"Bob's Book": Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE: To Grandmother’s House We Go

 

 

     My name is Bob Bellamy, and in the year 1807 when I was sixteen years old, I started my apprenticeship in the Department of Extranatural Affairs. I fell almost right away into one of the worst cases the Bureau of Shadows ever knew; but I luckily wasn’t quite as green as some folks are when they start.

     Part of that was because I had already had some experience with the extranatural before, which is not quite the same as the simply supernatural, you understand. When I was twelve, I had an incident involving a Revenant, a Lake Monster, and a Wood Ape (these are all broad technical terms the Bureau uses; I don’t think the big hairy thing I saw was anything as simple as an ape). This was all in one night, mind you. I came out of that adventure fairly unscathed.

The other part of it was because my pa, Chase Bellamy, had been instructing us kids (me and my sister Daisy) before we ever knew that he was an agent in the Department, or that there even was a Department. It was mostly to keep us safe when he wasn’t around, and the training had to be camouflaged, as Ma wasn’t particularly happy about dragging us into “that world”, as she called it. But after the night on Deacon’s Peak the cat was out of the bag, as it were, and I soon became Pa’s unofficial assistant on a lot of cases.

Even so, I barely survived to complete my apprenticeship. There was one who wasn’t so fortunate.

 

We stood on the shadowy front porch of the Morrison mansion, Ma and Daisy and me, and waited for someone to answer the bell. Ma had rung it firmly, almost too firmly, as if announcing her presence in defiance, and overcoming some inner reluctance. The echoes of the bell had faded through the hollow halls within, and still we waited. I scratched and tugged at the unfamiliar starched collar around my neck. This was not how I wanted to spend my sixteenth birthday.

Three days before it had all been fine. Although Pa was still out on another one of his missions for the Bureau, he was expected back within the month. Meanwhile we were staying in Boston with my mother’s cousin Aunt Hannah (as we called her) in her crowded but always hospitable house and looking forward to an informal celebration with our numerous rough-and-tumble cousins. Then had come the invitation (more of a summons) from Grandma Morrison.

So here we were in our Sunday best, Ma bracing herself, me shuffling from foot to foot, and Daisy slowly fuming in a freshly starched but somewhat-faded, blue-checked dress, eyes darting from side to side in curious anticipation. After a moment of nervous waiting that felt like an eternity, she looked up at Ma and asked, “So, is Grandma Morrison really a witch?”

“Daisy!” Ma’s eyebrows shot up; her horrified mouth hung open. She looked down at my sister, her fragile composure fractured like a fort taken from a surprise direction. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Well, from what Bob says …”

“Don’t you go pinning that on me!” I cut in hurriedly.

Ma turned a stern face on me. “Bob, what have you been telling your sister?”

“Nothing but what didn’t happen,” I said guiltily, twisting a little under her glare. I stuck my hands in my pockets and scuffled my hard shoes.

“What do you mean?” she asked frostily. “What did you tell your sister?”

“Well, she asked me about Grandma Morrison. She asked me what she’s like.” I bowed my head and looked away. “And … well … I couldn’t think of a single good thing to say.”

“Bob!”

“I mean, she always makes me call her Mrs. Morrison! The one time I called her grandma, she thumped my head. She’s never liked Pa, and that can only make me think that she doesn’t like us kids much either.”

Ma straightened up and composed her expression. “Oh, come now! I’m sure she’s fond of you both, in her own way.”

“It’s a mighty peculiar way,” said Daisy. “How can she be fond of me if she hasn’t even seen me in ten years? Not an invite, not a present, not even a P.S. in the letters she sends you now and then.”

“Well, we’ve all been invited now,” said Ma. She tucked back a strand of hair that had come loose in her sudden annoyance. “I ask you, dear, to withhold your judgment until you have met your grandmother. It is true that she has been quite rigorous in her dealings in the past – I did rather defy my parents when I married your father, and that can only have hurt her feelings – but it is wholly possible that age and solitude has softened her position.”

She put her hands down on our shoulders protectively and drew us closer. She looked at us, and for a moment her vulnerability was all too clear in her liquid brown eyes.

“I beg of you two not to raise any barriers to a possible reconciliation at last.”

“No, Momma,” we murmured in unison, struck solemn by the unexpected emotion in her voice. Daisy and I glanced gloomily at the door. For years we had been used to Ma and Pa referring to Grandma Morrison in the most icy and ironic terms, covered over with a kind of grim humor. That Ma might have been concealing real pain had never occurred to us. I had been thinking of this visit as a reconnaissance into an enemy camp; that Ma had an investment in this maneuver had raised the stakes. I adjusted my collar again and smoothed my shirt.

