For the second time, Arthur mentioned a sister. Malachi took that to mean that she was either an easy, common lie of his or that she truly existed.

“Ah,” came Miriam’s gasped delight, as she pushed herself back into the conversation to beam at the doctor’s shared memory. “How wonderful. You were drawn to healing others from such an early age – that is admirable.”

Her eyes lingered on the doctor’s glass. Or rather, on his bitten lips, as he laughed and sipped at his wine.

If she had anything to say about the newest set of bruises and bites that freckled what skin was uncovered, she kept it to herself. Levi, chewing a mouthful of food, offered first a polite nod and then a vehement, resolute shake of his head. He nearly coughed, raising his napkin to cover his mouth until he had swallowed.

“No, no. One was quite enough, I think,” he said, reaching for his glass. “Our Nettie is very independent. One has to be, when there are so many other matters going on that take precedence.”

Malachi did not mention that it was not entirely her choice, to have been made to be so independent. The couple sitting before them had spent less time with her than any of the servants; they had not raised her, as Malachi had.

“What about you, doctor?” Levi countered. He sipped at his wine, and asked, “do you have any children of your own? I must say, being a father is a life-changing experience for anyone.”

His wife set her utensils down. Ignoring Levi’s questioning, Mara looked over them both once again, and asked, “what happened to you?”