Page 51 of Baron in Check
“You’re asking the wrong question.” She placed a hand on her forehead and tilted her head back. You boys are all the same.”
“Fave, Arnold, and me?”
“Yes, darling. All of you children.”
“I’m seven-and-twenty.”
“A spring chicken.” She straightened her neck and rubbed her forehead. “Instead of applying what you know to get whatyou want, think about leveraging who you could be for what you need.”
“Hermy,” Greg mumbled.
“Her, but not only.”
“A family with Hermy.”
“And when you’re here, you’re part of the family but not really,” she added. “I heard you, and I’m sorry if we ever made you feel like an outcast. It wasn’t our intention, I assure you.”
“My father left the faith, so we don’t share something substantial anymore. My parents cast me out, not you. I blame them for being cowards and failing to fight like you and Gustav.”
“Your parents fought a different battle; they tried to get a foothold in parliament. It was never mine or Gustav’s aspiration?—”
“Because Jews cannot be legislators, I know. How is that fair?”
“Oh darling, fairness is a utopia for Fave’s mythology. I always taught my children, and that includes you, not to look for fairness, justice, or perfection.”
“Then what should I look for?”
“Wrong question, again.” She wagged her index finger. “You feel uprooted, darling.”
Greg swallowed. “I never meant to be ungrateful, but yes.”
“You’re not ungrateful, darling. You’re astute.” She snuffed and coughed a laugh.
“Is that your elegant way of telling me to go to?—”
“To the altar, Greg. It is time.”
“I’m going to marry Hermy.”
“But don’t do it for the wrong reasons because it won’t help your struggle. I’ve seen countless marriages falter under the pressure of the Ton. They have a way of getting under your skin. Even if you think their values are superficial, they chip away at your core until you crack.”
She rose and tugged at her gown to iron out the wrinkles from sitting. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, darling.” She picked up the crystal glass, downed the dark amber liquid, and sighed. Greg knew the burn of Gustav’s fine cognac. There were a few problems it couldn’t cure.
“Would you like some?” She reassumed her gracious hostess pose, tears forgotten—or at least suppressed.
“No, thank you. I’ll try to find Hermy and take her home.” Greg tasted the words. He’d just had Sunday dinner with his almost-family and the dearest people in his life, the Pearlers, and he was going to take his bride home. It felt good to say that, and it gave him hope. Perhaps he’d found a family after all, one in which he was the pillar of the father, following in Gustav’s footsteps in some way at least.
Then his heart plummeted.
Eve walked to the door and held it open. “Do you need to borrow the carriage?”
But Greg was hung up on a new problem, one he hadn’t considered. “What if my children feel uprooted? What if I cannot make Hermy feel whole?”
“You give us so much by being in our lives, Greg, and you haven’t escaped from your self-image of a bridge yet. Just imagine what you will do when you have crossed the path only you can lead us to?” She smiled with something other than motherly love, and Greg tried to discern it. There was a glint of awe but also a lot of faith.
“Greg?” Hermy’s voice came from the hall.
“Perhaps he’s over here?” Lizzie said.
