Chapter Nine of The Davies. I struggled with this one. I wanted to edit the life out of it, but I’ve left it as is. More to come.

Every home has its rhythms, and Kennedy was beginning to understand those of Parker house and its occupants. The first rule of the day seemed to be early to rise. Luckily Kate and Beth didn’t mind that Kennedy ignored it. If she was left alone, she wouldn’t be up before ten. She tried to adjust though and generally dragged herself downstairs before nine. She had a vague feeling the Aunties would see anything later as sheer laziness. Thus, whenever she was up on the later side, she volunteered to do the dishes.

In the late mornings the sun streamed in through the windows and side door, making the kitchen a pleasant place to work. The sink faced the backyard, so she had a decent view while she scrubbed and rinsed. There were no upper cabinets in the kitchen, only long shelves with plate racks and a hutch in the corner for overflow so putting the dishes away was quick work. The lower cabinets were huge and filled with pans. She figured out Kate’s system quickly and soon had the knack of putting everything back in its place.

Kate was the ruler of all things domestic. She did the shopping, cooking, and cleaning. Beth did some of the decorating, but it was really Kate’s taste that dominated the house.  The house was little old lady looking but restrained. Kate’s love of flowers and herbs was confined to the kitchen and garden.  She hadn’t covered the house with dried flowers or sachets of potpourri. Kennedy was thankful for that. As it was, it was a bit disconcerting to go from years of white and clean lines to puffy cushions and ornate carpets.

The den, where they spent a good deal of time, was filled with various couches and chairs put there more for comfort than style. The formal living room was called the sitting room and held the best furniture of the house. What Beth would call the “real furniture.” It was all so delicate Kennedy wondered who would be brave enough to sit on it. Beth said they never used that room. Kennedy marveled at the luxury of having a room solely to put your impressive furniture in.

The house was bewilderingly large compared to what she was used to, and she was a bit lost at times. It’s probably why the library had become one of her favorite spots. It was small and cozy and filled with classics, but no stodgy or pretentious books. Steinbeck and Shakespeare shared shelf space with Christie and Austen. There were suspense paperbacks, and the occasional bodice-ripper mixed in with slim volumes of obscure poets and stunning art books. It was Kennedy’s idea of perfect.

The only thing that was not perfect was that this was yet another reminder of what could have been with her mother. She wondered what it would have been like if her mom had brought her to Parker House as a baby instead of striking out on her own.

Books were the main thing she truly had in common with her mom. They were both born readers, content to lose an entire day to a novel and not consider it wasted. They would often sit in the living room each curled up on their own chair reading. Days like that didn’t feel the same way anymore. Less pleasant memories stole in and as Beth said, robbed her joy.

She wanted to take a pill and turn it all off, the memories, the guilt, all of it. She was still caught up and at times trapped by it. There was a lurking resentment in her grief. She and her mom had not been in a great place when her mom was ripped out of her life. It had left her with a long, frayed edge, threads of her old life left hanging, in danger of being pulled away and lost.

In the library, with a book open on her lap and staring out the window, she tried to tie those ends, to mend her raw edges. But she had been at Parker house for two weeks and other than taking a bike ride in the afternoons she hadn’t managed to go sightseeing or exploring or much of anything. It was like being at home in Boston. She was hiding again only now she had someone else to cook for her and could be even lazier.

Kennedy shifted slightly in the window seat so that a ray of sunlight coming through the beveled window glass could refract into a rainbow directly into her hand.  She had loved doing this at her old apartment in the mornings when she couldn’t face the world she would lay there playing with the light. It was such a wonder that a sunbeam could bend into magnificent color.

Beth began calling out for her from another room and reluctantly she slipped off the seat and went in search of her. She found her in the small study off the kitchen. “Beatrice Hughes just phoned to say she’d like to have us for tea and an interview for you. She tried your cell, but apparently the voicemail is full? I hope you don’t mind me being presumptuous, but I was certain you’d say yes. Mrs. Hughes will have us over this afternoon, for tea. She does that.”

            “Drinks tea?” Kennedy asked.

“No dear, has tea, as in afternoon tea. 4pm every day. She is renowned as a hostess. An invitation to one of her luncheons is quite coveted. Her dinner parties are sublimely exclusive. I’ve only been invited twice, and I’ve known the woman for twenty years.”

Mrs. Hughes was sounding more interesting.

