Voices Whisper: Voices, #2

By Linda Lee Graham

When the orphaned Liam Brock first set foot in Philadelphia, he was brimming with aspirations. Now, seven years later, he faces a startling sensation of loss as his constant companions, David and Elisabeth, start a family of their own and begin a life apart.

Aimless for the first time in his life, Liam forgoes opportunities to pursue his passion for law and continues dallying with a variety of Philadelphia's young women, including the insatiable and soulless Victoria Billings, for whom he is merely a plaything. His poor Scottish roots and questionable parentage, always a sore spot, suddenly impede any possibility of a profession--at least in his own mind.

Then Elisabeth's childhood friend, the fiery and independent Rhiannon Ross, comes to town, seeking reprieve from a misguided marriage. Though yet another reminder of his limitations, she grabs Liam's interest from the outset, compelling him to open his heart once more to life's possibilities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Lee Graham
• Release date: Dec 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9780983217534

Book preview

Prologue

1775, Dryman, Scotland

I BROUGHT MEAT HOME, Ma. Liam stood expectantly on the threshold, the hare he held silhouetted in the fading twilight. See? I told ye not to worry.

He frowned, noting she’d let the fire die. He’d set fuel near before he’d gone, hoping she’d tend to it. His shoulders sagging, he tossed the game aside and crossed the gloom to kneel at the hearth, poking and prodding until he raised a spark.

Nurse the fire, not the frustration.

It was only she was ailing worse than she’d let on. This was one of her hard days, and he shouldn’t fault her for it. And God’s truth, he didn’t. Life had thrown so many hardships her way, and each one conquered brought two more calling. She couldn’t keep up, not with having the care of him as well as herself. He was more trouble than not, Reverend always said. How could she keep up?

Ma? Did ye hear me? I got supper. The fire fed, Liam glanced again toward the far corner, the pile of bedding now visible. He went to her, chastising her mildly. Ye let loose your blanket, Ma. His lips tightened when he noted the bottle of medicine on the floor beside her, uncapped and on its side. Ye’ll get worse if ye let the chill in, aye? He tucked the blanket under her chin, then brushed the hair from her cheek and bent to kiss her forehead.

He startled back at the contact and his brows drew. Something wasn’t right; she was too cold, too still, too . . . lifeless. He settled beside her and chafed her arms, encouraging her to wake.

Should we have potatoes with the rabbit, Ma? A cup of ale? Or would ye rather have wine? They had neither potatoes, ale, or wine, but on her good days, the days when she rallied, she playacted the part of a grand lady and told grand stories. Laughter dulled the ache of an empty belly.

Liam couldn’t summon the laughter, but he could tell the stories. For hours he lay beside her and talked, rising only to tend the fire. But she remained still and cold. So cold and still that by dawn he could no longer deny it.

She had left him. She had left him with nothing and with no one.

He sat and tucked the blanket under her chin and blotted his tears from her cheek. Standing, he backed away, one foot behind the other, shaking his head from side to side.

Then he fled, before watching eyes could mock his grief.

CHAPTER 1

August 1790, Charleston, South Carolina

LIAM.

Liam woke instantly at Rob’s urgent whisper. Aside from the sound of a mewing baby and its mother’s shushing whispers, the room was dark and quiet.

Had he woken the child? If so, Becky, Rob’s sister-in-law, would be fuming.

From beside him, Rob placed a finger over Liam’s lips and whispered, Outside. His senses still reeling from the dream, Liam didn’t resist Rob’s aid in standing.

The flame from the streetlamp tossed flickering shadows over the porch steps, muddling Liam’s thoughts further, and he slumped against the front of the house, hands to his knees. He shut his eyes and focused on regaining control. The air outside, hot and moist, carried the stink of the slave trade plaguing the harbor, and it served a visceral reminder that he was no longer in Scotland.

He was in America now, and he was a grown man.

Rob held a flask to his mouth. Drink.

Liam sipped from the flask and then dropped to the dirt, his back against the dwelling. Rob sat beside him. Closing his eyes, Liam willed the trembling to still and shoved the dream from conscious thought. One by one, his muscles unknotted, and his breathing slowed. Dragging a forearm across his brow, he mopped the sweat and took another swallow of the whisky, this one longer, before capping the flask and handing it up to Rob.

