parlor-den.
“Oh,” he said, “you want to play.” He obliged, took me in his oh-so-capable arms, and kissed me.
“Well, yeah, I do,” I said, slipping his shirt buttons in and out of their buttonholes, “but I can’t right now. Gotta read those clothes while Paisley’s occupied.”
“Rats, foiled again.”
“What, you won’t be able to find your way to my room later?”
That seemed to cheer him as we made our way to Paisley’s treasures via the back stairs. See, in my house, you can fool about anybody, because we have four sets of stairs. The front stairs, the back stairs, the keeping room stairs, and the stairs that lead to only one back bedroom. Yes, the house had been added to, and renovated, over the centuries regularly, and decades apart, by different families. It was like our very own small, sane,tame version of the Winchester house in California without windows in floors and stairs to ceilings.
Could a family with four kids have fun here? Oh, yeah.
Paisley had left her treasure trove of children’s clothes in my room during our presupper, second-floor tour, so I didn’t feel entirely like I was prying, especially since she wanted my opinion. And there appeared to be a murder-kidnapping to be solved.
Not to mention Paisley’s lifetime incarceration, another crime to iron out.
“Nick, can you sit on the sofa with me and hand me the ruffled gown, then can you hold me while I read it? If I can read it?”
“With one exception, there’s nothing I’d rather do, no place I’d rather be, than on a sofa with you in my arms, but psychometric readings always wring you out, and I hate the thought of your physical and mental exhaustion afterward, for your sake.”
“I never feel as exhausted as confused.” I set the inlaid box on the sofa table, all its vintage treasures inside, and urged Nick to sit beside it. Then I sat against him and enjoyed having him enfold me in his arms. “We’ve never done it like this before,” I said with a chuckle.
“This is also not the ‘it’ I planned,” he murmured against my ear.
“Sorry. Hand me the tiny white ruffled dress. The only thing I’ve read so far was the cloak, and I wouldn’t mind giving that another try, but not tonight. Just the dress, please.”
He gave it to me, the fabric as soft as could be, each ruffle about four inches long, but it was a little damp from the snow, and amazingly, I realized that I’d slipped so easily into this vision, I hadn’t felt the progression. It wasn’t Nick’s hand near the dress anymore but a hand with four fingers undoing the tie on the cloak and slipping it off my small shoulders.
I felt a little dizzy then and a lot cold, and I shivered as I looked up at him. He had keen eyes of bright periwinkle that seemed to see everything. I fingered that dear face, all lined and grizzled, and I scraped the white stubble on his cheek with one of my small fingers. He turned his head and kissed that finger.
I regarded that finger with awe while he moved a soft bright stuffed chair close to the fireplace, where a small fire grew, and he sat me down on it. There he took off my wet velvet shoes and ruffly white socks and slipped a pair of man’s socks on me, up to my knees, then he wrapped me in a quilt, lifted me in his arms, and sat on the chair with me in his lap.
“I hated bringing you to such a place, but I didn’t have a choice.”
“When will Daddy and Mama get here?”
Bepah’s chest hitched beneath my cheek, once really hard,but it stopped and so did the tears falling down my cheeks. I grew warm and sleepy, and fingered my dress ruffles as I looked about the small kitchen with two little beds in the corner.
The room had wood walls with slits between the planks where you could peek out at the snow. A scratched table. Mismatched chairs. Boxes of food and supplies, three boxes of bullets. Probably for the gun over the fireplace. Daddy had one there, as well. Bepah and Daddy had other guns, too, small
“Oh,” he said, “you want to play.” He obliged, took me in his oh-so-capable arms, and kissed me.
“Well, yeah, I do,” I said, slipping his shirt buttons in and out of their buttonholes, “but I can’t right now. Gotta read those clothes while Paisley’s occupied.”
“Rats, foiled again.”
“What, you won’t be able to find your way to my room later?”
That seemed to cheer him as we made our way to Paisley’s treasures via the back stairs. See, in my house, you can fool about anybody, because we have four sets of stairs. The front stairs, the back stairs, the keeping room stairs, and the stairs that lead to only one back bedroom. Yes, the house had been added to, and renovated, over the centuries regularly, and decades apart, by different families. It was like our very own small, sane,tame version of the Winchester house in California without windows in floors and stairs to ceilings.
Could a family with four kids have fun here? Oh, yeah.
Paisley had left her treasure trove of children’s clothes in my room during our presupper, second-floor tour, so I didn’t feel entirely like I was prying, especially since she wanted my opinion. And there appeared to be a murder-kidnapping to be solved.
Not to mention Paisley’s lifetime incarceration, another crime to iron out.
“Nick, can you sit on the sofa with me and hand me the ruffled gown, then can you hold me while I read it? If I can read it?”
“With one exception, there’s nothing I’d rather do, no place I’d rather be, than on a sofa with you in my arms, but psychometric readings always wring you out, and I hate the thought of your physical and mental exhaustion afterward, for your sake.”
“I never feel as exhausted as confused.” I set the inlaid box on the sofa table, all its vintage treasures inside, and urged Nick to sit beside it. Then I sat against him and enjoyed having him enfold me in his arms. “We’ve never done it like this before,” I said with a chuckle.
“This is also not the ‘it’ I planned,” he murmured against my ear.
“Sorry. Hand me the tiny white ruffled dress. The only thing I’ve read so far was the cloak, and I wouldn’t mind giving that another try, but not tonight. Just the dress, please.”
He gave it to me, the fabric as soft as could be, each ruffle about four inches long, but it was a little damp from the snow, and amazingly, I realized that I’d slipped so easily into this vision, I hadn’t felt the progression. It wasn’t Nick’s hand near the dress anymore but a hand with four fingers undoing the tie on the cloak and slipping it off my small shoulders.
I felt a little dizzy then and a lot cold, and I shivered as I looked up at him. He had keen eyes of bright periwinkle that seemed to see everything. I fingered that dear face, all lined and grizzled, and I scraped the white stubble on his cheek with one of my small fingers. He turned his head and kissed that finger.
I regarded that finger with awe while he moved a soft bright stuffed chair close to the fireplace, where a small fire grew, and he sat me down on it. There he took off my wet velvet shoes and ruffly white socks and slipped a pair of man’s socks on me, up to my knees, then he wrapped me in a quilt, lifted me in his arms, and sat on the chair with me in his lap.
“I hated bringing you to such a place, but I didn’t have a choice.”
“When will Daddy and Mama get here?”
Bepah’s chest hitched beneath my cheek, once really hard,but it stopped and so did the tears falling down my cheeks. I grew warm and sleepy, and fingered my dress ruffles as I looked about the small kitchen with two little beds in the corner.
The room had wood walls with slits between the planks where you could peek out at the snow. A scratched table. Mismatched chairs. Boxes of food and supplies, three boxes of bullets. Probably for the gun over the fireplace. Daddy had one there, as well. Bepah and Daddy had other guns, too, small
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