We waited so long that I was beginning to think that the whole set-up was some sort of cruel trick. Ma was just reaching out to ring again when suddenly the sound of the door being unbolted was heard and her hand twitched back nervously. After a series of scrapes and ratcheting that sounded like the entire faceplate might be being dismantled, the massive door swung ponderously open, and a ghostly figure materialized from out of the gloom inside.

“Grandma?” asked Daisy.

“Simmons!” Ma cried out. Although she was clearly happy to see the gaunt person standing in the doorway, I think she was also trying to drown out Daisy’s little social mistake. The figure that was looking impassively down on us children clearly wasn’t any relation of ours and was not in fact even female.

I could kind of see her mistake. He had a rather old-fashioned powdered wig on his head, and his long buttoned-up topcoat and white knee socks at first would certainly give a child not familiar with the fashions of twenty years ago the impression of a rather severe dress. But his dark skin, like walnut blanching with age, should have given her the clue that this wasn’t a relative of ours, and if he was, it probably wouldn’t be mentioned out loud in a social setting.

The corners of his firmly pressed lips turned up in a tight little smile; there was annoyance, but also amusement in the deepening wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing gracefully. He turned to me, voice deepening. “Young Mister Bob.” He looked at Daisy, eyebrows raised, a knowing look in his eyes.

“My daughter Daisy, of course,” Ma said. “Daisy, Mr. Simmons, my mother’s major domo.” Daisy curtsied, and the old man bowed gravely, the precise bow that any elderly gentleman gives a young lady. There was nothing subservient about Mr. Simmons, never had been, as I had cause to remember from my younger wilder days and a pot of blackberry jam that had gone missing on one of our infrequent visits.

“Simmons, it’s wonderful to see you again,” Ma said as she led us in, directed by the sweep of his courteous hand. “It’s been too long.” She took off her bonnet, and he closed the door with one hand and accepted the hat with the other in one fluid movement. “And how is Mother?”

There was the slightest pause in the machinery as the old man placed the hat on a table in the hall inside, then it flowed smoothly again.

“Mrs. Morrison is the same as she ever was,” he replied, as if he was trying to convince himself as well as Ma. He tugged his coat straight, which had slightly wrinkled with his efforts. “Of course, it has been ten years.”

“Of course.” Ma sounded a little conscience stricken, as if confronted with evidence of her neglect. She twirled off her cloak and handed it to Mr. Simmons.

I took off my own hat and hung it on one of the pegs in a row on the wall. It looked lonely hanging there by itself on a place that had been obviously designed for dozens.

“So, what’s a major domo, anyway?” Daisy suddenly broke in. “Is that like a butler or somethin’? Or were you in the army?”

The old man looked down at her in astonishment. Then he smiled rather bleakly.

“It has been, at times, rather like commanding an army. But it is something like a butler,” he said, emphasizing the final g in mild but firm correction. “If a butler directed all the other butlers, housemaids, and stable boys, ran the entire household economy, and arranged the social affairs of the house.” He sniffed. “One could wish, sometimes, for the life of a simple butler.” He extended his hand. “This way, please.”

The house was huge and shadowy and even quieter than I remembered from the old days. Our footsteps as we walked through the main hallway (a passage bigger than some of the houses I had lived in as we moved around following Pa’s cases) clattered and echoed so loudly in contrast that it was like disturbing a hushed hospital ward. Some rooms we passed on either side were full of sheeted furniture which only added to the impression. Occasionally I heard the distant murmur of hushed voices.

As we drew near a particular door my mother started to slow in anticipation, and then stopped, perplexed, as the elderly major domo strode past it. Daisy and I shuffled to a stop next to her.

“Simmons,” she asked. “Are we not to use the dining room? My mother’s invitation specifically mentioned a gathering for a birthday lunch.” She put her hand on my back proudly. “Today is Bob’s sixteenth, you know.”

I glanced into the room indicated. Inside was a table that could have seated at least two dozen guests, a cold fireplace at the far end surmounted by the staring stuffed head of a massively antlered stag, with sideboards at least twenty feet long lining the walls on either side. The sideboards were full of empty bowls and servers, the chandelier overhead devoid of candles, the chairs and table shrouded in more swaths of coarse canvas. It smelled to me that it had not known food or life for quite some time.

“Mrs. Morrison felt that under the circumstances it would not be quite appropriate,” he answered, almost apologetically. “The … party is to be held in the parlor, just off her private chamber.”