I’ll find lodging elsewhere, Liam said. Rob had enough on his hands without Liam adding to it. And Becky had a right to be fashed; it may be hours before she’d get the bairn to sleep again.

The hell you will, Rob answered mildly, settling down beside him. You’re my brother, and I pay more than my share of the rent on this place. Ye’ll stay until Mrs. Hale is ready to leave.

Not true. The brother part. He had none. Liam nodded, however, because Rob was the closest to a brother he’d ever had, save Davey.

Right, then. At least I’ll get ye some decent whisky. Don’t think I’ve tasted worse than that, Liam said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Rob snorted. Tell me that when ye’re married with a bairn on the way.

Won’t happen. Not if forfeiting good whisky’s the price. He felt Rob studying him and resisted the urge to squirm.

What brought it on, Liam, the dream?

Liam shook his head and a corner of his mouth quirked in a grimace. He didn’t know; he had never known. It had stopped a while, Rob was no doubt thinking. It had stopped for years. Why it was back, Liam couldn’t say. But the guilt that he hadn’t done enough for his mother would now plague him for days. He reached for the flask again. Fine lad ye’ll have, with your brains and Jane’s sweet nature.

Might be a girl, Rob said.

Whichever. Ye’ll be a good father, and the child’s fortunate.

Hmmph. Rob reached out a hand, gripping Liam’s shoulder in a rare gesture of affection. As were we, Liam.

Lucky in Mr. Oliver. He’d been their master, true, but he’d taken the part of a father and seen to their care for years. Aye, we were at that. Liam covered Rob’s hand in agreement. Will ye come back soon? To visit us?

Nay, not soon. I can’t manage it.

Rob had his own life to live. Davey would soon follow. Even Mr. Oliver seemed to be moving on.

His sigh inaudible, Liam said, Tell Becky it’ll be only a few days more. Mrs. Hale wants to be back in Philly no later than Sunday.

And then what?

That worry had been brewing in his gut for days now. Liam shrugged, having no answer.

Aye, and then what?

CHAPTER 2

August 1790, Philadelphia

THREE DAYS LATER, LIAM walked into the Hales’ kitchen. John Black, Mrs. Hale’s cook, glanced up, the knife he held never slowing.

Well, well. Look what the tide’s brung in. John’s mouth widened in a grin, his teeth a stark white against his coal black skin. Did you bring Mrs. Hale? he asked, scooping up the greens he’d chopped and dropping them into the pot on the brick hearth behind him. What you thinking, boy, robbing her thataways?

Lisbeth doesna have a sister. Thought I’d land me the next best thing. It’s good to see you, John. He grabbed the man, gripping his hand hard before taking a seat at the scarred wooden table. John sat opposite him, setting a jug of small beer between them, and Liam reached for it, downing several large swallows gratefully.

Hellish hot, he said, swinging halfheartedly at the fly circling the lip of the jug. Dinna ken how ye can think of cooking in this heat.

Peoples still gotta eat, John answered. Never one to just sit, he reached for another knife and set to cleaning his nails. How’s Rob getting along?

Well enough. Jane’s expecting.

You don’t say. John shook his head, frowning. Him and Jane shouldn’t have gone so far south, then. Not with Mr. Oliver’s grandbaby.

Liam’s brow furrowed. Mr. Oliver’s grandbaby? Was that how Mr. O thought of it?

Rob had cleaned Mr. O’s chimney when he’d been a lad of nine. Somehow, in the midst of the grime and the havoc, Mr. O discerned his potential and convinced the sweep to sell him Rob’s indenture. To hear Mr. O tell it, it’d been an act of sheer genius on his part.

And so it had. Intelligent, steady, and honest, Rob had repaid the favor tenfold.

But grandbaby? Surely John stretched matters with talk of blood kin.

Well, Jane’s family is there, and I expect they thought Philly too far north. He hoped John would offer up something to eat with the drink. He hadn’t eaten since supper the night before. So, is David eating ye out of house and home, then?

Ain’t seen much of that boy. You think that’s what happened to the victuals? he asked, a gleam in his eye. I tell you what, I make something for supper, no one shows. But sure enough, it’s gone by morning, and I gotta start again.

That answered that, then. There was nothing to offer up. Liam grinned. Something’s more enticing than food, aye?

