Chapter Eighteen #2
“I suppose I always wanted an older sibling. Especially a fashionable and beautiful older sister,” his daughter said, her voice thoughtful. She narrowed her eyes. “But can’t her parents care for her themselves?”
Roger made the mistake of glancing at Miss Adler, who was staring at her lap, her shoulders shaking. It took him a moment to realize she was silently laughing.
“She won’t be your sister,” he said, keeping his tone calm.
“What shall she be, then?” Fannie asked, her small face scrunched in confusion.
“Your stepmother,” he explained.
“Stepmother?” Fannie repeated, her voice rising an octave. “You’re going to replace Mama?”
Roger grimaced at the accusation. He glanced at Miss Adler for help, but the woman with so many opinions only cocked her head at him with curious interest.
Not that he couldn’t handle this situation. He was a diplomat, after all, and had dealt with the moods of far more dangerous people since he was a child, whether anyone credited him with it or not.
“She won’t be just like your mama, but she shall take care of you the same way,” he explained.
“How?” Michael scooted forward in his seat. Roger resisted a wince as his son placed his elbows on the table, wrinkling the cloth and smearing butter on his sleeve.
It was a good question, though. “Well,” he said, drawing out the word as he thought. “She’ll do the same things your mama did around the house and with you.”
There was a pause as his children stared at him for a moment, their eyes large.
“She’ll let me sit on her lap?” Michael asked, his voice so hopeful that Roger’s heart squeezed.
“I’m sure she will,” Roger affirmed. “And I’m sure she’ll do many of the tasks that we’ve been missing.” He glanced at Fannie.
Instead of appearing reassured, his daughter shook her head, as if she was going to argue the point with him. “But Mama was like you.” She chewed on her lip. “You said this person was younger than Sofia, and Sofia is your niece, so she’s more like us…”
Now Miss Adler was pressing a fist to her lips, her eyes sparking with amusement.
Blast it all.
It wasn’t amusing.
Not one bit.
Traitor, he mouthed at her. She merely shrugged. He turned back to his children.
“Miss Teres is only slightly younger than Sofia,” he explained to his daughter.
“And Uncle David is older than I am.” Six full years.
Plus, his niece had been born a year after his brother’s wedding, while Fannie hadn’t been born for three years after his.
Not to mention, he’d been three and twenty at the time of his first marriage, not nineteen as David had been.
But that was neither here nor there. Fortifying himself with another sip of his drink, he returned to the conversation.
“Nothing is for certain. Miss Teres still needs to meet us, but I believe she could be exactly what this household needs,” he told them. “I expect you both to be properly welcoming to her.”
“Yes, Papa,” Fannie said with a quick nod.
“Yes, Papa,” Michael intoned, the words slightly muffled. “I think I shall like having a stepmother.” He smiled to reveal bits of jelly stuffed in his teeth.
Fannie appeared disgusted.
Table decorum was now a priority, Roger thought, but at least the discussion had not gone poorly, and neither had the meal so far.
Only he’d spoken too soon.
Or attracted the evil eye with the overconfidence of his musings.
“Excellent,” he’d told them. “Now, until a new governess can be hired, the maids shall assist in your care, while I continue the search,” he continued.
“For that, I’d like a touch of insight from each of you.
For example, could you tell me one of the favorite subjects you’ve studied as of late?
Or perhaps you each tell Miss Adler and me what you intend to study today,” he suggested. He turned to his daughter. “Fannie?”
“Cicero,” she said instantly.
“Wonderful,” he told her, his smile widening at the choice. One of his favorites, after all. Though he’d been a touch older when he discovered the man. Eleven or twelve. At least Miss Pardo managed to teach them something.
“And you, Michael?” he inquired, glancing at the boy, who stared back, a questioning expression in his serious eyes.
Right. What did the boy enjoy? He’d seen him play… dominoes. Well, one had fallen on his head once when he’d been on the staircase with his son playing above. But Michael was familiar, at least.
“Mathematics, perhaps?” he suggested, turning back to his son, who was now sucking on his thumb. He’d have to remind the new nurse to make sure he washed his hands after the meal as well as prior. And between.
“He’s too stupid for that,” Fannie cut in before her brother could respond. “He can’t even add two and three.”
“I can so,” Michael retorted.
“Then do it,” his sister taunted. There was a pause. “See? He can’t,” she gloated.
Roger stared at his daughter. How had she become so, well, angry, so quickly? And for no reason?
Yes, he and Louis had had more than their share of quarrels but not with this intensity. Grimacing, he recalled several of Louis’s rages. Fine, but he was far older. Not to mention, his daughter was nothing like his brother.
Perhaps she was tired. She had been awake inordinately late the past night.
Patience. He needed patience. Roger inhaled.
“Fannie, that’s unkind,” he admonished. He turned back to his son. “Michael, you don’t have to—”
“Baby,” Fannie snapped, leaning forward in her seat.
“I am not,” Michael returned.
“You are.” His daughter slammed a hand down and rose. “You’re a baby. A worthless baby.”
Before he could stop her, she rounded the table and shoved her brother off his chair. Michael landed with a hard thud on the ground, bursting into tears.
And his patience was gone.
“Fannie,” Roger snapped as he scooped the sobbing boy into his arms, cuddling him against his chest. “This is unacceptable. Please apologize to your brother now.”
“No.” Folding her arms across her chest, Fannie stamped her small foot against the ground. “No,” she repeated.
“Yes,” he returned as firmly as possible. “You will,” he told her. “Now.”
“No,” she screamed, tears now rolling down her cheeks. “This isn’t your house. It’s Mama’s house.” She stomped her foot again and pounded her small fists against her thighs. “I hate you,” she hollered. “And I hate him, too.”
Roger blinked at the scene. This was not how matters were supposed to be. Not in the slightest. He glanced at Miss Adler, who gazed back at him, her expression curious, as if she was wondering what he was going to do.
If only he knew. He was not a child minder.
He was a diplomat, an example for the community of how one was supposed to comport himself to be rewarded by those in power while maintaining his Jewish soul.
He grimaced again at the memory of his earlier attempts at refreshing his Hebrew.
But that was neither here nor there. No, this moment was only about him, his children, and his obligations to them.
He glanced around, but no one stepped in to assist him.
Setting his son back in his chair, Roger stepped around the table, grabbed his daughter around the waist, and threw her over his shoulder.
“Pardon us, Miss Adler, Michael,” he said to the two and strode out of the room, ignoring the wildly swinging fists against his back.
Yes, he most certainly should’ve stayed in bed.