The quiet of the sleeping house descended on them once again, and Lily went on walking, holding Maggie and remembering how much she’d always loved these hours of peace, and the feeling of being a part of a family.

She might have dreamt the voices.

Colonel Graeme’s, strong and so familiar. “Jamie, wait, lad.”

And a man’s voice overlaid atop the voice of her beloved friend, assuring him, “This way is quicker. They will have ye in the prison if ye’re not aboard at dawn.”

“I think ’tis my own son who’s eager to be rid of me.” That was said in jest, and met with mild impatience.

“Must ye stroll?”

The laugh that answered him was Colonel Graeme’s laugh, Lily was sure of it. She moved into the passage, where she shifted Maggie on her shoulder just enough to free one hand so that she could unbolt the door and open it. The close, in both directions that she looked, was dark and empty. There was no one to be seen.

She didn’t know what she’d have said to them, if they’d been truly there, but still the disappointment hit her deeply, and her eyes filled with swift tears. She closed the door against the chill air, bolting it securely.

Maggie’s small hand reached for Lily’s hair and clung, and Lily wrapped her arms around the little girl for reassurance, starting back into the rhythm of their walking as she entered once more into Archie’s workroom. It ought to have been soothing, in the dim light with the fading fire, but Lily had gone only a few steps before she realized they were no longer alone.

He must have come in through the window, for he stood there now beside it.

Lily found, just as she had that night those years ago in the Bells’ kitchen, she could neither move nor speak nor call out—only stand and stare while the intruder stared at her. It was, in some ways, as if time had barely moved at all—the fire so low, the window, and the tears upon her face. But this was not a boy. This was a full-grown man who faced her, and her mind and body were reacting to the danger of that when she heard a cry behind her—not of fear, but happiness.

And Barbara, rushing past her, flung her arms around the young man who had entered through the window, nearly knocking him off balance. But he stood against the onslaught, and embraced her, too, with tenderness, because she’d started sobbing.

“Matthew,” Barbara said against his shoulder, and no more than that.

But Lily understood.

Sometimes life gave you back the things you’d lost.

* * *

Families were curious constructions. Like a child’s house of wooden blocks, you took one piece away and all fell down, or added one and all the others settled into a new shape, creating something different.

All the time that Lily had been living here, it had been Simon who’d been eldest of the boys, but Matthew being nearly a year older at eighteen had now resumed that place with ease, and it changed all their interactions.