“Oh.” She seemed taken aback for a moment, but then she rallied. “Yes, I suppose that will be simpler and more intimate, won’t it? More familial.” She looked wistfully into the empty room. “Do you remember my sixteenth, Simmons? We must have had three hundred guests.”

“Three hundred and forty-two, if I remember rightly, Miss Elizabeth.” His voice was carefully neutral. “It was quite a gala occasion. There’s been nothing quite like it since you left.”

“Really?”

“Once you were married and gone, your father saw little point. There were fewer and fewer parties, and after he passed away …” There was a pause. “Shall we go?” he said gently. “Mrs. Morrison is waiting.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

We reached the staircase at the end of the hall, fancy, but a bit narrow, and darker than you would expect for the afternoon. Here Mr. Simmons paused to light a candle, and we followed him, single file, up the steep stairs, first Ma, then Daisy, then me. I could hear his old knees cracking at each step.

“So, what was Grampa like?” asked Daisy a little breathlessly. “He must have been pretty hard-working to have built all this. Was he anything like Pa?”

“Oh, he was a busy man, managing the brewery, you know, making money for Mother to spend. Sometimes, when I was younger, he would have time for me and we would play a bit, but he was always tired, and his time was limited. He loved me, of course, and I loved him, but when I got a little older, I think it baffled him as how best to proceed with a young lady. He left that more and more to Mother.”

I couldn’t see her face from where I was bringing up the rear, but I could hear the rue in her voice.

“So yes, I suppose you could say he was like your Pa. The times spent with me are deep, but rather intermittent.”

By now we had reached the landing at the top of the staircase. Daisy quietly slipped her hand into Ma’s, and I saw them both tighten their grip briefly.

It was a good deal lighter up there. The upright old man blew the candle out and set the candlestick on a table at the head of the hall.

“This way, please,” he said. “Follow me.”

“Simmons! As if I wouldn’t know!”

“Your pardon, Miss Elizabeth,” he said dryly. “It has been quite a few years. I thought you might have forgotten the way.”

“Mr. Simmons,” Ma said warningly, after a pause. She smiled. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that that is what they call a crack.”

He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“Indeed, Miss? I’ve never heard that expression. Well, well. How one lives and learns.” He turned and started leading us down the hall.

“Indeed one does, Mr. Simmons,” Ma said. We all came to a halt in front of an ornate, white-lacquered door. He reached out stiff fingers like twigs and started to turn the door handle. “And I am not a Miss any longer. I am Mrs. Chase.”

He stood quietly for a moment, hand still on the handle, and I could see his hooded old eyes readjusting their focus from ancient inner memories to clearer visions. At last he spoke.

“I do beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said courteously. “A force of habit, I fear; a sign one is growing old.” He opened the door and gestured us in. “This way, please.”

Ma ushered us in first, but as she passed by Mr. Simmons, I heard him murmur to her, with a suppressed chuckle of approval in his voice, “Upon my word, Lizzie, I do believe you’ll still stand a match with Her Ladyship in stubbornness after all.” I turned quickly to look at him, but his face was as grave as a funeral mask.

The room he had led us into was big, but so crowded it gave an impression of a much smaller place. Its main feature was a tiny fireplace with a huge ornately carved mantle surrounding it. The shelf of the mantle was covered with porcelain shepherds and milkmaids dressed in most unlikely fancy clothes, decorative candelabra that appeared never to have been lit, and other such expensive gewgaws, including peacock feathers arranged like fans in painted French vases. Over it hung an enormous painting of Grandfather Morrison, looking (by his expression) none too pleased to be there.

Stiff, uncomfortable couches lined most of the walls, draped in embroidery and adorned with hard, tiny pillows. Fussy little tables that appeared to exist only to display fussy little treasures took up the spaces in between. The walls were covered in paintings of European scenes: Rome and Venice and the English countryside. On one side of the fireplace was a spindly writing desk with a few scant books on top of it. In the other corner was what was obviously Grandmother Morrison’s habitual seat and throne, an enormous armchair swathed in blankets and drowned in cushions, with an elaborate sewing table crouched like a guardant beast by its side. Next to this chair was a door to the inner chamber.

Simmons advanced to this door and knocked discreetly. There was a high, querulous, but indistinct question from within.

“Mrs. Chase and her children are here as you directed, Mrs. Morrison,” he said deferentially. “It is now one o’clock.”

