Page 167 of Cast in Atonement

“You seem much happier—I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so much.”

“We are all much happier. All of us, including Bellusdeo. Thank you for coming to our aid. Thank you for seeing what had remained unseen until the moment we met you. Shall we enter?”

Mrs. Erickson beamed and nodded.

Clearly Mrs. Erickson’s time spent listening to the ghosts—and speaking with them—had given her familiarity with each individual personality, as was evident when each of them came out, in turn, to greet her and to offer her their gratitude, if gratitude wasn’t too weak a word.

Evanton, seated at the long bar he used as a counter as sister number three took over, waited with as much patience as he could muster. “Corporal.”

Kaylin stepped past Mrs. Erickson and Bellusdeo to head to the bar; Severn followed. Mandoran seemed content to remain with the gold Dragon and his newest housemate—but he’d always liked Bellusdeo.

Evanton had been working with gems; he took the jeweler’s glass out of his left eye when she reached him. “I hear you asked me to visit.”

“I did. I didn’t expect you to lie abed for almost four days. I’m old—what is your excuse?”

Kaylin shrugged. “The fate of the world is too much for me to carry for any length of time? I don’t know how you do it.”

“If I didn’t, the world would falter,” he replied.

She frowned; he looked genuinely exhausted. “How long have you been doing this?”

“For far longer than I assumed I would when I accepted the responsibility,” he replied. There was no irritation in the words at all. He just seemed tired.

She knew he was training Grethan, but suspected Grethan would not meet the requirements to succeed him for quite some time—if ever. She suspected he had taken an apprentice because he was lonely; Grethan was like Mrs. Erickson’s children to Mrs. Erickson.

“How much longer?” Her frown deepened. When she’d first met Evanton, he’d looked ancient to her eyes—and nothing had changed. Eight years hadn’t altered him at all. She glanced over at Mrs. Erickson and Mandoran.

“Have you not been told it’s rude to make inquiries of that nature?”

She shrugged. “Hawks sometimes ask questions regular people would consider rude—but it’s part of our job.”

“And interrogating an exhausted old man is your job now?”

“Not unless he’s a criminal suspect. But being at his beck and call isn’t part of my job, either.”

“Very well. I do not know how much longer I will serve as Keeper. I expected to be free of this position long before my great-grandchildren became adults.”

Kaylin blinked. “You have great-grandchildren?”

“No. Not anymore. I had a great-great-grandchild, and from her, the next generation. Before you ask, no. They are no longer alive. One died in childhood, that I recall, but the rest were relatively healthy, and they lived a normal lifespan. Before you ask, I do not know what happened to their children. I made it my business not to know. They had no attachment to me.

“My grandchildren did, but they aged in the normal fashion, and I aged far more slowly. I could hide what I was, what I did, until they were adults. Only one of my grandchildren accepted it, perhaps because she came to see the garden as a child. It was a whim,” he added, almost defensively. “When she understood what my job was, she was proud.” He shook his head. “Proud. Happy. The elements seemed to like her, perhaps because I did.”

“You never asked her if she wanted to become the Keeper?”

“No. The garden did.” His expression was curiously distant as he spoke. “Not in so many words; the garden is much like the green in that aspect. But the garden accepted her with ease and even delight. She was a delightful child.

“She visited me often as she was growing up, but the intervals between her visits grew longer. This is natural; I had not offended her. But her life had grown wider, broader, and I had remained the same. She was like a little fledgling; when she flew in the wider sky, she had joy of the discovery.

“She fell in love—of course she did. She had her heart broken. She fell in love—slowly, more mindfully, more cautiously—again.

“But she could not be the Keeper and be wife and mother. When I became Keeper, my own wife had been gone for a decade, and my children were no longer small and in need of adult care. The garden wished for my grandchild to become Keeper after me; only then could I lay down my burden.

“But it would fall on her shoulders. She understood what the garden wanted; she felt both respected and needed. She was proud of that; she was young enough to feel that pride.”

“You said no.”

“I could not simply say no for her; she was an adult by that time. An adult, in love with a man she intended to marry. She had plans for a family of her own. I merely told her that the choice offered was a subtle choice between the man she loved and the future family she intended to build with him, and the garden.

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