—Hello, hello! he said with a smile.
For a moment Woolly’s friendly greeting was met with silence. Then a question was posed in what could only be described as a sharply pointed voice.
—Who is this? the woman on the other end of the line wanted to know. Is that you, Wallace?
Woolly hung up.
For a moment he stared at the phone. Then plucking the receiver out of its cradle, he dropped it on the desk.
What Woolly loved about the game of telephone was that a phrase coming out at the end of the line could be so very different from the phrase that had first gone in. It could be more mysterious. Or surprising. Or amusing. But when someone like his sister Kaitlin spoke into an actual telephone, it did not come out even slightly more mysterious or surprising or amusing. It came out just as sharply pointed as it was at the start.
On the desktop the receiver began buzzing like a mosquito in a bedroom in the middle of the night. Woolly swept the phone into one of the drawers and closed it as best he could, what with the cord sticking out.
—Who was that? asked Duchess, when Woolly returned to the kitchen.
—A wrong number.
Billy, who also must have been hoping it had been Emmett, turned to Duchess with a worried look.
—It is almost eight o’clock, he said.
—Is it? said Duchess, in a manner suggesting that one hour was much like the next.
—How’s the sauce coming? Woolly asked, in hopes of changing the subject.
Duchess held the stirring spoon out to Billy.
—Why don’t you give it a try.
After a moment, Billy took the spoon and dipped it in the pot.
—It looks pretty hot, Woolly cautioned.
Billy nodded and blew carefully. When he put the spoon in his mouth, Woolly and Duchess leaned forward in unison, eager to hear the verdict. What they heard instead was the ding-dong of the doorbell.
The three looked at one another. Then Duchess and Billy were off like a shot, the former down the hallway and the latter through the dining-room door.
Woolly smiled for a moment at the sight of it. But then he had a worrisome thought: What if this was another instance of Schr?dinger’s Cat? What if the ringing of the bell initiated two different potential realities such that if the door were opened by Billy, it would be Emmett who was standing on the stoop, while were it opened by Duchess, it would be a door-to-door salesman? In a state of scientific uncertainty and heightened anxiety, Woolly hurried down the hall.
Duchess
When the new boys would arrive at St. Nick’s, Sister Agnes would put them to work.
If we are asked to apply ourselves to that which is before us, she would say, we are less likely to fret over that which is not. So when they showed up on the doorstep looking a little shell-shocked, a little shy, and generally on the verge of tears, she would send them to the dining room to put out the silverware for lunch. Once the tables were set, she’d send them to the chapel to lay out the hymnals in the pews. Once the hymnals were in place, there were towels to be collected, sheets to be folded, and leaves to be raked—until the new boys weren’t the new boys anymore.
And that’s what I did with the kid.
Why? Because breakfast wasn’t even over before he was asking when his brother would arrive.
Personally, I didn’t expect Emmett to show up before noon. Knowing Charity, I figured he would’ve had his hands full until two in the morning. Assuming he slept until eleven and lingered under the covers, he might make it to Hastings-on-Hudson by two in the afternoon. At the earliest. To be on the safe side, I told Billy he’d be here for dinner.
—What time is dinner?
—Eight o’clock.
—Eight o’clock on the dot? asked Woolly.
—On the dot, I confirmed.
Nodding, Billy excused himself politely, paid a visit to the clock in the living room, and returned with the news that it was 10:02.
The implication was plain enough. There were 598 minutes between now and his brother’s promised arrival, and Billy intended to count every one of them. So as soon as Woolly started clearing the breakfast dishes, I asked Billy if he’d give me a hand.
First, I brought him to the linen closet, where we picked out a fine tablecloth and spread it across the dining-room table, taking care to ensure that it draped over the ends in equal measure. At the four places, we laid out linen napkins, each with a different flower embroidered on it. When we turned our attention to the hutch and Billy observed it was locked, I observed that keys were rarely far from their escutcheons, and reached my hand into the tureen.
—Voilà.
With the hutch’s doors open, out came the fine china plates for the appetizer, main course, and dessert. Out came the crystal for the water and wine. Out came the two candelabra and the flat black case that held the family silver.