“I don’t want to give you any particular impression. Better you decide for yourself what you think of her and the job. But…” and here she gave Kennedy an appraising look “Dress like you care though.”

Kennedy was a bit startled.

“I’m sorry dear,” Beth went on. “But currently your wardrobe varies between thrift store and Salvation Army. Mrs. Hughes would notice. I’m sure you have something nice you could put on.” Beth said giving her an encouraging smile.  Kennedy tried to put the comment in the spirit she was sure it was intended and went upstairs to pick something out.

Another symptom of the depression she was most likely denying, she’d been in leggings or sweats unless it was a Sunday. She hadn’t realized it was bad enough to earn the derision of a woman who rocked a plaid poncho though. She had more jeans and t-shirts than anything else, but she did have several things from Ann Taylor that were business-class including two pencil skirts and a few oxford-style blouses that she was sure would meet the approval of any old New England lady. She took out the black skirt and paired the French blue oxford with it. She might as well look like she meant business.

She surveyed her shoes and picked out a pair of strappy but still conservative black sandals and then put them back. Much as she hated wearing hose and heels during the summer, she ought to over, not under dress for this. After dressing carefully, she stepped back from the mirror in the door of her wardrobe to survey her work. Not bad. It was probably the first time in six months that she had gone through her whole routine. She’d rather have her hair washed and down, but it couldn’t be helped. The low, loose bun she had wrestled it into would have to do.

Through the open door of her room she could hear Beth calling for her and she hustled down the stairs. They headed out the door and into the station wagon. Beth explained that for the first day, they better drive to avoid showing up sweaty from a walk. The house was only a mile away, but the day was pretty warm. Beth pulled up to an impressive brick house with a formal conservatory off one end and a large center entry. The landscaping was formal as well with manicured cypress shrubs in matte black pots lining each side of the walk in perfect symmetry.

Beth walked her up to the front door, which she had learned was not the standard in small New England towns. Neighbors usually went to each other’s side doors. But up the main walk they went, and Kennedy was surprised to find she was suddenly nervous. Maybe it was the sheer size of the house and the long walk past vegetative perfection that gave the impression she was not up to snuff.

They climbed the final step, and Beth rang the bell while Kennedy fidgeted a bit with her clothes, trying to look as presentable as possible. The door was answered by a young, petite woman wearing enough makeup for two. She looked up at them under her false eyelashes and thick blue eye shadow. “Hello Ms. Davies, Mrs. Hughes is expecting you, won’t you come in?” She stepped back and showed them through the door with a game show hostess flutter of arms. Kennedy was completely thrown by this unexpected girl.

Beth seemed to know her as they both stood waiting for her to tell them which way to go. The front door had opened onto a wide entryway. There was a room immediately off to the right and another to the left. Ahead of them was a wide staircase and behind it a small hall leading to what was probably the kitchen. The girl stepped ahead of them and with a ‘walk this way’ flourish she led them into the room off to the right. It was a formal living room with the same kind of furniture that Beth and Kate had used in theirs, but newer or at least finer. The dark wood floor was covered with an intricate and lovely oriental carpet. The colors were muted and carefully repeated throughout the room in the tasseled drapery and occasional chairs lined up against the walls.

She indicated they should sit in the two armchairs arranged next to a low lacquered table and facing a Queen Anne style sofa. The girl told them to make themselves comfortable and as she wafted out of the room Kennedy gave Beth a look, gesturing with her head at the girl’s retreating back. “Oh, she’s Mrs. Hughes companion – Rebecca.” Beth whispered.

“Companion?” Kennedy whispered back. “Like girlfriend?”

            “What? No. Rebecca’s barely eighteen and Mrs. Hughes isn’t gay, well not that I know of. Rebecca works here; she’s sort of a personal assistant.” Beth explained.

“Auntie, This house is right out of the 18t^h century and I’m beginning to suspect Mrs. Hughes is as well.” Kennedy laughed a little. Beth was about to say something else, but Rebecca wafted back in with Mrs. Hughes behind her. Beth stood and Kennedy followed. Mrs. Hughes looked to be in her late fifties. She was dressed in a simple gray skirt and baby pink cardigan twinset. The colors complemented her pale complexion and honey blonde hair. She had her hair done up in a French twist, but gentle enough not to look severe. Kennedy noted she was wearing hose and rather stylish heels. She held out her hand to Beth “I am so glad to see you and to meet your grandniece.” She said offering Kennedy her hand as well. Her hand felt so delicate, but her grip was anything but.

