Ruby sighed. “It’s another sad story. Do you really want to hear it?”

Verona said, “I want to hear it. I want to understand.”

“These children—they read my journal.” Ruby spoke to Verona. “They told you about it?”

“Rae told me every word,” Verona assured her.

“Then you know about my father, what he was. He worshipped power, he lived to create fear, and as the war proceeded, he lost more and more control of his newspaper. It wasn’t merely that he was diminished in the eyes of the world; everyone he had crushed and hurt and bullied took the opportunity to laugh in his face.” Ruby smiled as if that pleased her. “After the war ended, he had only one chance to retrieve his power. He had to force me to wed Alfred, that disgusting old man. Alfred still had influence, and he wanted me.”

“That’s atrocious!” Rae’s color was high, her face burned with fury.

“My father was atrocious, a man without honor, and Alfred was unfit for Patrick to wipe his boots on.” Ruby ran a trembling hand across her forehead. “It was so long ago, but I remember…” She looked around the room as if she saw the people as they lived through the scene. “Mother was here with me, and Hermione, when Father brought Alfred up to the attic, this attic, where I still lived.”

At Ruby’s words, images of angry words, of gunfire, of two powerful, elderly men and three women on the defensive filled Kellen’s mind. Max, Verona, Kellen and Rae leaned forward, transfixed by Ruby’s fierce retelling of the story.

“Father said I was of no use to him if I refused to do his bidding. He pointed a pistol at me. He threatened to shoot me. I refused—and he did shoot.” Ruby’s voice wavered. “My mother leaped between us.”

Kellen remembered the headstone in the cemetery; Reika Morgade, died 1948.

“He killed her,” Rae whispered.

“Yes. He killed her. My mother, who had suffered to protect me.” Ruby accepted a tissue from Verona and wiped her eyes. “He murdered her. His wife. His slave. The mother of his children.”

Silence fell as everyone tried to comprehend the terrible act that had taken place so long ago. Yet the repercussions echoed down the years.

Rae snapped to attention, and snapped out the question. “Was he sorry?”