“These are amazing. They are Micro and Macro! Read the telegram. When is the General coming home?” She alternated between looking at her hand and looking out the window, adjusting the lenses at differing strengths.
Sigmund began to read, “My dearest Helena. I will not be coming right home from Cuba. My men and I are being sent to the Philippines. I promise I will be home as soon as I can. Lo--”
“Just stop,” Helena, her new toy held motionlessly, sat wordlessly on the sofa, gazing into oblivion.
Sigmund began cleaning up the paper thrown about while opening the post. Lane did his best to busy himself about the room, not really doing anything, just being available.
“Did you two know he wasn’t coming back?” Helena asked, her voice quivering.
“No not for sure. The war in Cuba ended well enough, but the people of the Philippines decided they wanted their freedom, once the Spanish had been defeated. The Americans did not agree with their decision. I am sorry dear. I am sure the General had no choice.”
“Everyone has a choice,” she went back to her silent thoughts.
Lane poured some coffee and handed her a cup, then placed a slice of cake next to her on the end table.
Helena shocked both men when she stated flatly, “Why doesn’t my stepfather love me?” Fighting fiercely to hold back the tears, a single drop falling into her coffee.
Sigmund, in his standard stiff British way, pondered on how to answer that question. Lane jumped in to pick up the lead, “Aw, honey, when I was the General’s driver up until I got wounded in Wyoming all he did was talk about you. I think that’s one of the reasons he brought me here after I was shot protecting him, he felt obligated to me. I know he has always felt the deepest affection for you.”
“Why have I never heard of this? You got wounded protecting my stepfather and in Wyoming?”
Lane nodded, and Sigmund took over, “After your mother, the General and I spoke at great length, about how and what we might do to protect you. One of the things discussed concerned the dangers in the world, the General is in the Army, the Army fights wars, people die in wars.”
“I am not a baby. I appreciate what happens in wars,” Helena frowned slightly, not actually understanding the horrors of war, but not wanting the older men to guess that.
“Yes, Young Miss, I am sure you do, but you should not be required to witness them first hand,” Sigmund tried to let the conversation drop for now.
Her melancholy passing, but now she had the two men talking, and they never opened up to her, she didn’t plan on letting the opportunity pass, while she had the chance.
“What was my mother like?” Helena asked the surprised men.
Lane, the more relaxed for the pair, poured Sigmund a cup of coffee, handing it to him before pouring himself one. “I never had the pleasure of knowing her,” said Lane.
“Oh, Young Miss, you were very young when she left us. I know you have pictures of her, but the room came alive when she entered. You share her face, and hair, though she kept her hair a good bit longer, like yours used to be. She wasn’t much older than you when I first met her. It was before she met your father.”
“You knew my father, how old are you?”
“That is not a polite question to ask your elders,” Sigmund prepared to tell her more about her father when Helena’s maid walked in.
“I am sorry to interrupt, but Miss Helena has company. A Miss Minerva Smith is calling.”
Helena gazed down at the mess she was in before saying, “My goodness, Gertie get upstairs and lay out some clothes. Sigmund can you keep her busy next door while I dress. Lane, stay away from her, she has a horrid crush on you. I don’t want you to steal all the attention,” the room became a whirl of activity as everyone jumped into action.
Helena said, “This conversation isn’t over you two,” before bounding upstairs.
A life-sized portrait of her parents stopped her progress at the first landing. Pausing and studying the painted faces: her mother’s framed in golden hair, her fathers with a tremendous red beard hiding most the face. She pledged, “I am going to learn about you two if it kills me.” She gazed into the only portion of her father’s picture clearly visible, his eyes, and for the first time perceived her eyes staring back.
She then continued up to her second-floor suite of rooms where Gertie had laid out the most practical, around the house clothes, and the quickest to change into. Dressing in record time, Gertie there to help finish the outfit with a wig styled for a proper young woman of the day, matching her hair color perfectly.
Ten minutes later she burst through the door to the lounge, making a grand entrance, as Sigmund poured coffee for Miss Smith. Minnie stood upon Helena’s arrival taking three steps to meet her. They took each other’s hands and did fake cheek kisses, both standing slightly over five foot tall. Minnie opened her mouth to speak, but Helena cut her off.
“Wait before you say a word, I want to use my powers of deduction to determine what I can about you,” leaning back, and inspecting Minnie from a short distance.
“This morning, you rose early. Before going to visit a grave, you had tea and biscuits and traveled here up Broadway Street by carriage.”
Minnie stood her mouth wide open staring at Helena before she finally spoke, “My word, that is so exacting. You got almost everything right. I mean, I did sleep in late, I had a rough night and didn’t sleep well. I woke a short time ago and had toast and coffee for breakfast then came straight here right up Broadway Street in a carriage. You got it almost perfect. How do you do it?”
“I have been studying the skills of
