Hand Me Downs

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

A deep three-sided window seat fitted with thick burgundy cushions that matched the drapes surrounded him, but John stood with his arms crossed. He’d been staring out through the diamond-shaped leading at the snow-covered mountains since he’d finished unpacking.

The room was pleasantly warmed by a roaring fire, the orange and yellow flames sparkling against the dark red tiles of a fireplace nearly as tall as Branwen. Two hugely overstuffed chairs sat on either side of the broad hearth, with a low table perfect for tea or breakfast in the middle.

Enough wood for all the fireplaces in the house waited, stacked in a curving black wrought iron holder against dark wainscoting.

Branwen heard the bitter wind outside whistling against the windows, but the heat kept the worst of the drafts away. Closing those heavy curtains would finish the job once the sun went down.

Unlike the rest of the cluttered spaces in her grandmother’s huge old manor house, the gleaming surfaces of polished wood in this bedroom stood unadorned. She and John had carried countless figurines, every possible configuration of brass bells and antique toys, and an endless variety of bright crocheted doilies into other bedrooms.

After over a decade of living with John and his need for calm and order in their shared bedroom, Branwen was comforted by the open spaces of nightstands, dressers, and windowsills herself. The rest of the house sometimes made her jittery now, like she’d never stop dusting for even one second if she lived here full time.

She watched him staring out the window as she put her own clothes away in tall oak dressers and a wardrobe far older than herself or her parents. She crawled up on the massive bed, running her fingers over the nubby surface of a thick goose down quilt. A plain brown quilt, with no eye-jarring embellishments. She and John had been delighted to uncover something so sedate—and apparently bland to her grandmother’s tastes—a few years ago, exiled at the back of the fragrant linen closet.

They’d replaced the riotous flowery rug with a solid brown version to match the quilt, thick enough to keep their feet warm at night without inducing a colorful headache.

“John, do you need to lie down for a while this time? You look so tired.”

She was about to ask him again when he turned toward her, eyebrows raised.

“Hmmmm? You know I’m better off staying awake. I’ll get some real sleep tonight.”

John always dealt with new time zones by staying up until bedtime, no matter how long he’d been awake. His strategy worked, but it made for a long arrival day. He clearly wasn’t used to being so distractible and muzzy.

Jet lag marked one of the rare times his temper lurked close to the surface, surprisingly easy to provoke.

Branwen was willing to give up a couple of days to adjust for the pleasure of sleeping away an entire flight. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with her own jet lag, while he’d be his normal quick-witted self.

He continued to gaze at her, head slightly tilted. She recognized the look, and she wasn’t ready to deal with it.

He was about to start asking questions.

She wondered if her Grandmother had locked the attic again.

“I’m going to clean up a little,” she said. “Then maybe we can go see who else is here?”

Something, anything to get him occupied and give her a chance to get away. He raised his eyebrows again, obviously aware of what she was trying to do.

“I’m fine now, John, not sick at all. I promise. Whatever it was seems to be gone.”

She jumped down, kissed his cheek, then ducked into the bathroom before he could respond.

She had no idea why the bright corner room in front of the house was a bathroom instead of a bedroom. The windows overlooking the sprawling flower gardens and the mountains in the distance soothed Branwen’s jangly nerves as soon as she stepped inside.

The claw foot tub was easily large enough for both her and John to enjoy the view or pay more attention to each other. The room and the towels were kept warm with oversized radiators tied in with the hot water supply: a luxury she’d wished for many times during brutal St. Louis winters.

That was one reason she’d chosen this corner of the house as her own once she was no longer allowed to stay in her Aunt Cian’s room at the other end of the long hallway.

Branwen sank into a low, cushioned chair by the window with her eyes closed, hoping the sickness wouldn’t come back with John right outside the door. She hoped morning passing in both time zones would give her a temporary respite.

She hoped her husband would fall asleep waiting on her, not realizing she had more symptoms of early pregnancy than nausea. Branwen was the one nearly asleep with her eyes open.