"Let's make a start, at least. I can face the thing with a partner," he told her.
"Partner?"
"A partner makes many things more bearable. They can make the impossible possible." He took her hand.
"I'll bring Papa for a visit, if you wish," she agreed.
"Cath? Cath? Come and see how the piglet looks in Freddy's old baby bonnet," Randy called from outside.
Catherine clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh at the picture Randy's words created. Will's laughing eyes made her drop her hand to smile back. Before she could think, he dared a quick kiss, thrust her deeper into shadows, and stepped out. "I am looking for her, too, Randy. "Let's try behind the house."
Will wished desperately that Catherine stood at his side two days later, when Sylvia soaked his neck-cloth and sobbed all over his jacket. Three boys looked on with wide eyes and troubled expressions.
"The boys meant no harm," he murmured. What can I say to heal this madness?
"Truly, we didn't, Mama," Charles said. Hands still holding pine branches hung at his side. "I invited Randy and Freddy to help make the hall look festive."
Sylvia's muffled reply was unintelligible. The boy continued desperately, "It's just that Songbird Cottage looks ever so festive, and we never do anything…" He groped for a word. "Fun. We never laugh," he finished, anguish in his voice.
Sylvia lifted her head and took a look at her son. "But, Charles, we're in mourning."
Charles raised a defiant, if trembling, chin. "We've been in mourning my whole life."
She gasped, and Will braced for another outburst. What she said next surprised him.
"We have, haven't we? Ten years of mourning. Never any joy. No smiles over dinner. No guests. Never any holiday greens. No Christmas pudding. No Twelfth Night revels, not here, not with family. No joy. Even Boxing Day felt like a court ceremony, and no one ever told me the rules." She gave a little hiccup and put her head on Will's shoulder. "I always got them wrong."
He hugged her close.
"Oh, Will, do you remember how Father used to make the household laugh on Boxing Day?" she asked.
"I remember. I didn't think you did. Do you remember how Mother organized Twelfth Night revels?"
Sylvia cried again, but with less desperation. To Will, it felt like the soul-shaking cry of mourning. She mourned, he suspected, the loss of youth, family, and joy, not her husband.
He gathered her close and spoke to the boys over her shoulder.
"You're right to bring joy to this house, Charles, but perhaps the entrance hall is not the place to start." It will take more than the boys' efforts at decoration to make this monstrosity feel human. "I suggest you start with the nursery."
Charles's face fell, but he complied. He picked up one pile of branches. "Come up with me, Randy and Freddy. At least upstairs, no one will interrupt us."
"Wait, boys," Will said. "You could also decorate the family parlor. Celebrations belong best with family, no?"
"Famous, Charles! We'll all be there, won't we, my lord?" Randy looked at Will hopefully.
"You certainly will. We'll all be together tomorrow night." I have no idea how I'll make sure joy outweighs grief, but I'm damn well going to try. "There will be gifts," he said with a wink.
"Excellent notion!" Charles exclaimed.
"Come on, Charles. A parlor will be easier to do, anyway," Freddy suggested. "We were going to need a big ladder for this one, and that Stowe liked to have apoplexy when we brought in the greens." He looked around the cavernous room. "It would be a good place for the nativity pageant, though."
"Don't even think about it," Will called over Sylvia's shoulder at the retreating boys.
In the boys' absence, Sylvia's quiet weeping echoed off the walls. "Come, dear one, let's go upstairs." He kept an arm around his sister's shoulders while he led her to the stairs. "Were the decorations so terrible?"
"They aren't terrible at all," she said, her voice thick with tears. "It reminded me of Chadbourn Park. Emery never allowed it. He never allowed us to celebrate."
"I thought Emery liked his pleasures."