She motioned for them to sit and said something quietly to Rebecca. The girl quickly left the room. Mrs. Hughes sat in the dead center of the sofa facing Beth and Kennedy with her knees together and her long limbs arranged elegantly.  Kennedy instantly felt she wasn’t sitting straight enough and that her limbs were definitely not elegantly arranged.

Mrs. Hughes asked Beth some banal questions about Parker house, Kate and her gardens. Kennedy tried to look attentive as she both listened to them chat and looked about the room. Clearly the woman did nothing by halves. The furnishings, the carefully chosen art, and soft goods – it all worked harmoniously together to create the atmosphere. There wasn’t a stick of furniture or a piece of art out of place. But as soon as she began to wonder if she really was up to Mrs. Hughes’ standards, she remembered Rebecca’s airy manner and heavy-handed make up application. Either Mrs. Hughes had a sense of humor, or she wasn’t a particularly exacting kind of boss.

The much-maligned Rebecca returned to the room with a large tea tray. Kennedy was in awe of the spread the girl then laid out on the lacquered table between them. There was the tea pot and delicate little cups in bone china of course, but there were also perfectly cute little sandwiches and tiny pastry puffs of some sort. Once all these wonders were placed on the table Rebecca retreated again.

Mrs. Hughes leaned forward and poured for them. It smelled like strong black tea, lightly fragrant and earthy. Mrs. Hughes handed her the cup and for the first time since they arrived, she looked her full in the face. She had bright blue eyes and they seemed to size Kennedy up in a moment.

“How far did you get on your master’s degree?” Mrs. Hughes asked. She hadn’t looked away but continued to fix Kennedy with a steady gaze.

“I was able to finish the first year and put a dent in the second.

            “Do you plan to finish your degree?” Her voice was clear as well. She spoke in a medium tone and with a gentle accent. Kennedy tried to place it but couldn’t. It was elegant though, with long vowels and precise diction.

“Yes. That is my plan.”         

            “Do you have a time frame?” That’s right Kennedy thought this was a job interview after all.

“Not a firm one yet no. I know for certain it won’t be this fall however.”

Mrs. Hughes nodded slightly at this as if it was what she was expecting. Kennedy wondered how much Beth had said to her already. Did she know why Kennedy was taking a break from school? She didn’t mind a bit if Beth had given Mrs. Hughes the details ahead of time. She appreciated being saved from the explanation.

            “Your great aunt has probably already told you what the position entails, but I’d like to go over it with you to ensure you are interested.” Mrs. Hughes said, still focused on Kennedy’s face.

“Of course.”

            “This house,” she began waving a hand gently around the room “is my life’s work. When my husband and I first inherited the property, it was in a derelict state.  I made a promise to myself that I would return it to its Georgian glory and ensure the family’s history was properly archived, not just to ensure that this most remarkable era of American history was kept alive so to speak, but our family as well.” Mrs. Hughes’ face showed how intensely she felt about her project.

“I’ve spent years researching, resourcing, restoring this house and the treasures I found piled up in the attics and outbuildings. And I think it’s time to properly catalog it all. Restoring this house has been my joy, but I have found that the paperwork is not.” She smiled again at Kennedy. “If the thought of carefully documenting and cataloging the treasures stored here and the efforts I have made to return a piece of history to the people excites you, I would genuinely love to have you join me.”  Her eyes sized her up again.

“This is honestly a great opportunity at what is probably the exact right moment for me but…” Kennedy began and Mrs. Hughes smile didn’t change, but it did sort of freeze in place “I am no expert on Colonial American architecture or–”

“Luckily I am.” Mrs. Hughes interrupted sitting back a little. “I need your research skills, your patience and above all, your ability to tolerate tedium.” She smiled again “Well, what I consider tedium. I can’t be chained to a computer writing out descriptions, dates, and details. And I want to create an actual digital archive of sorts which would mean taking and uploading photos to some sort of database…” she audibly sighed. “It’s a poor use of my time.”

            “Of course,” said Kennedy, “Luckily it’s a perfect use of mine and you’d be amazed at my ability to tolerate tedium.”

 “Excellent.” Mrs. Hughes leaned forward. “Can you start tomorrow?”

            “Absolutely.” Kennedy answered and she felt a weight fall away from her, a page turn.

Image credit – Jelleke Vanooteghem via Unsplash