Mornin’, noon, and night? John snorted, then took a long draw from the jug before passing it back. Don’t know how long the boy can keep it up.

Liam choked, and his fist flew to cover his mouth. He stomped his feet in turn and chortled. John, ye old dog.

John laughed as well, his head bobbing in time with his snickers.

May I intrude? What’s so amusing?

Ah, hell. Elisabeth.

Arranging his features in a friendly mask, Liam rose to greet her. She wore a simple blue gown, one he hadn’t seen before, and one that might be deemed modest by eyes other than his own. The lightweight fabric draped enticingly, hiding none of her curves.

If he’d expected her to age into a crone, he’d have done well to be absent years, not weeks.

John here’s filling my head with his yarns, Liam said. Will ye sit with us a spell?

John stood and checked the water level in the kettle, then swung the iron arm that held it over the fire. You want some tea, Miss Liss?

Yes, please. She approached Liam, kissing his cheek in greeting, and he did his best not to stiffen when her fragrance surrounded him. We’ve missed you, Liam. Haven’t we, John? she asked, taking a seat on the bench.

That we have, Missy.

You look well, Lisbeth. Marriage agrees with ye, then? Liam asked, resuming his seat. John here’s been telling me he doesn’t know how long Davey can keep the pace he’s been keeping.

He works very hard. Did you realize tomorrow’s his last day? He’ll receive his papers; his indenture will be complete.

David served as apprentice to the Gazette, and he’d done so for nigh on six years. Liam sighed, his belly churning. With David a free man, there would be nothing to keep him in Philadelphia. He’d been itching to get to Baltimore for some time now, and he was anxious to start his own newspaper.

David had a plan. He always did.

Years ago he’d planned to make the most of his time served, and he had. He’d been promoted foreman of the shop in record time and was now known and respected as one of the fastest compositors in the city.

Then, he’d planned to wed Elisabeth when any eijit could have told him it was impossible. The lass was well outside his class and a Catholic to boot. Yet, here he was, married to her—in spite of her father, and in spite of his uncle, the Reverend John Wilson.

David always knew the direction he was headed. Liam only wished it were a gift he could share.

Have ye made plans, then? Liam asked.

No, not yet. There hasn’t been time, what with one thing or another.

Liam caught the grin on John’s face before the man turned away, ostensibly to retrieve the kettle. Hmmph, well then. His fingers drummed a quick rhythm while his mind sought an image other than the one thing or another.

John, will you and the others be fishing the same spot come Sunday?

Sure will, Mr. Liam. We’ll be watching for you. John carefully poured hot water into Elisabeth’s teacup. Let’s get some food in you, Miss Liss. You missed eating this morning.

Thank you, John, she said, stirring the tea. Will you come to dinner on Sunday, Liam? I’ll stop by tomorrow and invite Mr. Oliver personally, but if I miss him, will you be sure to invite him?

Sunday? But John said—

Miss Liss does the cooking on Sundays now, and she be getting right good at it.

Well, then, I wouldna miss it. Listen, Lisbeth, I should let Mr. O know I’m back. Would it be alright if I came back later to see David? He paused, reconsidering. He should wait a day or two and give the family time to be a family, now that Mrs. Hale was here. Never mind. I’ll see him on Sunday.

Don’t be absurd. You’re always welcome and you needn’t ask. Though, I wonder if you would mind meeting him at work instead and spending the evening out? I’d like to speak with Grandmother, and I haven’t—

Liam bolted from his seat and planted a quick kiss atop her head.

For mercy’s sake, where are you going? You’ve barely said hello.

We’ll talk later. Ye’re a gem, lass, he said, raising his hand in parting as he hurried out.

Before he closed the door, he heard John say, I ‘spect he’s just anxious to visit with young David, Miss Liss.

Aye, that he was. Though he feared it wouldn’t be the same.

Nothing would ever be the same.

CHAPTER 3

THE NEXT MORNING, DAVID woke to Elisabeth’s prodding. David, the watch just called the hour.

He grunted and reached for her, muttering an incoherent protest when she rolled away.

You mustn’t be late. I’ll wait downstairs and sit with you while you eat.

Groaning, he opened his eyes. He’d pay all day for the late night with Liam. Nay. Stay in bed, Bess. No sense the both of us up. He groped for the flint box at the nightstand and knocked the candle off its holder with a clatter.

