My Darling Love

Chapter 16 – Aunt Millicent's Mayhem

"A gift consists not in what is done or given, but in the intention of the giver or doer."

-Seneca

No one knew exactly how much George kept in his savings accounts. He never discussed the Darling finances with anyone, not even Mary. He did speak to her about stocks and bonds, and the house accounts, usually reminding her of her over spending on unnecessary items. "Mary, I know you enjoy good tea, but must you always buy the finest tea?"

George had established a savings account for each of the children at the Bank where he worked. There was a savings account for rainy days and another one for medical expenses. There was something George called the "petty cash account" which, to Mary, meant that if any unforeseen event occurred requiring a gift, like a wedding or a christening, that is the account the money came from.

George set up separate accounts for the house, the bills, the grocer, the baker, the butcher, all requiring their own ledger book where George totted numbers, balanced the totals and cut costs daily. Every morning as she tidied the parlor, Mary found a list on her end table, noting the correct deductions in her expenses that would be necessary to maintain their budget: "I have cut your allowance once again, for I received another bill from the dress maker." or "You are to return the earrings you purchased from the jeweler on Friday as we cannot afford the decoration." and "I have sent word to the butcher that I will be making the order from now on since you served meat almost every day this week when I specifically told you we must cut it from our diet at least two nights a week."

Aunt Millicent thought George was either very cheap or a miser. He never let Mary redecorate the house or buy new furniture. He never took Mary to restaurants or plays or outings. He never purchased jewelry or perfume for her. On her birthday, in the morning she got a kiss in the kitchen and a compliment, "you look lovely today dearest, happy birthday," at dinner he, George, would toast Mary and present her with a bouquet of pink roses from the children.

Mary didn't mind, and appreciated that she never needed to worry about money, simply because George told her on Saturday, after he checked and double checked their finances, "Mary, everything is in order, no need to worry after money this week." For George worried enough for both of them. Regarding all his notes and lists of what she could and could not spend money on -- return this, stop buying that, and so forth -- Mary held her tongue. Aunt Millicent went so far as to quit inviting Mary to lunch each week. "I would ask you along, Mary, but I fear I might have to finally speak up for you myself when George leaves a little letter telling you that you are no longer allowed to exit the house, for the wear on the bottom of your shoes will be too expensive," she sniffed

It was simply habit for George Darling to worry about money. Everyone around him seemed to forget that he and Mary had been destitute when they first married, and had lived hand to mouth for many uncomfortable months. Even though George did not splash his money around, they still lived a comfortable lifestyle. Although Mary never reaped the benefits of his hard earned cash, his children did. He spared his children no expense when providing for them. The moment their shoes seem worn, she heard "Mary, you are to replace them, children need good shoes on their feet ... Do not mend the boys' shirts if they rip, buy them new ones, and pants while you're at it ... If Wendy needs a new dress for church, Mary, buy her one, no, buy two for good measure, and make pick the prettiest ... I heard the children speak of a toy at supper, they have been very good, Mary, buy it for them..."

His ending sentiment was always the same, "The best money can buy for them, Mary." And that, above all else, pleased Mary the most. She never cared after herself or her own wants, if George said "no" then no was no. She respected his good judgment and knew herself that most purchases she made for herself were impulsive and unnecessary. George was a good provider to her and their children. To Mary, that was far more important than meat on Tuesdays and gold earrings that really weren't her style anyway.

So George did have money, he just preferred to spend it on good investments, like his children and a house for them to live in. George purchased their home from Grandpa Joe for full value and paid him cash when he did.

"It's not necessary, son," Grandpa Joe objected, "you and Mary will get the money back after I die." But George would not hear of it, and insisted that Grandpa Joe must live forever, "No sir, I insist, and you must live forever for you are to me a better father then my own!" And, if Grandpa Joe were to die, George requested his father-in-law bequeath his wealth from retirement and his own private investments, to his grandchildren, Wendy, John and Michael.

George was a conservative investor, Grandpa Joe played the market, and soon the value paid for the house was doubled, which Grandpa Joe invested in a trust account that George had recommended for the grandchildren. And George never took a single cent from Grandpa Joe, adamant he was to remain in the house rent-free. He never made the other man pay for groceries or milk or any bill that came in the post. George even purchased his pipe tobacco.

Grandpa Joe not only loved George but also respected him, and, after many years of marriage, he finally admitted to his daughter that he was wrong. "I am proud that you were headstrong and insisted on taking George as your husband, so much better than the bigger fish." For George had made his precious Mary, his only daughter, happy and gave her children she wanted and a fine house to raise them in. George honored his vows to love her and keep her in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, and Grandpa Joe knew his daughter and son-in-law would stay that way until death parted them. But unlike Mr. Baker, who lived on for years now without Mrs. Baker, Grandpa Joe knew that if George or Mary were ever to pass, the one left behind would surely soon follow after.

