redecorated.”
“It’ll be a pretty setting for a lump of coal,” Michael muttered.
There was a short pause. “Well, I meant to speak to you about that as well.”
Michael risked a glance up and saw Seward’s thin, sarcastic smile. “I’m to be restored along with the house, am I? I’m honored. Too bad it can’t be done.”
His aunt set her jaw. “You haven’t tried,” she said flatly.
“You’re right,” Seward returned, with equal sangfroid. “I haven’t.”
That statement brought Michael up short. It took a couple of moments before he recovered himself and remembered that his eyes were supposed to be on the garden, not on Seward’s pain-twisted face. When he did, he heard Seward’s aunt say softly, “Well. I’m sure you must have had your reasons, but there comes a time when we must buckle down and face the world.”
“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Seward sneered.
There was the sound of a chair scraping back. “I knew you wouldn’t react well to the news. But in time I’m sure you’ll see it’s for the best.” Another pause. “Thomas, I’d like a word with you in private.”
Michael looked up to see Abbott’s gaze darting furtively from Seward to his aunt. He must have received his answer, because he said clearly, “Of course, mum,” and followed her into the house the way she and Seward had come.
As for Seward himself, he sat at the table for a few moments, and then Michael heard him say, “Well, did you get all of that?”
Michael looked up and met that direct, uncompromising gaze, but before he could formulate an answer, Seward waved a hand at him. “Never mind, never mind. After all, it’s not as though I have any dignity left to preserve.”
With the aid of the cane, he pushed himself to a standing position and made his slow, hobbling way back to the house, Michael’s gaze riveted to his every step.
4
T HE next month was a flurry of activity and work as Seward’s aunt made good on her threat to improve the house and everything within it. Furniture was delivered, draperies and linens ordered, and an electric refrigerator—the new kind linked to a compressor installed in the basement—replaced the old icebox. Electrical wiring, ten years old, was deemed inadequate and new wiring was installed. Plumbers were brought in to update the bathroom fixtures; fresh cobblestones were installed in the driveway; cracks in the plaster were repaired throughout the house.
And every one of the hundred or so odd jobs that required a strong back rather than skill was relegated to Michael. Given new orders by Abbott, he cut his time in the garden so that he would have the opportunity to complete the various tasks that had been assigned him. He began by completing the cleaning of the interior of the house from top to bottom and ended with a repainting of the entire exterior that took him a full week. Along the way there was furniture to be moved, floors to be stripped and re-waxed, roofs to be patched—the list seemed endless. And throughout it all, he saw not a whisper of Seward in the house. Somehow, the man managed to avoid detection and yet remain a ghostly presence that prickled the hairs on the back of Michael’s neck.
By late May he was exhausted, though no more so than the Abbotts, who were showing the strain of the extra work far more than he. Despite Mary and Michael’s combined efforts, the old man had been involved in every step of the process, dealing with hired men and overseeing their efforts in accordance with Mrs. Anderson’s wishes. Michael tried to remind him the men knew their jobs and could probably be trusted to do them, but Abbott shrugged him off and told him, predictably, to mind his own business.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Mary said one afternoon over coffee and cherry pie, in what felt like the first time they’d sat down all week, “but it’s no use. He won’t listen to me, either.”
A month ago he would have
“It’ll be a pretty setting for a lump of coal,” Michael muttered.
There was a short pause. “Well, I meant to speak to you about that as well.”
Michael risked a glance up and saw Seward’s thin, sarcastic smile. “I’m to be restored along with the house, am I? I’m honored. Too bad it can’t be done.”
His aunt set her jaw. “You haven’t tried,” she said flatly.
“You’re right,” Seward returned, with equal sangfroid. “I haven’t.”
That statement brought Michael up short. It took a couple of moments before he recovered himself and remembered that his eyes were supposed to be on the garden, not on Seward’s pain-twisted face. When he did, he heard Seward’s aunt say softly, “Well. I’m sure you must have had your reasons, but there comes a time when we must buckle down and face the world.”
“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Seward sneered.
There was the sound of a chair scraping back. “I knew you wouldn’t react well to the news. But in time I’m sure you’ll see it’s for the best.” Another pause. “Thomas, I’d like a word with you in private.”
Michael looked up to see Abbott’s gaze darting furtively from Seward to his aunt. He must have received his answer, because he said clearly, “Of course, mum,” and followed her into the house the way she and Seward had come.
As for Seward himself, he sat at the table for a few moments, and then Michael heard him say, “Well, did you get all of that?”
Michael looked up and met that direct, uncompromising gaze, but before he could formulate an answer, Seward waved a hand at him. “Never mind, never mind. After all, it’s not as though I have any dignity left to preserve.”
With the aid of the cane, he pushed himself to a standing position and made his slow, hobbling way back to the house, Michael’s gaze riveted to his every step.
4
T HE next month was a flurry of activity and work as Seward’s aunt made good on her threat to improve the house and everything within it. Furniture was delivered, draperies and linens ordered, and an electric refrigerator—the new kind linked to a compressor installed in the basement—replaced the old icebox. Electrical wiring, ten years old, was deemed inadequate and new wiring was installed. Plumbers were brought in to update the bathroom fixtures; fresh cobblestones were installed in the driveway; cracks in the plaster were repaired throughout the house.
And every one of the hundred or so odd jobs that required a strong back rather than skill was relegated to Michael. Given new orders by Abbott, he cut his time in the garden so that he would have the opportunity to complete the various tasks that had been assigned him. He began by completing the cleaning of the interior of the house from top to bottom and ended with a repainting of the entire exterior that took him a full week. Along the way there was furniture to be moved, floors to be stripped and re-waxed, roofs to be patched—the list seemed endless. And throughout it all, he saw not a whisper of Seward in the house. Somehow, the man managed to avoid detection and yet remain a ghostly presence that prickled the hairs on the back of Michael’s neck.
By late May he was exhausted, though no more so than the Abbotts, who were showing the strain of the extra work far more than he. Despite Mary and Michael’s combined efforts, the old man had been involved in every step of the process, dealing with hired men and overseeing their efforts in accordance with Mrs. Anderson’s wishes. Michael tried to remind him the men knew their jobs and could probably be trusted to do them, but Abbott shrugged him off and told him, predictably, to mind his own business.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Mary said one afternoon over coffee and cherry pie, in what felt like the first time they’d sat down all week, “but it’s no use. He won’t listen to me, either.”
A month ago he would have
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