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Authors: Jill Churchill
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other close friends.
Jane forced herself to concentrate on cataloging a collection of turn-of-the-century corsets and petticoats.
By two-thirty, Jane was more than ready for a break. She used her computer a lot at home: she’d been working—or rather playing—at a story that she hoped would someday miraculously turn into a novel. But at home she was always up and down, throwing in a load of laundry, letting the dog in and out of the backyard, running errands. She seldom sat in front of the screen for such long, intense periods. And the strain was getting to her neck and eyes. She moved over to the board table, sat down, gingerly rested her heels on the very edge of the table, and slouched into the chair. The change in posture hurt, but in a good, stretchy way.
When the door opened, she hastily sat up.
“Taking a break?“ Babs McDonald said. “Put your feet back up. You can’t do that table any harm. I did a little nursing during World War Two and the head nurse always told us that if we put our feet up every single chance we got, we’d add at least five years to our lives. You’re Jane, right?“
“Jane Jeffry, yes.“
“I’m Babs McDonald. I hope everybody’s fawned over you and your friend Shelley for helping us out. We’re really enormously grateful.“
“Everybody’s fawned very nicely,“ Jane said with a smile. “And I’m finding it very interesting. Besides, it gets me out of the house and away from my children for a while. By August, that’s a real perk.“
“Oh, yes. Summer vacation.“ Babs had brought along a cup of coffee and sat down to put a packet of powdered dairy mix into it. “I remember when Daisy was raising Caspar and Georgia. By the end of vacation, she was exhausted.“
“Daisy Snellen, you mean? She raised—?“ Jane was confused.
“Not officially, of course, but her brother was—not to speak ill of the dead—but he was a bum. His wife left him and the kids and he pretty much dumped them on poor Daisy. I helped her out as much as I could, but I’m not one of those women with a maternal pilot light that makes me automatically love children. Even very nice children. And Caspar and Georgia weren’t ever especially nice children. You’ve probably met them and could have guessed that.”
She was stirring in the dairy mix and looking at the result with disgust. Jane was again struck by how well Babs seemed to “fit“ her age. Her thick white hair was in a Gibson Girl type of loose knot on top of her head today. She wore crisply tailored white slacks, an obviously expensive light blue safari-style blouse, and a gorgeous fuchsia, navy, and white silk scarf tied as a belt. She looked both stylish and comfortable, as if it came naturally.
“I’ve only seen Caspar Snellen once—no, twice, including this morning—and the first time he was very rude.“
“Oh, he’s his father all over again. But how his father got to be that way is a mystery to me. Old Auguste Snellen was about the kindest, most courteous old gentleman I ever met and his wife was a sweet little dumpling of a woman. And Daisy’s parents were lovely people, too, but they died very young. Her brother, who was the father of Caspar and Georgia, was only a teenager when Auguste died, and Daisy was about twenty. Auguste left his fortune to Daisy, supposedly because his grandson was so young. But I think old Auguste had already seen the writing on the wall and knew the boy was going to turn out badly.“
“You knew Auguste Snellen? I thought he was born way back in the 1850s.“
“Yes, he was. But he lived to be eighty years old. He died in 1935, I think. I was only fifteen then, but I thought he was a dear old man. Sharlene feels the same about him, and all she’s ever known is his picture. Daisy always said that as a grandfather, employer, and friend, he was lovely, but as a businessman, he was tough, independent, and rather secretive. He did all his own bookkeeping because he didn’t want an
Jane forced herself to concentrate on cataloging a collection of turn-of-the-century corsets and petticoats.
By two-thirty, Jane was more than ready for a break. She used her computer a lot at home: she’d been working—or rather playing—at a story that she hoped would someday miraculously turn into a novel. But at home she was always up and down, throwing in a load of laundry, letting the dog in and out of the backyard, running errands. She seldom sat in front of the screen for such long, intense periods. And the strain was getting to her neck and eyes. She moved over to the board table, sat down, gingerly rested her heels on the very edge of the table, and slouched into the chair. The change in posture hurt, but in a good, stretchy way.
When the door opened, she hastily sat up.
“Taking a break?“ Babs McDonald said. “Put your feet back up. You can’t do that table any harm. I did a little nursing during World War Two and the head nurse always told us that if we put our feet up every single chance we got, we’d add at least five years to our lives. You’re Jane, right?“
“Jane Jeffry, yes.“
“I’m Babs McDonald. I hope everybody’s fawned over you and your friend Shelley for helping us out. We’re really enormously grateful.“
“Everybody’s fawned very nicely,“ Jane said with a smile. “And I’m finding it very interesting. Besides, it gets me out of the house and away from my children for a while. By August, that’s a real perk.“
“Oh, yes. Summer vacation.“ Babs had brought along a cup of coffee and sat down to put a packet of powdered dairy mix into it. “I remember when Daisy was raising Caspar and Georgia. By the end of vacation, she was exhausted.“
“Daisy Snellen, you mean? She raised—?“ Jane was confused.
“Not officially, of course, but her brother was—not to speak ill of the dead—but he was a bum. His wife left him and the kids and he pretty much dumped them on poor Daisy. I helped her out as much as I could, but I’m not one of those women with a maternal pilot light that makes me automatically love children. Even very nice children. And Caspar and Georgia weren’t ever especially nice children. You’ve probably met them and could have guessed that.”
She was stirring in the dairy mix and looking at the result with disgust. Jane was again struck by how well Babs seemed to “fit“ her age. Her thick white hair was in a Gibson Girl type of loose knot on top of her head today. She wore crisply tailored white slacks, an obviously expensive light blue safari-style blouse, and a gorgeous fuchsia, navy, and white silk scarf tied as a belt. She looked both stylish and comfortable, as if it came naturally.
“I’ve only seen Caspar Snellen once—no, twice, including this morning—and the first time he was very rude.“
“Oh, he’s his father all over again. But how his father got to be that way is a mystery to me. Old Auguste Snellen was about the kindest, most courteous old gentleman I ever met and his wife was a sweet little dumpling of a woman. And Daisy’s parents were lovely people, too, but they died very young. Her brother, who was the father of Caspar and Georgia, was only a teenager when Auguste died, and Daisy was about twenty. Auguste left his fortune to Daisy, supposedly because his grandson was so young. But I think old Auguste had already seen the writing on the wall and knew the boy was going to turn out badly.“
“You knew Auguste Snellen? I thought he was born way back in the 1850s.“
“Yes, he was. But he lived to be eighty years old. He died in 1935, I think. I was only fifteen then, but I thought he was a dear old man. Sharlene feels the same about him, and all she’s ever known is his picture. Daisy always said that as a grandfather, employer, and friend, he was lovely, but as a businessman, he was tough, independent, and rather secretive. He did all his own bookkeeping because he didn’t want an
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