"Emma?" His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and she pressed her cheek to the back of one. "What is it?" "She's dead," Emma whispered, as Steven pulled up a chair close to hers and sat down. Gently he took the letter from her hand and read it. "I'm sorry," he said, and the gentleness of his tone made her want to cry. "The attorney didn't mention Lily and Caroline. That means Mama probably didn't know where they were." "It means he didn't mention them," Steven corrected her quietly, touching her chin, turning her head so that she looked at him. "I expressly asked for news of my sisters," Emma said, her lower lip wobbling. "Write to him again. Better yet, send him a wire." Emma was gazing at the gathering twilight again, remembering the Kathleen she'd known. Although her mother had had a drinking problem, she'd been merry when she was sober, full of laughter and music. "I wonder if she died alone." Steven drew her out of the chair and onto his lap, where he held her, pressing her head down against his shoulder. His arms felt so good around her that Emma began to cry at last; she'd found this man only to lose him. Thinking Emma was crying for Kathleen--and maybe, somewhere deep inside herself, she was--Steven held her tightly and waited for the emotional storm to pass. When it did he carried her to the bedroom, undressed her to her chemise, and laid her down like a child, pulling the slippers from her feet, laying the covers over her. She"