A-Splendid-Ruin(19)

“Do you think I might look at it?”

“If it can be found. I’ve no idea where it is. No doubt your aunt has it somewhere.”

“Perhaps she’ll remember where she put it.” I was not at all confident in my aunt’s memory. “I’ll ask her the next time we have tea.”

“The next time?”

I nodded. “She’s asked me to take tea with her once a week.”

Now he sighed heavily.

Quickly, I added, “I promised Goldie I wouldn’t do so without talking to one of you first. I’d hoped, since neither you nor Goldie know anything about her family”—or my father—“that I might ask her some questions.”

He waggled his head, visibly weighing his uncertainty, and I thought how deliberate seemed his actions, his way of dressing, as if he were aware of observation at every moment. “I think it best that I consult with Dr. Browne before I allow such a thing. She is so easily confused. Did she seem lucid to you?”

“Somewhat, at first.”

“Then you were very lucky. You witnessed a rare event.” My uncle pushed his plate away and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Let me save you from a painful lesson, May. Flossie’s moments of clear-mindedness are few and far between, with or without the laudanum. Your aunt is a hysteric, unfortunately. Obviously this is a private matter, and not for society gossip.”

“Of course.” I had hoped he might tell me something different from what Goldie had said, or what I’d seen myself. “Goldie says she’s been this way since her headaches began?”

Another sigh. “There were aspects before then, I’m afraid, but yes.”

Uneasily I addressed the fact of my invitation here, just to be certain. “I do hope my arrival was not a surprise to you. I don’t wish to be a burden—”

“Oh good God, no! When Flossie told me of your circumstance, I was the first one to say you must come.”

I was relieved.

“But your aunt is ill, and in fact, I think you can help her best by following the doctor’s orders, as do we all. He suggests we keep her on a steady regimen of laudanum, and I believe he knows best in this. She is less restless, more at peace.” His pale eyes came to mine; I did not miss the grief in them. It made me forget about his mistress and believe in him. “I wish it were otherwise, May. I wish it with my whole heart. Your aunt has been everything to me. If not for her help, I would have none of this.” He waved at the room. “She has been a good wife and I want only the best for her. Do you know where I started, May?”

I shook my head.

“My father was a forty-niner. He came over from Ireland to strike gold, but he never found more than a few flakes of it. He saved it, and when he died, he left it to me. He had no genius for money, he told me, but he thought I did, and he wished me to make something of myself.”

“No doubt he would be proud now,” I offered.

“He was a liar and a thief, but I have him to thank for your aunt. One day I saw her coming from the City of Paris. My father told me she was so far above me in class that I had no chance with her. So I went up to her, just to prove him wrong, and do you know what, May? If I had a genius for money, your aunt was my equal. Together, we made our fortune.” He went quiet, lost in his own thoughts, and I waited for him to elaborate, the questions loud in my head—what talent had my aunt? What had she been doing in the City of Paris? Had she money of her own before she met my uncle? Had my mother been here with her? But when he spoke again, my uncle said only, “What do you think of San Francisco so far? Are you enjoying yourself?”

I tried to gather myself at the abrupt change of subject. “Yes. Very much.”

“You have nothing of which to complain? You don’t miss home?”

“Not at all.” That was honest. “San Francisco is very different, but it’s invigorating.”

“It is a good place to start fresh. San Francisco doesn’t hold your mistakes against you. There are always opportunities. Always. You just have to take advantage of them when you see them.” Again, that studied gaze. “I do hope you understand.”

So it had not really been a change of subject at all. Still, I was bemused. “I—I think so.”

“There are many opportunities in a life. It’s not a failing to take whatever comes one’s way. In fact, I rather think it a strength.”

Sometimes people tell you exactly who they are, but I was not listening, distracted as I was by his story about my aunt, and my own questions.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, the office awaits.” My uncle folded the newspaper and got to his feet. “You’ll wait until I speak with Dr. Browne before you take tea with your aunt again? Perhaps I can arrange a meeting, and you can ask him any questions you have.”

“That’s not necessary. But I would very much like to see my mother’s letter.”

“I’ll make inquiries.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled and put his hand on my shoulder. “One last thing, May. If you’re in need of anything, anything at all, you mustn’t be afraid to ask. You’re part of the family now. I wish for you never to forget it. You’re a Sullivan in everything but name.”

Such generosity. “You’re so very good to me, Uncle Jonny. All of you.”