Shh, remember Grandmother’s home. She batted him aside and took over the task, lighting the wick in several deft moves, and he grunted his thanks.

After pulling on his breeches, he crossed to the washstand and found the bowl empty. He eyed the fragile porcelain pitcher beside it with apprehension. While he hadn’t harmed anything in the house as yet, he’d rather the first time wasn’t when he was still half-lushed and Mrs. Hale newly home. Cautiously, he lifted the pitcher and slowly filled the basin with water. Then he splashed his face and held a cool, damp cloth to his eyes until the fog cleared.

Bring me something midday? If ye’re out? he asked, reaching for his shirt and pulling it over his head.

Of course. Grandmother will want to go to market and to see you as well. She missed you last night. She came and tied his neckcloth, then smoothed it flat. I’ve invited Liam and Mr. Oliver to dinner tomorrow, she announced, tiptoeing to plant a kiss on his brow. I’m cooking.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Sitting beside her, he reached for his boots. Dinner? Well, they’re good friends; they willna mind.

She grabbed a pillow and swung it at him. Ha.

I’ll be late again, Lisbeth, he said, rising and dodging the blow. After quitting time, I’m expected to host my own sendoff. It can be brutal. Less ye come rescue me.

No, I won’t spoil tradition and give wives a bad name. I’ll drop off food, though, so the main course won’t be spirits. She lay back suddenly, an odd look crossing her face, and her hand pressed her belly.

Elisabeth?

I think I will stay in bed a while longer. Go now, and hurry home after your celebration. I’ll wait up for you, all right? We’ll celebrate on our own.

He grinned. I’ll do my best. He gave her a last quick kiss. Ye’re sure ye’re feeling well enough?

I am, and Grandmother is here, if suddenly I’m not. Now hurry, don’t be late.

I’m asking John to see to your breakfast. You eat; promise? She wouldn’t admit it, but he knew she hadn’t been feeling herself the last few days, and it worried him.

She nodded, her blue eyes wide and without guile. He left, though not without pausing on the landing, uncertain if she’d reach for the chamber pot as soon as he turned his back. He closed his eyes in a brief prayer of thanks at the silence, then trotted down the steps.

Dinner guests. It seemed he was well and truly married. Maybe John would show mercy and leave something substantial for Sunday’s meal before he took off tonight. Just as a precaution, in the event Lisbeth’s turn at the fire didn’t go well.

The morning was quiet, the air hot and laden with moisture. One of the vendors rewarded his slow amble through the Market Street stalls, offering him a sweetbread she deemed unworthy of sale, and David stopped for a moment to chat while she finished her setup. He’d learned years ago a smile and honeyed words paid back in spades on this street. By the time he rounded the corner and unlocked the darkened Gazette office, he’d licked his fingers clean and filled his belly full.

The shop was empty, and he circled the room, lighting several candles.

Where the hell was Samuel? The boy should have been in before him. David had left the comfort of his wife’s bed three blocks away, on three hours sleep and a gut still full of whisky, yet he’d made it in on time. The lad had only to haul his lazy—no, leave it be. It was no longer his concern, starting today.

David pulled the leather apron over his head and moved a candle to his case. He’d finished setting the treaty with the Creeks the day before; the only copy he’d left to complete was Schill’s bid for his wife to return to his bed. Mr. Schill had come to the print shop twice this week already, to remind them of it. The way David saw it, the man wasted his money on the advertisement. Mrs. Schill had taken their five children with her, and there was no way she could mind them all, not on her own. She’d be back soon enough.

He picked up his composing stick and set the first line. He hadn’t found a set of metal he could afford yet, and this one was sweet. He’d been fortunate with the press and had found several within his budget to choose from. While all were in a bad state, he’d fixed the one here often enough that that didn’t worry him. He planned purchasing one on Monday and getting started on the repairs.

Would he be better off, though, seeking a journeyman’s wage? Being his own master carried so much risk, and he had a wife to support.

Morning, David, Samuel said, coming up behind him.

Ye’re late, lad.

Aye, but you’re not in charge after today, and Robert’s over with Sellers, so no worries.

Robert Store was the lead journeyman in the shop, superior to the lot of them.

