MUCH CHANGED
Setting out to cross the channel, Amala was exhausted and aching from the long carriage rides with little rest between stops. They had made fairly good time, but her body certainly felt the effects of their hasty journey. The fatigue and sore muscles seemed a tangible manifestation of the concern and worry consuming her mind. Paulina had cautioned her more than once not to leap to assumptions that would only cause her grief when she had no idea what might actually be taking place at home. But Paulina couldn’t deny that she too felt something was not as it should be.
Crossing the channel felt soothing to Amala, even though she felt somewhat impatient with how long it took. Still, being able to walk about the ship was far better than being confined to a carriage rumbling over bumpy roads. As soon as they arrived in England, they were quickly whisked into yet another carriage with more miles of hasty travel, being jostled about on seats that were not terribly comfortable under the best of circumstances.
When the hired carriage finally drove onto her family’s land, Amala could hardly breathe for all of the relief she felt at having the journey behind them, the concern she had for whatever might be wrong, and the fear of her initial reunion with Henry and Kat.
“We should arrive in plenty of time to have tea with the family,” Paulina announced. Amala just stared out the window, taking in scenery that hadn’t changed even a tiny bit through all the time she’d been away. As the house came into view, her joy at returning home soothed her concerns, and she could only think how glad she would be to see everyone, and to sleep in her own bed, and to spend her days in this place that was her truest home.
Only a minute after the carriage halted in front of the house, servants whom Amala knew well came out the door to investigate their unexpected arrival. They were pleased to see Amala and Paulina, and she was certainly pleased to see them.
While the luggage was being unloaded, Viola rushed out the door, exclaiming with a combined burst of laughter and tears, “Is it true? Is it really true?”
Amala didn’t have time to answer before her mother embraced her tightly, not letting go, vacillating between her ongoing tears and expressions of joy. Amala held to her mother fiercely, knowing now that she’d not fully acknowledged how very much she’d missed her family. She was glad she’d come home earlier than planned and wished that she hadn’t waited so long.
Oliver came out the door with a similar reaction to that of Viola, stealing Amala away from her mother’s embrace only to hold her even more tightly. “Oh, my precious girl!” he said close to her ear. “We have all missed you so very much!”
“And I you,” she said, looking up at him. “It’s good to be home.”
“I am very glad of it,” Oliver said and smiled. “You have grown even more beautiful, if that’s possible.”
“Indeed, she has,” Viola said with her arm still around Paulina following the embrace they’d shared. Oliver laughed when he saw his sister and hugged her tightly as well.
They all went into the house while Viola was telling Amala and Paulina that they should go to their rooms and freshen up. She said they would all gather for tea in a couple of hours and be able to catch up on all the news. Amala hoped some of that news wouldn’t be whatever awful thing might be going on—the nature of which she couldn’t possibly imagine. Her parents appeared to be in excellent health as always. That was a good sign.
Amala was nearly to the stairs when she heard Kat call her name and turned to see her coming from a side hallway. She looked very much the same except for the obvious evidence that she was pregnant. Her belly wasn’t terribly big, since she had months yet to go, but there was no hiding the fact. Amala was taken aback for only a quick second by the thought that this was Henry’s baby; then she focused on her sweet reunion with her sister.
“Oh, Amala,” Kat said softly, her voice quivering as they walked toward each other, coming together with an embrace that felt as if they were twins who had been joined in the womb and their being reunited now took them back somehow to that crucial and essential bond. They touched each other’s faces and wiped each other’s tears while Amala considered the evidence that Kat seemed well and strong, which alleviated one more source of Amala’s concern.
With their parents and Paulina looking on, Kat and Amala talked for a few minutes, throwing questions at each other and trying to answer them in a way that made their conversation a jumble that just ended in laughter and a declaration that they had a great deal they needed to talk about and plenty of time to do it.
Amala was relieved at the evidence that everything seemed fine with her sister and her parents, and her concerns shifted as she asked, “Where is Henry? Is he—”
“Oh, he’s just outside the west parlor, near the garden,” Kat reported. “He likes to read there in the afternoon sun. You must go and say hello to him.”
Amala quickly debated whether to do so now or wait until she’d had a chance to freshen up. She decided she didn’t want to dread it any longer and said, “I think I’ll hurry and just let him know we’re here.” Keenly aware of the dramatic change of circumstances and wanting to maintain perfect propriety, she took hold of Kat’s hand. “You’ll come with me?”
