Chapter 3:
The house seemed empty without Helena underfoot. Sigmund never tired of her constant questions even if she needed to be lied to for so long about so many things. The lies made life easier than the truth. He knew secrets, too many secrets, but many he was prepared to take with him to the grave. Sigmund liked to consider himself from a bygone era where a man’s word meant more than any expedience that might be obtained from the truth. Time might prove his actions wrong and bull-headed, but he would not break his word, even if he had nearly done it on the night of the fire.
Better to keep a lady’s secret than save his own honor.
It was time for tea. In the parlor, Helena’s violin sat in its usual place, and he contemplated the last time she truly tried to play it. It was some rag