We had been hanging near to the entrance of the room; now Ma pushed us forward to the middle as Simmons withdrew to the side. There was a pause, a clatter of the door handle, then the portal swung back on silent hinges and Grandmother Morrison emerged.

I had last seen her when I was six, and I remembered her as being a tall, daunting figure. I fully expected her to seem less so now that I was grown up; I was grievously disappointed. She was still taller than me and carried herself with such a commanding presence that I felt just as cowed as I had as a child. As she came into the room, the swoosh of her old-fashioned shirts sounded like a river in flood bearing down upon us.

She didn’t look any older to me, but I had only ever seen her as old. At the time it was unnerving, as if in her cussedness she would last forever. She stopped a couple of feet short, folding her hands, and looked us over as if scrutinizing as prize pig at a fair.

“Mother,” Ma curtsied, and Daisy followed her. I bowed. The old lady accepted our obeisance without unbending an inch herself. Ma rose. “You’re looking well.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” she said, a sardonic tinge in her crusty voice. “You do to, considering your circumstances.”

Ma colored a bit at that, as if she wanted to inquire what circumstances those might be, but let it go. The haughty old woman turned her attention to me, and her aspect softened a bit. Not much.

“Robert,” she said grandly. “It is good to see you again. How do you do?”

“Very well, Mrs. Morrison,” I cautiously replied. “I hope you are the same.”

Her austere face tried an unfamiliar smile.

“Come now, Robert! This is your sixteenth birthday! I think that after all this time you may call me …” She hesitated, as if unwilling to concede any affectionate epithet, especially one that made her sound old. “Mother Morrison,” she concluded.

I looked at her, and I think my eyes must have bugged a bit. Between the unfamiliar yielding to family sentiment and the proud abrogation of a younger title already filled, I did not know how to react. So I just bowed again and smiled, rather foolishly. That seemed to satisfy her. She turned to Daisy.

“And who is this little poppet?” She asked imperiously, with lowered eyelids and a smug look of condescension on her face.

Before Ma could start an introduction, Daisy piped up unexpectedly.

“I’m Daisy, as I think you very well know,” she snapped. She looked flushed; she crossed her arms against her chest and there was the look in her eyes that we called ‘the danger lamps’. “And I’m not callin’ you Mother Morrison for nothin’. I already have a mother, and that’s Ma. I’m gonna call you Granny, though that’s not a name I’m sure you deserve. But I believe in giving folks I just met the benefit of a doubt.”

Mr. Simmons looked appalled at such unparalleled pertness. Ma and I froze, wondering what Grandmother Morrison would do. I, for one, knowing what I did about her from the past, felt sure she would strike her rolling to the floor and out of the room.

The old lady stood stock still, eyeing her. I don’t know if she was astounded that anyone, especially someone so young, would have the gall to act that way to her, and simply didn’t know for a moment how to react, or if she was struggling within herself of a supreme act of restraint. After a moment, she seemed to merely dismiss it from her mind as unworthy of consideration.

“Simmons,” she said. “You may bring the refreshments. My guests – especially little Miss Daisy – seem a trifle out of spirits. Come!” She clapped her hands commandingly. “This is an important day! Let the festivities begin!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Simmons bowed himself out, and for a few tense moments we were left alone in the room with Grandmother Morrison. She grandly waved Ma into a lesser chair on the opposite side of the fireplace but indicated that I should take my place on the sofa quite close to her on the other side of the bedroom door. After a moment’s hesitation but no direction, Daisy sat next to me.

There followed a stretch of stilted conversation that it would be tiresome and excruciating to recount here. For a while, Ma and Grandma seemed to be playing a kind of abstract, emotional kind of tennis ball. The elder lady would send out some outwardly harmless question, and Ma would give a perfectly bland, even ingratiating, reply. Then Grandma Morrison would send it back in a cold, viciously precise volley. The worst part was she would then turn to me with some pleasant remark that forced me to agree with her. I felt uncomfortably complicit in the attack because of this maneuver.  Ma usually managed to turn these strokes with a precise parry, but by the time Simmons came back with dinner she was down a few points. Daisy was ignored altogether.

Simmons was not alone. Two maids and a pageboy had helped him carry up a variety of dishes, a folding table, and a couple of rickety party chairs. Simmons himself carried an elaborate tray laid for tea, the silver pot gleaming and steaming in the middle. All was carefully arranged, centering around Grandma Morrison of course, who watched it being set up with an eagle eye. The lesser servants were dismissed, Simmons moved Ma’s chair in, and Daisy and I took our places, shuffling the little chairs in. Grandma said a quick, by-the-book grace, and the ‘party’ began.

