Olivia asking whether girls cost more to keep alive.
I lifted my head.
‘My daughters have value,’ I said.
Margaret struck me.
The slap caught the side of my face.
The silver tray tipped from my hands.
Coffee spilled across the tablecloth, and porcelain cups shattered against the marble floor.
The dining hall went silent.
Margaret drew herself up.
‘You see what I deal with?’ she told the guests.
‘She always becomes hysterical when corrected.’
A chair moved near the windows.
Richard Bennett stood.
‘Corrected?’ he asked.
His voice was quiet enough that everyone had to stop moving to hear it.
Margaret attempted a laugh.
‘Richard, this is a private family matter.’
‘You struck a woman in front of forty witnesses.’
‘Emily is family.
She needs firm boundaries.’
Richard looked at my reddening cheek, then at the broken cups.
‘Is she employed by your household?’
Margaret hesitated.
‘Of course not.
She’s my daughter-in-law.’
‘Then why is she serving this luncheon?’
‘Because we all contribute.’
He turned toward me.
‘Emily, are you paid for your work?’
I shook my head.
‘Where do you live?’
My throat tightened.
‘In the room beside the laundry.’
A woman near the fireplace lowered her champagne glass.
Richard’s expression hardened.
‘And where are your children?’
‘Upstairs.’
‘Can they come down?’
I looked toward Margaret.
‘Only she has the key.’
The silence changed.
It was no longer the uncomfortable quiet of people witnessing a family argument.
It was the sudden recognition that something far more serious was happening.
Richard turned toward the household security supervisor.
‘Please bring the children down.
Their mother wants them here.’
Margaret protested immediately.
‘Those children are being disciplined!’
‘For what?’ Richard asked.
She had no answer.
The supervisor glanced at the donors, then reluctantly approached Margaret for the key.
Several agonizing minutes passed.
I stood gripping the edge of the service table, afraid Margaret would find a way to punish my children before they reached me.
Then I heard footsteps on the staircase.
Olivia appeared first.
She held Grace’s hand.
Grace held Lily’s.
Their sweaters were thin, and Lily had gone barefoot because one of her shoes had disappeared beneath the guest-room bed.
Richard watched them cross the marble floor.
He took off his charcoal jacket and bent down, wrapping it around the three little girls together.
‘Are you their mother?’ he asked me gently.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want to leave?’
I looked at Margaret.
For three years, she had decided where we slept, what we ate, when we spoke, and how much dignity we were permitted to keep.
‘Yes,’ I answered.
Richard nodded.
‘Then they’re leaving with me, with your permission.
All four of you.’
Margaret made an outraged sound.
But Richard had stopped listening.
His gaze had fallen on Olivia’s sleeve.
The little blue bird she had stitched there was crooked, with one wing slightly longer than the other.
He crouched closer.
‘Where did you learn to make that bird?’
Olivia looked frightened.
‘I made it myself.’
Richard’s expression changed.
‘Are you the little girl who wrote to me?’
Olivia’s eyes widened.
‘I thought you got my letter.’
Richard asked his assistant for a brown envelope.
When he opened it, I recognized Olivia’s handwriting immediately.
She had addressed it to the hospital man after seeing Richard’s photograph on Margaret’s invitations.