“Oh, you don’t need me,” Kat said with a little laugh. “I confess that I was on my way to get a little something to eat; I’m feeling a bit nauseated.”
Amala scanned the other faces of her family members, wondering how to ask if someone would come with her, but Oliver declared with a grin, “Just go and surprise him and we’ll see you at tea.”
Paulina offered a nod of encouragement, as if she believed this would be better; and Paulina was the only one who knew everything about her history with Henry. Amala wasn’t certain she agreed, but she didn’t want to behave awkwardly and draw any undue attention to her angst.
“Very well,” Amala said. “I’ll see you all in a while, then.”
Amala walked slowly toward the west parlor, where she knew that doors opened onto a large patio that bordered the garden. She had often enjoyed the afternoon sun there herself. She entered the open door into the room, her footsteps completely silent on the carpet. She stopped when Henry came into view, lounging comfortably in one of the chairs that always remained on the patio during the summer months. Just the mere sight of him caused Amala to catch her breath. He looked different, but that was easily credited to the neatly trimmed beard on his face and the fact that she’d never seen him dressed that way before. She was glad to have a minute to take it all in while he was unaware of her presence. She found it funny that she could clearly recall how much she’d loved him and how difficult it had been to adjust to dissecting herself from his life and then to accept his marriage to her sister. But she could honestly say that her feelings were even more controlled and proper than she’d believed possible. Now that she was here, she knew that everything would be all right and, perhaps more importantly, that everything was as it should be—for all of them.
Amala finally stepped through the open doorway onto the patio, saying quietly, “Hello, Henry.”
“Amala!” he said with a gasp of surprise as he stood and turned and dropped his book all in a matter of seconds.
“Forgive me for startling you,” she said as their eyes met and memories flooded over her. He said nothing, and she could imagine him contending with the same memories. For a moment she feared he might revert to the kind of interaction they’d once shared when they were alone together, which would have been completely inappropriate for a married man. But it only took a second for her to realize that his countenance and demeanor expressed nothing but friendship and the love of a brother—just as it should. There was not even the tiniest hint of the attraction he’d once exhibited so readily. He’d changed, and Amala was glad to realize that she felt nothing of the awkwardness she had feared might be present between them.
“Amala,” he said again with a breathy laugh and hugged her tightly but briefly, the way he had done many times during his visits to her home when they had been around other people and they had wanted their relationship to appear as it had now become, like a brother and sister, like the dearest of friends. “You’re really here,” he added, stepping back to fully take her in with his eyes.
“I really am,” she said and took him in as well. “What is this?” she asked, momentarily touching the cream-colored linen fabric of his sleeve. He was wearing clothing she had commonly seen worn by men in India, which was a linen shirt that hung loosely down to his hips over the top of loose-fitting trousers of the same fabric. He wore sandals on his feet. “I never saw you dress like this.”
“You never came to my home. I’ve dressed like this while at home for over a decade, Amala. It’s not as practical here in England during the colder months, but during the summer I find it quite accommodating.”
“Well, it suits you,” she said and smiled.
“We weren’t expecting you for at least a couple of months yet,” he said and motioned her toward a chair. “Why the surprise?”
Amala didn’t want to explain their reasons for hurrying home, nor did she want to sit and visit with him right now. “We just decided it was time to come home,” she explained. “I need to freshen up before tea. I just . . . wanted to say hello and . . . let you know we’re here.”
“It’s so good to see you, Amala. I’m very glad you came back early, and I know that Kat will be all the better with your company.”
The way he said it prompted Amala to ask without thinking about whether or not she should, “Is something wrong?”
Amala’s heart quickened when she realized she had expected him to assure her that everything was fine, but she immediately saw something very contrary to that in his eyes. She found no comfort when he said gravely, “That is a conversation you need to have with Kat.”
Amala heard herself gasp as the implication of his words settled in. “Henry, you’re scaring me.”
He looked down abruptly, as if he had no reassurance to offer her on that count either.
“Henry?” she pleaded, glad to feel as comfortable in his presence as she once had.
“Please,” he said, “just . . . talk to Kat.” He reluctantly lifted his eyes to meet hers, and Amala gasped again to see clearly in his expression that he was not only upset about whatever she needed to talk to Kat about, but that he was also terrified.
