Grandmother grew even more pale, and she suddenly looked very old and very frail, not like a curmudgeon at all. It was then that I remembered she'd already lost one man, my grandfather, and now she was losing a second.
Hating the look on Grandmother's face, I couldn't help but embellish a bit. "They say he was quite brave. And fearless." It wasn't exactly a lie. He had been all those things, but for the wrong cause.
The front door burst open just then, and Mother and Father waltzed in. Father was tired and rumpled, while Mother appeared jubilant and relieved.
"Look, Grandmother, Father's home! Isn't that lovely?" Surely this would cheer her up.
And it did. For a moment her face softened.
Father held his arms open for me. I longed to run and throw myself into them, but something held me back.
I glanced back at Grandmother, who seemed old, angry, and a little lost.
Not quite sure what I thought I was doing--or why--I reached out and grabbed her hand, half afraid she'd bean me with her cane for taking the liberty. Instead, she stared in puzzlement at my hand holding hers.
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Honestly! Did I have to do everything around here? "Come on," I said gently. "Let's welcome Father home."
And then Father was upon us, capturing me in a vast, uncharacteristic hug, which I savored. Even Grandmother standing next to me couldn't ruin that hug.
After a long moment we pulled apart. Beside us, Grandmother took a handkerchief from her reticule. "Really, Alistair, you must speak with your employees. This place has far too much dust floating around. It's quite unhealthy."
We politely looked away as she dabbed at her eyes. "And you," she said, spearing me with her now dry gimlet eye. "What on earth were you thinking, eavesdropping on policemen? Hasn't this family had enough scandal?"
"Yes, Grandmother." I bowed my head meekly, but the truth was, I much preferred this Grandmother, the one made of iron and starch, to the frail old woman she'd been moments ago. In fact, I had an almost overwhelming desire to hug her, even though she would never have allowed such a messy display of emotion.
Even so, I did have the urge. Surely that counted for something!
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R. L. LaFevers, Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris
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