I was directly opposite the old lady’s seat.

To this day I’m not sure how I made it through that meal. Its main feature was a large fish (not my favorite kind of dish), served without any mitigation like butter or lemon, but salted to an unpleasant degree. I didn’t think it was possible to ruin string beans, but the rank barely cooked pile of little logs was apparently how Grandma preferred them. The potatoes were black with pepper, and the soup red with paprika.  I tried to choke it all down with tea, but that was brewed poisonously strong. It would have required more milk and sugar than I felt comfortable taking under Grandma’s scrutiny to be drinkable.

We choked it all down, however, in as tiny portions as we could politely manage. Grandma Morrison ground it up unphased, eating with such apparent pleasure and in such portions as if to make up for our scant participation. Daisy and I later theorized, and Ma confirmed from what she heard from Simmons, that her palate had failed with age, and only the strongest flavors could make any impression on her anymore. The meal was concluded with a dense over-gingery cake, without frosting and hard as a brick.

Ma ate her meal as expressionless as a judge. I managed to get my food down without too much gasping, though I was quick with gulps of the harsh tea, just to help it slide down. Daisy was lucky that the old lady kept her focus on Ma and me, because I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate her granddaughter’s grimaces and the way she kept bringing her napkin up as if to push her bulging cheeks closed to prevent her from spewing a mouthful out. At last, under my grandma’s scrutiny, I manage to wrestle down the final crumb of my dried-up slice of cake.

“Would you like some more?” she asked.

My eyes bugged a little at the idea, but I caught myself and covered my choking cough with a little ducking bow of my head.

“I thank you, but no, ma’am,” I answered. I sought my mind for a proper response and managed to dredge it up at the last moment. “I have had an elegant sufficiency.”

Grandma nodded with satisfaction.

“A lad with self-control,” she said approvingly. “That’s a sign of character.”

“We all thank you,” Ma said, setting her cup down with finality. “Don’t we, Daisy dear?” Daisy dropped her fork and pushed her still half-full plate away.

“And now that it’s over with,” she said decidedly. “We thank the Lord.”

Grandma gave her a quick eyeball, but Daisy had on her sweet and sincere look. She dismissed her granddaughter from her consideration like she was flicking crumbs from her dress.

“You may remove the dishes, Simmons, then leave us. We must have a private little family congress for a while. There is so much to discuss!” She turned to Ma. “So much we must talk about and consider. Much about the regrettable past, and much about the future.” She turned her faded blue eyes on me. “Especially your future, Robert. It’s your sixteenth birthday, and I think we can truly say you’ve come to the age of decision.”

“Mother, whatever do you mean …” Ma began, but the old lady pressed her lips and rolled her eyes at the major domo. He had moved the table into a corner and was gathering up the plates. She said not another word until he had exited and shut the door firmly behind him.

Grandmother Morrison sat back grandly in her chair and rather obviously pretended to relax. She smiled with her mouth; it didn’t quite reach up to her eyes.

“Well!” she said after a pause. “Isn’t this nice. Here we are, gathered together, all snug and comfy! I can’t tell you, Elizabeth, how many times I’ve spent in this very chair on a cold dark night, wondering what wilderness Mr. Chase had dragged you and the children off into, or even if you were still alive. But here you are, and here is young Master Robert, safe and sound after all, all grown up and ready to start in the real world!”

“I can assure, you, Mother, that the world we have been living in has been quite as real and engaging as Boston. Sometimes even grippingly so,” Ma said tartly.

“Yes, but I mean the world of business. Of society. That is where the wheels of the world are turned. That is where a lad must seek his way, if he is to make his mark in this life.”

Ma sighed.

“Mother, you will pardon me, I hope, when I tell you I sense a covert purpose here. I seem to remember you singing this kind of aria whenever you wanted Father to undertake another speculative enterprise.”

“Then perhaps you will remember how often those enterprises turned out to benefit our family.” I won’t say Grandma snapped, but she was very quick on the reply. She pressed her lips, then smiled. “But I suppose one could say I do have a surprise purpose behind all this celebration. A gift for our young Robert, here. A wonderful gift.”

She turned to me and put her hand on my arm.

“Can’t I have a birthday present for my big strong grandson? One that would make up for all the presents I missed giving him because he was off in the wild?”

“Of course, Mama,” Ma said. She looked rather pale. “Of course you can.” She sat back.

“Well, that’s settled, then.” Grandma Morrison sat back in her chair a little smugly, and then sighed. Her expression suddenly changed to one of almost saintly weariness, and she launched into what I am sure must have been a long-rehearsed speech.

