Fred pulled his horse to a sliding stop, spraying mud everywhere and earning a frown from our father. I jumped off before he could push me off, and barely managed to smooth down my skirts over my woolen stockings before she stepped out of the carriage.

She didn’t look old enough to be my mother. Her skin was pale and smooth against the dark purple velvet of her gown, blue eyes startlingly bright even from paces away. Before the sun had a chance to even kiss her skin, she snapped open a black satin and lace parasol, holding it above her head as she brushed her hair back over her shoulder. With one hand, she lifted up her skirts, revealing high-heeled brocade shoes that were slowly sinking into the mud.

My father took a few steps toward her, then paused, seeming uncertain of whether she wanted assistance or not. “It’s good to see you, Genny.”

“I’ve told you not to call me that.” Like my own voice, hers carried well on the air, and I grimaced at her rejection of my father’s familiarity. Seeing them in close proximity, it seemed barely possible they could be acquaintances, much less a pair married fifteen years. My father, the dirty, weatherworn farmer, and my mother, the sparkling opera star. A more incongruous pair I’d never seen. Time changed people, but either one or both of them must have been completely different when they first met. What had they been like, I wondered, and what had made them change?

“Papa, where’s Joss?”

Fred’s voice startled me, but my mother’s frowning inspection of her shoes didn’t waver.

“In the barn brushing the pony, I reckon.”

“I’ll go get her,” Fred said. “You do want to see Josette, don’t you, Genevieve?” I looked up, surprised to hear him call her so.

“I’m sure I’ll see her at some point,” she replied, either used to him calling her by name, or not caring that he did. And clearly not caring whether my little sister made an appearance or not. Given everything that had happened today, a dull burn of anger seared through my guts at her casual dismissal of Josette. I snapped my face around, ready to put her in her place, but the full force of my mother’s gaze stopped the words in my throat.

“My sweet little bird.” She tilted her face slightly to the side, lips blossoming into a smile. “I’ve missed you dreadfully.”

It was absolutely the most perfect thing she could have said to me. My anger disappeared as though it had never existed, and I started toward her, arms outstretched. But she didn’t mirror the motion, and I ground to a halt. Awkwardly, I lowered my arms and took a step back, aware that both my brother and father were looking anywhere but at us. “I’m going to find Joss,” Fred muttered, dragging his horse toward the barn.

Of course hugging her would be inappropriate. It was far too familiar. And while I might have started the afternoon off clean, Fred’s horse had left sweat stains on my dress and out of the corner of my eye I could see a twig stuck in my curls. “I missed you too, Mama.”