“What did he mean when he said something was plagiarized thirty years ago?” Dr. Ogden mumbled to himself, but the rest of the room easily heard.
“What do you mean, what did he mean?” Uncle William asked sharply. “The man was clearly crazy. Spouting strange things. All of it.” Uncle William then added another bit of flimsy scripture while waving his arms. “Like a madman who throws deadly flaming arrows at his neighbors and then he comes around and says, oh! I’m sorry. It was just in sport!”
Although Maggie was standing in the doorway with her back toward the Great Room, she sensed Louis mouthing problem verb her direction. They had made up the term for when Uncle William inaccurately recited a biblical proverb, which happened more often than not.
“It was all quite odd. No doubt about that,” Uncle CF commented. “But there has to be something behind what he was saying.”
Unable to contain the question nagging her the most, Maggie spun around and spoke before Uncle William could burst into another confusing tirade.
“How did you know Henry was from Poughkeepsie, Grandfather?”
The entire room focused its attention on the girl in the doorway.
If the question had surprised Grandfather Clement, he didn’t let it show. Instead he replied harshly, “Most Livingstons live up in the Hudson Valley, particularly around Poughkeepsie. A ridiculous lot.”
The family continued to speculate about the true intention of Henry Livingston’s visit. But Maggie couldn’t help notice that Uncle Benjamin and her mother didn’t contribute to the discussion.
The Christmas festivities did not return to the same level of excitement they had reached right after dinner, and soon everyone began retiring for the evening as the clock chimed ten.
Maggie headed upstairs with Gertrude who whispered giddily, “The rest of the family can say what they wish, but that Henry Livingston is one of the most handsome young men I’ve ever seen.”
Maggie couldn’t decide whether or not to be amused at Gertrude’s overt adoration. Since Maggie had met Henry first, she felt a strange claim to him.
“Surely, you must agree!” Gertrude looked up at Maggie with glassy, gray eyes. She playfully tugged on the braid that curved around her pronounced ear.
“I found him to be very adequate looking,” Maggie mumbled. “But wasn’t the whole episode peculiar? Do you think it could be true? That his father knew Grandmother Catharine and Aunt Margaret.”
Gertrude shrugged. “What difference does it make if Henry’s father knew our family?”
“Grandfather Clement seemed to think it made one. Otherwise, why would he so adamantly insist that there was no connection between us and the Livingstons?”
“It just seems like a lot of nonsense. A waste of a perfectly good evening,” Gertrude said, sounding like her father, Uncle William.
After getting undressed, Gertrude sat on the bed and pulled the covers over her tiny legs.
“Maggie?”
“Yes?”
“Why does Grandfather Clement call his poem a trifle?”
Maggie shook her head, not knowing the answer. But then she remembered the mushrooms and whispered, “I believe he finds it to be poisonous.”
Gertrude squinted her eyes in a questioning manner, but she eventually just shrugged before turning over on her side.
Maggie couldn’t imagine going to sleep; her head was buzzing with too many questions. She didn’t understand why Henry hadn’t mentioned anything that morning. He had been inquisitive, but nothing that alluded to his intention of paying Chelsea Manor and Grandfather Clement a visit.
Feeling restless, Maggie pulled on the trousers that had yet to be returned to Louis and quietly left the bedroom. The adults were still downstairs, no doubt discussing what had transpired earlier. And Maggie wanted to listen.
Maggie snuck down to the main floor, but paused at the bottom of the staircase so those in the Great Room wouldn’t see her through the open doors. With her back pressed to the wall, Maggie slipped through the foyer and then ducked into the dining room where everyone had enjoyed the Christmas Eve dinner. In the corner there was a doorway that led to a narrow passage near the kitchen pantry. Beyond the kitchen was the small dining area and a backroom with a cot.
Grandfather Clement occasionally would request a servant to spend the night, watching over the Manor. But even with the night’s unusual visitor, all the servants had been allowed to return to their nearby housing for the remainder of Christmas Eve.
