Under Chateau Lights | Complete

3 | My Mother

My mother sends her car to the train station for us, complete with a car seat for Amelia. It's uncomfortable getting into a town car at a subway station, but not using it would cause more problems than it would fix, so we slide into the back seat and buckle Amelia into the car seat Mother was kind enough to include for us.

Then, we wait at every stop light between the station and our parents house. I literally could have walked there faster.

Finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of my parents house, small white Christmas lights flooding the newly redone garden. Once upon a time, it used to be a yard, but I have to admit I prefer it as a garden. It's more welcoming with the rose bushes and the path, even under the light dusting of snow.

Which is good, because the imposing brick mansion is entirely unwelcoming, even for those of us who grew up here.

In the dim light of the moon, the three story building looms over us, casting a shadow twice its size onto the ground at our feet. The shrubs lining the edge of the garden join with the barren fruit trees in casting menacing shadows onto the ground like a horrible puppet theater. A cool wind bites at my cheeks.

"Maybe we should get inside," Gerard says, pulling his jacket tighter around his neck. "I didn't bring enough winter clothes."

"I have to think about it," I said from the bottom of the porch steps. "Benjamin's car isn't parked in the driveway or on the street. Which means we are exceptionally early for supper."

"Good point."

The stairs groan under our feet as we climb onto the porch and stare at the large brass knocker in the center of the cumbersome mahogany door.

We never used the door when we were kids, always running around the back to what probably used to be a servant's entrance but now serves as a mud room. Gerard and I are now both adults and allowed -- no, encouraged -- to use the front entrance, but we stand there, staring at the door as the wind whips small flakes of snow onto our cheeks and ears.

If it weren't for Elodie coming up the path behind us and pressing the doorbell, we might have stood there until Benjamin arrived. Maybe longer.

"Honestly, you two. I already have a kid. I don't need two more." Elodie adjusts Amelia's little toque on her sleepy head and uses her own scarf to shield her daughter from the wind.

"You knew about us when you had her." Gerard points at Amelia.

Elodie's quippy reply never comes because mother's maid opens the door. "Mrs. Kendrick will be right with you. May I take your coats?" Judy asks, holding out her hands for our bags and coats.

Leave it to our mother to expect such formality from her staff toward her own children. Maybe we should have used the back entrance.

Gerard doesn't seem to notice the expectation. "Thanks, Judy. We'll hang them up."

Judy bites in her bottom lip and wrings her hands together, shifting her weight from foot to foot and swirling her head around to check her surroundings.

"You may take our coats, Judy," I answer for all of us and hand her my coat, stuffed with my toque and mittens. She quickly slides the coats over her arm and moves into the hallway and out of sight.

We wind our way through the long hallway into the dining room where a large table greets us. It is set for dinner, but Mother is nowhere in sight. The whole house seems to be missing her usual barrage of orders.

"Maybe the study?" Gerard suggests. I shrug and follow Elodie out of the room toward the study. Slowly, we make our way through the rooms of the main floor until we finally find her in the lounge.