Four in the Attic, One in the Kitchen

Decisions

 Grandfather died on a Sunday.

It was just after Thanksgiving, his health was on a steady decline and by Friday we were already making funeral arrangements. His morphine was increased, he would barely be conscious let alone in pain. It was about five in the evening that he went peacefully in his sleep. He never deserved that, a soft ending, but what could I do? Murder was out of the question. Now that the codicil was added, I had no more a reason to wait for him. The will wouldn't be read for a few months anyhow, so inheritance was out of the question for the time being. My mother mentioned I would receive a portion, how much was up in the air, but I didn't worry about it. There was no reason to fight over a fortune that could slip through my fingers like fine sand if I said the wrong thing. I had no more reason to fight.

The funeral was a blur. It was the following Sunday, just after the morning church service. During it, I vaguely remembered Daddy's, his was closed casket given how badly wrecked his body was. Grandfather was on display, quite lifelike, almost like a plasticine doll laid to sleep. Whoever embalmed him did a great job. Grandmother always did want the best for him. And, fortunately for me, I wouldn't be subjected to another afternoon of squabbling over lunch for me. I was considered in a 'mourning period', and even given a second week off school. The bonuses of a death were many at least in this situation, although I did have to fake tears for a man who thought me dead.

Oddly enough, Foxworth Manor was no quieter than it had been, in fact it was louder. Servants bustled about a little less cautiously than they had, instead of hushed whispers they spoke normally, no longer afraid of waking their ailing master, they even gossiped. The house itself had been holding its breath for over two years. Not to say it was lifelike. An air of austerity still hung thick, dripped from the walls, permeated the floors. Foxworth Manor was meant to be a house, a place to eat and sleep. To exist. Not a home.

It was nice for December to come by, though. I loved the celebrations, they were the one thing I could safely look forward to. Somehow, Grandmother would still be holding the Christmas ball. Perhaps it was her way to retain normalcy. This, however, brought a sickening revelation when she pulled me aside the next Saturday, the twelfth of the month. She brought me to the now empty study that Grandfather had once occupied. It was heavily sanitized, I could tell by the scent of cleaners, and the bed was removed. The floor was lighter where it had been, he'd been in there a long time. Grandmother had me sit in one of the desk chairs.

"Lucille." She began. "We have some important matters."

I nearly made a biting remark. "Is it about the ball?"

She nodded. "It is. And about your situation."

I could only assume what that was.

"You will be eighteen this February, am I incorrect?" She didn't let me answer, of course. It was a rhetorical question. "And obviously preparations must be made. I've made the final decision that you will not be formally wed until June, after school is over, but there needs to be arrangements made soon. Very soon. And an announcement."

I shifted in my seat. "Wedding planning I see."

"Indeed. I need to base some of it on the groom."

"So you're saying I need to make my decision on who to marry." I responded. "What if I don't? What if I don't pick anyone?"

I'd asked this before. She did not react. "Oh, you will."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'll show you."

Up, up, up the stairs we went. I knew where we were going, especially because Grandmother carried a basket over her arm laden with lunch, and to my surprise, four powdered sugar doughnuts. I'd been under the impression she didn't like sweets. She'd always chastise me for eating any treats, even on rare occasions. She only allowed them on holidays in fear we'd all get too fat. I didn't know why my siblings would be any different.