Wondering why she has not heard back from her young lover (she has called him multiple times over the past several days), she despairs, locks herself inside her parents’ bedroom, removes her dress, and sits at her mother’s vanity, draping loops and loops of necklaces around her neck, comforted by the weight of them against her bare chest. She puts on her mother’s wedding ring and stands, walks over to the window overlooking the orchard, and reaches to twirl a small glass-stained sun catcher, a white dove, the holy spirit, with wings wide open in the center. On the windowsill rests a tall white pitcher, or is it a jug, containing dried eucalyptus and lavender. The word jug, she later learns, was first recorded in the late 15th century as jugge, a variant of jubbe, but perhaps comes from jug, a familiar name used to describe a low woman, a maidservant. When little, she had been allowed to help her mother put on her jewelry, and she imagined herself to be a sort of servant girl. Even as a child she had lived her own small life all within herself. At a very early period she had apprehended instinctively the dual life—that outward existence which conforms, the inward life which questions. Then the mother draped the child in loops and loops of necklaces, swept her off her feet, and held her tightly as she danced, their faces bathed in the glow of glass lamps, spangled with tiny glints from the jewels’ faint reflections. Returning to the vanity, the tea house woman removes the necklaces and sees in her own reflection the ghost of her mother rhinestoning past on her way to the door. She had all her breasts on this evening. The tea house woman slides the straps of her gray silk dress back onto her shoulders and loosens her mother’s wedding ring from her finger, wishing it were so easy to release the rest of the body from the mind as she unlocks the door, still not quite ready to go downstairs. All of Fenwick seems to have shown up to honor Sam’s memory. She wonders about the possibility of the tea house running out of food. On her way to the kitchen she peeks in at the nursery packed full with the children of Fenwick, sprawled in various star-shaped sizes among the floor pillows she has prepared for them, watching Fantasia, which Nell had wisely rented for the occasion, drinking Hawaiian fruit punch from plastic Sippy cups and sharing bowls of Goldfish crackers, popcorn, carrot sticks.