As Anne grows, she turns inward, a quiet child with few friends. She is the opposite of her mother, who laughs loud with her friends on the wide deck overlooking the garden. Other than her cousin, Anne does not like to play with the other children that find their way into the Strong house. And when her second brother is born, she is six and left largely to her own devices. The little boy, named Harold after his father, arrives too early and is weak. Because of this, he is rarely left alone. Thomas fears he will not be able to meet the boy before he dies. When Charlotte is bathing and his father is working, Anne watches him. Thomas, seeing his opportunity, appears to them both.
"I know you. You've been here before."
"Yes."
"Are you a ghost?"
"Yes."
"Why are you here?"
"Because I want to meet your new brother."
"He's sick."
"I know." Thomas kisses the little boy's forehead as he sleeps, "He's a beautiful little boy, just like you and Dexter."
"You watch us, too?"
"Yes."
"Does Mom know?"
"I think so. But she does not want to see me."
"Oh. What's your name?"
"Thomas."
"Is my brother going to die like Alan did?"
He looks at her earnest, innocent eyes and wants so badly to lie, "Possibly. But the future is something you cannot yet know." Technically, it is true. She can't. He could. He hasn't looked, but he knows just from watching the child that he won't survive long.
Anne nods, "Dex wasn't born yet when Alan died. But he's worried, too."
"I cannot stay long, Miss Anne. Know that I do my best to watch over your family. I cannot stop death. But I can offer what little comfort I have to you when it comes."
"Who are you?"
"Just a friend of your grandmother's from long ago." He is gone.
"Who are you talking to in here, Anne?"
"My imaginary friend."
"You have one?"
"Yes."
"Ah. Where is Dexter?"
"Napping."
"And Harold?"
"He looks alright."
Charlotte picks him up and he curls against her chest, "Come up on my lap and you can hold him."
Anne climbs up and cuddles with Charlotte, "I won't get that long to hold him, will I?"
"Why do you think that?"
"Because he's always sick. And my imaginary friend thinks so, too."
Charlotte doesn't like to think about losing her youngest, but she knows in her heart their time is short. She keeps him on her chest in the hopes that her heart can keep his beating. Anne learns to take care of Dexter while Charlotte keeps Harold close. And late at night, when there is no one else awake, Thomas takes care of Anne. He sits on the edge of her bed and rests a hand on her back while she cries into her pillow and he waits until she has fallen asleep to leave.
Once she is asleep, he checks on her parents and watches as they curl little Harold between them. He remembers this feeling. Like them, he had only a short time with his son beside him, but the worried looks on their faces as they listen to his breathing falter in his sleep are painfully familiar. He knows this dread, this anticipation of loss, intimately well. When he can, he kisses Charlotte's forehead while she sleeps and whispers to her gentle comforts. There is little to say that will take away the edge and the hurt when it happens, but he hopes she knows she is not alone and that little Harold knows how dearly she loves him.
Anne doesn't say much when he watches her at night, but one night as he tucks the blankets around her after she has drifted off, he hears her whisper, "I love you, Thomas." He kisses her forehead and disappears, deeply moved. He checks on Charlotte and takes his own rest. He says nothing about it the following night.
Harold is one month old and faring poorly. His breathing is laboured. They know he will die soon and Thomas appears to Edith to tell her to prepare herself. Alan readies the car.
Charlotte tells Anne to say goodbye instead of just goodnight. Her father tucks her and Dexter into bed and then goes to spend the remaining hours with his small son. Dexter crawls out of his bed and into Anne's. She cuddles with him and he cries himself to sleep. He does not entirely understand what is happening. Anne does. While she has not yet turned seven for the year, she remembers Alan's death. Dying is when there's nothing left to play with. She doesn't quite understand why, though, and this is frightening. She tries to keep from crying so she can comfort Dexter, but once he is asleep, she can't stop her tears.
"Thomas? Are you here?"
He appears on the edge of her bed, "Of course."
"Why does Harry have to die?"
"His body does not work the way it should- there are parts that did not form right. Because of this, he will die."