Amala didn’t bother saying another word before she rushed into the house and up the stairs, going to her rooms for only a few minutes, barely long enough to ensure that she could be comfortable, before she went to Kat’s room and knocked at the door, wondering if she still used the same room now that her husband had moved into the house with her.
“Come in,” she heard Kat call softly, and Amala opened the door to see Kat resting on the bed. “Oh, I was hoping it would be you!” Kat grinned and held out a hand toward Amala, who hurried to sit on the edge of the bed and take Kat’s hand.
“Are you unwell?” Amala asked, recalling now her mention of feeling nauseous.
Kat laughed softly. “I have all the normal symptoms of pregnancy,” she said and went on to share details of the nausea, which was improving but had been dreadful the first couple of months. She talked of needing to always keep food in her stomach and said she never went to bed without making certain there was something within reach on the bedside table that she could eat the moment she woke up. She talked of her excessive fatigue and of how she couldn’t get through the day without a nap and was going to bed much earlier than usual. Kat told Amala she’d had some occasional light-headedness as well, but she assured Amala that the doctor had told her all of these things were a completely normal part of pregnancy. But Amala wondered what Kat wasn’t telling her. Whatever it was, she needed to know. She had to understand what she’d seen in Henry’s countenance that made her feel cold from the inside out just recalling it.
“Kat,” Amala said carefully, “is something else wrong? Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
“Why would you ask me that?” Kat asked with a hint of defensiveness, and Amala knew she was trying to keep something from her.
While Amala was trying to come up with a reasonable way to explain all of the different hints she’d accumulated that let her know there was a problem, the door opened and Henry came in. He didn’t look surprised to see Amala there, but he did say, “Forgive me if I’m intruding. I’ll leave the two of you alone to talk if you prefer.”
“We’re just chatting,” Kat said, reaching her free hand toward him.
Amala mentally adjusted to the dramatic changes that had taken place as she observed the way Henry kissed Kat on the forehead before he took her hand and sat on the opposite side of the bed from Amala.
Amala took full advantage of having Henry there as her ally. She knew he wanted her to get answers from Kat, but she’d also just realized that Kat was not eager to be forthcoming. With Henry in the room, perhaps she could get the information she needed.
“Kat was just telling me about all the undesirable symptoms of pregnancy,” Amala said. “It sounds rather challenging.”
“But well worth it,” Kat said, smiling at Henry.
“Although I get the feeling there is something else going on,” Amala said, keeping her gaze keenly on her sister. “Something she doesn’t want to tell me.”
“And again I ask,” Kat said to Amala, “why you would ask me that? Why would you think that?”
“I’m your sister,” Amala said. “There are a number of reasons I just feel that something isn’t right, Paulina’s extra sense being one of them.”
“Is that why you came home early? Paulina’s extra sense?” Kat sounded mildly angry, which Amala saw as another sign that she was attempting to hide something.
“Mother wrote and asked if we might come home earlier than planned. She said nothing about a problem, but her request did make me wonder if something was wrong. Paulina sensed that there was. So here we are. In spite of my absence, I am a part of this family, and I know when something isn’t right. And I know you better than anyone. I know you’re married now, but I’m your sister, and we have been together practically our entire lives. So talk to me.”
Kat looked toward the wall in a way that clearly indicated she didn’t want to look at—or talk to—either one of them. In a slightly huffy voice she said, “I just don’t want anyone making a fuss. I’m certain it’s nothing to worry about.”
Amala was startled not only by how quickly Henry retorted but by his mildly angry tone of voice. “I don’t know if this is some kind of misguided bravery or if you’re just not facing up to the truth. We’ve talked about this, Kat. Whether or not you truly believe it’s nothing to worry about, the rest of us are worried. Amala is your sister. She deserves to know the facts, and then she can decide whether or not she should be worried. Your pretending that everything is fine and normal will not make it so.”
Amala saw Kat squeeze her eyes closed as if to block out what Henry had just said. Amala exchanged a glance with Henry and saw something in his expression that she knew all too well. She felt a little nauseous herself as she reexamined the expression in his eyes when he turned to look at his wife. And sure enough, it was true. Henry’s heart was breaking. But there was more anger than sorrow in his voice when he said to Kat, “If you won’t tell her, I will.” Amala could easily sense that his anger was an attempt to cover his sorrow, but she knew him well enough to see the truth.
Kat sighed and opened her eyes, but she didn’t look at either of them as she said, “I’ve had a little bump for a long time, and it’s gotten a bit bigger.”
