Page 12 of A Lullaby for Witches

“Hello, Clarence. Hello, Lizzie. You look well.” But Clarence had already turned to Father, and Lizzie was complaining to Mother about the ache in her back and how she couldn’t get the sugared almonds she’d been craving lately.

Henry and George arrived together. George, his usual good-natured self, gave Mother a big, loud kiss before turning to me and swinging me in his arms. “Maggie, but you’ve grown since I saw you last.”

I hadn’t, but it was a tradition of ours that he would comment on my height every time he returned from sea. He was also the only person who was allowed to call me Maggie. “That’s what happens when you disappear for months at a time.”

George had dark hair which he wore neatly parted and greased, and he’d recently grown a mustache. I had always thought him terribly dashing, and though George was seemingly oblivious to it, many other girls in town had shared the same opinion as me. “The sea is a fickle mistress,” he said, tossing me a wink. “And look what your favorite brother has brought you.” He dropped a strand of smooth, pinkish-red beads onto my palm. “Coral,” he said. “From the Indies.”

“George,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.” I fastened it around my neck, the blushing beads bright and lustrous against the dark taffeta of my dress.

George brushed my cheek with a kiss. “Your beauty puts them to shame, but I’m glad you like them.” Then, as if just noticing that Clarence and Lizzie were there, he said, “Hullo there, Clare. Liz.”

Clarence pressed his lips tight, and Lizzie gave him a lukewarm greeting, their rigid sense of convention no doubt ruffled by George’s flamboyance.

Behind him, Henry stepped out and glanced at me from behind his dark fringe of hair. “Hello, Margaret,” he said, his tone almost as formal as Clarence’s. Though Henry worked as a clerk for a lawyer in Boston, he was restless and not suited to the life of an office man. Neither was he suited to the sea, though. “I suppose I should have brought you a gift, but I am not so courteous as George. Did you enjoy the book of poems I sent you last month?”

In truth, I had forgotten about the book, and had yet to open it. But before I could tell him as much, Mother was ushering us into the good sitting room, ordering me to let Molly know to bring us lemonade.

When I returned, everyone had made themselves comfortable. “Well, I have some news,” George said, leaning forward in his seat. “I’ve asked Ida Foster to marry me.”

Mother clapped her hands, and there was a murmur of surprise and approval from everyone.

“Oh, but, George, that’s wonderful!” I exclaimed, and he gave me a shy smile. Though I was not acquainted with the young lady, I had heard George speak fondly of her for months in his letters, and I’d had my suspicions that he’d set his cap at her.

Father nodded thoughtfully. “Well done, George,” he said, as if George had made a particularly savvy investment.

“She won’t mind that you’re away so often?” Clarence asked.

“Ida is a fine girl and understands the life. Besides, I daresay she’ll relish a little quiet time without me around.”

“Well, I think it’s marvelous,” Mother said. “You must pass on our regards to her parents, and of course we will host a celebratory luncheon for you both.”

“What about you, Henry?” my father asked. “When will we see you settled?”

Henry mumbled something and took a slow sip from his lemonade.

“Aren’t there any pretty girls in Boston that catch your eye?” Clarence asked with a mocking raise of his brow. Henry had never expressed any interest in girls, and it was a great source of ribbing for my other brothers.

Henry glowered at him, but did not say anything.

“Come now, that’s enough,” Mother said, reaching out to pat Henry’s hand. For reasons beyond my comprehension, Henry had always been Mother’s favorite, her pet.

There were more well-wishes, and Father led a toast. Molly brought in a tray of little sandwiches, and everyone seemed to overlook the dark cloud that was hanging over Henry.

After Father took out the cigars, and Mother and Lizzie were busy discussing colors for the nursery, I went outside to bring Shadow some scraps. My parents didn’t tolerate him inside, but sometimes I would sneak him into my bedroom at night so that he might sleep in my bed with me.

The warm air felt heavenly on my face, and I wished that I was not so encased in taffeta and stiff lace so that I might feel more of it on my skin. Birds sang from the flowering apple trees, and clusters of blue irises swayed in the breeze. It was too nice a day for stuffy conversation and to be sitting inside sipping from crystal cups.

Shadow rose from where he had been lounging under the apple tree and greeted me with a wagging tail, eagerly snapping up the ham. When he was done, he flopped over and I obliged him by rubbing his belly. “Good boy, sweet boy,” I murmured. “Don’t let the rabbits get too fat,” I told him. “They’ve already eaten all my parsley.” Shadow gave me a withering look; he was the best of companions and loyal to a fault, but guard dog he was not.

Rising, I found Henry leaned up against the wall, sulking and smoking a cheroot. I joined him. “Why aren’t you inside with everyone else?” I asked. “Aren’t you happy for George?”

Henry scoffed. “Oh, yes,” he said, throwing his cheroot down and angrily stubbing it out with his heel. “How can I not be happy for George? The golden child.”

“Don’t be sour,” I said. “It’s not becoming on you.”

Henry’s dark eyes flashed. “Don’t pretendyouare happy, Margaret.”

“Of course I’m happy. Just as I would be happy if you were to announce an engagement.”

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