"But why...why when he just got here?"
He sighs, "I don't know. But I can tell you he knows he is dearly loved."
"Is it scary to die?"
"No. It wasn't for me. I don't think it will be for Harry. My own son passed quietly in my arms."
Anne notices something change in his voice, his quiet reassurance giving way to great sadness, "Oh. Was he as little as Harry?"
"Smaller. But that does not change how tragic such a loss is."
"Do you think they know what's happening to them?"
"I don't know." The conversation is hard to have, but Thomas stays, his heart heavy, because he knows Anne needs him. And he thinks she needs to see that even after all this time, it still hurts him. He does not want her to believe she has to move on and forget because she only knew Harold for a short time.
"But what do you think?"
"Maybe. Maybe it is something he is looking forward to, since he will no longer struggle to breathe."
"He sounds really bad."
"He does."
"Will he die tonight?"
"I can't say for certain, but I think he might."
"Will he be a ghost?"
"No. He will rest."
"Are you sure?"
"Fairly. Ghosts have work left to do. Or they are desperate not to leave. I think he will be at peace."
"Oh."
He hears footsteps and nods to her, blinking out of sight.
Her father enters the room and crouches down beside the bed, "Are you awake, Annie?"
"Yes."
"Sweetheart...Harry's gone."
"He died?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"Do you want to come out with us? See him one last time?" She is scared and shakes her head as tears roll down her cheeks, "Oh, Annie... He sits where Thomas had been and leans down to hold her. She sobs on his shoulder. She has no idea how long it is before she hears a knock on the front door and then her grandmother's voice in the front room and then her mother's wails as the full weight of her heartbreak settles in.
In the morning, Edith tells Dexter what has happened and he throws himself on the ground screaming. She sits beside him and holds him the best she can while he cries and tries to shove her away. He sobs until he retches and she takes him to the bath to clean up and rest. Late in the day, they journey to Elmwood.
They stay the night with Edith and Alan. Dexter falls asleep in his grandfather's arms, Harold with Eliot in the den. Alan carries the boy into the chidren's bedroom and tucks him in. Then he seeks out Anne. She is curled up with May under the stairs behind the lace curtain hung to make a reading nook. May has fallen asleep. He carries her upstairs followed by a sleepy, staggering Anne. He hears a commotion downstairs as he is tucking her in.
"I have to go make sure everything is alright below. Get some rest, love."
"Don't go...I'm scared."
"I need to make sure everyone's safe, darling. But I'll be back."
"But I need you."
"I know."
"Can my imaginary friend stay with me instead?"
"I don't see why not."
"He never comes around when there are other grownups. I think he's shy."
"Ah. Well. I'll go then."
"Call him first."
"What is his name?"
"Thomas."
Alan pauses, "Oh. I see. Well then...Thomas? Are you here?"
He appears, "As always."
"You watch them?"
"My penance is not yet paid. And Anne has needed someone while her parents have been distracted."
"Eliot said you helped him through little Alan's death."
"I did."
"Thank you." Thomas nods his thanks, "I'll be back after I see what has happened downstairs."
"Charlotte is having a very very difficult evening. Edith could use your help."
Alan rises and Thomas takes his place on the bed, "Little Annie, how are you faring?"
"I feel like throwing up."
"Do you need to?"
"No. But I feel like it."
"Ah. I see."
Alan leaves them, strangely comforted by the fact that Anne's other grandfather has taken such an interest in her and is so gently talking to her, listening. He had been worried about the children Charlotte and Harold had been leaving to their own distractions while caring for the baby.
Downstairs, Alan discovers just how understated Thomas' description of events is. Charlotte has smashed a small end table and is sitting on the floor howling in grief. Edith crouches beside her, but every time she tries to touch her daughter, she is shoved aside. Alan kneels in front of her and tries to hold her, but he, too, is pushed away. She is trying to find a reason for the baby's death, babbling about the homeless man in the park who might have been sick and the funny oyster she had eaten while pregnant. They try to reassure her, gently dismissing each accusation.
