“Until Monday. Labor Day. We’re taking the afternoon train back.”
I nearly fall to the floor. Three whole days of this chaos.
“Did you get a hotel?”
“Of course not. Aunt Marg has plenty of room here, don’t you, Auntie?”
“Yes, dear. I’ll have Melva make up the spare bedrooms.”
“We don’t have Melva anymore, Aunt Marg,” I say, doing my best to hold my smile. “Remember?”
“Oh, that’s right.” Marguerite tut-tuts. “My head isn’t on straight these days.”
I sigh. “I’ll air out the spare bedrooms, after dinner.”
“You seem out of sorts, Sadie,” Pauline says, peering at me with her beady eyes. “What’s the matter?”
If one more person asks me what’swrongor why I’m out of sorts, I’ll burst. Instead, I school my face into what I hope is a pleasant expression. “Oh, nothing’s the matter. It’s so lovely you’re all here. Truly. How’s your tea, Pauline?”
“I usually drink orange pekoe, but this will do,” she says, lifting her cup of Lipton and eyeing it with suspicion. “And Louise prefers Earl Grey, don’t you, sister?”
“Yes, but I’m not picky. You’re being rude, Pauline,” she scolds in a stage whisper.
Katie soon falls asleep on her mother’s lap while the twins sit at her feet and gamely shred the palm frond. The clock ticks on as our conversation devolves into chatter about the weather until the tea has gone cold and my patience is worn as thin as my pocketbook. Louise tries to liven things up with society gossip from Kansas City about people I barely know and Marguerite can’t remember. It’s at times like this that I realize just how little I have in common with my cousins. At a loss for anything else to talk about, I switch on the radio, and we all listen to a program about the benefits of daily calisthenics. Harriet comes to take Marguerite’s blood pressure, then leaves for the evening, giving me a sympathetic look on her way out. As the minutes march toward dusk, Marguerite dozes off, head tilted backward, mouth agape. The children run about, then settle, then run around again. All I can think about is the work ahead of me.
When Beckett comes in after his chores and sees us all gathered in the parlor, he hastily doffs his cap. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we had visitors.”
Louise’s head whips toward him, a vixenish smile tracing her lips. “Who’s this, Sadie?”
“Oh. This is Beckett—Mr. Hill. Aunt Marg’s gardener and chauffeur.” My eyes catch Beckett’s and hold for the briefest moment. “And currently, our cook. He’s very good.”
“What a relief! I’ve been wondering who would make dinner. Youmustbe a better cook than our Sadie,” Louise says. “She could burn water.”
“Very funny, Louise,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Little Katie wakes, her blond curls falling in her face.
“And who might you be?” Beckett asks.
“Katie,” she says, grinning, until she looks down and sees the shredded palm frond on the floor and immediately starts crying. “My flower!”
“I have a set of wooden blocks, in my cottage. I can bring them if you’d like,” Beckett offers.
“Would you?” Louise says, relief flooding her features. “I’m at my wit’s end with these children.”
Beckett returns a few minutes later with the blocks. The children gather around him, clambering over his lap as he laughs and shows them how to build a house, and then a bridge. Marguerite wakes with a startled snore and looks around in confusion at the people who have become strangers once more. I go to her, take her hand, and explain who they all are again. Together, we watch the children play with Beckett, and suddenly, this unexpected family gathering doesn’t seem so bad, after all.
“I’d better start dinner,” Beckett says, gently setting Katie on the floor. She pushes out her lower lip in a pout. “We’ll play later. I promise.”
I follow Beckett into the kitchen, where he washes his hands and then begins peeling potatoes.
“Can I help you? With dinner?” I smile at him. “I mean to prove Louise wrong.”
“If you like.” He pushes a handful of potatoes toward me, and I fetch a paring knife from the cupboard and begin peeling them.
“I’m sorry to spring all of this on you,” I say. “I didn’t know they were coming.”
“Your family has a habit of showing up unannounced, don’t they?” He tosses me that wry grin of his, and a frisson of delight runs through me. It’s good to talk to him again. I’ve missed our banter.
