Page 88 of The Starling and the Hatter

“You said Wolfe, didn’t you? Your name is Elise Wolfe?” She looked almost afraid to ask the question.

“Yes. What about it?” I asked, thrilled to have a chance to speak with her again but finding her presence impossible to explain.

“The reason the story of the wolf woman means so much to me is because it reminds me of my own daughter.”

My brow twitched, confused by the story. “Oh?”

“Yes.” She edged a little closer. “You see, she married a wolf.”

That was an odd thing to say. “I don’t understand,” I confessed, though I could tell by the haunted look in her eye that this story held great pain for her. “Do you mean he mistreated her?”

She shook her head. “Not the animal. She married a man with the last name of Wolfe.”

My brow jumped up, my mind immediately going to the woman who now performed with my brothers—Daggon’s wife. Was she Garnet’s daughter? “I’m sorry. I never met my brother’s wife, but she was there in Winberg, just last week.”

She shook her head even more violently. “Not your brother, my dear. Your father.”

It took several moments for her meaning to become clear in my mind, and even then, I didn’t believe it until she said the words out loud.

“I believe my daughter was your mother. Eliza Wolfe.”

My knees nearly gave out and I stumbled back a step.

“Was that your mother’s name?” she asked, her voice hoarse with hope and fear. “Are you my Eliza’s daughter?”

My mouth gaped, too stunned to speak, but I managed to nod.

Her face lit up with relief and joy, and she stepped forward, reaching out a tentative hand to cup my cheek. “You were so young when your father decided it would be best to stick to the southern route.” Her hand trembled and she swallowed before asking, “Where is your mother?”

I closed my eyes, hating that I had to be the one to say these words to my own grandmother. “Gone” was all I managed.

She nodded even as a tear slid down her cheek. “I thought as much, but there was always the hope.”

Tears flooded my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry, dear. You are here,” she said, looking down on me with motherly love. “I found you.”

A wave of affection washed over me. “Are you really my grandmother?” I asked, afraid to believe it.

She nodded. “I am.” She reached for me and I wrapped my arms around her, laying my head on her shoulder and letting her rock me like I was a little girl. Her embrace felt familiar. Whether that was because I felt a connection to her as family or because she was so physically similar to my mother, I couldn’t tell. But the feeling of home, of belonging that she gave me, healed another part of my heart.

She stroked my hair for several moments as I cried and then asked, “What happened to your father? Your brothers?”

Her question made me sob in earnest, my knees going so weak that I sank to the ground.

I told her the whole story, haltingly, arduously. I told her about my father dying and my mother leaving, and my brothers hating me.

And when Kat returned, looking very concerned to see me crying, I introduced her to my grandmother.

I had a grandmother.

When Dorothy stopped by to bring us lunch, I introduced her as well, and Dorothy immediately invited her to dinner.

She and I walked back to the house together, and I was grateful to find Hatcher outside, cutting wood. “Hatcher!” I ran toward him, too excited to keep to a walk.

He grinned when he saw me. “Lisey, you’re back early.”

When I reached him, I grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him toward my grandmother. “I want you to meet someone.”