David grinned, shaking his head. Plenty of worries, ye ask me, if that’s the attitude of the youth today. Start on those pelts in the corner and blow out the candles. It’s light enough now; we needn’t burn the profits.

Samuel nodded, yawning, and he raised his hands in a futile attempt to tidy the wisps of hair hanging over his eyes. Obediently, he trudged over to do as asked. When’s your treat, David?

David sighed, wishing he could part without a fuss. Noon sounds good, aye?

Samuel laughed. No, Mr. Hall won’t allow that. No one will be in shape to work after. I ‘spect it won’t be till near quitting time.

Noon sounds good, David said again, though of course Samuel was right. Mr. Hall, their master, would never allow it.

Robert told me it’s to be just after dark, Ian said from the doorway, a full hour late.

Morning, Ian. Glad ye could make it.

Ian belched and grabbed his apron, sliding it over his head. Happy to oblige ye.

Place is going to hell in a hand-basket, David muttered.

Ian, a big, gangly fellow, had served his apprenticeship alongside David. Though he’d finished his service months ago, he often worked the press when they were shorthanded. He didn’t seem to have the ambition to seek full-time work elsewhere and, apparently, could afford not to. Although, to be fair, underemployed journeymen printers swarmed Philadelphia.

Which was why David planned to leave Philadelphia. Armed with no more than a dilapidated press.

And a wife to support. A wife used to many luxuries.

David drew in a long breath and watched Ian at the press, the long tail of his brown hair swaying with each pull of the lever, and found the rhythm of it somehow soothing.

He could do this. Elisabeth may not have all she was accustomed to, but he would take care of her.

CHAPTER 4

SO YOU ENJOYED YOURSELF after all? Elisabeth asked him the next morning. She sat at her vanity, unbraiding her hair.

Glad it’s over, David said, I can do without the questions and prodding.

I’m certain it was nothing like that. It’s only you don’t care for being the focus of attention. She ran a brush through her hair, tugging at the tangles. We should dress for church.

He came to her and traced a trail along the neckline of her nightgown, his calloused finger raising gooseflesh. It’d been near two days now, since he’d lain with her. Aye, we should. I’ll help ye.

Smiling, she stilled his hand with hers. I haven’t time for your ‘help.’ I told Grandmother we’d leave early and walk her to her church.

Upon marrying David, Elisabeth had set aside her Catholic faith and chosen the Presbyterian church. It might have worried him, if she hadn’t already alternated attending Mass with the Anglican service her grandmother favored.

Sighing, he kissed her and tasted peaches, reminding him he’d yet to eat. I’ll meet ye downstairs, aye? I need to eat.

Hurry, now.

"Lass, less ye’re planning on wearing that nightdress, I ‘spect I not only have time to eat my breakfast—I have the time to run to the river, catch it, clean it, and cook it. And still, I’d be waiting on you. Did ye save me any peaches?"

Yes. Eat only those on the plate. Don’t touch the ones in the bowl; those are for my pie.

Right. They were having dinner guests. What the hell was a husband’s role when one had dinner guests?

FOLLOWING THE MORNING’S service, David was in the yard drawing water when he saw Elisabeth exit the back door. Where’re ye off to, Bess?

The cellar. I forgot potatoes for the soup. Open that, will you?

After setting the water jug on the back step, David opened the hatch and followed her down, closing the panel after him. Sunlight filtered through the cracks, casting a soft, mellow glow over the bins. A cool, earthy odor surrounded them, isolating them from the oppressive heat.

He took off his hat and rubbed his forehead with his sleeve, watching Elisabeth.

Her attention fixed on the potato bin, she bit at her bottom lip, and it colored from pink to red as the blood rushed in response. A bead of perspiration traced a path from her brow to her ear, and he changed its course, trailing a fingertip down the line of her cheek.

He knew she was nervous about the meal; it was to be her first for guests. He could do her a favor by taking her mind from it, and the choice of one potato over another couldn’t matter much. He stood behind her and placed his hands on her hips, his fingertips meeting over her belly, and pulled her close.

God help him, she smelled as heaven must. Her scent alone made him dizzy with need.

I didna hear a word of the reverend’s, lass, so busy was I with dreaming of you, he whispered, nuzzling her neck.

