But that was a different matter.
Maggie did not care for Francis. He always walked around with his chest puffed out, resembling an angry rooster. Even his wavy auburn hair sat upon his head like a bird’s comb. And when smiling, his thin-lipped mouth drew pointy like a beak. Maggie was just waiting for the day Francis would start sprouting feathers.
But, nevertheless, Maggie had found his question to Grandfather Clement quite bold. The seven grandchildren did not usually speak to Clement Clarke Moore. So Maggie was glad Francis had said something about the poem. She had also wanted to know why Grandfather Clement would write a trifle.
And more importantly, Maggie wanted to know what exactly was a trifle. It sounded like a mushroom. But Maggie could not fathom why Grandfather Clement would call his poem a mushroom. Mushrooms were ugly and tasted grimy. Not to mention, some were said to be poisonous.
So perhaps, Maggie thought, Grandfather Clement hated his poem as much as she hated mushrooms.
“Never you mind,” responded Grandfather Clement before whipping off his paper crown and tossing it to the floor.
The Christmas tradition of asking Grandfather Clement to read his most famous poem had once again ended, and with the same unhappy results as the prior years.
Clemmie and Louis returned to their chess game being played in front of the fire while Gardiner and Gertrude unsuccessfully spun new tops on the rug in the middle of the room. Catharine eventually took the twins over to a corner where they could attempt the toys on the hardwood.
Being the eldest grandchild, Catharine was the best with the younger ones. She was also the prettiest, having long brown hair that always glistened like a burnished banister. Her plump lips would expand into a wide yet knowing smile. And her deep green eyes were shinier than the holiday garland draped over the fireplace mantel.
Maggie had similarly dark hair, but with a thinner mouth, longer limbs and dirt brown eyes. And even though Catharine was eighteen, Maggie still found it unfair that her sister was already so much smarter, kinder, and more endearing in every way. It seemed impossible to catch up. And as Maggie stared across the room at Catharine, she became convinced that Henry would have fallen in love with her older sister if given the opportunity.
Christmas Eve dinner had long ago been eaten, but the lingering smells of turkey, roasted vegetables, and plum pudding occasionally wafted through the cracks of the doors as the fire noisily danced in the fireplace on the south end of the room. Although Chelsea Manor stood alone on the hill, a few scattered lights from the General Theological Seminary across the road dotted the darkness.
“Father, could you please read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas this once?” Aunt Emily asked from where she sat in a chair behind Francis. Her voice was cheery, but Maggie noted how tensely her aunt stirred her tea. “It would be such a wonderful treat.”
Grandfather Clement and Grandmother Catharine had brought into the world six glorious children: Margaret, Benjamin, Mary, Clement Francis, William, and Emily.
Margaret and Clement Francis had been the most physically blessed of the Moore children, while Benjamin and Maggie’s mother, Mary, were the cleverest. William, on the other hand, got the short end of the stick with everything from looks to intellect.
But Emily was the most unfortunate of them all. For she was right in the middle, not too attractive but not too ugly to pity, not too smart but bright enough to realize she wasn’t particularly clever. She fell terribly halfway in every category. It also didn’t help that Emily was unmarried and childless. And therefore, in the eyes of her father, she served no real purpose.
Furthermore, Grandfather Clement only ever cared for three women: his mother, his wife, and his eldest daughter, Margaret. And all three were now dead.
“It is beneath my dignity to regale you all with such a silly little bit of writing.”
Grandfather Clement’s pale, bony hands were folded over his chest as he leaned back in the armchair next to the fireplace. The professor often looked like he was posing to have a portrait painted―unexpressive with a smidge of stodginess. Even in his younger days he had appeared somber with eyes always a tad beadier and a mouth bent a bit more downward than those around him. Against the hopes of everyone else, Grandfather Clement had refused to soften with age, and now at seventy-five years old, he was as hard as ever.
Uncle Clement Francis, or Uncle CF as he was commonly called, disrupted the silence with a tap from his brass-handled cane. “But Father, it’s Christmas Eve. What better time to read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas!”