“A little bump?” Henry countered. “A bit bigger? Show it to her.” Kat obviously didn’t want to, and he added, “Your parents have seen it. She’s your sister,” he reminded her again. “Show it to her. She has a right to know.”
With an exasperated sigh, Kat rolled more onto her back, pulling up her dress with one hand while she pushed down the drawstring waist of her petticoat and drawers with the other to expose her belly. Amala was distracted for only a moment by the thought of Kat doing so in Henry’s presence. The evidence of their marital status was quickly sinking in, but Amala was more concerned by this bump she was about to see. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but she sucked in a sharp breath and very nearly let out an expletive that she knew no lady would ever utter. Low on the side of Kat’s pregnant belly, just above her hipbone, was a protrusion about the size of an orange but distorted in shape.
“What is it?” Amala demanded.
“It’s just . . . a bump,” Kat insisted. “I’ve had it for years. And it didn’t hurt at all until it started . . . getting bigger.”
Amala sensed Henry’s frustration rising, and something close to panic began to erupt inside of her. She waited to let him handle this, mostly because she didn’t know what to say. She wondered for a moment if he might express his anger toward Kat, and she felt momentarily caught between them. She could understand Henry’s anger over Kat’s apparent flippancy about something that was obviously serious, but she would never want her sister’s husband to be unkind to his wife. She reminded herself that—in spite of how long she’d been away—she should have known Henry better than to believe him capable of such a thing. She’d certainly seen him frustrated, and even angry, but she couldn’t fathom him being unkind.
Henry proved her right when he let out a long sigh and spoke to Kat gently. “Forgive my frustration, my darling; I’m just worried. We all are. And Amala needs to know what’s going on. Whatever you might believe, we know what the doctor has said, and we can’t pretend that the situation is otherwise.”
“I know this is difficult for you,” Kat said to Henry, “but nothing is more important right now than this baby, and that’s what I choose to think about.” She glanced at Amala and added, “You can tell her what she needs to know. I don’t want to hear it again.”
The implications of all Amala had heard—and seen—pressed the panic in her closer to the surface. Fearing that she might say something that sounded unkind, she hurried out of the room but didn’t get very far, since her legs had become shaky and she felt a little dizzy. She took hold of a balcony railing with both hands and tried to catch her breath while questions and assumptions whirled in her mind. She could hear herself breathing hard and fast and tried to focus on drawing each breath slowly in and then out in order to calm down—which was the reason she didn’t hear Henry approaching until he was standing next to her, putting his hands on the railing in the same manner, as if he too needed something to hold on to.
A minute or more passed and he said nothing, which made Amala wonder if he was searching for the right words or waiting for her to ask. When the silence began to feel torturous, she finally found the will to speak her most urgent thought. “So . . . my mother asked me to come home early because . . . that thing . . . whatever it is . . . will eventually . . . kill her?”
“The doctor didn’t ever say that exactly,” Henry said.
“What exactly did the doctor say?” Amala countered. “You said I needed to know.”
Henry sighed loudly. “The growth—which is what Dr. Cowell calls it—was there when we got married. It was significantly smaller. Kat told me it had been there for a couple of years and it didn’t hurt and was nothing to worry about. More than once I encouraged her to have a doctor at least look at it, but she insisted that it was surely nothing. When I noticed that it was getting bigger, I insisted she see a doctor. We argued about it numerous times.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Your sister is a stubborn woman, Amala.”
“And you’re wise enough to have known that when you married her.”
“Yes, of course. It’s actually one of the things I love about her. But I never believed her stubbornness could be an issue regarding something like this. I finally had her convinced to see a doctor when she started getting pregnancy symptoms. And with a doctor coming to attend to her pregnancy, it was easy to seek out his opinion. He was immediately concerned, and he did a procedure to remove a small sample of whatever is inside of the growth.”
“That sounds dreadful!” Amala said, certain it must have been painful for Kat.
“It wasn’t as bad as we’d expected it to be; it was over very quickly.” Henry turned and leaned back against the railing, folding his arms over his chest. “He had the sample tested in a laboratory and told us it was undoubtedly a cancerous growth. In essence, he explained that these things can behave very differently from patient to patient, depending on where the growths show up; it’s very unpredictable, except for one thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“If it cannot be removed and it gets out of control, it will eventually lead to death—most often a difficult and painful death.”
“So, he did say it would kill her?”
