Rendered  temporarily speechless by shock and amazement, for several moments Michaela could only sit and stare at the face in the portrait, trying to absorb  the overwhelming implications of what Rosalind had told her.  That a woman who had been a stranger to her only this morning was in actual fact a living relative of her husband—her husband who had believed himself to be orphaned from the time he was a child . . .  The enormity of the coincidence seemed not only improbable, but impossible.   And yet, she held the proof in her hands.
 
    Michaela now understood all too well the source of Rosalind's shock earlier in the day, and why Rosalind had required so much time to come to terms with the knowledge of finding her nephew, her beloved sister's only surviving child, after all these years.  A tempest of thoughts were now whirling around in Michaela's mind.  Sully had told her so little about his early life—was it because it was all he knew, or because his memories had been too painful?  Had his mother told him of her family back in England?  Did he have any inkling that he was not alone in the world after all?  Would he want to be reunited with his mother's family?  And what if he didn't know?  Would the knowledge, coming at this point in his life, be welcome?  And how would she begin to tell him?

    She realized that she had been silent for several minutes, and looked up at Rosalind apologetically.  Her friend—no, her *aunt*--by marriage at least, watched her in concern.

    "You must forgive me, Rosalind.  I . . . seem to be having trouble grasping all this.  It's—it's wonderful, but—‘

    "You needn't explain what you're feeling to me, my dear Michaela—I understand completely your shock and confusion," Rosalind said gently.  "You have a thousand questions—as do I!  Perhaps if I finish telling you what I know of Kate's story, and you share your knowledge with me, we can begin to sort it all out together."

    "Yes, I think that would help," Michaela said, grateful for Rosalind's empathy.  "Please go on."

    "The news of Alun's death both saddened and alarmed me, for I knew that Kate must be devastated and frightened about how she and her children were going to survive.  However I prayed that with Alun gone, Kate would finally feel free to accept my assistance.  I wrote to her immediately and urged her to let me send  passage home to England for herself and the boys.  Her answer, when it came, was not what I'd hoped for, but at least she chose to relent on one point.  She refused to come home.  She had never forgiven our father for refusing to accept Alun and cutting her out of his life.  She knew that she would never be welcome in our father's house, and that he would never acknowledge his grandsons.  However, she was realistic enough to know that she could not provide for the boys alone, and so she agreed to accept a modest stipend from me for their support.

    "In relief, I began to send her a small amount each month. With the money, she was able to move to better lodgings in a safer neighborhood, and engage the services of a hired girl to care for the boys while she went out to work.  She found a position as a nursemaid to a family named Edwards on Washington Square, and as the months passed,  her letters began to sound more cheerful.

    "The years went by.  The boys grew older, and began to attend school.  Kate had become a valued member of the Edwards' household; and eventually, recognizing that she was clever and educated, they promoted her to the post of governess, with a comparable increase in salary.  In the summers, the family retreated to their country house in the Hudson Valley to escape the blistering heat of the city; and since Kate was expected to accompany them, she was allowed to bring William and Byron with her.  Her letters were always happiest during these periods; the boys thrived in the fresh air of the country, and loved wandering through the woods and fields.  They even learned to ride on horses from the Edwards' stables." Rosalind hesitated, and Michaela suddenly felt as if a hand had reached inside her chest and squeezed her heart.  She knew what was coming.

    "One day in August of 1842, I received a short, sad letter from Kate.  William had been riding  one of the horses across the meadow, when a fox suddenly darted out in front of them.  The horse shied and reared.  William tried to hold on, but he was just a little lad of ten, and apparently the groom had not cinched the saddle properly.  The saddle slipped, and William's foot became caught in the stirrup.  He lost his grip on the reins, and started to fall.  This panicked the horse still further, and it bolted.  William was dragged for several yards across the uneven ground, eventually hitting his head on an outcropping of rock—killing him instantly.  And—“

    "Sully saw it all," Michaela finished for her.

    "Yes," said Rosalind softly.
 
    They stared wordlessly at each other.

    "Byron—that is—Sully—told you about this?" Rosalind said after a moment.

    "It was one of the first things we—the children and I—learned about him," Michaela replied.
"The memory had a very profound effect on him—so much so that he remained frightened of horses for years.  It wasn't until I had been living in Colorado Springs for over a year that a close friend of his helped him to conquer his fear and learn to ride."

    "It must have been so tragic for him," Rosalind murmured.  "Just as it was for Kate.  From what I understand, after the accident, she was quite unable to cope.  Fortunately Mr. And Mrs. Edwards were very kind.  They had become deeply fond of Kate by this time, you see.  And they felt partially to blame, and wished to do whatever they could to help.  They sacked the groom responsible for the loose saddle on the spot.  And  they arranged for the funeral, which was held in the village church, and saw to it that poor William was laid to rest in the church cemetery.

    "Afterwards, they promised that Kate would have a place with them for as long as she wanted, and urged her to bring Byron and come to live with them.  It seemed like a good solution, and Kate agreed.  They all returned to New York, and  Kate and Byron were given comfortable rooms in the servants' wing.  Byron began to have his lessons with his mother and the Edwards children.

    "I continued to hear from Kate, but her letters became more infrequent, and revealed very little of their lives.  Over time, she seemed to recover, but even in her letters, I sensed that something had changed—an indefinable spark was gone.
 
