Mama’s eyes had turned a deeper shade of brown. “He lied to you?”
“Why so many women?” Papa asked. “Why not just one wealthy one if that was his goal?”
I almost laughed at Papa’s obvious naivete. “Phillip said he was hedging his bets, so to speak. Hoping one of us would come through after the war. The more he had lined up, the more likely it was to lead to marriage.”
Papa was shaking his head. “If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him.”
“Alexander, no,” Mama said. “But thank God he didn’t come back. You would have married him.”
“How do you know Phillip’s telling the truth?” Papa asked.
“Because he brought my photograph back to me,” I said. “Walter had promised to keep it close to his heart for good luck. But it wasn’t on him when he died. Phillip said it was in the box with the rest of his things. Just tossed in there with the others.” I paused for a moment to gain my composure. Saying all this out loud was harder than I’d thought it would be. “He told me in every letter that he kept it in his inside jacket pocket. He lied to me about that over and over again. He ended every letter with the same sentence. ‘I keep your image in my pocket next to my heart.’ If he lied about that, it means he lied to me about other things too. I’ve no idea if any of his feelings were genuine.”
“And you shouldn’t care,” Papa said. “Not after learning this.”
“I feel like a fool.” I hung my head. “You were right. I didn’t know him well enough. I should have known better. I was too blinded by love—infatuation—to see it clearly.”
“Thank the good Lord for Phillip Baker,” Mama said. “Or you might have pined for Walter the rest of your life.”
“He was very brave to tell you,” Papa said.
“He had a motivation of his own. He thinks he’s fallen in love with me through all those letters I wrote to Walter.”
“He read them?” Papa asked.
“Again and again. He said that’s why he’s here. To win my heart. His words.”
“How romantic,” Mama said.
Papa’s mouth was twitching as if he were trying not to laugh.
“It’s all quite ridiculous,” I said. “I’m not the type men fall in love with. It was only my writing that gave him a false sense of me. Now that he’s here, he’ll see that I’m the spinster type. Perhaps I should stick to writing and come up with a novel.”
“Why would you say such a thing?” Mama asked.
“I’m boring and bookish and no fun at all. I think that’s why I fell so hard for Walter. He seemed to see me differently than I did myself. But I was right all along. He was only interested in my money.”
“Is that really what you think of yourself?” Papa asked.
I didn’t answer, merely looked down at my plate of food I’d hardly touched.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about because it’s not my clever, beautiful, kind, and funny Josephine,” Papa said.
“He’s right, darling,” Mama said. “No one sees you that way. Everyone in this town adores you, and I’m quite right in saying you could have your pick of eligible men. The only reason why no one’s approach
ed you is that you made it quite clear you had no interest in anyone but Walter. Before and after his death.”
“I don’t want to hear you ever talk that way about yourself,” Papa said, gruffly. “I won’t have it.”
“I’m sorry, Papa.”
“Is there any part of you that thinks you could fall in love with Phillip?” Mama asked.
I smiled, remembering our argument. “As you say, there is the way I look at him.”
“Well, yes, there’s that,” Mama said. “But it would be unkind to point that out again.”
“And, as you said, we have a lot in common,” I said. “He’s easy to talk to, and I like how he is with the little girls. He’s a hard worker. Honest and kind. I didn’t want to admit any of those things to myself because I didn’t want to be disloyal to Walter.” I choked up. “Aren’t I pathetic?”