“Not in those exact words, but the implications were clear. With the size of the growth and the fact that it is now causing Kat pain, he believes it’s far too late to attempt removing it, which would only be a difficult operation with a painful recovery, and he’s certain they could never remove enough of it to keep it from growing. From the descriptions of Kat’s pain, he believes it’s . . .”
“What?” Amala insisted when his pause lasted far too long; then she realized he was struggling to maintain his composure. She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him so they could cry together. And even though she absolutely knew there was no motive in her desire except for their common love of Kat, she also knew it would never be appropriate—especially given the history they shared. Instead she gently touched his arm.
Henry cleared his throat loudly and kept his face turned away. “As I understand it, the pain is an indication that the cancer is . . . destroying bone and muscle.”
“Oh, good heavens!” Amala said and again took hold of the railing tightly.
Following another lengthy silence, Henry cleared his throat again and said, “I sent for a doctor from London who specializes in cancer. I had no reason to believe our local doctor wasn’t right; he’s bright and competent. But he actually encouraged me to seek out another opinion, feeling perhaps there were things a specialist might know that he didn’t. This doctor concurred in every respect.”
Amala again became aware of her breathing. Her sister was dying. She heard—as if from a distance—Henry telling her they had no idea how long it would be or how much she might suffer. Henry had obviously become well-educated on the disease with the way he repeated facts and statistics from his long conversations with the doctors with whom he’d consulted. Sometimes there were miracles and people held on for years. But he also said that sometimes—when a person was in a great deal of pain—the miracle could be not holding on at all. Kat had a strong will to live; he spoke of her courage and dignity over the matter with the exception of rare moments when she had broken down over the fact that this had happened to her.
“She feels cheated,” Henry said. “We dreamed of having many children and growing old together.” He coughed in a way that indicated once again his struggle for composure. “I feel cheated too.”
“And the baby?” Amala asked and wiped a hand over her face as tears fell there.
“There’s no way of knowing. So far everything seems fine. Kat can feel it moving inside of her. But Dr. Cowell said the growth could be at least as big inside as what we can see. I think the question is which will grow faster. If the baby can reach full term without the cancer invading the womb, then it should be fine. Of course, Kat’s priority is the baby. She doesn’t want to take anything for the pain, fearing it might harm the baby. She considers her life worthwhile if she can bring this child safely into the world.”
“But whether or not she can, she will still die,” Amala said and sniffled.
“Eventually.”
“I can’t believe it,” Amala muttered.
“I’ve known for months and I still can’t believe it.”
“One of you should have written to tell me . . . sooner than this.” Amala heard a tinge of anger in her own voice as she realized the opportunity to spend time with her sister was being measured in increments that were far too small.
“It’s not the kind of thing any of us wanted to tell you in a letter, but let’s just say that we all hoped with your mother’s request for you to come—and our faith in Paulina’s sense about such things—that you would come home. And you have.” He finally turned to look at her and added with solemnity, “You are such a strength to Kat; she loves you and admires you so very much. Your presence with her will help to keep her spirits up, and that will help all of us. You’re a strength to all of us, Amala—more than you will ever know. Even from a distance you have buoyed up your parents and your sister. I’ve seen how they light up when they talk about you and how your letters became the highlight of their lives. You need to know how your strength and courage are needed here, but at the same time you need to know that you don’t have to be strong all the time. This is at least as difficult for you as it is for anyone else, and it’s all right to admit that.”
“You sound as if you know me so well,” she said in a tone that was a sore attempt to lighten the mood.
“Don’t I?”
“As I know you,” she said.
“Yes, you do.”
Amala sighed and asked a question she’d always worried about—ever since she’d received word that Henry and Kat were getting married. “Does she know . . . about us?”
“I never told her,” he said. “It’s in the past, and I believe you and I are both strong enough—and wise enough—to leave it there. But I never wanted Kat to have to wonder if I still carried those kind of feelings for you.”
Amala didn’t even have to ask if he did; she only had to look into his eyes to see that his love and devotion were centered wholly on Kat—as they should be. She was grateful, however, that they were comfortable enough with each other as friends to be able to talk as they were now.
“I agree,” Amala said. “It’s better that she doesn’t know.”
“Paulina knows?” Henry asked, and she wondered how long he’d wanted to ask her that question.
“Yes, she knows everything, but she would never break my confidence.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Henry said. “And just so you know . . . because I think it has to be said . . . I do sincerely believe now that this is how things were meant to turn out. This is what’s best—for everyone.”
