This story was originally published in Augustcutter, December 2002.
Every year my father had had a New Year’s Celebration at Satis House. He died in October, and on the eve of the New Year, I sat alone on the parlor as I did every night, for I consider myself the best company I can keep. But on this occasion, I felt as though the spirit not only of my father but also of each of his guests surrounded me in the room. Shadowy figures danced and voices laughed while an unread book of poetry lay in my lap and I stared around the fire lit room. To chase the ghosts away, I held a New Year’s Celebration the following year, inviting townspeople my father would have invited. I continued to do so every year, despite my socially withdrawn tendencies.
I remember the first time Joel and I met. I was having such a New Year’s Celebration on the ground floor of Satis House. I stood away in an alcove where a tall looking-glass hung, and I surveyed myself in the glass; I was quite satisfied with my ivory-colored silk gown edged with beadwork and fringe, my brown curls falling down from the knot on the top of my head, my large dark eyes and slender white neck. I stepped out of the alcove only to see my half-brother, Arthur, drunkenly staggering to me. I scarcely suppressed a shudder at the sight of him; he had often come home intoxicated, and he and our father had argued late into the night. Now Arthur waved his champagne glass at me and grinned: the only time I saw him grin at me. Ever since our father died and left me most of his money and possessions, Arthur and I have had as little contact as possible.
“Hallo, Sally,” he said. “How pleasant to see you. La, it has been an age.” What an extraordinary tone for someone who, last time I saw him, had stomped out of the house carrying a portmanteau and yelling at me, “Good-bye! I hope we will not cross paths often!”
“An age is not long enough, I fear,” I said. “How odd you should be here, since I do not recall inviting you.”
“Ah, Sally darling, you invited everyone else, why not your own brother?”
“Only my half-brother, do recall. Your memory seems to be failing you.”
Arthur’s smile vanished. Instead his mouth was its usual thin line and his grey eyes devoid of any sparkle. That was how I remembered him; his audacity to look like that at my dear father appalled me. Arthur had the same cold facial expression when he stood with crossed arms over Father, whose eyes were hollow and brow furrowed as he choked in his deathbed. That look on my father’s face, during the last hour of his life, haunts me still. Now that Arthur was at me once again, I could almost feel myself dropping the gauzy bed curtains.
“Why the hell do you think you are so demmed superior to me?” Arthur said. “No doubt you persuaded Father to turn against me. I deserve that inheritance as much as you do.”
“We both know the reasons Father did not leave you as much was because of your drinking and shiftlessness.”
“High and mighty, aren’t we, dear sister!”
“You are making a scene. I must ask you to control yourself in my house.”
“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you? Give the duchess as much attention as she wishes.”
“That is enough. You have no right to insult me in my own house.”
“Oh, your own house! I have as much right to it as you have!” I crossed my arms and stood with my feet together, curbing the impulse to shove him against a wall.
“Indeed, I should ask you to leave immediately,” I said.
“Damn you—”
“Excuse me. You are distressing the lady.” A tall young man with brown-gold curls, bright green eyes, and a charming smile appeared at Arthur’s side.