“As you can imagine,” she began. “The occasion of young Robert’s sixteenth birthday, joyous as it is, has made me realize how swiftly time is passing. It has pressed upon my mind the melancholy fact that, well, I won’t last forever, and that I am, in fact, growing old.”

She paused for a moment, as if she expected denials or protestations. We just looked at her; she was simply stating the obvious. She went on a little peevishly.

“Of course, that realization impresses upon me that the Morrison family legacy is in my care, that if it is to go on, I must decide to whom to pass it. And I have decided, dear Robert,” she smiled triumphantly, “To give it all to you, to make you my heir. When I pass away, all the Morrison estate shall be yours!”

“Mother!” Ma exclaimed. I sat dumbfounded. I didn’t know what to think. Throughout my childhood, the idea of the Morrison riches had assumed an Arabian Nights-like quality, partly from Ma’s tales of her pampered girlhood and partly from the contrast of our shoestring, nomadic life. That I should suddenly be put in possession of such wealth, whenever Death should have pried it from Grandma’s dragonish grip, was an idea that left me bereft of response. If she had just announced I was the lost Dauphin of France, I couldn’t have been more astounded. Daisy says I just sat there, goggling like a fish.

“Mother!” Ma said again. She was as shocked as I was. After all the years of neglect, even rejection of her family, this had come like a bolt from the blue. Suddenly reconciliation seemed at hand. Her voice trembled with hope. “Mother, are you sure you want to do this?”

Grandma Morrison smiled at her again. I was starting to notice a little something unpleasant in her smile.

“Now, dear, I know as my only daughter you might have been expecting a share or maybe even the whole estate, but you’ve chosen another life, haven’t you? And the Morrison legacy, if it is to go on, must be left whole after I’m gone. I’m sure Robert will take care of you and Daisy, when the sad but inevitable day arises, and you’re left on your own.”

“You may be sure that if that day comes, Chase will have had us provided for,” Ma countered.

Grandma touched her arm with a brief, sympathetic hand.

“Of course you will be,” she said, as if comforting a child. “Of course you will be. And in the meantime, Robert will be learning the family business.” She turned to me again. “Because, you know, you’ll be coming to live with me.”

“What?” I said stupidly. I must admit that things were moving a little too fast for me. I could barely keep up. During the conversation I felt like I was a tennis ball being knocked back and forth, or a chess piece moved willy-nilly around some incomprehensible board.

“Oh, yes.” Grandma Morrison sat back a little, hands clenching the arms of her chair as she eased in. “There are a few necessary conditions on your birthday present, you see.” She settled her shoulders cozily into the back of the seat. “And one of them is that you’ll have to come and live with me.”

“Why?” Daisy put in bluntly. “Why should he have to leave us? Why not just come back when you’ve kicked … uh, shuffled off this mortal coil, as it were?”

“Why, my dear little tot,” Grandma purred in condescension. “That’s nothing to puzzle your pretty little head about. Can’t you see the grown-ups are talking? Now mind your manners and go play in the corner a while.”

“Oh no, this is far more interestin’,” said Daisy. She settled back in her hard little chair, almost an echo of Grandma Morrison’s movement and tone. “I want to hear more about these conditions hangin’ off of this ‘present’.”

The old lady ignored her and turned to Ma.

“Well, of course I can’t just give it to him without some preparation. That would be a recipe for disaster. I don’t have to tell you, Elizabeth, the effects of sudden affluence might have on someone not brought up to it. You remember Cousin Beamish.”

“I do, Mama.”

“Ran through his legacy in a year, and then what? The poorhouse, illness, and death. A prodigal son without even a father to whom to return. Sometimes the way to ruin someone who hasn’t taken care of any money is to give him some. Well, I plan to see that that doesn’t happen to Robert.”

“Yes, that does make sense.” Ma turned to me. “Robert, your father and I have talked with you about getting you an apprenticeship somewhere so you can start making your own way in the world. What do you think about your grandmother’s offer?”

“Well,” I started out slowly. I was searched her face, to see if I could find out any clue as to what she wanted me to do, but her expression was studiously blank. I don’t think she wanted to influence me, one way or the other. This would have to be my decision.

“It certainly sounds like a very generous way to start out life,” I began. Ma had always told us tales of her childhood, of Grandfather’s hard work building up the brewery business that had brought him so much joy and allowed her a quite luxurious upbringing. She had never regretted going off with Pa, but there was often a tinge of wistfulness as she recounted her stories, as of some paradise, no matter how well-lost. If I accepted, it could be a way to restore it at last. Still, Grandma Morrison …

“What exactly, would be the way it would work?” I asked cautiously.