“I agree with that as well,” Amala said, but she couldn’t put a voice to her next thought. He’d already admitted to feeling cheated out of the life he’d hoped to live with Kat. But it was evident he was still grateful for whatever amount of life he would have with her.
Suddenly overcome with far too much to think about and a storm of unvented tears, Amala hurried to say, “Thank you for telling me what I needed to know, Henry. I need some time alone. Please . . . let me know if there’s anything I can do to help Kat.”
“I will,” he said, and she walked briskly to her room, where she curled up on the bed and cried until her mother found her there and they cried together.
* * * *
Amala and her mother both managed to control their emotions enough to go down to tea. But the family gathering didn’t feel at all like old times. Paulina was there but Kat was not, since she was still resting. Oliver and Viola had given Paulina the horrible news while Amala and Henry had been talking; therefore, they were all able to talk about their feelings—something they likely couldn’t have done if Kat had been in the room. In fact, Viola came right out and said that Kat had asked that the subject not be brought up in her presence. She wanted to enjoy life while it lasted, and they all felt it was important to respect her wishes. So they would all do their grieving when Kat wasn’t around—and when she was, they would all pretend that nothing was wrong. It seemed like a horrible way for a family to live, Amala thought, but she couldn’t deny the wisdom in it. She’d just never believed that something like this could happen in her family, to her sister. And she also found it difficult to believe that Henry was here, in the very middle of the drama. When she’d been stewing about how it might be to adjust to living under the same roof with Henry, this was certainly not what she’d imagined.
Amala was understandably surprised when the woman who entered the drawing room to serve tea was Indian. And not only Indian, but dressed in traditional Indian clothing rather than the English clothing worn by the other servants in the household.
“Hello,” Amala said to her, which she hoped would ease any awkwardness over the fact that she knew she was staring at this woman. It was rare for Amala to come face-to-face with someone who shared her Indian blood, but to see this woman in her own home felt delightfully exciting.
The woman, who was somewhere between her own age and that of her mother, had lovely features and glossy black hair that she wore in a long braid that was hanging over the front of one shoulder. She paused after setting down the tray she’d been carrying and looked at Amala, smiling in response to the greeting she’d received.
“Memsahib,” the woman said, and Amala felt a thrill just to be addressed with that word. She knew it was a simple, respectful greeting offered to a woman, but the last time she’d heard the word had been in India, when she’d been nine years old. “Your family has spoken of you with great admiration.” She spoke with an accent far thicker than Amala’s. “It is a genuine pleasure to meet you at last.”
“It is a great pleasure to meet you,” Amala said and glanced at her parents, then Henry, then again at this lovely woman. “I assume my family will tell me what great miracle has transpired to bring you to my home.”
The woman smiled shyly, but she didn’t seem uncomfortable having conversation in the drawing room with the people she worked for. But, then, Amala would never expect her parents or Henry to make their employees feel anything less than comfortable.
“This is Lekha,” Oliver said with great pride. “She is as kind as she is competent and helpful. It’s been a joy to have her here. Lekha, it’s high time you finally meet our Amala.”
“Memsahib,” Lekha said again, nodding slightly.
“I think Lekha should tell you herself how she came to be here,” Oliver added. “Why don’t you sit down with us for a few minutes and briefly tell Amala your story; I’m certain the two of you will be getting better acquainted over time.”
“Thank you, sahib,” Lekha said to Oliver, offering perfect respect toward him, using the male version of the word she’d used to address Amala. Lekha was clearly appreciative of being asked to join the family for a few minutes and didn’t seem at all timid or embarrassed about doing so, but she still offered perfect respect for her employers. Amala already liked her, even though they’d barely met.
Lekha sat down and pressed her dark hands over the sari she wore, smoothing out the wrinkles on her lap. She looked directly at Amala as if she were equally happy to see another dark-faced woman. “In India I worked for Mr. Henry’s friend, Mr. Chit.” Amala tossed a quick smile toward Henry; she could see where this was likely heading, but she enjoyed the fact that in India Henry and his friend had chosen to be called such by their household servants. Lekha went on. “Mr. Henry had asked that when Mr. Chit returned to India, he might ask if any of us would like to come to England, where we could live and work for him. I was very grateful for the offer, since I have no family there, nor does my husband—who also worked for Mr. Chit—and we have often dreamed of coming to England. I am happy to say that I like it here very much. Mr. Henry and your family have been very kind to me.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” Amala said. “I do hope that you will indulge me whenever possible and we might talk of our homeland.”
