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had the greatest affection for Uncle Hal, but I absolutely loved my cousin Peter. He was the most unspoiled of the family, fair-haired like Jennie but without her innate mischief that often bordered on malice, kind like his father but with an energy that my easygoing uncle lacked. Peter was spared all of my overbearing and stubborn traits, and he resembled his mother only physically. Peter had inherited all that was the best of us.
    “Johanna, how terrible it must have been for you!” He put his arms around my waist and gave me a big hug that left me breathless. “We’re so glad you and Grandmother are home safe and sound. Was it very awful?”
    We went inside and sat down.
    “Not so awful for me, but it was terrible for a great many people. Now let’s talk about you. How are your studies?”
    He grimaced, but I knew the expression was in jest. Peter was bright and a good student and planned to be an attorney like his father. No one had to force him into the profession either. He loved the law. Someday I knew he would be a fine lawyer, the best in his field and much in demand.
    “Grueling.”
    “Then why are you home? Surely it’s not break time.”
    “I’m home for your party, Johanna. Mother commanded an appearance.”
    “That was thoughtful.”
    Another grimace followed by, “You know there’s often an ulterior motive with Mother. She encouraged me to bring some college friends home with me. You know the kind: good family and—”
    “—old money,” I supplied, and we both laughed.
    “Exactly. You’ll meet them at the party. Sometimes I think I was only sent away to school to find a husband for Jennie.”
    “Is Jennie ready for a husband, do you think?” I meant it teasingly but his face sobered.
    “Jennie’s nineteen going on forty. She thinks she’s Miss Sophistication but she’s just a girl. Not like you, Johanna.”
    “Thank you, I think.”
    “You know what I mean. You have some experience in the world, good sense, and a feel for people. Jennie has no experience in the world and a very narrow perspective. I wouldn’t exactly call her an innocent, though, so a husband might be what she needs to keep her out of trouble.”
    I would have continued the conversation, but Grandmother came to the door and Peter rose to greet her. Like all of, she favored Peter. Her eyes always lit up when she saw him, and he was as fond of her in return. I never detected anything false in his tone when he spoke to her or about her.
    Later, after Peter left, I remembered I had been interrupted on my way out for a walk, so grabbing a coat, because the day was cool and the wind off the lake even cooler, I strode briskly around the neighborhood. As I did so, I clearly remembered my first glimpse of Hill Street and how enormous the houses had seemed to me, how palatial and luxurious. I imagined royalty must live on Hill Street because until then all I had known were small, rustic dwellings, where many people crowded into one or two rooms and did everything communally, where privacy was a luxury along with indoor plumbing and beds on legs. Chicago and Hill Street had seemed very foreign, and I had felt lost and anguished but too cautious and proud to let my feelings show.
    Striding along the walk that late April day, I considered Hill Street the closest place to home I would ever know, loved the large, stately houses with their handsome front doors and green lawns, appreciated front porches and urns of freshly planted flowers. Probably too early for them to last, I thought, but I understood that by April in Chicago people longed for spring with impatient desperation.
    Returning from my walk, I noticed an auto parked at the curb in front of our house and a man coming out the front door, pulling the door shut behind him. With a cry, I called, “Allen!” and ran forward, abandoning all dignity, tripped up the steps and fell into his arms for a warm hug.
    Grinning, he set me down and said, “That was worth the trip,