When Edith and Alan arrive in Buffalo, he takes her to his mother's home. Mrs McMichael is as cool as she has always been toward Edith and Alan knows she cannot stay there. She is far too needling about what happened at Allerdale Hall that has separated her from the dashing Sir Thomas, intended suitor to Eunice. It is at supper their first night back that Alan realizes how protective of Edith he has grown in the past months.
"Eunice, darling, are you still jealous of Edith? She comes back so soon after being married. Tell me...what happened? Did he leave you once he had your father's fortune, or did you choose to return on your own because you simply couldn't stand his sister?"
Edith stares, "You don't know, do you?"
"Know what?"
"He's dead."
Mrs McMichael gasps a little and Eunice grows a little pale as her mother asks, "What happened?"
"Lucille killed him. And stabbed Alan. And nearly killed me. Eunice should be glad he chose me for the waltz. I doubt she would have survived." Eunice's eyes look as big as tea saucers.
"So you're a..."
"Widow. Yes."
"Oh you poor dear, you're far too young to be widowed. You'll never find love now."
Alan wants to launch himself across the table and shake his mother. He wants to shout at her that yes, Edith will find love, and he knows exactly where. He slowly sets down his fork realizing just what thoughts have crossed his mind, something he has known for years but never so clearly. He waits for Edith's response, hoping he can find a way they can both gracefully leave.
"I had love, Mrs. McMichael. And I'm sure I will find it again. But next time, I hope no one gets stabbed in the face. Or anywhere else, really."
Alan sees the little twitch at the corner of Edith's lips and he knows she is happily horrifying them with these little details. There is a glint in her eyes, a mischief he recognizes all too well.
"Stabbed in the face?" Mrs McMichael asks, her hand rising to her cheek.
"Yes. Lucille stabbed Thomas a few times, but it was the one just below his eye that killed him. Of course, Alan can attest that any stabbing is a bad stabbing."
"Oh yes. Being stabbed in the ribs isn't exactly pleasant."
"Nor is the recovery."
"No. But I did recover."
"Unlike Thomas. Or Lucille, but she wasn't stabbed."
Mrs. McMichael wants to be too disturbed to ask, but something in her prompts her to speak anyway, "How did she die?"
"She was trying to kill me with the same cleaver she killed her mother with. I took a shovel to her head."
Eunice drops her silverware and flees from the table. Mrs McMichael excuses herself and follows. When they are out of earshot, Edith starts quietly giggling. Alan thinks at first she might be crying but then notices that she is smiling.
"Edith, you're wicked."
"I know. But it was just too easy... Consider it payback for all the years of torment from your sister and her friends. I hope they'll leave me alone now."
"I'm sure they will. Oh. There was a letter today from Mr Ferguson."
"The attorney?"
"Yes."
"Did you read it?"
"Only because I feared he would have more bad news for you. But I don't think it is. He heard we had landed and sent word that he has your crates from England. And he has been investigating the Sharpe family accounts. He asked that I relay these things to you."
"Thank you, Alan. After I find a place to settle, I will have him deliver them. But I don't want your mother poking around in them."
"Understood. Edith...perhaps we can consider another arrangement?"
Edith blushes a little, "What are you meaning to ask?"
"Possibly...we could find a home together?"
She sets her silverware aside, pats her lips with her napkin, and refuses to meet his gaze, "I'm sorry, but I don't think that would be very proper."
"Proper? We've lived together for the winter in London. What would be the trouble here?"
"What Eunice would say. Your mother's glares. You know she thinks I am a low woman. I'd rather not give her any more fuel for that fire."
He reaches for her hand and she draws back, "Edith...what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just think I will need a few months to recover from this ordeal."
"You're a terrible liar." She slips her hand in his, still outstretched, and starts crying, "Please. Tell me. You can trust me."
"I'm pregnant."
The weight of this revelation hits Alan as a mountain falling, "His."
"Yes."
"And?"
She wipes her eyes, "And I want to prove to him...wherever he is, that the Sharpe family wasn't inherently bad. That he was a victim of...of so much. And so was she. And their son...he was innocent. Just as they once were."
"Their son? You never said anything about a child..."
"He died very young. Enola tried to care for him. But he died- Lucille said he wasn't born right. But Thomas loved him. And as simple and childish as it sounds, that's the difference between them and us. Nobody loved Thomas and Lucille."
Alan moves to sit beside her, "You are the most caring, noble creature to have ever walked this earth." He folds her in his arms and she cries on his shoulder. "Will you allow me to help you raise this child? To be the father, without regard to this circumstance?"
She sits back a little so she can read his face, "Are you asking what I think you are?"
"Yes." She nods, "And if you would prefer, we can do so quietly. Mr Ferguson would stand as a witness if we asked."
"You would not ask your sister?"
"No. Nor Mother. Only those who will be kind."
Edith kisses his cheek, "Then let us take care of this soon before my condition becomes obvious and everything seems far harder than it already will be."
"After, do you want to leave Buffalo? Strike out for a life elsewhere?"
"Where?"
