How Do I Love Thee? by Nancy Moser

the spirit.”
    When he looked even more worried, I hastened to explain. “Why do I not go out, Papa? The day is fine and Cousin John and Miss Mitford and Arabel asked me to go, and yet I chose to stay. Here. Alone in my room. Even Flush has gone.”
    “You do not need people as others do, dear Ba. You have your books and the companionship of your creativity. And we, your family, are here for you.”
    “But is that enough?”
    He looked away, his face pensive. Then he looked upon me once more. “I have been reading the Roman poets. One such man, Juvenal, said this: ‘One path alone leads to a life of peace: The path of virtue.’ There is no one more virtuous than you, daughter. You are pure of heart and noble of thought. Let those attributes calm your discontent.”
    I knew he needed a nod of acquiescence, and so I gave him one. He kissed my forehead and left me.
    Alone.
    Alone with my virtues and noble thoughts, neither of which—if they were in attendance at all—were good company.

    I heard a commotion in the foyer below. Crow came running up the stairs and burst into my room. “You have a delivery!”
    “What is it?”
    “From Mr. Kenyon,” she said. “It’s a . . . you’ll see.”
    I barely had time to get out of bed. Since a stranger was coming, I stood by the window and listened to heavy footsteps coming closer. . . .
    A few minutes later, a workman appeared at my door, carrying a small table. Upon seeing me, he blushed, set it down, removed his cap, and said, “Mornin’, miss.” He donned his cap again and dug a note from the pocket of his dirty jacket. “ ’Ere’s a note I’s supposed to give you.”
    Crow was the intermediary. On the outside of the envelope was simply Ba . Inside . . . Accept this addition to your sanctum. The rails along the top of the table should prevent canine paws from causing further damage.
    I laughed and looked at the table with new eyes. The oval top was ringed with two rows of metal barrier, spanning three inches in height. “Over here,” I said, wanting it next to the sofa.
    Crow quickly moved the current table out of the way, and the man placed its far-superior replacement in its stead. I gave the man a coin and he left us.
    “Well, well,” Crow said. “What a novel idea.”
    Flush sniffed the table suspiciously. He may not have approved, but I thought the piece delightful.
    “Did Mr. Kenyon have it specially made?” Crow asked.
    “I would not be surprised.”
    I was so lucky to have friends who looked after all my needs.

F OUR

    Crow pressed towels along the edge of the window and sill, trying—with little success—to curtail the bitter draft that relentlessly strove to gain access. Outside, snowflakes danced in a celebratory tribute to their season.
    I huddled beneath covers while sitting on my sofa, my heaviest winter shawl insufficient against the cold. The fire in the fireplace roared, trying its best to soothe me.
    Flush suddenly rose from his place beside the sofa and barked.
    “Someone must be here,” Crow said. She went into the hall and looked down the stairs. “It sounds like Miss Mitford. Shall I fetch her up?”
    “Yes, yes, please,” I said.
    I heard Mary’s slow ascent and her puffing upon taking the three flights from the foyer to my chamber. She hated our stairs, being far more used to the wide, open expanse of her home in Reading, where homes were not required to be built up .
    “Catch your breath, Mary, and get warm by the fire.”
    But upon seeing her face, I knew it was not the trek up the stairs nor the cold that was causing her discomfort. I rose from the sofa to go to her. “Mary . . .”
    She fell into my arms. “My father. He has died.”
    Beyond the initial shock, my first response was mentally expressed in two words: Finally died.
    I was ashamed at my reaction and with Crow’s help, removed Mary’s cloak and led her to the sofa, where we sat side by side. “Were you with him?” I asked.
    She nodded and retrieved a