For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he sighed. "Miss Anderson, your father's death was a tragedy. There is no other way to describe it," he said, his words careful and patient. "He was a good man, and his loss was deeply felt by everyone who knew him. I understand that you may have questions, but I would caution you against tormenting yourself over matters that cannot be changed."
Her expression hardened slightly when she said, "I am not tormenting myself."
"I did not mean to suggest that you were," he said carefully.
"Then perhaps you should not speak as though my curiosity is something I ought to put aside." She concluded.
Doctor Henry's face softened. "You are right. Forgive me."
The apology surprised her.
He continued, his voice quieter. "I only meant that I would not want you to dwell upon painful memories while you are unwell."
He was right.
Penelope glanced toward the window. The rain had begun to ease, leaving faint trails of water against the glass.
