Louisa and the Country Bachelor : A Louisa May Alcott Mystery (9781101547564) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Abba and I do when company arrives and the parlor is not quite ready.
    We were left standing in the hall.
    â€œLook,” said Anna, smiling. “Oh, it is just as I remember it from our childhood visits. There is the mangy moose head for Uncle Benjamin’s hats, and that grisly umbrella stand.” She pointed at the object, made from an elephant foot, in which Uncle kept the collection of walking sticks I had been so fond of as a child, carved ebonies each topped with a gilt pagan deity configured as a handle, a set of four brought from Egypt.
    Anna and I had dueled with them as children, and I had always chosen the one with the little goddess on the handle. Hathor, Uncle Benjamin had said her name was, and Anna had chosen Ra, the round sun deity. No child had been allowed to play with the Anubis-handled cane, for he, with his long, pointed jackal snout, had been deemed too dangerous. “You’ll put someone’s eye out with that thing,” Uncle had always warned. Anubis was still there, the gilding of his figure less tarnished and worn than the others, for even Uncle did not like to use that cane.
    I touched Hathor for luck and followed Anna’s exploration. The blue-and-white portrait plates of George and Martha Washington, painted in China so that those familiar faces seemed somewhat Oriental; the teak plantation chair now used to hold fire logs; a cabinet of tiny wooden wine cups from the Japans; and other assorted items acquired over a lifetime of foreign exchange and travel. It was eclectic and marvelous, and I felt a thrill of excitement, for Uncle Benjamin always told the most wonderful stories of shipwrecks and pirates and opium dens. Largely, I suspect, they were invented, for his career in shipping had been marked by prodigious good luck, and he himself was a somewhat timid soul who preferred his library to seafaring.
    â€œCome in,” Eliza said a moment later, balancing a baby on her hip. The stew had been forgotten somewhere; I discovered the pot later on the parlor carpet.
    Uncle Benjamin, a tall, gray-haired man adorned with an ancient embroidered silk shawl, red Turkish fez, and battered tapestry slippers that were his at-home wear, appeared behind Eliza. Under his silk shawl he still wore the full pleated trousers and puffed-sleeved coat popular in his youth. He cut a strange and charming figure.
    â€œAbba!” he exclaimed. “Dear Abba! And Bronson!”
    There followed a good five minutes of hugs and how-are-yous, and then Eliza tried to steer us all down the hall.
    â€œFather,” she shouted. “We were just about to have tea. Will you join us?”
    â€œTea? Yes, yes,” Uncle Benjamin shouted back. And so we went into the parlor.
    It was somewhat dusty and shabby, not for lack of caring or even money, but for lack of time and energy. Reader, even if they are not mentioned in these pages, when Eliza appears imagine her always with a child attached to her leg or clinging to her hand. A sweet bun had been ground into the carpet; potted violets on the windowsill wilted for lack of water.
    â€œFrank is in the back, fixing the chicken coop,” Eliza said. “A fox got in last night.” She sighed.
    â€œIs his thumb better?” I asked.
    â€œYes. But he seems to have a dampness in the lungs today. Grippe, I’m afraid. All the children have had it. One comes down, and the others just have to have it as well.” Eliza sighed again.
    â€œShe complains too much,” said her father. “Sit down, sit down. I’ll have Mrs. Fisher bring us our tea. Louisa, are you better contented now that your family is here?”
    â€œMuch better,” I said. We all sat, somewhat gingerly, for Father had found a rag doll under his chair cushion and we wondered if we might find something sharper under our own. Conversation lagged, because a child had thrown a ball through the open parlor window and it had landed on another child’s head,