The Widow's Peak

Part Five

1896 Florham Park

The next morning, Thyra was still processing the news. Although she let Reg comfort her and she slept well (No nightmares, thank God!), something icy still prickled under skin. Part of her wished she could keep the past in the past and not let her brain stick to such an old, hollow event— like gum on a post. She supposed she could celebrate, but she also understood its gravity, that Reg had saved her from years of pain and trauma.

It was for the best he hadn't told her. She would have cried the house down, unable to eat or sleep, much less sketch. However, her stomach seared with silent rage. He thought I couldn't handle the truth? Was he afraid of dealing with a temperamental woman? Ashamed, even? Of course, I have my emotions...but...you know.

How did he feel? That was his father, after all. If my father ever tried anything like that, I...! She shook her head. Poor Mrs. Morton. You think she knew how her husband was? Perhaps I should ask Reg if she....Once he gets home from work. Damn! Stuck in the past again!

"Mrs. Morton?"

Thyra spun around. Mrs. McCullough stood before her, drying her hands on her apron.

"Your sister Ida is here to see you. I let her inside." She quirked an eyebrow. "Something to do with family history research."

"Really? Right now?"

"I'm surprised you didn't hear her arrival. She has a lot to say about everything— carpets, Medieval history, frog taxidermy...."

Thyra laughed weakly.

"That's Ida, all right! I'll be down soon."

Thyra regretted her decision as soon as she clattered down to the parlor, where Ida's opinions flowed as freely as the tea:

"...Anyhow, luvvy, President Madison was a lucky, lucky man. Dolley not only was taller than him, but voluptuous, and always had her bubbies out! Ahh, but she was lucky too. If only I could get my George to look at me that way."

Before Thyra could say hello, she was surprised yet not shocked by her sister's gaudy style. Like Thyra, she had wavy red hair, an aquiline nose, and bright blue eyes, but that was where the resemblance ended. Ida's eyes were so wide, she appeared permanently surprised. She was tall and full-figured, her big bosom and hips exaggerated by a corset and pouter-puff top. She had long fingernails and always wore several glittery rings. Although the weather was warm, she wore her high flowery hat and a thick fur coat— one where you saw the poor creature's eyes pinched shut. Very English-looking, as usual, Thyra thought with a smirk, If the English weren't so modest.

"Good morning, luvvy!" Ida boomed, flashing a shiny grin, "Do sit down! Your McCullough has been so kind, getting tea ready!"

"Yes, she has. Good morning, dear!"

Thyra sat in the armchair across from her sister, who occupied the plush red sofa. A silver tray of teacups sat on the coffee table, along with a matronly floral teapot and small china bowls of sugar. She poured herself a cup, adding one sugar cube.

"Ida," Thyra said, "Mrs. McCullough said you had something to tell me."

Her sister swallowed and set her teacup down with a clank.

"Oh, yes! What was it again? About George's terrible bet on last week's horse race?"

"No. About the family history."

"Ohhh! That!" Ida clasped her hands together. "Luvvy, there is a may-jor breakthrough. Rebecca Brasher Deering had a secret child!"

"Wait...you mean...our however-great grandmother?"