from Peggy and a pair of matching sandals. Because I didn’t really have the time – and I don’t care – my hair is down.
Marjory opens the door before we knock.
“Thomas, you and the beauty have arrived!” she says happily. “Come in! Come in!”
“I’m sorry we’re late, but Alexandra was doing some homework,” Gramps apologizes as we step into the house.
“Smart beauty!” Marjory pats my cheek. “Come see our men!” She pulls me into the Victorian parlor. The dust and sheets are gone, but it’s just as creepy as it ever. Sven, Henrik, and Christian are having a heated discussion over maps of the coast.
When he sees me, Christian does it again, he softy blows through his lips so quietly and quickly that most people wouldn’t have noticed. Sven and Henrik put down their maps.
Hypothesis # 9 – There is something up with this blowy thingy.
“Good evening, Alexandra,” Christian inclines his head slightly. “This must be your grandfather?”
“It’s Thomas and the Singer beauty!” Marjory lovingly takes Christian’s hand and kisses it. Marjory has always been a bit odd.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Gramps offers his hand. “I’m Thomas Singer, and you’ve met my granddaughter at school.”
Sven steps forward, and shakes Gramps’ hand. “I’m Sven Pedersen, and these are my cousins, Henrik, and Christian. Do you own the fishing boat, Singers’ Lady ?”
“Yes, that’s my boat,” Gramps answers.
“We hear you are well respected in these waters,” Henrik says matter-of-factly.
“Thomas is our good neighbor and friend,” Marjory interjects. She gestures to the door. “We have prepared a wonderful meal. We will eat before it gets cold.”
She shows us into her formal dining room. It is as large and gaudy as the rest of the house. The massive table is set with fine china, silverware, and crystal goblets. It goes against everything I know about Marjory. This is a woman who will eat a wormy apple without a second thought. It’s a complete oxymoron to know she set the table.
“What can I help with?” I ask, not wanting to have to talk to the Pedersens. It’s completely out of my comfort zone. I’ve always been uncomfortable with strangers and more a watcher than a talker.
“Come, come,” Marjory takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen. She dexterously covers china plates with large fillets of pollack. With them she serves lobster and shrimp. It’s strange to see the plates without a fruit or vegetable, but Marjory has always really liked fish.
“Go down for wine,” she points to a door to her old wine cellar as she heads to the other room with the plates.
I don’t know a thing about wine but follow her instructions. I descend the rickety stairs into the dark wine cellar. Because there isn’t a light, I fumble around in the dark. An eerie breeze sends chills up my spine. I stagger around until I feel a bottle. I grab it and a couple of its neighbors before running up the stairs as fast as I can move.
“Good, good!” Marjory exclaims when I hand her the bottles. She washes a thick layer of dust off them and puts them in buckets of ice. I am given a bucket and follow her into the dining room.
There are only two empty seats when I return. I cringe to see that one is between Sven and Henrik, and the other is between Gramps and Christian. I choose the one next to Gramps.
Marjory shows Sven a bottle of her wine. He reads the label and nods, taking the bottle
Marjory opens the door before we knock.
“Thomas, you and the beauty have arrived!” she says happily. “Come in! Come in!”
“I’m sorry we’re late, but Alexandra was doing some homework,” Gramps apologizes as we step into the house.
“Smart beauty!” Marjory pats my cheek. “Come see our men!” She pulls me into the Victorian parlor. The dust and sheets are gone, but it’s just as creepy as it ever. Sven, Henrik, and Christian are having a heated discussion over maps of the coast.
When he sees me, Christian does it again, he softy blows through his lips so quietly and quickly that most people wouldn’t have noticed. Sven and Henrik put down their maps.
Hypothesis # 9 – There is something up with this blowy thingy.
“Good evening, Alexandra,” Christian inclines his head slightly. “This must be your grandfather?”
“It’s Thomas and the Singer beauty!” Marjory lovingly takes Christian’s hand and kisses it. Marjory has always been a bit odd.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Gramps offers his hand. “I’m Thomas Singer, and you’ve met my granddaughter at school.”
Sven steps forward, and shakes Gramps’ hand. “I’m Sven Pedersen, and these are my cousins, Henrik, and Christian. Do you own the fishing boat, Singers’ Lady ?”
“Yes, that’s my boat,” Gramps answers.
“We hear you are well respected in these waters,” Henrik says matter-of-factly.
“Thomas is our good neighbor and friend,” Marjory interjects. She gestures to the door. “We have prepared a wonderful meal. We will eat before it gets cold.”
She shows us into her formal dining room. It is as large and gaudy as the rest of the house. The massive table is set with fine china, silverware, and crystal goblets. It goes against everything I know about Marjory. This is a woman who will eat a wormy apple without a second thought. It’s a complete oxymoron to know she set the table.
“What can I help with?” I ask, not wanting to have to talk to the Pedersens. It’s completely out of my comfort zone. I’ve always been uncomfortable with strangers and more a watcher than a talker.
“Come, come,” Marjory takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen. She dexterously covers china plates with large fillets of pollack. With them she serves lobster and shrimp. It’s strange to see the plates without a fruit or vegetable, but Marjory has always really liked fish.
“Go down for wine,” she points to a door to her old wine cellar as she heads to the other room with the plates.
I don’t know a thing about wine but follow her instructions. I descend the rickety stairs into the dark wine cellar. Because there isn’t a light, I fumble around in the dark. An eerie breeze sends chills up my spine. I stagger around until I feel a bottle. I grab it and a couple of its neighbors before running up the stairs as fast as I can move.
“Good, good!” Marjory exclaims when I hand her the bottles. She washes a thick layer of dust off them and puts them in buckets of ice. I am given a bucket and follow her into the dining room.
There are only two empty seats when I return. I cringe to see that one is between Sven and Henrik, and the other is between Gramps and Christian. I choose the one next to Gramps.
Marjory shows Sven a bottle of her wine. He reads the label and nods, taking the bottle
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