oversee.
Such neglect stop. His win was now
home, she’d hasten to assure him, and she’d come home to help. She
saw herself organizing the servants as mama had done, rushing about
the place with energy and vigor, every inch the mistress-and
lady-Amanda McCloud had been.
As she marched toward the house, she
ignored the tangle of weeds lining the cherries shaded drive.
Tripping twice in the roots, she insisted it didn’t matter, that it
would be set to write as soon as she talked with her
daddy.
And optimism somewhat soured when they
reach the house, and she found no daddy waiting on the porch steps,
either. Their steamboat had sounded its horn long ago; John would
have to be deaf, blind, and witless not to know she’d
arrived.
But then, perhaps he felt it unsafe to
wait here, since the porch steps seemed even less reliable than the
dock. To her surprise, Uncle Jervis stepped casually over the
missing bottom board and, without another word, went on
inside.
What had happened to her beloved
Willows? The house had not seen a paint brush in years, and what
little paint remained on its weathered boards flaked and peeled. A
shudder, likewise stripped of color, dangled disconsolately from a
second floor window. The way it move, it must bang against the
walls and any good wind, yet nothing had been done to either fix or
remove it.
So one should tame the oaks, she
thought, before their branches scraped more shingles from the roof.
And something must be done with the wisteria, twining up through
the gallery railing to the second floor. It made the house look
like a prisoner about to be choked.
Stepping blithely over the
broken step, Edith followed her father into the house. The fact
that neither her cousin nor uncle found anything amiss proved that
this state of decay was no recent occurrence. Oh daddy, what’s happened? Gwen
thoughts with a catch in her throat.
At her side, Lance padded her arm to
console her as he led her into the house. “Be brave, my love.
Whatever you face, I am here at your side. Somehow, we shall get
through this together.”
His words held such a depressing tone,
she half expected to find an ogre waiting inside the door, but only
Homer, father’s personal servant and valet, stood in the hallway.
How old and stopped the service had become; like the house, Homer
had age for more than the years to warrant.
She studied the grand entrance in which
mama had once taken such pride. The oak banister on the wide and
curving stairway hadn’t been polished in months, and the dust was
so strong, Gwen was reluctant stand still of fear it settled down
and cover her.
Uncle Jervis was sorting through the
mail on the hall table, with Edith trying to hide the fact that she
was looking over his shoulder. The way they frowned in unison seem
to indicate and unwelcome letter.
“ Another bill?” Scratched
out a voice from behind.
They snapped to attention, both clearly
uncomfortable as he turned to face the newcomer. It was a good
thing Jervis called out, “John” for without the name, Gwen might
never have recognized her father.
A sudden tightness with her throat at
the site of his once proud frame hunched over a sturdy cane. The
years had been even crueler to daddy then to her uncle. Where his
brother had whited in girth, John had narrowed to near extinction.
A soiled white shirt hung on his shoulders like a wilted flag of
surrender, and his tightly clenched trousers could well fit another
man inside. Similar lines of dissipation appeared on his face, but
with Jervis, the pockets of fat on daddy they seemed etched into
the bone.
He was such a far cry from the man Gwen
remembered, the man she’d imagined would be waiting for her on the
dock, she half expected everyone to laugh say they’d played a cruel
joke.
But no one said a word; they barely
moved, everyone waited for what daddy would say or do
next.
He leaned heavily on the cane, eyeing
each of them in turn. No one actually squirmed, but neither
Such neglect stop. His win was now
home, she’d hasten to assure him, and she’d come home to help. She
saw herself organizing the servants as mama had done, rushing about
the place with energy and vigor, every inch the mistress-and
lady-Amanda McCloud had been.
As she marched toward the house, she
ignored the tangle of weeds lining the cherries shaded drive.
Tripping twice in the roots, she insisted it didn’t matter, that it
would be set to write as soon as she talked with her
daddy.
And optimism somewhat soured when they
reach the house, and she found no daddy waiting on the porch steps,
either. Their steamboat had sounded its horn long ago; John would
have to be deaf, blind, and witless not to know she’d
arrived.
But then, perhaps he felt it unsafe to
wait here, since the porch steps seemed even less reliable than the
dock. To her surprise, Uncle Jervis stepped casually over the
missing bottom board and, without another word, went on
inside.
What had happened to her beloved
Willows? The house had not seen a paint brush in years, and what
little paint remained on its weathered boards flaked and peeled. A
shudder, likewise stripped of color, dangled disconsolately from a
second floor window. The way it move, it must bang against the
walls and any good wind, yet nothing had been done to either fix or
remove it.
So one should tame the oaks, she
thought, before their branches scraped more shingles from the roof.
And something must be done with the wisteria, twining up through
the gallery railing to the second floor. It made the house look
like a prisoner about to be choked.
Stepping blithely over the
broken step, Edith followed her father into the house. The fact
that neither her cousin nor uncle found anything amiss proved that
this state of decay was no recent occurrence. Oh daddy, what’s happened? Gwen
thoughts with a catch in her throat.
At her side, Lance padded her arm to
console her as he led her into the house. “Be brave, my love.
Whatever you face, I am here at your side. Somehow, we shall get
through this together.”
His words held such a depressing tone,
she half expected to find an ogre waiting inside the door, but only
Homer, father’s personal servant and valet, stood in the hallway.
How old and stopped the service had become; like the house, Homer
had age for more than the years to warrant.
She studied the grand entrance in which
mama had once taken such pride. The oak banister on the wide and
curving stairway hadn’t been polished in months, and the dust was
so strong, Gwen was reluctant stand still of fear it settled down
and cover her.
Uncle Jervis was sorting through the
mail on the hall table, with Edith trying to hide the fact that she
was looking over his shoulder. The way they frowned in unison seem
to indicate and unwelcome letter.
“ Another bill?” Scratched
out a voice from behind.
They snapped to attention, both clearly
uncomfortable as he turned to face the newcomer. It was a good
thing Jervis called out, “John” for without the name, Gwen might
never have recognized her father.
A sudden tightness with her throat at
the site of his once proud frame hunched over a sturdy cane. The
years had been even crueler to daddy then to her uncle. Where his
brother had whited in girth, John had narrowed to near extinction.
A soiled white shirt hung on his shoulders like a wilted flag of
surrender, and his tightly clenched trousers could well fit another
man inside. Similar lines of dissipation appeared on his face, but
with Jervis, the pockets of fat on daddy they seemed etched into
the bone.
He was such a far cry from the man Gwen
remembered, the man she’d imagined would be waiting for her on the
dock, she half expected everyone to laugh say they’d played a cruel
joke.
But no one said a word; they barely
moved, everyone waited for what daddy would say or do
next.
He leaned heavily on the cane, eyeing
each of them in turn. No one actually squirmed, but neither
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