“Just call me Nigel. As Sandra has stated, wearein America and have no need to stand on ceremony.” He leaned his head back in the chair but kept his gaze on Eb. “Tell me about your name.”
“As in, am I related to a green literary figure?” Eb asked dryly, unable to keep the irritability from his voice. He’d had an unexpected day, and he was tired.
“Ah. The cartoon the children enjoy watching. No. I was curious if you were familiar with the works of Rudyard Kipling.”
Eb blinked, not sure where the earl was going with this.
“Oh, I had to study the poem in college,” Sandra said. “It’s about some cattle thief, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my dear. Kipling used the wordgrinchingto describe a sound.” Nigel turned his attention to Eb. “I’ve never met a person with your surname, and I’m curious if you know where it originated.”
“My father’s family came to the US in the late 1800s from France. Our only guess is whoever took down the name at Ellis Island misunderstood or just misspelled it. My fraternal grandmother was interested in genealogy and found what she believed was the original entry for a Grinchly. Unfortunately, the information-taker had atrocious penmanship. My grandmother couldn’t identify which of the many single male passengers on board it had belonged to.”
“Fascinating,” the earl said.
“Which means anyone with your surname is a descendant of that first man.” Sandra grinned. “Few people can say where their surname began.”
“My grandfather thought so and took great pride in it—until the Seuss book came out.”
“Ow.” Sandra pinched her face in a sympathetic grimace.
“Exactly. There’s nothing like having a name so similar to your own become a beloved Christmas story and part of the mainstream vocabulary.” Eb had learned to ignore the repetitive taunting in school. Even adults persisted in making obnoxious comments about it. He hated meeting people for the first time.
The doorbell rang.
“It must be the pizza,” Sandra said, rising.
“Food!” Alex cried, and all three of the children raced toward the door.
“Don’t you dare open it, you little stinkers,” Sandra cried, dashing after them. “You don’t know who it is yet.”
“But you said it’s the pizza.” Grace came to a stop.
“It’s a guess. Besides, you three need to wash your hands before you can eat.” Sandra glanced over her shoulder at Eb. “Can you help them?”
“The bathroom is down the hallway,” came the earl’s voice.
“I can show you. Come, Rue.” Grace took his daughter’s hand, and the two little girls skipped away.
“Ofcourse,” Alex said with disgust. When he didn’t move from the entryway, Eb coughed. The boy sent him a resentful look.
“Alex,” Sandra warned.
“Sorry.” He turned and ran in the same direction the girls had gone, so Eb followed.
They were entertaining themselves, making bubbles with the soap.
“You guys,” Alex moaned. “I’m hungry.”
“I’m not,” Rue said. “I ate a peanut butter sandwich.”
“Ladies, please rinse your hands.” Eb took the hand towels from their hooks and handed one to each of the girls. “There, Alex. The sink is all yours.”
“Finally.”
“Don’t be grumpy.” With a giggle, Grace poked the boy in the ribs. Before he could do more than give an involuntary laugh and wriggle out of her reach, she grabbed Rue’s hand, and the two ran back down the hallway.
“Girls,” Alex grumbled as he rinsed his hands.