“Well, of course, first of all you would move in with me here at the Morrison House. No more gypsy life for you! You would have your own rooms and fine sets of clothes to reflect your new station in life. And then I would start teaching you the business.

“You would not, of course, have to actually learn how to brew,” she smiled. “We have people to take care of that. No, I mean the business of the business, and believe me that is hard enough. I know, because after dear Mr. Morrison passed away, I had to take it up all by myself.” She dabbed at her eye. “It has been so hard, a lady on her own having to embark on so unladylike an occupation. But I have persevered. And now you can start taking that burden onto younger shoulders.

“And I see that you can take it. It is the Morrison blood in you. There are joys and pride to be had, as well as good hard work to make you strong in mind and body. You will be building up the respect of your neighbors and associates, and in time, your stability and service will lead you to a good fine wife.

“Because I would introduce you into society, of course. It won’t all be work. There will be visits and gatherings and parties, with all the prettiest young ladies there to dance. Such balls as this house hasn’t seen since …” She glanced at Ma. “Well, anyway. You’ll find a suitable wife to wed and, in time, have children. And the Morrison name will be secure for generations to come.”

“’Cept it won’t be the Morrison name,” Daisy broke in. “It would be the Bellamy name then, wouldn’t it?”

The old lady frowned, her fancy bumping to the earth for a second, but then it bounced back up again.

“I have planned for that; it’s very easily fixed,” she breezed on. “If Robert is to accept this legacy, he must and will adopt the last name of Morrison. It is, after all, his birthright. It is his mother’s maiden name. It is the name of the company.”

Ma drew back. Before she had looked like she was coming into port with the idea. Now she seemed a thousand miles from shore again. Still, her voice, when it came, was even and polite, though I could hear the edge in it.

“Mother, are you determined that this must be a condition?”

“Of course. And why not? Why, even the Bard asks, what’s in a name? A rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet.”

“In that case, why not just leave him as Bob Bellamy?” Daisy said smugly.

“Hush, child. You don’t understand.” There was a thunder warning in the old lady’s voice. “In this city, the name of Morrison has a strong and familiar savor. It carries weight and history that shouldn’t be cast aside. It will be a decided advantage, a leg up, for Robert as he starts a new life.”

“Yes, if he chooses it,” Ma said. She looked at me. “And the choice is yours, Robert. It is your life. What do you say?” Her voice was carefully neutral. “There are some fine advantages in your grandmother’s kindly offer.”

Grandma Morrison turned and looked at me intently. Before she had only given me proprietary glances, as if I were piece on a chessboard that she was trying to lure over to her side of the game. I had the distinct feeling that the real match was between her and Ma. I had been watching the contest with some fair interest, but with little engagement; it was so enormous in consequence that didn’t seem like it could really have any real connection to me. But suddenly I was to be both pawn and judge as to who would win.

I looked at the ladies gathered around me. There was an eager light in Grandma’s eyes, Daisy looked disgusted, and Ma’s face was carefully blank. Perhaps she herself wasn’t sure what I should do. The lure of her old life and loyalty to her family were in the balance, and the future waited on my words.

I cleared my throat.

“Well, this is certainly a most generous present, Mother Morrison, and I thank you for it,” I said judiciously. She looked triumphant. “I would have to be a fool to turn down such a magnificent proposition and such a substantial leg-up in life.” I reached out and put a tentative hand on her shoulder, bowing. “Thank you very, very much.”

Daisy crossed her arms and sat back, thunder her in her face. Ma looked paler than ever. I straightened up and looked the old lady square in the eye.

“But” I went on. “I suppose I am that fool. I’m going to have to decline your offer. With due appreciation, of course. I could never abandon my family’s name, no matter the price. It would be betraying myself, you see. I’ve been Bob Bellamy all my life, and Bob Bellamy I shall remain, and take the consequences.”

“Yippee!” Daisy sprang up and danced over to me and gave me a hug. Ma gave out a huge sigh and looked up with a watery smile of acceptance. But Grandma’s face snapped shut like an iron trap.

