It had become the custom for Sophie and her father to sit down together in the back parlor at the end of the day, to share a pot of tea and chat a while before retiring. Tonight was no exception to this rule. After Morgan went home and Victoria had gone upstairs to bed, Sophie and her father washed the dishes and put everything away, and Jackson retreated to the other room to wait for his daughter, who always made the tea.
"It's such a warm night," Sophie said a few minutes later, coming into the parlor carrying the silver tray of tea things. She placed this on the antique butler's tray table near the fireplace and went on, "Shall I turn off the lamps and open the French doors?"
"Why not, Sophie, it's very humid, isn't it?"
After she had given him his cup of tea, Sophie doused the lights, drew back the heavy blackout curtains, and flung open the glass doors leading to the garden. There was a high, full moon riding the dark crest of the clouds. A slight breeze had blown up and it rustled the leaves of the old tree, and swept the heady fragrance of the last of the summer roses towards them on the pleasant, night air.
The two sat in silence, looking out at the garden, beautiful now in the moonlight and uncommonly peaceful. Almost immediately, her thoughts swung to her brothers, Dean and Ivan, and her heart sank. They wanted to come to New York more desperately than ever, at least so it seemed to her from their letters these days. Perhaps there was a way to persuade her parents to change their minds, to convince them to let Dean and Ivan settle here in New York.
Certainly she must try. It struck her that this was imperative, and then with a rush of genuine insight into herself, she realized how much this new home had come to mean to her. She felt safe here, secure; she knew this was partially because of her father, who had wanted them to love it, and who had never stopped talking about New York when they were still in Porterville some years back.
Jackson had forever extolled its virtues, telling them it was the best, the fairest, the most democratic and civilized place in the world, and she had discovered this to be true. They sipped their tea, not talking at all, lost in the complexities of their own reveries. It was Sophie who finally spoke first, when she said quietly, "When are Dean and Ivan coming back?"
"I'm not so sure. I mean, they love Australia. They might not come back."
Sophie was silent, and she did not speak for a while, caught up in her thoughts as she was, until her father blurted out,"I'm just joking. They're coming home tomorrow."
Sophie put her cup back in the saucer with a clatter, startled by these words which she found quite shocking. They literally took her breath away.
"How could you know this and not tell me earlier?" she demanded, her voice rising slightly to a higher pitch.
"I couldn't help it. We wanted it to be a surprise," he did not wait for a response, rushed on, "And they're happy about you and Morgan," his sentence trailed off and he sat back, staring at his daughter, looking glum in the dim light.
"Of course you knew about that too."Jackson did not reply immediately. He rose and went over to the glass doors, which he closed. After attending to the blackout curtains and switching on a lamp, he sat down again and examined Sophie closely through narrowed eyes.
"This is the first time you've spoken so negatively, Sophie. You sound as if you think your brothers haven't been able to take care of themselves."
There was a moment's hesitation on Jackson's part before he leaned forward, clasped Sophie's hand in his, asked urgently, "Have you heard bad news from Australia? Is there something you're not telling me?"
Sophie shook her head, but nevertheless she sounded worried as she said, "No, I haven't heard any news, good or bad. You'd be the first to know if I had. It's just that it's been over five years now since I last saw them. I don't know what to expect."
"We've been through tough times here too and we're alive, aren't we? So you see, we mustn't give up on your brothers." Jackson paused, took a deep breath, and finished emphatically,
"Certainly, I will not give up hope for them." Her father's positive attitude seemed to have the right effect on her and she immediately brightened, "Yes, you're right dad, it's ridiculous of me to be so pessimistic, I realize that," she said, " especially since I have nothing to go on. Besides, they're clever and resourceful. If anyone can survive under difficult and extreme circumstances, they can. I agree with you, I'm sure they're alright."
Jackson inclined his head slightly, sat back in the chair, and sipped his tea. A silence fell between them yet again. Sophie, in particular, was lost in her thoughts, and an abstracted expression glazed her face as she drifted off, endlessly caught up in her concerns for her brothers. Jackson cast a glance in her direction and then picking up the teapot, he poured himself another cup, nibbled on a ginger biscuit and carefully observed his daughter, reflecting about her.Sophie cleared her throat and ventured carefully, "So, what happened to Trenton's family; his wife, Abby, their two daughters, Linda and Kate?"
Jackson looked at his daughter swiftly then lifted his shoulders in a light shrug, "Abby passed on so the girls were set up for adoption."
"And Clare, Trenton's accomplice?"
"She fled to Canada. Couldn't bear the thought of spending the rest of her sweet life in prison." Sophie sounded worried as she said, "That means... she's still out there. Somewhere..."