Three Fates

to be home.”
    “One of the best parts of traveling is coming home, isn’t it? Don’t you look pretty today,” Tilly said, surprise in her voice as she studied Tia’s face. “I think traveling agreed with you.”
    “You wouldn’t have said that a couple of days ago.” Tia set her purse on a table in the foyer, glanced at the Victorian mirror above it. She did look pretty, she realized. Sort of rosy and bright. “Is my mother available?”
    “She’s upstairs in her sitting room. You go right up, and I’ll bring you both something cold to drink.”
    “Thanks, Tilly.”
    Tia turned to the long sweep of stairs. She’d always loved this house, the elegant dignity of it. It was such a combination of her parents—her father’s great love for antiques, her mother’s deep need for organized space. Without that combination, that balance, she supposed, it might have been a hodgepodge, a kind of sub-shop for Wyley’s. As it was, the furnishings were arranged with an eye for style as well as beauty. Everything had its place, and that place rarely changed.
    There was something comforting in that continuity, that stability. The colors were pale and cool. Rather than flower arrangements, there were lovely statuary, wonderful old bowls filled with chunks of polished, colored glass.
    Ladies’ gloves, jeweled handbags, hat pins, cuff links, watch fobs, snuffboxes were displayed behind ruthlessly clean glass. Temperature and humidity were strictly maintained by a climate-control system. It was always seventy-one degrees, with a ten percent humidity rate, inside the Marsh town house.
    Tia paused outside her mother’s sitting room door, knocked.
    “Come in, Tilly.”
    The moment Tia opened the door, her spirits dropped. She caught the faint scent of rosemary, which signaled her mother was having one of her difficult mornings. Though the window glass was treated to filter out UV rays, the drapes were drawn. Another bad sign.
    Alma Marsh reclined on the silk-cushioned recamier with an eyebag draped over her upper face.
    “I think I have one of my headaches coming on, Tilly. I shouldn’t have tried to answer all that correspondence at one time, but what can I do? People will write you, won’t they, and then you have no choice but to respond. Would you mind getting my feverfew? Perhaps I can ward off the worst of it.”
    “It’s Tia, Mother. I’ll get it for you.”
    “Tia?” Alma slid the eyebag aside. “My baby! Come give me a kiss, dear. There couldn’t be any better medicine.”
    Tia crossed over and gave Alma a light kiss on the cheek. She might have been having one of her spells, Tia thought, but her mother looked, as always, perfect. Her hair, nearly the same delicate shade as her daughter’s, was glossy and swept back in gentle waves from a face suitable for a cameo. It was delicate, lovely, unlined. Though she tended to be thin, her body was turned out with casual elegance in a soft pink blouse and tailored trousers.
    “There now, I feel better already,” Alma said as she shifted to sit up. “I’m so glad you’re home, Tia. Why, I didn’t get one moment’s rest while you were gone. I was so worried about you. You took all your vitamins, didn’t you, and didn’t drink the tap water? I hope you demanded nonsmoking suites in all your hotels, though God knows they don’t enforce that. Just come in and spray after some horrible person’s spewed carcinogens into the air. Pull open the drapes, dear, I can barely see you.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I can’t indulge myself,” Alma said heroically. “I’ve a dozen things to do today, and now that you’re here . . . Well, we’ll make time for a nice visit, and I’ll work harder later. And you, you must be exhausted. A delicate system like yours suffers under the demands of travel. I want you to arrange for a complete physical right away.”
    “I’m fine.” Tia moved to the windows.
    “When the immune system’s compromised, as yours must be, it can take several days before you recognize the symptoms. You make that appointment, Tia, for my sake.”
    “Of course.” Tia drew open the drapes, relieved when light poured into the room. “You don’t have to worry. I took very good care of myself.”
    “Be that as it may, you can’t . . .” She trailed off when Tia turned around. “Why, you’re all flushed! Are you feverish?” She leaped off the daybed, clamped a hand over Tia’s brow. “Yes, you feel a little warm. Oh, I knew it! I