The Winter My Grandfather Came
Our parents were the quintessential couple straight out of a romance novel about love that crossed the boundaries of class.
Father had been an orphan from a poorhouse. The priests who noticed his exceptional intelligence from a young age arranged for sponsors so he could continue his studies.
Just like Connie.
The difference between Connie and Father was that Connie received support from a scholarship foundation run by noblewomen interested in charitable work, while Father had a personal sponsor.
Having a personal sponsor usually led to the standard career path of being employed by that sponsor after graduating from the academy.
And that personal sponsor was my maternal grandfather, the former Count Renkels.
As Father’s graduation approached, the former Count Renkels—who had not yet passed his title to my aunt—invited him to the count’s estate.
It seemed to be half to let Father become acquainted with the senior legal counsel of the household he would soon serve, and half to see the results of his sponsorship.
During that short visit, Father fell in love with Mother, the second daughter of the Renkels family, as if struck by the whims of fate.
But Mother already had a fiancé chosen by her family.
He was the promising heir to a count’s household, and the match had been arranged between families who were already close. It was the perfect political marriage, drawn up as neatly as a painting.
When the former Count Renkels noticed that something was developing between my parents, he naturally opposed it fiercely.
When the opposition continued, my parents ultimately chose to elope.
For a count’s daughter who had grown up without a single hardship, the world outside her family’s protection was a series of trials.
Even so, their love never cooled.
That was the most novel-like part of my parents’ love story.
After marrying, Mother cut all ties with the Renkels family, but she still exchanged occasional letters with my aunt.
They wrote to each other once every few months, and about once every one or two years, my aunt would visit Rangheldien and meet us.
And the first—and last—time I met the former Count Renkels, my maternal grandfather, was roughly ten years ago.
It was the winter I turned twelve.
I had started attending the academy that year, and I found staying home during winter break incredibly stifling.
After spending my days surrounded by children my own age at the academy, coming home to only much younger siblings felt rather dull.
To make matters worse, the siblings closest to me in age had caught colds after playing in the snow in their pajamas and were now stuck in bed.
It wasn’t a serious illness, but they had been quarantined in their rooms so they wouldn’t pass it to little Annika.
Therefore, I was extremely bored.
While wandering aimlessly around the house, I spotted Mother wearing an old, outdated gray dress that she only put on when she was going to meet my aunt.
I scampered over and threw myself into her arms.
“Mom, are we going to see Aunt?”
Up until then, I had only met my aunt a handful of times, but she was a blunt yet kind person.
That was why my twin brothers and I always looked forward to seeing her.
Especially on days like today, when we were this bored—an outing felt even more welcome.
“I was planning to sneak out without you, Lina, but I got caught?”
Mother hugged me back and spoke in a playful tone.
Since the twins were sick, it seemed she had intended to go alone and quietly return.
But I was healthy.
I wasn’t a baby like Annika.
There was no reason to leave me behind.
I wriggled out of her embrace and placed both hands on my hips the way she did when scolding the twins, clearly showing my displeasure.
When I puffed out my cheeks on top of that, Mother poked them repeatedly.
“Your cheeks look even puffier than Annika’s, don’t they?”
I was twelve—right at the age when I hated being treated like a little kid.
I deflated the air in my cheeks at Mother’s babying.
Then, acting as maturely as I could, I grabbed the hem of her dress and whined.
“Since I caught you, you have to take me too.”
Mother thought for a moment before nodding.
“Then let’s keep it a secret from Emmet and Jayden.”
“Okay.”
I answered so promptly that Mother cupped my cheeks with both hands and then let go.
“Go change your clothes. It’s cold out.”
“You can’t go alone!”
After extracting three separate promises from her, I dashed upstairs to my room.
“What should I wear?”
Mother always wore the same gray dress whenever she met my aunt.
In winter, like today, she would layer clothes underneath and wear an outer garment over it.
The best clothes in Mother’s closet were ones she had worn back when she was a count’s daughter, but they still looked plain compared to my aunt’s wardrobe.
It seemed she had decided that if that was the case, she might as well wear her absolute worst outfit.
My aunt would click her tongue and frown every time she saw Mother in that same dress for the tenth year running.
While grumbling that Mother was hopeless, my aunt’s gaze would occasionally drift toward us children who had come along.
As if she wanted to confirm that the gray dress really was Mother’s best option.
After pondering in front of my closet for a while, I pulled out a new dress I had recently been fitted for and put it on.
Then, like an excited child, I bounded down the stairs.
“I’m all ready!”
I twirled once in front of Mother, who had been waiting near the entrance. She clapped her hands.
“Our daughter got so excited about meeting her aunt that she completely forgot we were supposed to sneak out?”
“Ah.”
I glanced up at the landing, checking for any sign of the twins.
Fortunately, it was quiet.
“Looks like the twins are still sleeping.”
When I whispered belatedly, Mother let out a small laugh.
“Seems that way. Let’s hurry and get back before they wake up.”
The teahouse on the outskirts where we always met my aunt was, as usual, completely empty of customers.
“Lib, and Lina too. You came.”
That was why my aunt always spotted us immediately.
“Hello.”
“Hello. Lina, you’ve grown even taller since I last saw you.”
When I greeted her politely, my aunt smiled and returned the greeting.
“Lib, doesn’t that dress of yours ever wear out?”
But the look she gave Mother was prickly.
About as prickly as the one she gave the twins when they covered themselves head to toe in green paint because they wanted to look like orcs and got scolded.
“If it wears out, I’ll just patch it and keep wearing it.”
Mother’s retort carried a similar glint in her eyes.
Normally this would be the moment for half-serious, half-joking banter—my aunt telling her to wear that dress to my wedding, or asking if she actually owned twelve identical copies—but today my aunt raised the white flag surprisingly quickly.
“Suit yourself.”
She smiled late, but she seemed strangely tense.
Mother watched her sister’s expression carefully, growing worried.
“Being the heir and being the count are quite different, aren’t they?”
My aunt had inherited the title last year and become the Count of Renkels.
Mother seemed to think she was simply tired from work.
“I suppose so.”
My aunt smiled wearily and sat down.
“Then there was no need for you to come all the way to Rangheldien.”
“If I didn’t come, were you planning to only show up at my funeral?”
My aunt made a joke with more sincerity than humor in it and offered us tea and cake.
Mine was cocoa, of course.
“I prepared enough for the twins too, but since they didn’t come, Lina will have to eat their share.”
My aunt handed me an especially large slice of cake with a smile.
“Thank you.”
I cut off a big piece with my fork and stuffed it into my mouth.
Once Mother and my aunt confirmed that I was eating diligently, they fell into their own conversation.
While they talked, I devoted myself to devouring the cake.
After all, they were sisters who only saw each other once a year, if that.
They rarely spoke about anything serious.
Instead, they shared childhood memories or news about people Mother had known back when she was a count’s daughter.
Whenever my aunt and mother met, it was always like this.
But today was a little different.
As time passed, my aunt looked increasingly anxious.
She kept a calm expression like a mask, but the tension beneath it was so obvious it showed through anyway.
Mother, who had been telling herself it must be because of work, was just about to voice her concern when—
“I’m sorry, Lib.”
My aunt spoke first.
“Sorry for what?”
Mother, sensing something ominous, asked sharply.
But before my aunt could answer, we found out exactly why she had apologized.
Ding.
The door to the teahouse—which was always empty on the days we met my aunt—opened.
And in strode an elderly gentleman with a stern face.
“Father?”
Mother called out to the old man as if she couldn’t believe her own eyes.
It was my maternal grandfather, whom I was seeing for the very first time.