Every step upward, though, made his heart weigh a little heavier. When he got inside, Mamm-wynn would no doubt ask him, as she had every other time he came home since Wednesday, if he’d found Beth yet. And, like every other time, he’d have to tell her no. He’d tried explaining that Beth was where she wanted to be—without sharing the worry his sister’s exact words had buried deep within him—but Mamm-wynn didn’t even seem to hear those assurances.

He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t believe them himself.

A few minutes later he was passing through the familiar doors of home, listening for an indication of where his grandmother was to be found. When he heard the strains of the piano, he followed the music with a smile. She didn’t play much these days. Her hands were too arthritic, and her eyes had trouble reading music. But once in a while she would sit and play one of her old favorites that both fingers and mind had memorized long ago.

He slid as quietly as possible into the drawing room and sat in his favorite chair, just listening. The song wasn’t exactly as smooth sounding as it had once been, but it still brought a smile to his lips. And when she finished, he applauded, as he’d always done.

She spun daintily on her bench, fluttering a bow and smiling. Not at all surprised, it seemed, to find him there. “That one was for you, Ollie. And for her, of course.”

His smile flickered. “Who? Mrs. Dawe? I didn’t think she cared for Bizet.”

Mamm-wynn laughed. “No, not Mrs. Dawe. You silly thing. As if you don’t know very well of whom I’m speaking.”

Did he? Should he? She couldn’t mean Beth. His sister had never enjoyed opera at all, even just the instrumental parts. It had always been a bit of a joke in the family. “I’m afraid I’m at a loss.”

Still chuckling, she stood. “I won’t tell her you said so, darling. Don’t worry. Though really, a man ought to know his wife’s taste in music.”

His . . . wife? A stone took over where his stomach had been earlier. Not knowing what to say, he just watched her hum her way from the room.

Maybe she’d thought him his father. Though that scarcely brought any comfort. Whether she thought him someone else or thought he had a wife, the truth of it was the same: confusion had clouded her mind again.

He buried his hand in his hair and leaned on the arm of the chair.

He wished she’d just asked about Beth again.

9