He did not strike Harold.
He did not shout.
He placed one hand around Harold’s forearm and forced it downward with enough strength that Harold’s fingers released Lena.
Then Dawson stepped between them.
“I said let her go.”
Harold’s face reddened.
“This is my house.”
“That is her arm.”
Lena rubbed her wrist.
Evelyn stood.
“Harold.”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
That surprised everyone.
Especially Harold.
Evelyn’s face was pale.
Her teapot trembled again.
Harold turned toward Dawson.
“You cannot marry her.”
Dawson’s voice was cold.
“That decision belongs to her.”
“No, it does not.”
“It certainly doesn’t belong to you.”
Harold looked around the room as if searching for somewhere to put the truth he had apparently carried too long.
Eliza stared.
Lena felt something in her stomach begin to drop.
A strange instinct.
The same one she had when ice cracked beneath livestock.
Something beneath the visible surface was giving way.
Harold said:
“She cannot marry you because Lena is not our daughter.”
The porcelain teapot slipped from Evelyn’s hand.
It struck the hardwood floor.
Shattered.
Tea spread beneath the table.
Nobody moved.
Lena heard the clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
She looked at Harold.
“What?”
His breathing was heavy.
Evelyn closed her eyes.
Eliza stared at her mother.
Dawson did not turn from Harold.
“Explain.”
Harold said nothing.
Lena stepped around Dawson.
“What did you say?”
Her father—
No.
The man she had called Father since she first learned the word—
looked at her.
And for the first time in Lena’s life, she saw fear in him.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Fear.
“Lena.”
“No.”
She lifted one hand.
“Say it again.”
Evelyn whispered:
“Please.”
Lena turned.
Her mother—
The word cracked inside her too.
Evelyn was crying.
That frightened Lena more than Harold’s expression.
Eliza looked between them.
“Mother?”
Evelyn covered her mouth.
Lena’s voice became very quiet.
“Whose daughter am I?”
Harold walked toward the brandy cabinet.
Dawson blocked him.
“You can drink later.”
Harold’s jaw tightened.
Dawson did not move.
For once, Harold had met a man in his own parlor who did not care that it was his house.
Lena said:
“Whose daughter?”
Harold looked at her.
“My sister’s.”
Lena stopped breathing.
“You had a sister?”
“Yes.”
“What was her name?”
“Ruth.”
Evelyn made a sobbing sound.