ now?”

“Well, don’t write us off as absolute old fogies,” Cornelius said. “Sing what you like. After all, we are in sore need of an education!”

Cathy paused, laid down her guitar, and hugged her knees.

“You’re so different from my parents. They just don’t pay any attention! They sneer at songs like that. They can’t seem to see how wonderful life is!”

“I expect that’s what your Uncle John used to say about me. The times may be a-changing, but parents and children seem to change rather little—so it’s very pleasant to be a gramp instead of a father.” Cornelius laughed. “Isn’t it, Christina?”

But Cathy was not to be put off. “You don’t seem so safe. My parents are so damned safe!”

CHRISTINA’S JOURNAL—April 1