Page 14 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
“Yes.”
“You’re a Hendry.”
I hesitated. “I’ve just discovered a family connection. You followed them here, didn’t you? You followed the Hendry sisters to the library, hoping they’d lead you to the magician Evaline Peterson mentioned.”
He looked me over, paying particular attention to my face. If he saw a resemblance to his sisters, or himself, he gave no indication. “Why did Miss Peterson thinkIwas related to the Hendrys?”
“If you hadn’t left the factory in a hurry, you could have asked her that question yourself.”
His lips thinned. My impertinence clearly annoyed him. “Who gave her the idea that I’m related to the Hendrys? You? Or those three…women?”
Had he seen his sisters arrive at the factory with Gabe and me? Had he been watching the factory, or his lodgings? Or did he simply guess they were involved?
We both wanted answers, but skirting around the truth was getting us nowhere. One of us had to crack the shell before those answers could pour out. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” I asked.
His gaze sharpened, studying me again. Did he see the freckles and fair hair of the Hendry family? Or the petite figure and gray eyes of my mother? “I don’t care who you are, miss, since you’re not who I thought you were. If you can’t tell me how Miss Peterson came to assume I was related to the Hendry family, then I have no further business with you.” He started to walk off.
“Who did you think I was?” I called after him.
He didn’t slow down or turn around.
“Did you think I was a man?” That made him stop. “Did you think Miss Peterson had in fact met a youngmanwho’d just discovered he was a Hendry?”
He looked at me over his shoulder. “Very perceptive, miss. You’re right. I didn’t trust Miss Peterson’s account. I thought she’d heard about you from others. I wanted to check for myself. But I can see you’re not who I’m looking for.”
It suddenly clicked into place. He had no idea I even existed. He hadn’t been looking specifically for mymotherall these years; she was his only link to the one person hedidwant to find.
“Is it James?” I asked the retreating figure.
He stopped again. From this distance, he looked old and worn out. His shoulders were stooped, his clothes a little too loose on his slim frame. His face half-turned to look at me over his shoulder again. “What did you say?”
“Are you looking for your son, James?”
He whipped around. “How…?” He charged toward me. “Do you know him? Where is he?” His eyes were huge, wild, and he stood a little too close. He must have realized how threatening he appeared because he took a step back. He dragged a hand over his jaw. It shook.
“I’ll tell you everything,” I said. “But it’s not a conversation to have on the street.” Crooked Lane may be quiet, but we had much to discuss. “We should go inside.” Even as I said it, I realized it was a terrible idea. Melville Hendry could wield paper like weapons using a moving spell, and the library was full of it. “On second thought, let’s go to a café instead. There’s a French-style one not far from here.”
We walked in silence to Le Café De Paris and sat inside. Although it was a pleasant day, and the restaurant had chairs and tables outside, I suspected Melville didn’t want to be too conspicuous. I chose a quiet table in the corner and orderedcoffee and a pastry from the waitress. Melville didn’t want anything.
The moment the waitress was out of earshot, he leaned forward. “Well then? Answer me. How do you know James?”
There was no easy way to tell him, so I just came out with it. “My name is Sylvia Ashe. James was my brother.”
He sat back heavily, the breath knocked out of him. He stared at me as an array of emotions flickered across his face, beginning with surprise and ending with sad realization. “‘Was?’ He’s…dead?”
“Three years ago, in the war.”
“She let him enlist?”
I bristled. “If by ‘she’ you mean our mother, she had no choice in the matter. James was in his twenties and his own man. She couldn’t stop him. I can assure you, she didn’t like it. What mother would? She’s dead, too, by the way. Not that you asked. She died of influenza.”
That news didn’t rock him as much as being told of James’s death, but he did acknowledge it with a nod. “That’s why Miss Peterson said you were happy to be part of the Hendry family. Because you had no one.”
“Your sisters are kind. They’ve welcomed me with open arms.”
The waitress arrived with my coffee and a pastry on a plate. She asked Melville if he still didn’t want anything. He dismissed her with a brief shake of his head. He hardly seemed to register her presence.
“Was James a paper magician, too?” he asked.
