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Phebe very quietly shut the nursery door and moved silently down the hallway. Little Rose and Charlie had gone to bed without much of a fuss, which she was very grateful for. It had been quite the long day, and as much as she loved her children, it would be nice to have some time with their father.

Phebe descended the stairs, listening intently for a clue as to whether Archie was still in his study or if he had relocated to toast the soles of his slippers in front of the fire. She paused on the last step, glancing at the door to the study. Just as she decided that he was still in there and not ready to be disturbed, the heavy oak door opened.

"What is it?" Archie looked so very grave, and Phebe was sure she could feel her blood run cold.

Archie held out his hand to her. "Come here, Phebe bird. There's something I want to tell you."

Phebe quietly crossed the small space between them and took Archie's hand in her own. She let him lead her into his office and over to the heater glowing cheerily in the corner. She perched herself on his knee when he sat down and gently tugged her with him. She was wary of his silence and his solemnity, but if he was holding her close,then it clearly couldn't be anything to be overly concerned with, no matter how grave he looked.

She sat, quiet and patient, waiting for Archie to tell her whatever it was that was making him look so solemn. Her patience was rewarded in fairly short order.

"Phebe, I received a letter today. It was a letter that I have been waiting a very long time for, and had rather given up hope in ever getting, but it is here, and now you must decide what I do with it."

Phebe looked at her husband in surprise. "You want me to decide what to do with your letter, Archie?" she asked. It seemed wrong to her, that she should be asked such a thing. She had no head for business.

"I do, Phebe." He gave her a searching look. "You see, the letter I received was from the director of an orphanage. It was about you, darling."

Phebe went very still. She could do nothing but stare at Archie, wondering if he was truly offering her her past. Her family, really, a way to know who she was and where she came from. This was the one thing that she had always wanted, from the time she could remember until Rose had so impetuously adopted her. The Campbells had, of course, welcomed her with open arms in all their years past. There was a part of her that had always wanted to know who her family was and where she had come from.

"What did it say?" Phebe found herself asking. She felt as though she were dreaming. This couldn't be real--shouldn't be real, and yet...

"The matron remembered you. She remembered when you arrived. Would you like to read the letter for yourself?" Archie offered it to her, pulling it from his pocket.

Phebe took a breath. "Yes, please," she whispered.

Mr. Archibald Campbell Dear Sir, I do, in fact, remember the child after which you are inquiring. Little Phebe Moore was quite the serious child. I am quite glad to hear that she is now your wife. She always worked hard and looked after the little ones. I believe you inquired after her past, however. Mrs. Campbell's past is quite simple and matter of fact. Her parents, James and Mary Moore, died together, quite sick. They were good people, gentle and well-bred, though poor. Neither of them had any family but their daughter, and what little money they had was spent to pay the last of their debts. There was nothing for their daughter. I wish I had more to tell you, but rest assured that, while they ended their life poor, her parents were well bred, and so, too, is she. I do wish there was a relative or two for her to know, but alas, there are none. Please give my best to your wife, and my best wishes for your family. Yours most sincerely, Elizabeth Andrews Matron, Andrews Orphanage.



Phebe read the letter twice, three times before she looked up at Archie. The expression on his face was so helpful and loving that it almost hurt to see. "Now you know," he told her. "You don't have to wonder any more."

Phebe gave him a slight smile. He had tried hard to find this for her. He obviously wanted this for her, to give her this knowledge. She loved him all the more for it. "Thank you, Archie," she whispered, letting herself lean into him as the hand holding the letter fell into her lap. He had done this for her. That, really, meant more than finding out about her family.

"I love you," she whispered to him. They didn't say it much, seeing it as both unseemly and something they preferred to keep quiet, between themselves. She needed to say it now, though. She needed him to know how much she loved him. She now knew who her family was. She had a past, a history. It was one she could be proud of. She didn't have to fear someone unsavory finding her and using her to hurt the Campbells. She knew, even after all these years, that one or two of the Aunts harbored reservations. She had, too. She never wanted anyone to hurt the family who had taken her in, who had been so kind to her for so long.

And now she didn't have to worry about it at all. Phebe had a history and a family to share and tell Little Rose and Charlie about. A husband who had worked so hard to give her this past. A family that meant the world to her. She was content. Phebe Moore Campbell was happy.