The Four Seasons. Mary Monroe Alice

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ in their faces. Rose shivered but held the door for Hannah, then waited for Dennis as he huffed and puffed up the stairs with the suitcases. Rose thought their faces were travel-weary as they filed past and she sensed a tension between them, as though they’d been arguing. She notched up her cheeriness, closing the heavy oak door behind them against the cold. They stomped the snow from their boots and slipped out of their coats and gloves, all the while delivering bullets of reports on the journey. Boy-oh-boy what a trip…back-to-back traffic…one accident after another…slippery…damn tollbooth backed up for miles.

      Rose led them into the living room, where soft halos of yellow light from the lamps created a welcoming warmth and the scent of her roast beef and garlic permeated the wintry air. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons played softly in the background—a family favorite.

      On the table cheese, crackers and crudités, looking a bit tired after the long wait, awaited on silver trays. She was proud of her efforts to make the house comfortable, pleased to see the tension ease from their faces and color suffuse their cheeks.

      “So many flowers!” Birdie exclaimed, eyes wide as she walked from table to table admiring the arrangements and pausing to read the cards.

      “More come every day. Merry’s doctors, the neighbors, old friends of Mom and Dad’s, they all sent something. I didn’t know so many people cared about her. She didn’t see people much, but she obviously made an impression. I only wish she were here to enjoy them,” Rose added wistfully.

      “Aunt Merry loved flowers,” Hannah ventured solemnly.

      Rose nodded, noting the sullen expression on her niece’s face.

      Birdie’s face was passive as she walked around the large living room, taking in the familiar twelve-foot ceilings, turrets, molding, quaint panes of glass and gorgeous woodwork. It was a shame, she thought, how far from grace this room had fallen. Growing up, the room had been a showcase of the craftsmanship of an age past. Now it was a gloomy house, muted, shuttered, even shabby. It was far too big a house—too expensive—for Rose and Merry to have lived in alone. It all but bled Merry’s trust fund dry. Several times she’d suggested that they sell it and move into a small, more manageable house. But that was unthinkable to Rose. She’d claimed Merry would be too upset to move and argued, rightfully, that private hospitals or homes would be as expensive, if not more. In truth, she knew the prospect of leaving the family home filled Rose with as much horror as it did Merry.

      And Rose deserved every consideration. She certainly took her duty as caretaker to heart. The house, though falling down around their ears, was spotlessly clean. The brass fixtures gleamed, the wood was polished and smelled of soap, and all the beveled glass on the cabinets and the grand crystal chandelier sparkled. Yet with her mind on putting the house on the market, Birdie was looking at it with a cold and practical eye. They’d certainly have a lot of work to do before selling it.

      “Would you like a glass of wine?” Rose asked, eager to make them comfortable. “Water? You all must be parched. Hannah, how about a Coke? Dennis?”

      “A beer would be great if you’ve got it,” he replied, rubbing his hands.

      “Nothing for me. I’m going upstairs,” Hannah called out, retreating as usual. “Where am I sleeping, Aunt Rose?”

      “I put your parents in the guest room, so you can either sleep on the sofa bed in the library or in Merry’s room.”

      “I’ll take the sofa bed.”

      “I thought you might. You’ll find linen and blankets all ready for you.”

      “You put me in the guest room?” Birdie asked, her brows raised in obvious pique.

      Rose’s toes curled, but she nodded firmly and looked Birdie in the eyes. “Yes. I put Jilly in her old room.” Then to Dennis, “I’ll get your beer.”

      Birdie’s lips pursed in annoyance, but she didn’t reply. She tucked her hands in her slacks’ pockets and followed Rose into the kitchen. It was an immense room, old-fashioned, with the same white cabinets and appliances that were there when their mother cooked in the room. Only in the pantry did a large new refrigerator hum. Rose headed straight for it.

      “Have you heard from Jilly yet?” Birdie asked.

      “No. It’s a good thing you didn’t go to the airport,” Rose replied, pulling ice from the freezer. “You were right, as usual. The news reported delays galore and they might even shut down the airport.”

      “I hadn’t heard that. But I’m not surprised. It’s really getting nasty out there.”

      “I know and I’m worried. I’ve called the airline a million times but they can’t tell me anything other than that her flight is in a holding pattern. They think it will be allowed to land, which is a relief.” She yanked the cork from the bottle of cabernet she’d chosen while Birdie hunted in the cabinet for a few glasses. “We’re lucky. I gather other flights are being redirected. That would’ve been a disaster. She’d be late for the funeral.”

      “Jilly does love to make an exciting entrance….”

      Rose filled a glass with wine while her lips curved in a teasing smile. “That’s not fair.”

      “I know, I know. I didn’t mean it.” Birdie took a long swallow of her wine. Over the glass her eyes glistened with humor. “Much. Can’t you just imagine her in that plane? She must be beside herself. You know how she hates being trapped. Remember how she was on a Chicago bus in rush hour?”

      Rose shared her first laugh in days, remembering. Jilly would leap to her feet, yank the buzzer and demand to be let off the bus. Then she’d march off in a huff, her flame-red hair like ribbons of fire fluttering behind. Birdie and Rose would track her through the bus window till a break came in traffic, then they’d point and laugh at her as they sped past her. But she never looked their way. She kept her glance stubbornly straight ahead.

      “Pity the poor stewardess,” Birdie said, rolling her eyes. “But I have to admit, circling up there in a confined space for hours is hell. She’ll be exhausted and cranky when she gets here. I shouldn’t be talking. It was a real push getting out of town by car and I was a total bitch, I admit it. I thought I’d kill my daughter before we arrived here.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “Be forewarned. Hannah is in one of her moods.”

      “Poor baby,” replied Rose with sympathy. “She looks unhappy.”

      “She is,” she replied, then added flippantly, “perpetually.”

      “Is she okay?”

      “Oh, yes, she’s fine.” Birdie cut off further inquiry. She didn’t like anyone to think there was any problem with her family.

      “This is probably the first death she’s really experiencing. She was so young when Mom died.”

      “That’s true. She’s seemed so remote, but I hadn’t thought of it that way.” She rubbed her temple and said in a low voice, “To be honest, I can’t accept it, either. It’s so hard. I keep going over it in my mind, how quickly she went downhill. If only I could have been here…”

      “No, Birdie,” Rose said firmly. “Don’t go there. It isn’t healthy. Her doctor was here with her. Really, there was nothing you could have done.”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