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chicken breasts and some shriveled mushrooms. I could work with that.
    Less than an hour later we were settled at the table with wine and food in front of us. After a few bites of the improvised dish I had concocted, I said, “I had lunch with Marty today and I mentioned that we were furniture-challenged.”
    Curiously, James did not look happy at that news, but said nothing.
    â€œWhat?” I demanded. “You brought it up.”
    â€œUpon reflection, I decided that I should warn you that furniture is a sensitive subject in the Terwilliger family,” he finally said.
    â€œWhy?” I asked, bewildered.
    â€œYou really don’t know?”
    â€œNo, James, I really don’t know. What am I supposed to know?”
    He sighed. “It all started with General John Terwilliger . . .”
    â€œWhat didn’t?” I muttered. “Okay, I know he was an important figure in the Revolutionary War and the later eighteenth century, and I know he was Marty’s however-many-times-great-grandfather. But where did the furniture come in?”
    â€œThat same John Terwilliger bought a grand house in Philadelphia when he married, and he furnished it in thelatest and most expensive manner. You have all the documents pertaining to the fitting out of the house at the Society.”
    â€œOh.” He was right: I probably should have known. “Well, I haven’t read every document we have, since there are a couple million of them, at least. I’m sure they must make interesting reading, but where’s the problem?”
    â€œThere were, let us say, issues among various members, and when he died, the general’s pieces were scattered among different branches. Some were even sold, and some people in the family are still a bit annoyed that they ever left the family, particularly when those pieces come up at auction now and then and sell for a couple million dollars.”
    â€œAh,” I said intelligently. “Is Marty one of the disgruntled?”
    â€œIt’s not one of her hobbyhorses. Her branch managed to hang on to a few things, and if you’ve seen her house, you’ve probably seen them. How did she react when you told her we needed furniture?”
    â€œKind of, ‘I’ll think about it.’ When she asked, I said we preferred Victorian to match the house. Is that all right with you? Do you even like Victorian?” I asked. It was a question that had never exactly come up, although he was the one who had fallen in love with our undeniably Victorian house first.
    â€œAs long as horsehair isn’t involved, I’m good with it. That stuff is literally a pain in the butt, plus it crackles. Frankly I don’t care much, as long as I have something to sit on and light to see by. I give you a free hand. Although, since this won’t in fact be free, what about that budget?”
    I ducked the issue, since I had no real idea what furniturecost, old or new. “Maybe we should go to a Freeman’s auction and see what the market is like,” I suggested. “Of course, they’re going to be high-end, but we can work down from there.” Freeman’s was a long-established and reputable auction house in Center City, and in my position I was aware of the auction house’s standing in the furniture community. I’d never attended anything there, but I knew some of their staff were members of the Society. “I’ll have to check their schedule.”
    We finished dinner, tidied up the kitchen together, read for a bit, and went to bed. Another normal day, with no crises. I felt like I should make a note of it on the calendar.
    â€”
    The next morning seemed normal, too. The sun was shining, the trees on our still–surprisingly large lot were turning lovely colors (note to self: Buy rake or rakes? Better yet, hire a yard service?), and work was about to begin on the much-needed upgrade at the Society. James and I