Page 4 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
“With Daisy perhaps?”
“With the meeting we had with her parents.”
I would have probed further to ascertain his opinion of the event, but the professor appeared at the top of the stairs with three visitors in tow. I smiled at the Hendry sisters, genuinely pleased to see them. They smiled back, even Myrtle, the most serious of the trio. I invited them to sit on the sofa while I took the armchair Alex vacated.
Mere days after learning that I was most likely related to the Hendry family, I was still somewhat shy around them. That was perhaps because I wasn’t sure how I was related to them. I could be a distant relative, or I could be their niece. If their brother, Melville, a man they didn’t like, who had caused trouble for Gabe’s parents years ago, turned out to be my father, then any relationship we’d built would be on shaky foundations.
It would also affect my relationship with Gabe. Although he claimed not to care, Willie cared very much. Gabe’s parents would also be anxious if my presence attracted Melville Hendry back into their lives.
According to his sisters, however, it was unlikely I was Melville’s daughter. He didn’t like women, and so wouldn’t have done what was necessary to produce children. That didn’t mean he couldn’t, just that it went against his nature.
We exchanged the obligatory pleasantries before Myrtle came to the reason for their visit. “Do you recall that we said we’d contact our extended family and ask if anyone was aware of a brother, uncle or cousin who may have fathered you?”
“I do. Those must have been awkward telephone calls.”
Rosina, the pluckiest of the sisters and the only paper magician among them, chuckled. “We offended a number of elderly aunts. One even hung up on me.”
“That’s because you called her son a philanderer,” Myrtle pointed out.
“He was, as his mother knows all too well.”
My interest was piqued the moment she mentioned philanderer. “Could it be him? What was he like?”
If he were a monster, then he was a likely candidate. My mother had been fleeing from someone all her life. Since she refused to tell my brother and me anything about our father, it made sense that he was the reason for her constant fear of discovery. I’d come to terms with the fact my father could turn out to be an awful person. I was at a point where I simply wanted to know, no matter the outcome.
It was Naomi, the gentle-natured youngest sister who answered me. “My dear Sylvia, it’s not possible. He died before you were born. We hadn’t been aware until his mother informed Rosina.”
I splayed my fingers across my lap, releasing some tension. I’d not been aware how tightly wound I’d been ever since they’d arrived. “So…are there any candidates?”
Once again, Myrtle the no-nonsense eldest sibling, answered. “Not that we’ve found. There is a surprising lack of men in our family tree.”
“They’re all rather a weak lot,” Rosina added.
“Weak paper magicians?” I asked.
“Weak in character. It seems to be a flaw in the male line.”
“Rosina,” Naomi chided. “Melville wasn’t weak. He was…different. He didn’t fit into the world’s view of how he ought to think and act. That’s why he became so?—”
“Cruel?”
“Introverted.”
“His crimes weren’t the result of his introversion,” Rosina pointed out, somewhat hotly. “They were the result of a corrupted mind and had nothing to do with whether he preferred men to women.”
Naomi blushed at the mention of her brother’s homosexuality, turning her ruddy cheeks even pinker. She wasthe homeliest of the three, and the only spinster. She lived with Myrtle and Myrtle’s husband, next door to Rosina, a widow, and Rosina’s two adult children. Whenever I looked for similarities between myself and these women, I always felt I was most like Naomi, somewhat reserved and a peacemaker. Although Gabe had once pointed out that I wasn’t all that shy, merely cautious with people I didn’t know well, he did agree that I liked to settle disputes rather than inflame them.
Myrtle told Rosina to quieten her voice. “Don’t talk about Melville’s predilections in public. People will talk.”
Rosina rolled her eyes.
Myrtle noticed but chose to ignore her. She turned to me. “Disregarding Melville’s dislike of women, I’m beginning to think he is your father, Sylvia.”
I glanced at Gabe, seated in the other armchair, to gauge his reaction, but a newcomer ascending the staircase caught his attention. He rose, as did Alex who’d been perching on the edge of the desk, when they saw the visitor was a woman.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Evaline Peterson said.
The paper magician, aged in her forties, was most certainly not my relative. We looked nothing alike. She was tall and thin, and came across as officious and prim at first, but I’d since discovered she was good-natured. Despite agreeing that we weren’t related, she and her brother, Walter, had taken me under their wing when they discovered I was a paper magician with no family. They’d enjoyed teaching me their spell to strengthen paper, which they used on cards and paper they manufactured for exclusive clients. I’d introduced the Hendry sisters to Walter and Evaline Peterson mere days ago. It was hard to imagine that the two paper magician families had never met, but the Hendrys weren’t involved in manufacturing. Two of the sisters were even artless.
