WE’D BEEN BACK AT LIVINGSTON for a month when the opportunity to approach Father with my long-delayed questions finally presented itself. We were sitting in the library that evening, the fireplace crackling and popping, washing the room in a cozy, welcoming glow. A lover of chess, Father studied the board, his chin resting in his hand as he calculated his next move. I considered the man before me; he’d spent more time lately doing right by me than wrong. He had softened, and the change made me want to do my part to mend the years of hurt and dysfunction between us.

My eyes traveled over the creases forged around the corners of his mouth and eyes. He was creeping up on sixty years. Did he ever relax? I regarded his rigid posture. Until lately, I’d never seen him laugh or find any enjoyment in life. He consistently exuded authority and had been serious and guarded for as long as I could remember. He’d provided me with all the worldly possessions a girl could want, but he held his feelings and love at arm’s length.

“Willow, it’s your turn.”

“Oh, sorry.” I dropped my eyes to study the board.

“Care to share what has tied up your mind?”

I picked up my rook and moved it to take his open bishop. “It’s nothing. I was thinking of life and how it is playing out.”

“If you could change something in your life, what would you change?” He tentatively held my gaze.

I fought the urge to squirm. Here was my opening.

“I would want to know of my mother,” I said, my voice strained. “Please, Father, give me this bit of peace,” I implored him, my eyes fastened on his. I noticed the change in them at my request. I tensed in anticipation of another rejection.

Father leaned back, inhaling deeply, and his eyes met mine. He clasped his hands under his chin, resting his index fingers on his lips as if pondering what he would say. Anxiety built in the space between us and pounded in my ears.

“Your mother and I grew up together. She was an only child to John and Grace Shaw, your grandparents. Your grandparents had your mother later in life and they doted on her. She was educated and smart. John sent her to the best school. The one I decided to send you to.”

My heart fluttered in surprise at his words. We had attended the same school. But why? Why would he keep her from me, only to allow me to have this connection with her?

Father smiled in admiration as he envisioned my mother. He began to reveal the knowledge I’d yearned for all my life. “She could hold her own, much like you. She had a mind of her own and never backed down from anyone. Though pampered and spoiled by your grandparents, your mother remained humble and kind. She touched the lives of so many. She was intoxicating in her charm and didn’t have to demand the attention of a room. She had a rare beauty. Your mother was physically beautiful, but her true beauty radiated from the inside out.” His gaze grew even more distant, lost in time, and a smile transformed his face.

He loved her. I was certain of it now. But why the secrets? Why had he banned all knowledge of her from my life?

He shifted in his seat. Continue, I demanded in my head, and he did.

“You are the replica of her.” His eyes glinted with respect for her as he rested his gaze on me. “You have her beauty, and in you lies her spirit. You are everything that was pure about her. You also have her stubbornness and her determination to set the world right.” His voice broke and the heartache he’d kept caged for so long began to escape.

I wanted to go to him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him. To give and find comfort. To be united in our grief and longing for a woman we both loved. But the years between us held me back. Instead I asked, “Father, what happened to my mother?”

Shocked, he whipped his head up. “You were told what happened. Why would you ask?”

“Yes, you told me she died of yellow fever, but there have been rumors…”

A sharp knock distracted him from his response. We looked toward the doorway. Jones stood in the passage outside the room. There was no denying the sheer relief that swept over Father’s face.

Angry at the disturbance, I glared at Jones. “What is it, Jones?”

“Evening, Miss Willow. Sir, I need to speak to you about a matter in the quarters.” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

“Very well, Jones,” Father replied, standing eagerly to make his departure. “Please excuse me, daughter.” He walked briskly toward the doorway.

“But…Father,” I cried after him as I saw my mother fade before my eyes. Father disappeared without a second thought for me. No! Hopelessness swept through me. The tightly woven secrets Father had wrapped my mother in were threatening my sanity.