Because you carry yourself like someone who decided a long time ago that crying wasn't allowed, Clara said. I recognize it. I did the same thing for about 4 years. What happened after 4 years? Lily asked.
Clara was quiet for the moment. I ran out of road, she said. And I cried anyway and the world didn't end. Lily considered this carefully the way she considered everything. Did it help?
She asked. Not right away, Clara said honestly. But it cleared some room, made it easier to breathe. The biscuits Lily helped her make that morning came out imperfect in their own way. Too brown on the bottom, not quite right.
And Lily ate one and said quietly, "Still not the same." No, Clara agreed. But they're yours. Lily wrapped two in a cloth and set them on the windowsill when Clara asked why the girl said without looking at her so she knows we're still trying. Clara turned back to the stove so Lily wouldn't see her face.
It was in the second week that things with Emma came to a head. Emma had not been hostile exactly. She had been vigilant the way a soldier is vigilant. Constantly assessing, constantly on guard, doing her work with flawless efficiency and maintaining a distance between herself and Clara that was perfectly polite and utterly impenetrable. She thanked Clara when thanks were appropriate.
She answered questions with complete sentences. She gave no opening whatsoever. Clara did not try to force one. What happened instead was that Clara found Emma at 4:30 in the morning. She had come downstairs for water and found the kitchen lamp already lit and Emma at the table with her father's account ledger.
Open a piece of paper covered in careful numbers beside it and the look on her face of someone trying to solve a problem that had too many variables. Clara stood in the doorway. Emma looked up for just one instant before the armor came back up. Her face showed exactly how young she was and how frightened she was and how long she had been doing this alone. Then she straightened.
"I couldn't sleep," she said. "Neither could I," Clara said. She went to the stove, built up the fire, put water on to heat. She sat down across from Emma. She did not ask to look at the ledger.
She did not offer to help. She just sat there. Emma watched her for a moment with narrowed eyes as though Clara were a calculation she was trying to work out. "Papa doesn't know I do this," Emma said finally. All right, Clara said.
He'd be upset. He'd say it wasn't my job. He'd be right, Clara said. Emma's jaw tightened. Then why aren't you telling me to stop?