I remained in my room behind the locked door.  I did not answer for any one, not even Leah.  I was even thankful that Clara had left with Faith as I paced the floor, battling against the tears.  At some point I would have to leave, especially if I wanted my letters sent.  I decided to wait until after supper at least and then see if I could find one of the other servants to send them out immediately.

            I sat down at my desk and began writing furiously in my journal; that is when I first heard the sound. Tap. I looked about and noticed nothing out of the ordinary so I continued my diatribe. I heard it again.  Tap. I tried to shrug it off thinking it must be me just hearing things in my current agitated state. Then several taps all at once. I got to my feet and peeked into the hallway. It was dark and no one was there. I checked the wardrobe and the back was still solid, I even gently rapped but Leah did not answer so she must not be in her room yet. I returned to my desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. The quick succession sounded deliberate so I went to the window, the one place I had not checked,  and pulled the curtain. In the street below was Thomas, barely recognizable in the dim gaslight, but it was obviously him. "How dare he!" I whispered to myself before closing the draperies again only to have another set of taps beg me to stop.

            As I opened the window I could hear him, "Margaret, please," he called, his voice tender again with ringing with desperation, "I need to speak with you."

            "But I do not wish to speak to you," I said curtly. I was immediately admonishing myself for even opening the window.

            "I can explain, Margaret . . . I can explain it all!" he had moved to the tree just outside of my window and the light from the house bathed him in a golden glow.  I wanted to turn away, but I couldn't just the same.  I think if he had been able to he would have climbed the tree to reach me.

            "And if I am not interested in your excuses?" I answered trying to remain distant.

            "Do you remember the day in the park," he pleaded, his voice sweet with nostalgia "when I promised to tell you everything?"

            "Yes," I could feel my will softening to him again as I too remembered.

            "Let me tell you everything now . . . "

            I thought for a moment, of the heartache in his voice that I knew was mirrored in myself. I looked out the window, he was waiting for an answer but do I dare give him a chance again? How do I know that he will be the Thomas that stole my heart and not the rake I always found myself faced with when he returned under this roof.

            "I will answer all of your questions," he called.

            I turned away for a moment to wipe the tear that fell onto my cheek, "It is too late for me to leave," I cautioned.

            "Meet me in Leah's sanctuary?" I stood there looking down at him, he appeared to be hanging on by a thread of hope . . . as if any moment that thread could snap and he'd be lost again. "Margaret . . . please?"

            I nodded quickly before I could change my mind, "I will be there shortly." His mouth took on a cross between a wobble and a smile as he looked up at me. Then he ducked into the darkness. I closed the window and the curtains, trying to remind myself not to get caught up in hope. He had switched from warm to cold so many times that I no longer trusted myself to judge.

            I was still in my day dress, but my attire did not matter. Then I just took a moment to compose myself and check my appearance in the mirror. I tucked a handkerchief into my pocket and started for the Practice Room. The house felt oddly quiet as I crept down the hallway . . . as if there were a great balance on which I was teetering. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

            "Margaret," he hesitated a smile as he stood when I entered. It looked as if he had been nibbling his thumb when I first saw him, something I noticed both he and Leah do when they are nervous.

            "Why?" I asked immediately, "Why do you change so?"

            "Please sit," he said gesturing to a chair.

            "No! You said you would explain everything . . . that you would answer all of my questions!" I could feel my breathing becoming uneasy as my emotions battled with each other at the sight of him. "Please answer me."

            He paced for a moment, his thumb returning to tap against his lips, "There is no easy way, " he began, "I had hoped to explain slowly . . . but . . . " he turned to me, his thoughts as tumultuous as he was. "I do wish you would sit."

            "If you do not tell me, I will leave this instant," I threatened turning towards the door.

            "No . . . please, don't go . . . " he stepped forward and took hold of my hand, "Margaret," he took a deep breath as he looked into my eyes, "I am not Thomas."  He let out a deep sigh as if he had been holding his breath for a long time.

            "What?" I blinked trying to understand, "What do you mean you're not Thomas?"

            "I mean that my name is not Thomas."