with joy. Some small display of enthusiasm would be appropriate here in return for the economies I've practiced in order to leave you this tiny legacy."
She was prodding, Julianna knew, trying to provoke her into either a witty rejoinder or an unemotional discussion. Julianna was very good at both after years of practice, but she was as incapable of discussing her grandmother's death with humor as she was with impersonal calm. Moreover, she was vaguely wounded that her grandmother could talk of leaving her forever without any indication of regret.
"I must say you don't seem very grateful."
Julianna's head snapped up, her violet eyes sparkling with angry tears. "I am not at all grateful, Grandmama, nor do I wish to discuss this now. It is nearly Christmas, a time for joyous -"
"Death is a fact of life," her grandmother stated flatly. "It is pointless to cower from it."
"But you are my whole life," Julianna burst out because she couldn't stop herself. "And and I don't like it in the least that you you can speak to me of money as if it's a recompense for your death."
"You think me cold and callous?"
"Yes, I do!"
It was their first harsh argument, and Julianna hated it.
Her grandmother regarded her in serene silence before asking, «Do you know what I shall miss when I leave this earth?"
"Nothing, evidently."
"I shall miss one thing and one thing alone." When Julianna didn't ask for an explanation, her grandmother provided it: "I shall miss you."
The answer was in such opposition to her unemotional voice and bland features that Julianna stared dubiously at her.
"I shall miss your humor and your confidences and your amazing gift for seeing the logic behind both sides of any issue. I shall particularly miss reading what you've written each day. You have been the only bright spot in my existence."
As she finished, she walked forward and laid her cool hand on Julianna's cheek, brushing away the tears trickling from the corner of her eye. "We are kindred spirits, you and I. If you had been born much sooner, we would have been bosom friends."
"We are friends," Julianna whispered fiercely as she placed her own hand over her grandmother's and rubbed her cheek against it. "We will be friends forever and always! When you are gone, I shall still confide in you and write for you -shall write letters to you as if you had merely moved away!"
"What a diverting idea," her grandmother teased. "And will you also post them to me?"
"Of course not, but you'll know what I have written nonetheless."
"What makes you think that?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Because I heard you tell the vicar very bluntly that it is illogical to assume that the Almighty intends to let us lie around dozing until Judgment Day. You said that, having repeatedly warned us that we shall reap what we sow, God is more likely to insist we observe what we have sown from a much wider viewpoint."
"I do not think it wise, my dear, for you to put more credence in my theological notions than in those of the good vicar. I shouldn't like for you to waste your talent writing to me after I'm gone, instead of writing something for the living to read."
"I shan't be wasting my time," Julianna said with a confident smile, one of their familiar debates over nonsense lifting her spirits. "If I write you letters, I have every faith you will contrive a way to read them wherever you may be."
"Because you credit me with mystical powers?"
"No," Julianna teased, "because you cannot resist correcting my spelling !"
"Impertinent baggage," her grandmother huffed, but she smiled widely and her fingers spread, linking with Julianna's for a tight, affectionate squeeze.
The following year, on the eve of Christmas, her grandmother died, holding Julianna's hand one last time. "Ill write to you, Grandmama." Julianna wept as her grandmothers eyes closed forever. "Dont forget to watch for my letters. Don't forget ."
Four
to London often, so they could broaden their knowledge and share the wonders of the world beyond their little village.
After a few attempts to share this dream with her mama, Julianna realized it was wiser to say nothing because her mother was horrified and annoyed by the whole idea. "Its beyond considering, dear. Respectable, unmarried young ladies do not live alone, particularly in London. Your reputation would be ruined, completely ruined!" She was no more enthusiastic about any mention of books or writing. Lady Skeffingtons interest in reading material was limited exclusively to the Society pages of the daily papers, where she religiously followed the doings of the Ton. She considered Julianna's fascination with history and philosophy and her desire to become an author almost as appalling as Juliannas wish to live on her own in London. "Gentlemen do not like a female who is too clever, dear," she warned repeatedly. "You're entirely too bookish. If you dont learn to keep all this fustian about philosophy to yourself, your chances of receiving a marriage offer from any truly eligible gentlemen will be ruined!"