Maggie peeked through the crack of the door separating the dining area and the Great Room. Only Grandfather Clement’s children had stayed behind after the others had gone to bed, and they were now gathered around the fireplace having a rather serious discussion.
“This is a complete and utter waste of time,” Uncle William huffed, pacing in front of the mantel. “If that Sidney Livingston had visited Mother, I surely would remember it.”
Mary sighed. “How many times must we tell you, William? You had yet to be born.”
“I believe Sidney stopped coming around sometime after William’s birth,” Uncle Benjamin recalled.
“Even as a baby William had the ability to chase people away,” Uncle CF joked.
Nobody else found the comment amusing and Uncle William looked downright enraged.
“Then why didn’t either of you say anything when Henry was here?” Uncle William snapped.
“Because I wasn’t sure to trust my own memory,” Uncle Benjamin defended. “I was five years old at the time. Mary was just four.” He nodded toward his sister.
“CF was just a toddler,” Mary added. “Margaret was…” She trailed off.
“Margaret was about eight,” Uncle Benjamin continued. “I believe Sidney was closest to her. And to Mother, of course.”
“What do you say, Clement Francis?” Aunt Emily asked. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”
Uncle CF scrunched his brow as though there was a memory just waiting to be discovered. But he just shook his head, doubtfully. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “When I think I have a memory, I’m not sure if it’s real or just sprung from the conversation we’re having now.”
“Well, what does all of this show?” Uncle William asked. “What if there was a man named Sidney Livingston? And what if Mother and Margaret knew him? What does that prove?”
Uncle Benjamin muttered, “I dare not say.”
“Why?” Uncle William said, his eyes growing large. “What are you afraid of saying?”
Uncle Benjamin sighed. “I do remember a man―a man named Sidney. To think I had nearly forgotten. He was just a mysterious shadow sitting in my memory for all of these years. But I do recall him. He was a handsome man. And he was kind to us children. Is that what you remember, Mary?”
Mary looked taken aback. “I do remember such a man. And though his face isn’t completely clear to me, I recollect his character. And the feelings attached to him.”
“What feelings?” Uncle William scoffed.
Uncle Benjamin and Mary caught each other’s eye.
“You sense it, too.” Uncle Benjamin observed. “Don’t you, Mary?”
She nodded.
“What are you talking about?” Uncle William was growing even angrier. “What feelings?”
“Love,” Uncle CF said. The word was blurted so suddenly that his voice barely seemed to believe it had spoken it. “Sidney and Mother―they loved each other. And I believe… I believe he loved us, too.” Uncle CF looked around at his siblings. “Am I wrong?”
“Of course, you’re wrong!” Uncle William spat. “You were a baby. Just a minute ago you said you don’t remember this man, and now you’re insinuating that he and Mother were romantically involved. Have you gone mad as well?”
Uncle CF glanced over at Uncle Benjamin who gave a weak smile.
“No, CF is not mad,” Uncle Benjamin said. “I do not know the extent of Sidney and Mother’s relationship. But it was a loving one. No specific moment leads
me to this conclusion. But when I search my mind and return to that time, I know it to be true. There was a young man named Sidney Livingston. He was close to Mother. For however long, I do not know. But he came to Chelsea Manor to see her and to play with the children. And when he did, even briefly, the house was full of happiness. And, yes, I dare say, there was love.”
“This whole conversation is very inappropriate,” Uncle William said.
“Perhaps,” Mary said. “But not any less true.”
“But,” Aunt Emily interjected. “Why would this Henry fellow come to see us? Even if all of this is true―that Sidney and Mother loved one another all those years ago. What business does he have coming here?”
“Yes,” Uncle William shook a supportive finger at his younger sister. “What’s the point to all of this? You have yet to answer that.”