Like Aunt Emily, Uncle CF was unmarried. But this was not met with the same kind of disapproval. Uncle CF was the most handsome of the Moore sons―smooth skin, high and defined cheekbones covered in long sideburns that matched his wavy golden hair tinted with red hues. It was said that Uncle CF was biding his time and savoring life before marriage. But Maggie believed her rather self-involved uncle just didn’t want to get rid of any cherished belongings to make room in his cramped home for a family.
“What do you say?” Uncle CF asked, tapping his cane once more out of habit. “Would you give us a reading, Father?”
The eyes in the room returned to Grandfather Clement. His hands had moved to the armrests and were now gripping them tightly, causing the knuckles to grow whiter and whiter. The orange light from the fire reflected off his square forehead, and as Maggie watched transfixed, her grandfather’s ghostly strands of hair appeared to be drowning in a sea of flames.
Grandfather Clement’s brooding was not unusual. Maggie could never actually recall seeing her grandfather fully smile. His wrinkled mouth probably couldn’t hold such an expression anymore. And as Maggie stared at Grandfather Clement from across the room, the ornate patterns in the rosewood of the armchair seemed less rigid than the scholar’s face.
The family anxiously awaited Grandfather Clement’s response, but before the request could be repeated, he finally stood up. His legs shook unsteadily at first, but after regaining his footing, he stated strongly, “So now, my good family, I have been long awake.”
Grandfather Clement hobbled over to the far end of the room. Without another word uttered, he exited through the gentlemen’s parlor door.
Now this caused quite a stir within the Great Room. Not only had Grandfather Clement suddenly left the company of his beloved family, but on Christmas Eve of all nights. A cadence of murmurs trickled through the room, and after the initial shock settled down, the family instantly turned on each other.
Someone had to be blamed for chasing away Grandfather Clement.
“You just couldn’t leave him alone, Emily,” snapped Uncle William, pointing a finger at his younger sister and then shakily reciting, “Let the woman learn silence… no suffering nor usurping man… but to be silent in transgression.”
Maggie caught Louis’ eye as they both sucked in their lips to conceal their smirks.
Uncle William was a squat man with a small mouth and twitchy nose as well as other mousy features. Tawny hair curled around his ears while his face was patterned in pockmarks. Uncle William had a tendency to use extravagant hand gestures in order to make his short stature appear a bit larger.
“Why did you have to continually pester him about that―that poem?” Uncle William continued, extending his arm toward the parlor door while the other reached up to the ceiling, as though beckoning to the heavens for answers.
Aunt Emily may have been the youngest and plainest of Grandfather Clement’s children, but she certainly wasn’t the weakling. Stiffening her back, she pursed her lips together until they nearly disappeared into her mouth. Her gray eyes narrowed on her older brother.
“My dear, William, you must not speak to me that way,” Aunt Emily replied in an overly sweet tone. “It was sadly CF who had angered him.”
Now it was Uncle CF’s turn to get huffy. He straightened up from where he had been leaning against the wall.
“How was I to know it would upset him? It’s just a
poem.” He tapped his cane on the floor and gripped the collar of his polished red jacket in a dignified manner.
“A poem he hates,” pointed out Aunt Lucretia.
Uncle William’s wife was a short, pudgy woman with ears that stuck out. These ears were passed down to the twins who had also received their father’s mousiness. The odd combination on a pair of children was actually quite adorable, but Maggie wondered how peculiar Gardiner and Gertrude might look when older.
“Someone should go to him,” Maggie’s mother said. She looked over to her husband who was standing behind the sofa a few feet away, deliberately avoiding the conversation. “John, could you go check on Father?”
Dr. John Ogden appeared uneasy at his wife’s request. His fair skin flushed while his eyes darted back and forth. The doctor’s black hair was streaked in gray, making him the most dashing man in the room if he didn’t look so uncomfortable being there.
Maggie’s father was a strange case within the Moore household, since he had twice married into the family. His first wife was Margaret, the eldest and favorite child of Grandfather Clement. Dr. Ogden and Margaret had had Catharine and Clemmie. But tragically, Margaret died shortly after Clemmie’s birth some seventeen years ago.