But then she seems to have thought of the perfect reason, "Thomas. He must have done it. Maybe she told him to poison him. That's it...it all fits. It all fits. It all fits..."
Edith shakes her head, "No. You're telling yourself this to make yourself feel better, but that's not what happened."
"But how do you know? Have you seen him?"
"Yes, I have. He was devastated when Alan died. And he knows what it is to lose a child."
"He's a murderer, I doubt he cared- he had to have done it. There's no other reason that makes sense!"
"Lottie," Alan says, "You're looking for reasons when there isn't one. He was a beautiful child, but something was wrong with his body that none of us could change. I think his lungs just weren't formed right."
"But the tea! It make breathing difficult, didn't it?"
"Not like this. Stop, Lottie. It's over."
She screams and falls against her mother, sobbing. Alan wraps his arms around both of them. Harold and Eliot join them.
Upstairs, Thomas has heard everything. It would have been hard not to. He thanks the heavens that Anne was already fast asleep by the time Charlotte started shouting. All three children are cuddled together in the same bed and he tucks the blankets around them and kisses all three on their foreheads. He wishes he had been given the chance to raise his own children, but wishing does little good. He fades from sight as footsteps approach.
Alan enters the room and closes the door behind him, "Are you still here?"
"Yes."
"Show yourself." He does. "Did you?"
The accusation hurts and Thomas' heart sinks, "Of course not. But no one would believe that."
"Edith does. And so do I."
"Your faith in me is astounding."
"Edith believes very strongly in second chances. And I suppose this is yours."
"And you? Do you believe me only because she does?"
"No. I know what Eliot's told me. And that you know this pain yourself."
"I would never harm this family. Please don't ask me to leave."
"I won't. That would hurt Anne. And you have found a place here. Take care of her tonight. At least until one of her parents can come up. I have to go take care of my children and my wife."
"And yourself. Do not forget to take the time to grieve."
"You never did?"
"No, and that only made things far worse. You cannot give yourself to them if you haven't taken care of your own needs."
"Thank you." He leaves.
Thomas sits, very still, all night. When the children wake in the morning, he is once again unseen. Anne looks for him.
"What're you looking for, Annie?" Dexter asks.
"Nothing. I thought I saw a mouse."
May tumbles out of bed and tugs Dexter with her, "Come on, let's get breakfast. We forgot supper last night."
"I didn't forget," Anne protests, "I just didn't feel like eating."
"Well you need to eat now. Come on."
Dexter brushes his shirt down over his stomach and stretches, "It's going to be too quiet without Harry."
Anne hugs him as he starts crying, "I know. But that's how things are now, I guess. I love you, Dex."
He sobs; May joins them, sandwiching the smaller boy between the girls, "I know it's hard. My brother's gone, too. But we'll take care of you."
Thomas, still present, but quiet in the corner, wants to embrace all three children, to protect them from whatever will come and to let them hold onto their innocence as long as they can. But he know some of this is already gone, for they have now discovered that they are not immune to death.
Alan has heard their movements and he opens the bedroom door to find them hugging one another in a heap on the floor, "Well this is one way to find your grandchildren..." He can't help but smile, "Come now, why are you squishing Dex?"
"He needed hugs," May answers.
"Well I think he's had enough," Alan picks him up and the boy cuddles into him, "Your grandmother's making pancakes. It's a new day." He leaves, and May trots after him dragging a doll.
Anne lingers for a moment, "I know you're here somewhere. And that you stayed the night. I can't see you, but I just know. Thank you." She pauses for a moment, "I wish you were alive so you could come have pancakes, too."
May calls to her from the hall, "Are you coming, slow poke? I'll use all the maple syrup if you don't hurry!"
"Don't you dare, Miss May!" She runs out of the room.
Thomas can't help but laugh to himself. These children are delightful and he loves them fiercely. And not a trace of madness in them. Little by little, he is coming to accept that he and Lucille might have been like this in a different childhood as well. It gives him an odd sort of hope.