“I would like that very much,” Lekha said. “Thank you, memsahib.”
“It’s lovely to hear such a word spoken here,” Amala said. “But you may call me Amala; there’s no need for such formality.”
“Miss Amala, then,” Lekha said, rising gracefully to her feet. She turned toward Viola, “Will there be anything else for now?”
“No, thank you, Lekha.”
Lekha nodded and left the room with the grace and beauty of a rare butterfly. For a long moment, Amala looked toward the door through which she’d exited, pondering how inexplicably soothed she felt by Lekha’s presence in the house. She turned to look at Henry, since the silence implied that everyone was waiting for her reaction. He looked positively pleased with himself, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“Aren’t you clever,” she said.
“It was never part of my plan to end up living in this home and bringing some of my servants with me,” Henry said. “But when it worked out that way, I can’t say it didn’t occur to me that it might be good for you to have people from India around you. . . whenever you finally chose to come home.”
“I’m ashamed I didn’t think of it before,” Oliver said. “Henry’s right; you should have people around you who might help you not feel so out of place—at least at home.”
“People?” Amala asked. “Lekha did say she’s married. Her husband is here, I assume.”
“Yes, and one other man,” Henry explained. “Ravi is Lekha’s husband, and a fine man. And Ravi’s father, Manik, is also with us. He actually assists in the kitchen since he originally worked as a cook in India and he has a distinct talent with culinary arts. You will soon discover that our menu has more variety now.”
“Yes, and it’s delightful,” Viola said. “I must echo my dear Oliver and say that I’m ashamed I didn’t think of such a thing myself a very long time ago. It’s Henry’s theory that while he prefers to live in England, there is much about India that he grew to love, and having elements of that world integrated into this one offers the best of both worlds.”
Oliver added, “When Henry and Kat were married, and he made the decision to sell his estate, most of the staff remained with the home, but he insisted these three must come with him because they were not only his personal responsibility but they helped enrich his life and he believed they could do the same for us. He was certainly right.”
“Your parents have been more than gracious,” Henry said, “not only in allowing me to make my home here but to humor me in making these changes to the household.”
“It’s been nothing but a blessing!” Viola insisted. “We’ve loved every minute you’ve spent in our home right from the start. And far better for you to be here than for us to rarely see our dear Kat.”
“It’s worked out marvelously,” Oliver declared, but his words were followed by a silence that became taut, as everyone was obviously thinking of the same thing but no one wanted to say it and break the lightness of the mood. Everything had worked out marvelously except for the fact that Kat was dying.
Amala was relieved when Paulina said with her typical enthusiasm, “Well, I think it’s absolutely marvelous!” She said to her brother in a teasing tone, “Shame on you for not bringing more of India here with you when you came back in the first place! It seems Henry is a good influence on you.”
“He is indeed.” Oliver chuckled.
Viola said with enthusiasm, “Henry also asked Chit to send many things from India. We have many new and wonderful spices in the kitchen, some beautiful decor about the house here and there, and we all have clothing from India should we choose to wear it.”
“I made it clear that I was not trying to impose my own preferences on anyone,” Henry said. “I was simply offering it as an option. As I told you, I find certain Indian dress much more comfortable, especially during the warmer months. And forgive my boldness, but—”
“Nothing to forgive,” Oliver interjected. “We like your boldness.” He chuckled. “As if you would hold back on our account.”
Henry and her parents all chuckled, and Amala assumed it had become somewhat of a joke among them.
Henry continued. “Well . . . I honestly don’t know how you ladies can survive in all those corsets and petticoats—especially when the weather is warm. As a gentleman I often feel strangled by the need for a waistcoat and a coat; not to mention needing to wear a tie in public, as well. I figure that at home we should all wear what is most comfortable.”
“I confess I’ve taken to it now and then,” Viola admitted. “There are some days when wearing a sari just suits my mood better, and it is certainly very comfortable.”
“I have conformed on occasion as well,” Oliver said as if it were a grave confession, but it was followed with a little burst of laughter.
“Kat prefers her traditional English wardrobe,” Viola said, “but, then . . . with the exception of Amala, she never did favor anything Indian. I suppose that’s because her memories of India are not good.”