Dr. Ogden waited a year before getting married to Margaret’s sister, Mary, and eventually having their daughter, Margaret Van Cortland Ogden.
Or known as Maggie.
So that was why Catharine and Clemmie were in fact Maggie’s cousins as well as her siblings. But even though Dr. Ogden had twice married into the Moore family and gave Grandfather Clement three lovely grandchildren, the good doctor always seemed to feel that his situation made him more of an outsider than a true family member.
“I think it would be better if someone else goes to him,” Dr. Ogden suggested quietly with a subtle cough.
“I’ll go,” Uncle Benjamin volunteered, rising from his chair near the gentlemen’s parlor door.
As the eldest child since the death of Aunt Margaret, Uncle Benjamin usually went out of his way for the family. This caused Uncle Benjamin to often appear worn down―his dark eyes were saggy, and even his graying hair, carelessly tossed about on his head, looked tired with life. But Maggie liked him the most of her uncles. Uncle CF could be entertaining and Uncle William was unintentionally amusing, but Uncle Benjamin had a gentle way about him―much like his son, Louis, and unlike his other son, Francis.
As Uncle Benjamin disappeared through the parlor door, a restless Francis jumped up from where he had been sitting next to the Christmas tree.
“Well, if he’s not going to read it, I will!” Francis snatched Grandfather Clement’s poetry book from the mantel. Grandfather Clement had reluctantly included ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas in his poetry collection when it had been published a decade earlier.
Francis began flipping through the pages as the rest of the family advised against it.
“We should obey Father’s wishes,” Uncle William insisted. “Be obedient to your earthly masters… with trembling flesh… and fear in your heart.”
“It’s also bedtime for Gardiner and Gertrude,” Aunt Lucretia added.
“Oh, Francis, you do have such a lovely speaking voice,” Aunt Maria cooed. “But perhaps this isn’t the best time.”
“You’d better not read it, Francis,” Dr. Ogden bleakly warned. “Grandfather Clement might return with a birchen rod.”
It was often told that when the Moore children were growing up, they were threatened, or possibly struck with a birchen rod when disobedient. None of the parents used such disciplinary methods on the grandchildren. But if any of them ever deserved it, it was Francis. And he knew it.
Grandfather Clement suggested the punishment to Aunt Maria years ago when Francis had been throwing one of his theatrical tantrums. Of course, Aunt Maria would have sooner traded away her revered singing voice before ever laying a finger on Francis’ dear head. But it seemed that now even the mere notion of a rod caused Francis to squirm a bit.
Still, Francis ignored the others, and when finally coming upon the correct page, he gleefully cleared his throat and began reading, “‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring―”
A knock suddenly sounded on the front door of the mansion. Francis stopped reading and anxiously looked up from the book.
In all the years at Chelsea Manor, no one had ever come to call on Christmas Eve.
ho on earth could that be?” asked Aunt Maria.
“Could something be wrong at the seminary?” Uncle William squeaked.
“Maybe one of the servants got locked out,” suggested Uncle CF just as Thomas popped his head out of the kitchen.
“No, sir. We’re all here.”
Grandfather Clement and Uncle Benjamin stormed out from the parlor.
“Who is that?” Grandfather Clement bellowed.
Charles and Hester appeared beside Thomas in the kitchen doorway.
“I’ll answer it,” Charles said, wiping his hands on a rag and tossing it back into the kitchen.
The Moore family remained quiet as Charles and Hester walked across the hall and into the foyer. After the heavy front door was hurled open, the servants could be heard speaking with the visitor.
“A gentleman is here to see you, Mr. Moore,” Hester announced, reentering the Great Room. Her expression was uncertain. “His name is Henry Livingston and says you know his family.”
“Actually, just my father,” Henry said, slipping in from behind Hester. “You may recall the name Sidney Livingston, Mr. Moore.”
Maggie stared in shock. Perhaps her eyes hadn’t deceived her earlier. But Henry was supposed to be returning to Poughkeepsie. She couldn’t think of a logical reason that would bring him to Chelsea Manor, especially on Christmas Eve.
