Chapter 10

The meal was almost over when Anne spoke for the first time. "Billy Fields was here today, Father. He lost an arm in a fight up near Philadelphia, on the Brandywine, his left arm." She licked her lips, thinking how to proceed, smiling inwardly.

"Poor boy. That's a shame. His father died a while back didn't he?"

Anne nodded and put down her fork, folded her napkin and placed it on the tablecloth, gathering her nerve. "He's still in the army, Washington's army."

"Your age isn't he?"

"Yes Father, he is. I wrote to him as I had promised I would. I wrote him several letters, perhaps a dozen or more."

"Good, good. Did he write you? The mails are very uncertain now you know."

"He did. He wrote me regularly he said, had friends bring them down and deliver them right to the house, to this house, father." She turned and looked at her stepmother at the other end of the table. "But I received only one of his letters. He got none of mine, and your wife can explain that to you, sir, if you will excuse me." She stood and left quickly, fearing he would see her tears.

Anne was sitting in her room a half-hour later, an open but unread novel on her lap, the cat beside her with its front paws folded inward, when her father entered and said, "Don't get up." He sat on the side of her bed, grasped his hands between his knees and licked his lips. "What she did was wrong, very wrong."

Anne nodded and inhaled. The cat squinted as she gently petted its back.

"She refuses to apologize to you, but she has begged my forgiveness."

The girl swallowed and looked away.

"She says she thought she was doing what was right, protecting you from possible harm."

Anne nodded and swallowed her retort, her anger. There was, she decided, nothing to add.

"I don't know what else to say, my dear."

"Thank you, Father." Anne wiped at her nose and then petted the cat's head. "I will not mention it again."

"Good. I know you were hurt. And I'm sure you are angry. But I do want you to forgive."

"Billy and I are friends. We may be more than friends."

Her father frowned and waited.

"I think I love him, Father. I might. I am not sure, not sure at all, and I'm not going to do anything stupid, honestly, but maybe I do love him. I feel something strange, I know that." She took a deep breath. "He is special to me, very special."

"Are you sure you're not just feeling sorry for him, I mean about his arm and all?"

He nodded, eyes closed, hands trembling.

"I was that worried."

"I'm sure. I understand," he father said very quietly.

"But I'm not sure, Father. I mean, how do I know?"

Her father stood and smiled. "It is a mystery, my dear, a deep, dark and unsolvable mystery."

It's more than that, thought Anne, seeking a better word and finding perplexity which wasn't quite right either. It used to be so simple. Perhaps it is an enigma. She tried it aloud and smiled. She liked the idea of Billy being part of an enigma. The cat closed her eyes.