Not enemies.
Family by repeated exposure.
At sixty-eight, Augusta asked Clara to walk with her through the rose garden.
She carried a cane she refused to use properly.
“You hold it like a weapon.”
Clara said.
“More useful.”
They walked.
After several minutes Augusta said:
“I have wondered about the mask.”
Clara looked over.
“What mask?”
Augusta glared.
Clara smiled.
“Yes.”
“I still have it.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Burn it.”
“No.”
Augusta frowned.
“Why keep something connected to humiliation?”
Clara considered.
“Because the humiliation happened.”
“I know.”
“If I destroy objects whenever I dislike what they remember, I become an editor.”
Augusta looked away.
“That sounds like your father.”
“You barely knew him.”
“He said something similar once.”
Clara stopped.
“When?”
“William wanted Edward to destroy letters concerning a bad investment.”
“Edward refused.”
“What did he say?”
Augusta thought.
“Records are most useful when they embarrass the person keeping them.”
Clara laughed.
“Yes.”
“That sounds like him.”
They continued.
Augusta said:
“I hated your father for that.”
“Why?”
“He made William honest in ways William resented.”
Clara looked toward her.
“And you?”
“He made me notice when I was helping William lie.”
Silence.
Augusta’s cane touched gravel.
Clara asked:
“Why did you really tear off my mask?”
Augusta stopped walking.
After all these years.
She could still lie.
No point.
“Because I saw Julian looking at you the way William once looked at me.”
Clara stared.
Augusta continued.
“And I knew about the trust.”
“I thought if Julian loved you, the debt would become impossible to contain.”
“So you wanted to shame me away.”
“Yes.”
“Not because you thought I was manipulating him.”
“I told myself that.”
Augusta looked toward the roses.
“I think I knew better.”
Clara absorbed that.
Augusta continued.
“I also resented you.”
“For what?”
“For being owed.”
The honesty startled them both.
Augusta smiled bitterly.
“I had spent seven years selling things, cutting expenses, moving debts, listening to William say one more year.”
“Then you existed.”
“A living account proving none of our sacrifice made the money ours.”
Clara looked toward her.
“That is the best explanation you have ever given.”
“Do not become sentimental.”
“I am not.”
Augusta nodded.
“Good.”
They resumed walking.
Clara had forgiven her by then.
Probably years earlier.
She had never identified the moment.
Forgiveness was poor at dates.
Behavior was easier to track.
Augusta never again questioned Clara’s place publicly.
Never used the trust dispute against her.
Never told the grandchildren Clara had endangered the estate.
When gossip revived occasionally, Augusta corrected it herself.
Specific behavior.
Years.
That was enough.
Augusta died in 1843.
Clara sat beside her during the final afternoon.
Julian was away from the room speaking with the physician.
Amelia had gone to rest.
Augusta opened her eyes.
“Mask.”
Clara smiled.
“You are impossible.”
“Still have it?”
“Yes.”
“Foolish.”
“Probably.”
Augusta’s voice weakened.