Perdition House by Kathryn R. Wall

Author:Kathryn R. Wall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2003-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

I FOUND THE TWO of them in the main drawing room, seated companionably in front of a fire, with half-emptied boxes of Christmas decorations spread out around them on the royal blue and gold patterned carpet. This largest of the downstairs rooms, rarely used except on the most formal occasions, had always been the focal point of the holiday in our house. Each treasured crystal or porcelain figurine, carefully stored away in humidity-resistant crates for eleven months out of the year, was unpacked, washed and dried by hand, and placed in the exact same spot it had occupied the previous year. And the year before that, and the year before that, and so on, back to the time of whichever Baynard/Tattnall ancestress had first penned the diary my mother considered her bible of design for the interior of Presqu’isle. In fact, Lavinia had that same red, leather-bound journal open on the top of the three nested mahogany tables stacked next to her elbow. She looked up from her place on the gold silk Queen Anne chair and smiled as I picked my way around the open boxes and into the room.

“Hello, sweetheart,” my father boomed from his wheelchair as he placed a delicate Lalique angel with outstretched wings on the claw-footed table centered beneath the massive chandelier. “You’re just in time to help Vinnie with all this folderol. She’s got it into her head we need to decorate for Christmas. Can’t think why she wants to go to all this trouble. Won’t be but the three of us here to see it.”

A vision of gray-blue eyes and a slightly cleft chin flashed briefly across my mind’s eye, and I heard Darnay’s strengthening voice say, Paris at Christmas can be quite chilly. The issue would have to be addressed, but I sensed this wasn’t the time to broach the subject of my possible defection from the family gathering.

“Traditions are important,” Lavinia said, eyeing me warily, almost as if she might have read my thoughts. “Your mother always brought out the holiday things right after Thanksgiving. It took us nearly two weeks just to get everything cleaned and arranged.”

“I remember,” I said, shrugging out of my trench coat and draping it over the back of the settee whose upholstery matched her chair. Ignoring Lavinia’s pointed look of disapproval, I knelt beside one of the open crates and lifted out a green velvet box.

“Be careful with that,” she said, leaning slightly forward in the chair, her hands cupped as if to provide a safety net in case I dropped the treasure. “That’s…”

“I know what it is, Lavinia. Boy, ‘This is like déjà vu all over again.’” I looked to the Judge to see if he was in the game.

“Yogi Berra,” he announced without hesitation. “A lot of people think Casey Stengel, but it was Yogi.”

I smiled as Lavinia shook her head in exasperation and gently relieved me of the chest containing the jade-and-ivory crèche. “I suppose you mean I sounded like your mother just then,” she said.

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