Chapter 5
A listair
Maggie and John weren’t the only ones feeling down in the dumps this Christmas Day. I don’t want to overstate it, but I was drenched in melancholy.
During my many decades as Rosemont’s butler, I’d seen my share of parties.
We had thrown some real doozies. When Silas Martin died and the house was boarded up, my communication with the outside world came to an abrupt end.
I had been inhabiting the attic for years, and, while I sometimes relished the solitude, it was a lonely existence.
I was initially annoyed when Maggie disrupted my slumber that snowy evening years ago.
But trailing behind her through the empty house, watching her wander from room to room, pulling dust sheets off the furniture and admiring the home’s treasures, warmed my heart.
By the time she curled up in the big chair by the French doors in the library and fell asleep, I was smitten.
Then came the whimpering of that pathetic terrier mix, shivering in the icy wind outside the library.
I knew what I had to do. I created a disturbance to wake Maggie.
She rescued the little dog and took her into her heart, as I’d hoped she would.
In that moment, I knew she was the perfect person to move into Rosemont and bring light and life back into the home I loved so dearly.
A home I had devoted my life and afterlife to.
And I was right. Under Maggie and John’s auspices, Rosemont played gracious host to Easter brunches, carnivals, Thanksgiving celebrations, the annual Christmas potluck, weddings, and engagements.
I looked forward to each of these happy incursions into our otherwise quiet lives.
So, when I noticed Maggie wasn’t polishing silver trays and John wasn’t hauling extra chairs in from the garage, I began to worry.
It wasn’t like Maggie to procrastinate. Something was off.
They had gotten up early, as usual, but, instead of kicking into high gear, they enjoyed a leisurely cup of coffee by the fire.
After that long bath of Maggie’s and John taking off and returning, they both went out again in old clothes, only to come home in mid-afternoon to change into dressier attire.
They placed a few slices of ham and turkey on platters and left again.
I spent the day floating from room to room.
The cats were true to form. Blossom and Buttercup cuddled on the rug in front of the now-cold living room hearth.
Bubbles pestered Roman in an attempt to start a game of chase, but Roman was wise to her antics.
He curled into a tight ball on his kitchen bed, tucked his nose under his tail, and ignored her until she grew bored and wandered off to nap in a sunny patch under a window in the conservatory.
While Eve stayed at Maggie’s heels when she was home, the dog sank into the memory foam of her kitchen bed and spent the day snoozing whenever her human was away.
The afternoon sun crossed from the back of the house to the front. The leafless trees along the driveway cast long shadows. I was considering retreating to my attic and turning in early when the garage door opened.
I roused myself and floated downstairs to the kitchen.
My hope was that Susan, Aaron, and little Julia would be with Maggie and John.
That tiny girl gladdened my heart. I wasn’t positive, yet, but I suspected she was one of those rare humans who could sense my presence.
Maggie and John entered the kitchen alone. My spirits plummeted.
John dropped his keys on the counter and pulled Maggie into his arms.
“Christmas turned out nice, didn’t it?” she said, resting her head against his chest.
“It did,” John agreed. “I think Judy and Jeff enjoyed hosting Christmas as much as we do. Everyone certainly had a great time.”
“The news about Sunday and Josh is wonderful,” Maggie said. “Lyla is over the moon.”
“Robert was in the den with us. Living in England until recently, he’s not into U.S. sports. So, while we watched the games, he talked about Josh and Sunday and the happy life he and Lyla are building. I agree with you—it’s wonderful.”
Maggie pulled back and looked at him. “Are you hungry?”
“I stuffed myself at the potluck. I don’t need anything else tonight.”
“Me too,” Maggie said. “I think I’ll go upstairs and get ready for bed. But there’s one thing I need to do before that.”
John studied her face.
“I’ve got one little gift for you,” Maggie said. “I’d like you to open it before I head up.”
“I thought we agreed not to exchange gifts this year,” John said. “We were going to take a week off and go somewhere this winter instead.”
“We’re still doing that,” Maggie said. “But I found something you had to have. I couldn’t resist. It’s fine if you don’t have a gift for me. That was our agreement.”
“Well, as it turns out, I found something I knew you needed, too,” John said.
“Well then,” Maggie said with a smile, “let’s exchange our gifts in the living room.”
“I’ll start the fire again,” John offered. “Let’s sit by the hearth to open them.”
“Perfect,” Maggie said. “My gift is in my closet. I’ll bring it down.”
“I hid mine behind the tree,” John said.
I looked between them, quivering with anticipation. I adored surprises. Suddenly, this day was looking up.
John got the fire going.
Maggie retrieved her gift from her closet and returned to the living room. She handed him a square box, about the size of a watch box.
John pulled off the red and green plaid bow and tore the wrapping. He chuckled as soon as he saw the manufacturer’s logo.
“This is perfect,” he said. “I’ve been wanting one of these for ages.”
I hovered over John’s shoulder, straining for a better view. It looked like a regular coffee mug, but the bottom was thicker and emitted a pulsing red glow. The mug came with a matching disc. This was one of those newfangled gadgets we didn’t have in my day.
“I know,” Maggie said. “Everyone who has one of these rechargeable heated mugs swears by it. I figured you could take it to the animal hospital. You’re so busy, you never get to finish a cup of coffee. I’m sure it’s stone cold by the time you get back to it.”
“That’s exactly right,” John said, his eyes twinkling. “Your turn.” He picked up another small box and handed it to her.
Maggie pulled off the stick-on bow easily but then struggled with the layers of tape John used when wrapping packages.
“Honestly, John,” she laughed, “I’ll need power tools to open this.”
“Here, let me get a corner started,” he said, tearing a piece of the paper for her.
Maggie finished unwrapping the gift. They both burst into laughter.
“This was a really good gift,” she said.
I floated to John’s other side for a better look. He had gotten her the same thing—only in rose gold instead of gray.
“I know how focused you get when you’re working at your computer,” he said. “You ignore your coffee for hours. I figured this fancy new warming mug would be perfect for you.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said. “When I bought yours, I thought about getting one for myself. The price tag stopped me, but I’m thrilled to have it.”
She leaned across the crumpled wrapping paper, took his face in her hands, and kissed him.
How fun was this? They each got the other a gift—when they weren’t supposed to—and it turned out to be the same item. If my hands didn’t pass through each other, I would’ve clapped them in glee.
The day had started poorly, but this was a lovely turn of events.
I watched as Maggie and John gathered up the wrapping paper and carried their new mugs into the kitchen.
Maggie washed them both while John plugged in the charging discs.
She set the mugs on the discs and declared she was heading upstairs to bed.
“I’ll feed the dogs and take them out, then be right up,” he said.
Maggie headed for the stairs, and I trailed behind her.