Christmas in the City - Jill Barnett Page 0,58

of his estrangement from her mother.

No one had been more stunned than he when she turned and saw him and clearly whispered "Uncle Eddie" (he was always Eddie to Josie) and ran from her nurse right into his arms and began to cry. He picked her up--she weighed next to nothing, this little copper-haired girl--and took a deep breath. He then saw the photographs on the tables and bookcases, all displayed in silver frames, Josie and him at her presentation ball, the two of them as kids, Josie in a wagon and him pulling her with their first dog, Sam, tagging along, the formal family photograph sitting with their parents when he was maybe twelve, his hand on his father's shoulder as he stood to his right, Josie about Penelope's age sitting in their mother's lap. He walked to the bookcase with his niece still in his arms and stared at the photograph for a long time. He had forgotten what they looked like, his parents.

Penelope lifted her head and followed his gaze. "Mama" she said and pointed the debutante photograph.

"Yes," he said with difficulty; his voice cracked.

"Uncle Eddie," she said so softly it was almost as if she had not spoken.

Those were some of the only few words she had said in the last ten days. "Uncle Eddie" and "Mama," which she wailed so pitifully when she was crying. That one word carried all the pain and grief and loss this poor child was suffering. But soon she stopped crying, and no amount of prodding could get her to speak. She merely nodded or shook her head and either ignored everyone, especially if pushed by Miss Clement, her nurse, or she started sobbing all over again. And though her nurse tried to soothe her, the world she had known was shattered to bits, and she awoke crying for her mama almost every night and three times now on the train.

Traveling back to New York with his niece and her nurse would have been difficult without the private car--a godsend, with its separate bed and bath, its office and small, heavily-draped and gilt salon. The only sounds Ed was aware of had been the rattling of the train on its tracks, a sound he could forget after a few hours while he worked.

Then came the sound he could not ignore--Penelope woke up crying again. Pitiable and keening sounds pierced the air, instantly pulling him out of his thoughts, which were not really on the drawings and plans laid out on the desk in front of him.

He stood. A light came on in the adjacent room at the same time he reached the doorway. "Penelope?"

She broke free of the bedding and her nurse's arms and ran to him on small bare feet, clinging to his leg as he placed a soothing hand on her coppery head.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lowell," Miss Clement said, clearly dismayed, and she reached for her dressing gown and started to move toward them.

Edward raised a hand and shook his head, then squatted down. A pair of large brown eyes stared back at him from her bright pink, tear-streaked face. "Penelope? Would you like to sit with me for a while?"

She gave him a serious look and nodded, her small arms falling limply to her sides, as if she had given up. He scooped her up with one arm and told the nurse to go back to sleep.

What did one say to a grieving, confused four year old at half past midnight?

He sat in the wide leather desk chair and settled her on his lap. Her little toes dangled from beneath the ruffles on her white nightgown. He'd never seen toes so small. Looking at them reminded him of his enormous responsibility to her, those tiny toes. She had no one but him. She leaned forward and pointed to the plans on his desk and looked up at him.

"What are they? They're drawings for a very tall, new building in New York. You remember that's where I live?"

She nodded and pointed to her chest.

"Yes, that's right. You will live there now with me. I have a room just for you. It has a view of a small garden. And Miss Clement has a room, too. We'll both be with you. And your great Aunt Martha will be there once she comes home from England. Aunt Martha who makes the famous cinnamon buns." Miss Clement had told him that Josie and Penelope made cinnamon buns together before last Christmas