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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