Aunt Millicent had never approved of George. Not only was he cheap, in her opinion, but unmotivated. After all his years at the bank he was still only a clerk. It did not matter to her that he received a raise every year for his perfect service, or that he received a generous Christmas bonus for never missing a day of work. She was painfully aware that no one in high places knew who George was. All that mattered to her was that he was not the bigger fish. Money in the bank -- not to be used but to be saved -- was not the same as money in the pocket to be spent. Aunt Millicent had a saying, "If you die and there is any money left over, you didn't invest well."

So, when George and Mary came home from Paris, lugging bundles of presents for the children, Aunt Millicent fainted. George brought his sons a fancy chess set with hand carved pieces, toy soldiers, wooden swords and theater costumes so they could really dress up and pretend to be whatever their stories called for. Mary got John a leather spectacle case, just like his father's, and Michael a soft cuddly teddy bear.

They'd brought Wendy an exquisite doll, perfume and a pretty dress from her mother. George had picked out -- especially for his little girl -- a silver makeup case, hand mirror, hairbrush and comb with her full birth name engraved upon it. Conspicuously absent in his gifts to Wendy were any which would aid in her make-believe. "Wendy, soon you are to be a proper young lady, and young ladies don't dress up and make believe they are pirates," Mary told her gently when she saw Wendy's disappointment.

Upon opening the wooden box and seeing the unfamiliar name on the mirror, Wendy was not just disappointed, she was devastated. "My name is not Gwendolyn, it's Wendy!" she cried, thinking at first that her father's gifts were second hand.

"Your name is Gwendolyn, dearest, it's only Wendy for short, a child's nickname," Mary corrected her daughter who held upon her face a pouted lower lip. To Wendy, "Gwendolyn" was worse than "Georgeanne."

Aunt Millicent had never known that Wendy had a formal name, and was finally impressed that George did something right. Aunt Millicent now insisted everyone call Wendy "Gwendolyn" so she would "become accustomed to hearing her name properly."

But Mary scoffed at the idea, and George agreed with his wife. "That is not needed, Aunt Millicent, we will always call her Wendy, for nothing is formal in this house." The boys went to bed happy with their gifts. Wendy, only pleased with what her mother had brought her, left George's gifts downstairs, stomping up the stairs.

"Wendy Angelina Darling, you come down here right now and apologize to your father!" Mary shouted up the stairs. The children froze in their places at their mother's raised voice. Their eyes were wide. John and Michael turned slowly to see Wendy's frightened expression.

Mary never raised her voice to the children, and she never called any of them by their full names. The voice was so uncharacteristic to Mary's mild tone; she even got the attention of her father, husband and aunt when she gave sound to it.

Wendy slowly descended the stairs to her mother's stern face. If Aunt Millicent could break out into applause, she would have. "Now, your father spent a great amount of time and money picking out something special just for you. How dare you insult him like that! If you don't want your presents, I will take them back. Now apologize Gwendolyn."

Anyone taking the time to notice would see that Wendy and Mary were duplicates of one another at that age. The only difference was that Mary, at thirteen, had already begun her training with Aunt Millicent; so to be steadfast and stubborn where her parents were concerned would have never happened. Mary was already eighteen when she first went against her parents' command. Wendy was only thirteen when she frankly told her mother she did not want any of her gifts "if that means I have to say I'm sorry."

Stern-faced, Mary told her, "That's fine, Wendy, I will collect them and take them all back in a moment. Go to your room."

George stood alongside his wife while she disciplined their daughter, and whispered, "It's really alright, we'll just put my gift away until she is older and can appreciate them." Mary gave him no response, but watched as Wendy ascended the stairs, only to stop and face her parents standing in the foyer. Poor Wendy cried to her mother. "It's not fair for you to take away the gifts I like, just because of the one I don't, mother."

"No Wendy, what isn't fair is that your father and I are only home not even an hour and this is the reception from our children that we receive. We spent a week longing for our children and thinking about both you and your brothers endlessly. And if I heard YOU correctly, Wendy, you said you did not want your gifts. Now go to your room. Now." Still with that unfamiliar voice, Mary had her hands on her hips, and a face just as intractable.

"Wicked witch..." Wendy muttered under her breath, as she turned back around and slowly walked to the nursery.