Uncle Benjamin began to speak, but Uncle CF cut in. “Sidney was kicked out of the seminary. If there had been a relationship between Mother and him, surely Father would have disapproved. The plagiarism accusation could have been a lie. Maybe Henry wants to clear his father’s name.”
It seemed like an acceptable explanation to Mary, Uncle Benjamin, and Aunt Emily. But Uncle William was still not satisfied.
“You’ve lost your minds―all of you! This is our mother and father you are speculating about. And you’re going to take the word of some stranger?”
“I remember Sidney,” Uncle Benjamin insisted, rubbing his hand along his forehead. “I remember him visiting Mother here at the Manor. And there is this feeling of love and happiness attached to these memories that I cannot shake.”
“Very well,” Uncle William sulked. “Destroy the family and the good name of Clement Clarke Moore. As stated in Psalms: He that troubleth his house shall inherit fools!”
Uncle William then stormed out of the Great Room.
“It’s actually inherit the wind. And it’s from Proverbs,” Aunt Emily mumbled as Uncle William could be heard stomping up the creaky east staircase.
Mary shook her head. “Maybe we are remembering it all wrong. It is strange that for the past thirty years we hadn’t thought about Sidney Livingston. Perhaps we’ve just created all of this in our heads tonight.”
“All three of us?” Uncle Benjamin pointed out. “I do not think that is any more likely.”
“But maybe William’s right,” Aunt Emily said. “What does it matter now? Mother is gone. Sidney is deceased as well.”
“It does seem like a useless thing to worry about,” Uncle CF agreed. He flipped the jacket he was holding over his shoulder. “Let the dead rest peacefully. And let Father be. The last thing we need is to upset him―more so than usual, that is.”
Uncle CF and Aunt Emily left the room more quietly than Uncle William.
“What do you think, Benjamin?” Mary asked when it became just the two of them; unaware that a third set of ears was listening in the kitchen.
“I don’t know.” Uncle Benjamin shook his head and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “What’s troubling is not what I remember of Sidney. It’s what I feel like I’m forgetting. Like there was something specific he had said or done. Something that would make sense of it all―Sidney’s sudden departure from our lives, Henry’s coming here tonight, and Father’s defensiveness. There’s a detail missing. And I just do not know what it is.”
“I feel similarly,” Mary agreed. “But I do not believe the answer will appear tonight. Maybe with some rest, we’ll remember.”
Uncle Benjamin and Mary slowly filed out of the Great Room, leaving Maggie alone on the other side of the kitchen door, trying to process what she had heard.
Maggie’s sleep that Christmas Eve was short lived.
Swish. Whack. Thud.
Maggie shot straight up in bed. The room was dark except for the moonlight trickling through the window. Gertrude appeared undisturbed by whatever had awoken Maggie. But as Maggie was about to lie back down there came a rattling from outside. It sounded like the wind was knocking about branches of the giant sycamore that stood near the window. But there was something more deliberate in the noise. It was as though someone was actually climbing the tree.
The sycamore outside the window grew higher than Chelsea Manor with its branches starting at the west porch’s rooftop. If someone was able to get on top of the porch, they could potentially climb the length of the tree. Maggie had plotted it as a possible escape route in the event of a fire. But never once did she consider climbing up the sycamore.
She was too afraid of heights.
Maggie hurried over to the window and peered outside. It was impossible to see anything.
But then she heard it.
Footsteps.
And they were coming from the rooftop.
aggie listened until the stomping on the rooftop ceased.
All was quiet. And then…
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A low clatter sounded from inside the walls, as though someone was struggling to climb down the chimney.
Someone was climbing down the chimney, Maggie realized. She gripped the bed sheet to her chest, suddenly feeling exposed.
Although Maggie was aware that St. Nicholas didn’t exist, she couldn’t shake the eeriness that tonight happened to be Christmas Eve. She wondered if perhaps there was some truth to Grandfather Clement’s poem after all. Or perhaps even truth to her annual dream. Maggie thought of the unknown shadow that had pushed St. Nicholas off the rooftop. Could this intruder be the mysterious figure from her dream?
