“I’ll thank them to keep out of my kitchen,” she said crossly, and left the room.

Cornelius lifted an eyebrow.

Christina leaned back on her pillows, her arms behind her head. “It’s a hard day for her, poor old thing. She misses Jane.”

“She shouldn’t address you in that tone of voice.”

“Oh, darling”—Christina shrugged—“think what she does for us! It just rolls off my back unless I’m in a cross mood myself.”

Hannah came in glowering, deposited the second tray on Christina’s lap, and departed without acknowledging the thanks.

So, as usual, the day which had begun with that moment of pure peace, with the mountain at dawn, was already entangled and entangling, as one little thread of human concern after another was drawn taut. But if Christina had learned anything in the last months, it was to try to keep the momentum from accelerating too fast. The hardest physical job of the day was getting Cornelius up and dressed; it took patience and good humor, and in preparation for it she drank a second cup of coffee and lay back again, “for a little think” as Cornelius called these moments of intimate reflection.

She curled her left hand into his.

“What are you thinking about so solemn?” he asked gently.

“I don’t know. I suppose how much tragedy is woven into these days of celebration—and how lucky we are, darling.” She looked over at him now, her eyes suddenly full of tears. “I was thinking about Ellen, and Nick still in hospital. Ellen, Hannah, Eben—how many lonely people there are! The trouble is that on a day like this the dead are very much with us.”

“Can’t see that as a trouble,” Cornelius said. “Too bad if they were not woven through our lives. I woke thinking about my mother and how, reserved person though she was, she blossomed on Old Home Day just because it was casual and she didn’t have to make an effort. I can see her sitting on the grass, a white parasol open over her head, looking happy.”

And one day one of the grandchildren will remember us, Christina thought—will remember Cornelius in his Panama hat … Why did this thought make her sad? There was an old phrase about “bringing to remembrance.” Already Jane was taking her place among the shadows. We may bring to remembrance, but we also forget. Often she could not remember her mother’s face.

“No more dreaming, we have to live.” Cornelius gave her ear a gentle pull to wake her out of this revery. “I think I had better get going, love—if you would help me up. The old carcass feels like a ton of lead this morning.”