A sleep and lost in a dense fog of disturbing dreams, Throckmorton searched for the perfect costume. He wandered into vast closets trying on kings’ crowns and jesters’ caps. A fairy with gauzy green wings draped a white ermine cape across his shoulders. A hunchbacked hangman slipped a noose around his neck.
Then, the scratch of a match.
Throckmorton sensed the presence of someone lurking in Annaliese’s room.
He snapped awake.
In the dim candlelight, two figures hovered over Annaliese’s bed: Judge Easterling, his overcoat unbuttoned; and Miss Pine, her chenille bathrobe drawn tightly shut.
Annaliese’s breathing made a steady whoosh, whoosh, whoosh in and out, out and in. Throckmorton lay in her arms, which felt as thin as twigs.
The judge looked haggard; he hadn’t shaved. He spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Explain, Miss Pine. I don’t understand what’s gone on here.”
“The fever has passed. Her lungs are clear. She suffers from a slight cough, but that’s to be expected.”
“Good grief.”
“We did our best, sir.”
The judge looked rattled.
“What next?” He heaved a deep sigh. “My house has been taken over by relatives whom I don’t like. It’s decorated like a Barnum and Bailey circus. And now this: my own daughter whom I barely recognize.”
Miss Pine stood as strong as the sturdy trunk of a tall tree. “Give it time, sir,” she urged, keeping her voice low. “Now that you’re home, you’ll see. Annaliese will soon be her old self again. And before you know it, the party will be over.”
“Well, if those loopy sisters of mine think that I’m wearing a costume to my grandmother’s ninetieth birthday party on Valentine’s Day . . . they’re badly mistaken.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Miss Pine apologized. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place.”
Briefly she stepped out of the room and returned with her hands hidden behind her back. “Speaking of costumes . . .”
“I’d rather not.”
“Here,” she said softly, placing Miss Beatrice into the judge’s arms.
“What’s this?”
“Your sock monkey.”
The pattern of Annaliese’s breathing changed. Throckmorton could tell that she’d wakened, but she didn’t open her eyes.
Miss Pine’s fingers grazed Miss Beatrice’s tartan shawl. “I made a new outfit for her, for the party.”
The judge fell silent.
Bits and pieces of Throckmorton’s stuffing turned to knots. Had Miss Pine overstepped her bounds?
The judge held Miss Beatrice close to the lit candle. The golden flame illuminated his sock monkey’s transformation. Miss Beatrice’s jingle bell eyes tinkled sweetly.
Cracks appeared in the judge’s frozen face. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Thank you . . . for everything.”
The radiator clanked, promising steam heat to scare away the chill of a winter’s night.
Judge Easterling and Miss Pine stood at Annaliese’s bedside—each waiting, or so it seemed, for the other to say good night.
Miss Beatrice filled the space between them.
Annaliese’s fingers twitched. She raised one of her eyelids ever-so-slightly.
The judge made his next move awkwardly. He took one step forward . . . held out his left arm . . .
And then . . .
Egad!
He hugged Miss Pine!
Not very tightly . . . but even so . . .
Annaliese’s body tensed. She stifled the sound that almost escaped from her mouth.
Trapped within their clumsy embrace, Miss Beatrice beamed.
Miss Beatrice S. Monkey: Sock Monkey Matchmaker!
Throckmorton waited for the inevitable. Annaliese’s nanny would blush, turn, and walk away.
But Miss Pine didn’t flinch.
“I’m sorry,” the judge murmured, pulling back. His face was as scarlet as a sock monkey’s smile.
“No need,” said Miss Pine.
“It’s just that . . .”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“After such a long trip . . . coming home to chaos . . . seeing Annaliese sick like this . . . I’m not, I’m not thinking straight.”
Miss Pine patted the pom-pom on Miss Beatrice’s tam. “Let’s agree to agree that the sock monkey made you do it, shall we?”
The shamefaced judge smiled.
Miss Pine traced the outline of Miss Beatrice’s newly repaired smile. “They’re highly contagious.”
“Indeed,” he replied.
Throckmorton grimaced. What was Miss Pine thinking?
Just a few short weeks ago, Judge Easterling couldn’t even recall her name!
Annaliese rolled over, rustling her bedcovers.
Quickly, Miss Pine straightened her spine, dusted the front of her robe, smoothed the collar, and tightened the sash. “I’m glad you like her, sir.”
“Are you coming to Great-Grandmama’s birthday party, Miss Pine?”
“Yes—I mean, no.” She looked off to the side. “I’ll be working, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And about Annaliese, sir . . . her cousins, Petra’s daughters, arrived this afternoon. I’ve invited them to a tea party tomorrow in Annaliese’s room,” she explained. “I thought it would be a good idea for her to spend time with girls her own age.”
A tea party? Throckmorton grumbled to himself.
Annaliese should be putting his costume together, not wasting precious time at tea parties.
Miss Pine lifted the candle snuffer and extinguished the flame.
“Annaliese doesn’t want to wear a costume either—I’m not sure why,” she told the judge. “I’m hoping she’ll change her mind.”
A wisp of smoke rose into the charged air.
“Like father, like daughter, it seems.”
“Perhaps you’ll change your mind, too, sir.”
“Absolutely not.”
He headed toward the door with a shudder. “I’ve never liked pretending that I’m someone else.”
“No, sir. Indeed not, sir,” Miss Pine agreed.