“Are you mad, boy?” she rasped. I was suddenly very glad I hadn’t taken the bait that had hidden that trap. “Are you going to give up wealth, and social position, and a settled life, just to hang onto the name of a penurious wanderer with no status, no standing, no rank in this world? Then you are a fool, Robert,” she snapped, “If you don’t accept all I’m offering you, just to cling to the worthless name of …”

“Mr. Chase Bellamy!” Mr. Simmons suddenly announced, an edge of surprise etching even his impassable attitude, flinging open the door and stepping aside to reveal, to the wonderment of all, Pa, the dust of the road still on his coat, shaggy and unshaven, but with a spring in his step and an impudent brashness that showed he was well aware that he was intruding on forbidden territory. He went straight up to Ma, who rose to kiss him.

“Hello, my dear,” he said. “Hello, Daisy. Bob, Happy Birthday, lad!” He took my hand, shaking it enthusiastically, then pulled me into a hearty hug. “Happiest of birthdays, my boy!” He held me at arm’s length and admired me. “My, you are getting tall.”

And measuring myself against Pa, I could see that I had. He had never been the tallest of men, but I must have had a growth spurt while he was away on his latest mission, because now I could look him right in the eyes. If I kept on at this rate, I would soon tower over him. And I could see by the proud look in his eyes that the thought filled him with satisfaction. He turned to Grandma, eyes twinkling.

“Mrs. Morrison,” he bowed. “You’re looking well.”

“Mr. Bellamy,” she said frostily.

“You’ll excuse me, I hope, but I had finished my job and just arrived at Cousin Hannah’s house, hoping to surprise Bob for the occasion, when I found out that you were all gathered here. So I galloped on over, just as I am, wanting to take part in the celebration and see Bob showered with some of that Morrison merriment that we’ve missed for many a year.” He looked around at the circle of pale, dramatic faces. “But I seem to have missed it. Or perhaps it hasn’t quite started yet?”

“I believe it is quite over,” the old lady sniffed, brows knitted disdainfully. “Unless, Robert, you have changed your mind?”

I made some lightning calculations. If there had been some stiff obligations to expect before, the difficulties I would have digging myself out of the dungeon of her displeasure and up into even the prison yard of her allowance seemed insurmountable, and probably not worth the effort. I swallowed.

“No, Grandmother. I thank you again, but no.”

She sighed grimly, sinking back into her chair, hooding her eyes with one hand.

“Then I suppose you all may as well leave. I am suddenly feeling very weary.”

Pa glanced at Ma, a question in his eyes. She smiled sadly, primly, and rose to her feet, and I followed. Daisy bounced up, quite ready to go.

“I am sorry that you’re unwell, Ma’am,” he said. “But before we go, perhaps I can tell you some news that will help cheer you up.”

She waved him away languidly, eyes still dramatically shut.

“It is this, Bob.” He turned to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “When I dropped into the Department to report, I also took the opportunity to talk to Mr. Frobisher about you. I convinced him – although you’re still a little younger than they like – that you should be allowed to start an apprenticeship in the Bureau!”

All three ladies yelled “What!”, Ma a little staggered I think, Grandma snapping wide awake in anger, and Daisy in sheer vexatious jealousy. As for me, I was proud as punch. Ever since my adventure on Deacon’s Peak I had been assisting Pa whenever I could, and it had been my dream to go on adventures like his. To have it offered to me out of the blue, and at least a couple of years before I had really expected it, sealed my mouth for a moment in sheer happiness.

Pa looked a little taken aback at the others reaction, eyes darting, taking in my silence uncertainly.

“That is, of course, if it’s what you want to do, son.”

“Well, Pa,” I grinned. “I don’t suppose there’s anything in the whole world I’d rather do.”

He smiled back and patted my shoulder.

“I thought so,” he said. “But just remember that when Mr. Frobisher is putting you through your paces.” He looked around. “And now I do think we’d better be getting along. Mother Morrison is looking a little green around the gills. Till next we meet again, Ma’am.” He put his hat back on and touched the brim. “Now I do believe Cousin Hannah has quite a banquet preparing, with at least several kinds of cake, and the family was just starting to gather when I left. I don’t suppose you’d mind another party, would you?”

“No, indeed we wouldn’t,” Daisy muttered. Grandma Morrison shot her a poisonous eye but sat stiff and silent as we bade her goodbye. My last sight of her was her pulling out her fan, and hiding away behind it in haughty judgement, dismissing us from her sight. Simmons led us down to the front door, looking rather grim. When we passed the gate, Daisy pulled the fragments of the indigestible meal that she had secreted in her pockets and scattered them to a pack of dogs that had gathered in the road. We hopped up into the buggy Pa had hired and rolled off to the party, leaving the hounds sniffing doubtfully at the crumbs of Grandmother’s feast, unwilling, it seemed, to even taste them.