Maggie soon realized the absurdity of her thoughts, and her initial concern was replaced with a need to investigate further. Maggie tiptoed into the hallway just as a door closed on the second floor. Impulsively, she rushed to the banister and leaned over. She guessed that the intruder had come from the master bedroom, since nothing could stir Grandfather Clement awake―not even someone crawling out of the fireplace a few yards from his bed.
Chelsea Manor was too dark to see anything below, but the east staircase moaned as a shadowy figure scurried down to the main floor. Maggie desperately tried to spy the person’s face, but when the intruder quietly paused near the bottom of the stairs, Maggie nervously ducked behind the banister. It felt like the New Year had already come and gone before the intruder continued down the steps with Maggie following close behind.
The grandfather clock chimed midnight as she reached the circular hall on the main floor. There had been no additional noise, so Maggie suspected that her mysterious friend had gone through the kitchen door that quietly swung open and closed. Maggie cautiously made her way into the kitchen. But just as its door swung behind her, another door clicked shut on the west end of the mansion.
The intruder was now either in the parlor, music room, or library.
Maggie didn’t go back out the kitchen door. With so many different entrances in the stair hall, she would be completely vulnerable. Instead she turned toward the doorway connecting the kitchen and Great Room where hours earlier she had listened to the discussion about Sidney Livingston.
During the day, the Great Room was the brightest and warmest room in all of Chelsea Manor. But alone at night, the room was cold and frightening. Jagged shadows curled around the furniture and along the walls, and even the enormous Christmas tree in the corner looked menacing with its dark twisted branches. As Maggie crossed the icy floors, she couldn’t remember a room ever feeling so foreboding.
Maggie slipped into the gentlemen’s parlor only to find it empty. She then crept into the music room. It also appeared vacant, but she knew only too well the room’s hiding places. A bulge in the curtains immediately caught Maggie’s eye, and she carefully pulled them apart, revealing the porch door and west facing windows. The moonlight blinded Maggie temporarily. But when her eyes adjusted, she saw an unusual blemish gleaming up from the floor. Kneeling down to inspect, she wiped a finger along the ground and then brought it up to her face.
Her heart stopped.
Ash.
&
nbsp; Then someone rushed up behind her. Maggie was too surprised to scream, and even if she had garnered enough composure, a hand came across her mouth, muffling any noise.
“Remain quiet,” someone whispered in her ear.
She immediately recognized the voice.
“Henry,” Maggie tried to say into his hand, but it came out like a cough.
The realization that Henry was the intruder was strangely comforting, so Maggie didn’t struggle as he led her into the library. Sensing her cooperation, Henry removed his hand from her mouth as the library door shut behind them.
“What are you doing here?” Maggie gasped, still locked in his arm.
Henry released his grip, stepping to the side so she could see him.
Maggie was glad she had already heard Henry speak, for he’d be impossible to identify on appearance alone. His hair, cap, and clothes were now dusted in ash, and his face was smeared in black soot.
But Maggie recognized Henry’s blue eyes.
“And why did you come down the chimney?” Maggie hissed. “You could have awoken the entire household.”
“I was not trying to,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with an arm sleeve. Tasting the soot, Henry smacked his lips in disgust. “Is anyone else awake?”
Maggie shook her head. “And after ruining Christmas Eve, I don’t believe anybody would be particularly pleased to see you again.” Maggie looked up and down Henry’s ash-covered body before adding, “Even with such a festive entrance.”
“I mean no harm,” Henry said, reaching into his jacket’s inner pocket and taking out a handkerchief similar to the one given to Maggie that morning. Henry dabbed his dark face, creating pale streaks along his forehead, nose, and mouth.
Maggie folded her arms and stared at the floor. “So our meeting this morning wasn’t a coincidence.”
Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) Page 4