    "Then, in the spring of 1845, our father finally died.  Suddenly, his entire fortune, the estate, everything was mine."

    Rosalind reached over and fingered the cameo, which lay open on the table between them.
 
    "This was a miniature of a portrait my father had commissioned of Kate when she made her debut.  I didn't know it at the time, but he must have had the artist create this as well.

    "Kate's portrait hung in the library—her favorite room—opposite a portrait of our mother.  When Kate ran away, my father had her portrait removed.  In his anger, he was determined that there be no reminders of her left anywhere in the house.  I feared that that he'd had the portrait destroyed, but a few months later I found it in the attics, covered by a sheet.  I never told him I knew of its existence, but when he died, I had the servants bring it down and hang it again in its rightful place.

    "Then one day shortly afterwards, as I was going through his things, I found this miniature tucked far back in one of the drawers of his desk.  Apparently, though he couldn't bring himself to look at it, he also couldn't bear to get rid of it.  Finding it seemed to be proof that although he never forgave Kate for what she had done, in his heart, at least, he never stopped loving her.  And with this knowledge, finally I was able to find the forgiveness for him which had so long eluded me, for robbing me of my only sister.

    "This cameo had been my mother's.  I had Kate's portrait put inside, so that I could always carry the memories of my sister and my mother close to my heart."

    Rosalind looked at the cameo once more, then snapped it shut and  turned back to Michaela.

    "With my father gone, I determined to go to America at last and bring Kate and Byron home with me, and  I booked passage on the first ship sailing to New York.

     “I arrived a few weeks later.  There was no one waiting to meet me at the docks, but I wasn't overly concerned.  I had written to tell Kate I was coming just before the voyage, but I couldn't be sure my letter had reached her.  I was so longing to see Kate again that I didn't even stop at my hotel, but went straight on to the Edwards' home.

    "A maid answered the door, and I identified myself and asked if she would tell my sister I was there.  She looked very nervous, and asked if I would wait in the drawing room while she went to fetch her mistress.   Immediately I could see that something was very wrong, and I waited with trepidation for Mrs. Edwards.

    "A few moments later Mrs. Edwards entered the room.  One look at her face told me the terrible truth."  Rosalind's eyes filled with tears, and Michaela quickly went to a drawer of the sideboard to get her a handkerchief.  Rosalind accepted it gratefully, and dabbed at her eyes.  Michaela took her hand and squeezed it tightly.  When Rosalind had herself under control, she continued.

    "Mrs. Edwards told me that two nights before, Kate had said she was going for a walk.  It was such a delightful spring evening, and Kate often took such evening strolls, after the Edwards children were in bed.   Sometimes Byron went with her, but on this night he didn't.

    The following morning, Byron came to her and said his mother hadn't come home.  Mrs. Edwards was concerned, for Kate would never stay away all night.  They checked her bed—it hadn't been slept in.   Mrs. Edwards was truly alarmed, fearing that Kate had met with some terrible mishap, or foul play.  She summoned her husband, who contacted the police.  A constable came to the house, and took down Kate's description.  He said that ordinarily the police didn't consider a person missing until they had been gone more than twenty-four hours, but Mr. Edwards was quite an influential man, and persuaded the police to begin conducting a search immediately.

    "Early that evening, the constable returned, and said that a woman fitting Kate's description had been found drowned in the Hudson River.  The police needed Mr. Edwards to come to the morgue, and make an identification.  Hoping against hope that it wasn't Kate, Mr. Edwards accompanied the constable to the police station.  An hour later he returned, and—but you can guess the rest."  Rosalind's tears were flowing again, and Michaela hugged her tightly.

    "I know," she said softly.  "Sully told me that his mother had drowned when he was ten years old."

    Rosalind wiped her eyes again.  "The police couldn't tell Mr. and Mrs. Edwards if it had been an accident or—or not.  I didn't want to believe that it was deliberate, Michaela, but she had been through so much—perhaps too much."

    Michaela hugged her again.  After Rosalind had had a few moments to collect herself, Michaela asked gently, "And Sully?"

    "The Edwards gave him the news, as kindly as they could.  Mrs. Edwards said he seemed to take it well.  But the following morning, he didn't appear for breakfast, and when she went to check on him, she found that he was gone.  He had taken a few clothes, a little money his mother had saved, and a photograph of him and his mother. He left a short note, thanking the Edwards for all they had done for him and his mother, but said there was nothing left for him here, and that he was going to try  his luck out West.

    "I couldn't believe that not only had I lost Kate forever, but that I had lost Byron too.  With Mr Edwards' help, I tried to find him, reasoning that a young boy with almost no money couldn't get very far.  But though we searched for weeks, we never found a trace.  He was gone."

    "I'm so sorry Rosalind," Michaela told her, realizing how empty the words were.

    "Thank-you my dear," Rosalind answered.  She drew a deep breath, and said, "There's very little left to tell.  The Edwards and I buried my sister next to her son, and then when I couldn't find Byron, I had no choice but to return to England.

    "I managed to pick up the threads of my life again, after a time, but I never forgot Byron—wondering where in the world he was, if he was safe, if he was happy.  If he was even—alive.  And now, after twenty-five years, I've found him at last!"

    She grasped Michaela's hands.  "Tell me about Byron, Michaela.  Tell me everything—please!"

    And Michaela began to speak.