Maggie was not the only one unnerved by Henry’s appearance. Grandfather Clement studied the young man with obvious contempt.
“What business do you have here?” Grandfather Clement grumbled.
With his cap in hand, Henry stood before the Moore family looking uneasy. He ran shaky fingers through his bronze hair while the room watched him curiously.
“I am most sorry to come unannounced like this, especially with everyone celebrating Christmas Eve together.” Henry gripped his cap tighter. “But I wasn’t certain of the next opportunity where the family would all be here. You see, Sidney Livingston died last month, and I was not aware of my father’s connection to the Moores until after his passing.”
Grandfather Clement held up a long, bent hand. “Do not waste your words, young man. I remember that many years ago a student by the name of Sidney Livingston was kicked out of the seminary for plagiarism, something I consider to be the worst sin in academia. And such a man would not have any association with this family. I am sorry for your loss, but you are clearly here under false pretenses.”
Henry looked slapped in the face. His blue eyes widened and cheeks reddened.
“Sir, with all due respect, I know that not to be true. I have countless journals and letters that indicate my father did in fact have a close relationship with your late wife, Catharine, and daughter, Margaret. As well as some of your living children.” Henry patted his left breast pocket. “I have a few papers with me if you wish to see.”
Uncle William jumped up. “There is no need to see anything. You come here claiming a family connection to two of our loved ones who are no longer around to verify your claim. How very convenient. Except I do not remember your father. And I’m certain neither of my siblings do as well.”
Uncle William looked around the room for affirmation. Aunt Emily shook her head and Uncle CF rubbed his chin in puzzlement. However, Uncle Benjamin and Maggie’s mother exchanged knowing looks, which did not escape Uncle William’s searching eyes.
“Benjamin, do you know what Mr. Livingston is talking about?”
Uncle Benjamin cleared his throat. “How could I when we haven’t even heard what has br
ought him here? Surely, there must be something to all of this.” Uncle Benjamin stepped toward Henry. “What is it that you want?”
Henry smiled for the first time since entering Chelsea Manor. “I just thought the great Clement Clarke Moore might be interested in the current whereabouts of the Livingstons. Both his professional and personal reputation depends upon it.”
“Well, come on. Out with it,” Uncle William snapped. “Say what you want to say.”
“I just wish to acknowledge that something was plagiarized over thirty years. But it was not my father’s seminary work.”
“Enough,” Grandfather Clement said. “I have no time for the son of a disgruntled former student to bombard my home on Christmas Eve, making false accusations because he has an old bone to pick with the seminary.” And then in a moment that may not have been intended, Grandfather Clement added, “Now go back to Poughkeepsie.”
Henry was silent before smiling tensely. “You remember my father better than you let on, Mr. Moore.”
And with that Charles and Hester showed the visitor back outside. But Maggie and Henry locked eyes before he disappeared from the Great Room. His look was apologetic as though he was ashamed he hadn’t mentioned anything that morning. And Maggie couldn’t help but feel similarly sorry.
Maggie walked over to the hall just in time to see Henry adjust the cap on his head before the front door shut behind him. They shared one last glance as Maggie tried to convey her sadness for how poorly Grandfather Clement and Uncle William treated him.
The Moore family, still stunned by Henry’s sudden arrival and even quicker departure, didn’t notice Maggie in the doorway.
“What balderdash!” Uncle William finally spat. “On Christmas Eve! To come here like that? The man must surely be insane.”
“Are you all right, Father?” Aunt Emily asked.
No longer paying attention to his family, Grandfather Clement was facing the window, looking out at the seminary.
“What? Of course, I’m all right,” Grandfather Clement grunted. “I have dealt with my share of unhappy students and their family members. It’s just unfortunate that the young man decided to call at this hour while everyone is here for Christmas. He’s no doubt overcome by his father’s passing. Only amplified by the holiday season. In my lifetime, I have witnessed what such grief can do to men.” Grandfather Clement spoke rather manically.
Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) Page 3