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blossoms
that sat against its peachy background. Today Nancy had created a beautiful
ensemble of yellow freesias that stood in perfect array within it. She always
wondered where Nancy ordered her flowers from because they always did come
regardless of the seasons. She never did ask though. Sometimes these questions
were better left to those who knew how best to answer them. But not those of
young Mrs. Winston. She needed to know more about her.
    She picked out a
yellow blossom out of the vase. Weren’t freesias autumn and spring flowers?
These looked too pretty and cheerful for Skye’s winter.
    “We might need to pay
her another visit, Theodore,” she sighed.   She rose and strolled thoughtfully to the
beautiful carved white sideboard cabinet displaying an assortment of family
photographs. It stood against a wall dedicated to another large collection of
family memories. She traced her fingers along the dainty, silver frame of an
old, dull black and white photograph. The man in the picture staring back at
her with his dark eyes, had even darker hair sleeked back and parted in the
middle. He was young, in his twenties, Mrs. Kinnaird remembered. His smile was
so affectionate that she had to return it with her own.
    “Arthur wouldn’t
agree,” she said. “ ‘Wait a moment, Ethel. You’re far too impulsive;
impatient’, my Arthur would have said.”
    She sighed again
tiredly. Turning to face her loyal and faithful butler, she asked, “Have I
changed that much Theodore?”
    Theodore attempted to
look away, pre-occupying his mind with the details of the Persian carpet gracing
the floor of the family living room. “It’s not my place to say, my lady.”
    Mrs. Kinnaird grunted
and hobbled back to her chair. “Oh, come off it, Theodore. You’ve been in the
family far too long that you’ve almost become one. I would trade you any day
for that prying, nosy, meddlesome cousin of mine, Deanna Boyd.”
    She picked up her
newspaper, trying to continue with it from where she left off but instead
slammed it back onto the table with a thud. “Tell me, Theodore, how is that old
twerp’s been doing?”
    “Mrs. Boyd’s been
well, Madam,” Theodore replied. Despite his love for his mistress, he hated
being caught in the Kinnaird family dispute. As much as he’d like, he would
prefer to stay as far from it as possible. The Kinnairds could get nasty and dirty if they wanted to. He was a living testament to that.
    He adjusted the ends
of his jacket and continued, “In fact, she called up this morning to ask for
your health. I reported you were doing excellently in spite of the small cold
you suffered earlier on in the winter. I naturally didn’t put her through to
you as you had advised. I said that you were still asleep and did not wish to
be disturbed.”
    “Asking for my
health, indeed!” she spat out. “The woman is concerned with nothing but the
date on my funeral headstone! Argh !” She reclined
into her chair, quiet and thinking.   “Do
you remember, Theodore, how once these rooms were filled with laughter and
people. Beautiful people. Arthur, the children, George, Mary, Anne.”
    She looked at the red
decorative wall paper and its green and gold trimmings, the memories of their
debate entwined within it.

 
    “Blue, mother,”
George had said. “That red is just horrendous.” He let out a disgusting sound.
    “Oh, stop
exaggerating, George,” Ethel Kinnaird said. “I think it’s really pretty.”
    “You only say that,
mother, because Anne chose it,” Mary replied, poking out her tongue in a tease and
moving to sit on her father’s arm chair. She put her arm around her father’s
neck endearingly “What do you think, Pa?”
    Her father looked up
from the book he was reading. “This is where a man should learn to keep his
opinion to himself. Unfortunately, George doesn’t seem he will learn it soon
enough. Not until he gets his own   bevy
of beauties he would want to keep happy.”
    George scowled.