“Each of us has the right to our own opinions,” Henry said. “And Kat has been very gracious about allowing me to make such changes in the household in spite of her aversion to some of them.”
Amala pondered the depth in what had just been said about Kat’s aversion to all things Indian—except for Amala. It was a strange kind of sisterhood they shared, given their unique history.
“I mentioned to Henry awhile back,” Oliver said, “that when you came back, my dear Amala, you might enjoy wearing more traditional Indian clothing that could be more to your liking.”
“I think I would enjoy that,” Amala said. It had certainly crossed her mind many times, but she’d never felt it would be appropriate to ask for such a favor.
“I confess I had Chit send some clothing specifically with you in mind,” Henry said. More lightly, he added, “And I’m certain Kat would be more than happy for you to take what I got for her off of her hands.”
“I hope there’s enough for me to try it out,” Paulina said.
“Of course.” Henry smiled at her. “That would be delightful.”
“Indeed it would,” Amala said, exchanging a warm glance with her aunt and best friend.
While they drank their tea and passed around the little cakes and biscuits Lekha had brought to the drawing room, the conversation remained more focused on lighter things—which meant steering it away from talk about Kat’s health. Amala and Paulina were encouraged to describe their travels, and Amala enjoyed the memories. She was also glad to hear that Paulina intended to stay at least until after the baby was born, declaring she didn’t want to miss such an event. Amala suspected that Paulina would likely stay and offer her gracious support to the family through whatever challenges they would face in regard to Kat’s illness. At least Amala hoped that was the case. She couldn’t imagine how she would ever get through this at all, but having Paulina around would inevitably make it easier. She was simply that kind of person.
That evening Kat came down to supper, apparently feeling fine and behaving very much like herself. Amala was relieved to note that it didn’t take much effort to settle into old habits of how it had been to be together as family prior to her leaving with Paulina, which made it fairly easy to pretend that everything was all right. In truth, Amala was glad to know they could share time together and talk and laugh with the prospect of creating good memories that would help carry them all through when Kat was no longer with them.
After supper Henry and Kat went for a walk in the garden, and Amala didn’t allow herself to even think about how it had been when she’d gone for long walks in the garden with this man she had once loved. She still loved him, but it had genuinely settled into a familial kind of love, and she felt no jealousy or regret—only sorrow to think of how brief Henry and Kat’s life together would be and to know how difficult all of this surely had to be for both of them.
With Henry and Kat gone, Amala was able to sit with Paulina and her parents and express her own shock and horror that hadn’t yet begun to settle in. She needed to talk about her feelings, and she was grateful for the support and compassion—and perfect empathy—of these people who loved her and cared for her more than anyone else.
Soon after Amala had gone to her room for the night, she answered a knock at her door to see Lekha standing there with beautiful, brightly colored fabrics draped over her arms. “Mr. Henry asked that I bring these to you. He hopes you will enjoy them.”
“Thank you,” Amala said and motioned Lekha into the room.
They chatted comfortably while Lekha showed Amala the saris in a variety of colors, as well as choli tops and many different choices of a skirt which Lekha referred to as a pavada, and also many scarves—all of which were used together in certain ways to create ensembles. Lekha proved her insight when she said, “Because you have lived in England since your childhood and have only worn English clothes, I am happy to help show you how to wear them.”
“I would be very grateful for that,” Amala said.
After Lekha had shown the clothing pieces to Amala, she carefully draped them over the backs of the chairs in the room, promising she would put them away properly in the morning. From the way she spoke, it became evident that Lekha would be available to Amala as her personal maid, and Lekha seemed pleased with the change of duties now that Amala had returned, as if she preferred caring for a lady’s clothing and personal needs more than serving tea. Pearl, who had once assisted both Amala and Kat, had become busier, focusing all of her attention and energy on Kat, whose needs were more complicated and likely would become more so. For that and many other reasons, Amala was glad to have Lekha as a new part of her life.
Once she was alone, Amala pressed her hands over the fine fabrics, allowing memories of India to filter into her through her fingers. She then succumbed to exhaustion and went to bed.
Amala hardly slept at all that night while she tried to accept Kat’s diagnosis as a reality rather than a horrible nightmare. She also had to recount how dramatically things had changed since she’d left here. This was still her home, and in some ways she felt even more at home here with the touches of India Henry had brought with him; yet her home and her life were considerably changed, and it would take time to acclimate herself to those changes.