Mmm. She closed her eyes, and for a brief moment relaxed in his arms, humming her contentment until the rumble of a carriage outside returned her to the present. Straightening, she pulled away. Stop tempting me. I think I should have added potatoes much earlier. She piled her selection into her apron, no longer as choosy as she’d been a moment before.

He reached for her again, pressing his mouth to the soft spot where her neck met her shoulders, and the taste of her shot straight to his groin. He fondled her breasts, fingers teasing, and she moaned softly before protesting yet again.

David, there’s no time. And Grandmother’s resting upstairs.

Who said anything about going upstairs?

Ignoring him, she tied the corners of her apron up tight and turned toward the ladder. Two of the potatoes escaped and fell to the ground.

I’ll get them. He bent, retrieving them easily in one hand while slipping his other under her gown. When he stood, he ran his hand up her thigh, his fingers seeking while his mouth found skin nestled in the crook of her neck. Her knees buckled, and he knew he had her consent. He tossed his handful of potatoes and emptied her apron into the bin.

Days it’s been, lass. Days. He turned her to face him, covering her mouth with his to forestall any reply. I’ll be quick.

Her lips pinned under his, she made a small sound of surrender, and her hands fumbled at his breeches. He backed into the bin of onions and sat, quickly hefting her gown and lifting her to straddle his lap. Then he loosened her cap so her hair fell about in waves, curtaining her shoulders, and its scent mingled with that of the earth and her own.

Her eyes met his when he entered her, desire darkening their blue to indigo in the cellar gloom, and her heartbeat quickened, matching his own, her need now as urgent as his. He dropped a hand between them, caressing her, watching as her eyes flared in response. With a cry, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, her lips warm on his skin, the tip of her tongue cool.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he said through clenched teeth when she tightened her hold on him. Ye’re like heaven, Bess. So help me, ye are.

True to his word, he was quick. He held her close, whispering endearments when she cried out and clung to him, squeezing her tight until their breathing finally slowed and the world about them drifted back into focus.

Minutes later she drew away, a wry look crossing her face when she glanced at their surroundings and swatted at a fly that buzzed between them.

Sorry, he said with a slow grin.

You’re not the least bit sorry, she said. Footsteps sounded on the floor above, and she looked up. Oh no, they’re early!

In the kitchen? Not Mr. O. He canted his head, listening. It’s Liam and John.

She eased up slowly, uncoupling, and the back of her thighs clung damply to his. How is it you always get what you want?

He lifted her easily and set her on her feet, caressing her curves while he adjusted her clothing. She was looking especially lush, and he thought it must be from keeping pace with his meals. On her own she tended to forget to eat. You didn’t want? he asked, smoothing her gown.

Oh, you know I did. You saw to that. She turned from him and ran her fingers through her hair, loosening the heavy damp strands that clung to her face, then quickly coiled it into a matronly knot.

And why wouldn’t he? He stood and adjusted his breeches, then gathered the potatoes.

David?

Hmm? He turned to face her, waiting.

She brought a hand to his cheek, then tucked a loose curl behind his ear, the gesture slow and tender. My need for you overrides my judgment. It worries me some. Do you think that will change, given time?

I hope not, he answered with a small laugh.

Her somber expression didn’t lighten, and her eyes seemed almost sad. He swallowed. I’ve been asking myself that question for years now, Bess. I can’t answer it. It’s no’ such a bad thing, though, is it?

I’m not sure. She shook her head, her eyes filling. No. It’s not. I mean . . . well . . . as long as I don’t lose you, it’s not such a bad thing.

Aye, and that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? The vulnerability. The knowledge you were but a heartbeat away from mind-numbing loss. The bring-you-to-your-knees, rip-your-heart-out, kick-you-in-the-gut sort of loss. He set the potatoes aside and tied her cap, grunting.

Dinna ken where ye’d get a damned fool idea like that, he said, his voice grating to his own ears. It’s unlikely, so don’t cry now. He turned her toward the ladder and patted her backside. Let’s head up, before we’re missed.

You lads did well, David said moments later, eying the fish on the tabletop. That’s quite a spread. He dropped the potatoes on the table. John, I thought you were off today.

I figure Miss Elisabeth could use some help, her first dinner party an’ all. You mind we add some fish in with those vegetables, Miss?

"That’s what I forgot! A