"I have a friend from medical school in Detroit. He offered a place in his practice shortly after I graduated."
She smiles, "Another adventure."
"Yes, but this time, the brick mansion will have no ghosts."
The next day, they visit Mr Ferguson in his office and he makes arrangements. When they return to the McMichael household that evening, they are husband and wife. Alan announces this over supper. His mother cannot find her words. Eunice stammers out a halfhearted congratulations. A week later, he tells them that he has accepted Dr Zachary Schiller's offer to join his practice in the bustling city of Detroit. Edith helps him pack his office and his rooms. His mother alternates between scowling and begging him to stay with tears in her eyes and woeful words about leaving his poor lady mother and delicate flower of a sister alone in a harsh city. But Alan heard these same things during the weeks he was studying without visiting home and he knows they can manage themselves very well without him.
Edith's belly is showing just enough for it to be clear that she is pregnant by the time they step onto the train that will carry them west. Alan is her gentle knight, ever watchful of her step, carrying her bags, escorting her to her seat, and offering to get anything at all to make her travels more comfortable. She is beautiful and he is in awe of the changes pregnancy brings and the entire idea that there is a tiny human growing inside her body. He knows, as a doctor, that this should seem commonplace, just another function of the female of the species, but he cannot help but let it be a marvel.
The few days after they arrive in Detroit are a blur. There is a house waiting, a lovely red brick house in Brush Park not far from Dr Schiller's practice. Their neighbours are in the midst of change, with the wealthy moving to the more fashionable neighbourhoods farther from the city centre and large numbers of Jewish families moving in, the mansions divided to house them. There are many languages to hear and Edith's imagination overflows with wonderings on their stories. There are still some new houses going up as well, and the eminent architect, Albert Kahn, lives not far from the Cushing-McMichael family. Alan invites Dr Schiller and his wife, Rebecca, to the house for supper as soon as they have a kitchen set up and, because their dining table has not yet arrived, he proposes they sit around a coffee table on the floor on the cushions from the couch. Edith is initially embarrassed by this, but Alan, ever good natured about such setbacks, greets his guests with humour.
"Zachary, Rebecca, welcome to our home in progress! Do come in, though you'll find that we have a few key pieces of furniture missing. Including, you will notice, the dining table."
Rebecca kisses her hosts' cheeks, "Then shall we sit on the floor, as the Japanese do?"
"It is the only place we can sit, unless you know how to use the ceiling."
She erupts in peals of laughter and then bustles to Edith, "Oh, my dear, you have a clever husband! But come, show me what we must finish in the kitchen. You like tired and should sit somewhere comfortable, rest your feet."
"Oh, no, you don't have to help- I'm fine."
"You are a terrible liar, darling. I can see on your face that perhaps your back aches and your feet have started to swell these past few days- you are new to it and it is uncomfortable."
"How do you know?"
She pats beside her eye, "A midwife sees everything, my dear. And I have been training with a very good one. I am not ready to do such things on my own yet, but you should meet her. She is very skilled. But first, a chair. You do have one here, no?"
"Yes, of course."
"Good! Now show me what you need done in the kitchen. Then we will have the men bring the chair to us and we will get to know one another. Would you like me to make you tea?"
"No, no tea, please. Unpleasant memories from my first husband."
Rebecca raises one eyebrow, "Oh? You have been married before?"
"Yes. And he died rather terribly. Killed by his sister. So I would rather not take tea."
"Of course. I am sorry if I have offended."
"No, no. It's alright. But I wouldn't mind a little warm milk with honey and cinnamon, if you would like to make it."
Rebecca's face brightens and she busies herself with the task. She calls for Alan to bring a comfortable chair into the kitchen and shortly there is an armchair tucked cozy in the corner. Rebecca playfully chastises him for not including an ottoman and he retrieves one, happy to be helpful. She shoos him from the kitchen and lets Edith instruct her on how to finish cooking their supper. When it is ready, Rebecca insists that Edith let her carry everything to the table and that she worry only about making herself comfortable. They make light conversation over supper. Near the end, after Rebecca brings out desert, Zachary asks if they have thought of names for the baby.
"For a boy, we were thinking Carter, perhaps. After Edith's father. But she's fairly certain she's carrying a little girl."
Rebecca claps once, "Oh, mother's intuition! We shall see if you read it correctly. What do you think you will name her?"
"Charlotte Enola. Charlotte was my mother's name," Edith answers.
"Wherever did you find Enola? I have not heard it but once or twice."
"She was a woman I encountered briefly in England, but she made somethings quite clear that I needed to know. I owe her a great deal I will never be able to repay, as she is deceased."
"It is a lovely name."
"Thank you."
Alan takes Edith's hand, "We are eager to meet our new little light, boy or girl. Either way, we will be happy."
Edith smiles. Happy. Content. Her life in Detroit with Alan is the opposite of what she had at Allerdale Hall with Thomas. But she thinks of him still, on occasion, and she hopes that somehow, he is at rest. That he has found peace. And that he will see with the birth of this child that there was nothing wrong with the Sharpe blood, that there is love and light in his family and even in him.