board.
Only one person was seated at the round table. Preston Donner arose to greet me, one corner of a linen napkin tucked into the opening of his knitted wool waistcoat. He put aside a marmalade-spread square of toast to pull out my chair.
I wished I could think of something bright to add to “Good morning.” But any such remarks eluded me.
“You had good weather for your trip with Mrs. Cantrell. Luckily you returned before this closed in.” He gestured to the nearest window, which gave a depressing view of bushes hung with accumulations of wet snow. He was taking on the duties of host, pouring me a cup of coffee from a waiting electric pot, pushinga covered bun holder a few inches in my direction. “May I suggest Reena’s cinnamon rolls? They are delicious enough to brighten even such a dreary day as this.”
Weather—I followed his cue and assured him we had had a pleasant trip, easing thus into a discussion of Theodosia’s research. So occupied, I not only made a hearty breakfast, but my feeling of depression lifted. Then Preston Donner, as if he sensed my better mood, changed to a subject nearer home.
“Miss Jansen, I am very glad you decided to come here. Miss Elizabeth gives one the impression that she is armored against all emotional shocks. But that seeming imperviousness is purely a facade. Miss Emma was her sister and, while their lives were in no way similar, and their natures very different, yet there remained a strong family tie. Miss Emma’s sudden death—we had all believed that she was recovering very well from her accident—has been a hard blow. Why, Miss Elizabeth and Miss Irene had only visited her only on Sunday and she seemed much better.” He made a business of fussily brushing crumbs across the tablecloth. “Now there are few to give Miss Elizabeth any real thought. Miss Irene is very occupied with her husband and her child. Maud and Reena, of course, do all they can to lighten the burden of household care. They have been a part of this house for many years. But neither of them—they are old—can entirely support Miss Elizabeth. Am I—” he asked as he paused and now looked directly at me, “right in believing that you have had experience in dealing with older people?”
“I lived most of my life with an aunt, yes, and ofcourse, she was of another generation.” I was puzzled—did the remaining bits of Aunt Otilda’s onetime dominance still show ?
“Just so. I thought that your attitude when you met Miss Elizabeth for the first time suggested you were not unfamiliar with her—her little eccentricities. Her dress, for example, sometimes astonishes younger women. In this day and age many young people might find her odd. But—more to the point—if Miss Elizabeth should—the number of the family doctor is on a pad by the phone. And my office phone is listed there also. Miss Elizabeth rightly wishes the service this afternoon to be private. But if afterwards she seems to need assistance—” He rolled his napkin to put in a waiting ring.
“I will not be going out today,” I answered unhappily. Why had he called upon that morbid feeling of duty to elders, which I had been trying to rid myself of these past months? It was like being jerked back into a box I wanted no more to see. But habit answered for me now: “If Miss Elizabeth needs me, I will be here.”
“Thank you!” His voice was too hearty, I decided, as if he had shifted some burden to me. And he went out Of the room quickly as if he feared I might recant. But why had he omitted any reference to Sister Anne? Wondering at that, I reached for the paper he had left folded beside his marmalade-smeared plate.
Reena did not cough, shuffle her feet, or display any open impatience, but she made her presence felt, and I knew that I was delaying matters for the kitchen. So I went back upstairs to lay out my notes, though my headache continued in a dull way, and I sniffled. ThenI suddenly struck one of those times so
Only one person was seated at the round table. Preston Donner arose to greet me, one corner of a linen napkin tucked into the opening of his knitted wool waistcoat. He put aside a marmalade-spread square of toast to pull out my chair.
I wished I could think of something bright to add to “Good morning.” But any such remarks eluded me.
“You had good weather for your trip with Mrs. Cantrell. Luckily you returned before this closed in.” He gestured to the nearest window, which gave a depressing view of bushes hung with accumulations of wet snow. He was taking on the duties of host, pouring me a cup of coffee from a waiting electric pot, pushinga covered bun holder a few inches in my direction. “May I suggest Reena’s cinnamon rolls? They are delicious enough to brighten even such a dreary day as this.”
Weather—I followed his cue and assured him we had had a pleasant trip, easing thus into a discussion of Theodosia’s research. So occupied, I not only made a hearty breakfast, but my feeling of depression lifted. Then Preston Donner, as if he sensed my better mood, changed to a subject nearer home.
“Miss Jansen, I am very glad you decided to come here. Miss Elizabeth gives one the impression that she is armored against all emotional shocks. But that seeming imperviousness is purely a facade. Miss Emma was her sister and, while their lives were in no way similar, and their natures very different, yet there remained a strong family tie. Miss Emma’s sudden death—we had all believed that she was recovering very well from her accident—has been a hard blow. Why, Miss Elizabeth and Miss Irene had only visited her only on Sunday and she seemed much better.” He made a business of fussily brushing crumbs across the tablecloth. “Now there are few to give Miss Elizabeth any real thought. Miss Irene is very occupied with her husband and her child. Maud and Reena, of course, do all they can to lighten the burden of household care. They have been a part of this house for many years. But neither of them—they are old—can entirely support Miss Elizabeth. Am I—” he asked as he paused and now looked directly at me, “right in believing that you have had experience in dealing with older people?”
“I lived most of my life with an aunt, yes, and ofcourse, she was of another generation.” I was puzzled—did the remaining bits of Aunt Otilda’s onetime dominance still show ?
“Just so. I thought that your attitude when you met Miss Elizabeth for the first time suggested you were not unfamiliar with her—her little eccentricities. Her dress, for example, sometimes astonishes younger women. In this day and age many young people might find her odd. But—more to the point—if Miss Elizabeth should—the number of the family doctor is on a pad by the phone. And my office phone is listed there also. Miss Elizabeth rightly wishes the service this afternoon to be private. But if afterwards she seems to need assistance—” He rolled his napkin to put in a waiting ring.
“I will not be going out today,” I answered unhappily. Why had he called upon that morbid feeling of duty to elders, which I had been trying to rid myself of these past months? It was like being jerked back into a box I wanted no more to see. But habit answered for me now: “If Miss Elizabeth needs me, I will be here.”
“Thank you!” His voice was too hearty, I decided, as if he had shifted some burden to me. And he went out Of the room quickly as if he feared I might recant. But why had he omitted any reference to Sister Anne? Wondering at that, I reached for the paper he had left folded beside his marmalade-smeared plate.
Reena did not cough, shuffle her feet, or display any open impatience, but she made her presence felt, and I knew that I was delaying matters for the kitchen. So I went back upstairs to lay out my notes, though my headache continued in a dull way, and I sniffled. ThenI suddenly struck one of those times so
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