John and Michael loved Wendy, but at the moment, they loved their presents more. So, as Wendy went up, they flew down and hugged their mother and father and repeated, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Mary picked up the lovely wooden box wherein the delicate silver items lay, and carried it up the stairs and into her room. On her own vanity table, she looked at her silver hand mirror, makeup case, brush and comb her father had purchased many years ago when she too was a young girl of thirteen. She'd cherished it from the moment she first laid eyes on it, and sobbed endlessly when her father told her she had to leave it with him when she married George. Inscribed with "Mary Elizabeth, My Greatest Joy," she was sure he had disposed of it, but the night he went to their home and said his peace, these items were the olive branch he extended to her.

She opened the bottom drawer of her vanity, placing there Gwendolyn's gift from her father for another day.

Maybe this was her only mistake as their mother: for all the clothes and shoes and toys she gave to the children, she gave them without identifying the true giver. "You need a new dress for church Wendy," or "Children, you have been very good so here is a reward for your behavior." The simple addition of "from your father" regarding the daily presents the children received might have eased Wendy's woes about George and his intentions. But Mary did not appreciate the importance of this until she realized George never mentioned his own generosity to his children. Therefore, loving their mother as much as they did, they assumed that all gifts came from her.

That night, without a word or story, Mary put the children to bed. Then, one by one, she removed the Wendy's gifts from the nursery, and shut the door when she was finished.

Wendy had turned away from her mother in her bed on the opposite side of the room, and was crying for the loss of the pretty doll with the porcelain face, and the beautiful green gown, just like her mother's. Wendy sprayed the perfume on her own wrist when she first unwrapped it and now sniffed its sweet fragrance.

John and Michael felt sorry for Wendy, for they had their toys. John was wearing the officer's coat with dress pins to bed, just in case he was needed to direct the battle at a moment's notice, and Michael clutched his new teddy bear. They had all hoped mother would have changed her mind and let Wendy keep the gifts she liked, but to no avail. And the comforting kisses Wendy had expected did not come. Her only consolation came from Nana, who licked her face in her loving doggy capacity .

Downstairs, Grandpa Joe asked after the name "Gwendolyn."

"Where ever did you hear that name George? Mary's suggestion?" He had always wanted to ask, from the first moment he heard it years ago.

"No, mine. It was my favorite." George would have liked to leave it there, but he knew that Gwendolyn was a family name of the Bakers, although he was unsure of what the meaning was.

Grandpa Joe, just as George suspected would not let it go at being "his favorite," and pressed him for further explanations.

"As you know, the day I came here with my mother for tea to meet Mary was not the first time I had seen her," George said finally. "I used to see her in church on Sundays, and at the grocer's, walking in the park, and home from her piano lessons. She was and is, even now, the most beautiful creature that ever existed. I always wanted to talk to her, but never knew how to approach such an angel. She used to come into the bank as well, with your wife. I asked my associate one day what her name was and he said he was unsure, but the name listed on the account was Gwendolyn Baker. So in my mind, that was her name. You can imagine my surprise when you asked my mother and I over for tea that day, and told me your daughter's name was Mary Elizabeth. I knew of your family. I vaguely remembered what transpired the night I spilled punch on her gown at my parent's party a year or so before, and I thought Gwendolyn was perhaps an older sister -- only to find that Mary was truly my beloved 'Gwendolyn'."

Grandpa Joe was speechless except for, "oh yes, the punch on her dress and the punch in the nose that followed, however could I forget."

"Oh Joseph, tell him who Gwendolyn was," Aunt Millicent said, still shocked, clutching her brother's arm.

Grandpa Joe wiped his eyes, as to hide the tears hidden inside. He rose from his chair and stood by the window. "Gwendolyn was my mother. You see George, Millie here didn't think I should have married Elizabeth." To which Aunt Millicent interrupted shrieking, "JOSEPH!"

Grandpa Joe turned to his sister and rolled his eyes, "Anyway, my mother told me, 'Joe, don't listen to your sister, it's your life not hers and money isn't everything.' My wife's family was dirt poor you see, George. But my mother, she didn't care, she said, 'If you love that girl Joe, then you marry her right now! I don't care if you have to run away to do it! And then I want you to give me a granddaughter too! I want you to name that baby girl, Mary, just for me!' So I did. I married Elizabeth and a year later we had Mary Elizabeth. The diamond broche Mary sold when you were newlyweds had been hers. I gave that broche to my mother the day my beautiful baby girl was born." George was just as astonished, for Mary had never told him that story or her grandmother's name.

"I still cannot believe a family heirloom like that is gone forever," Aunt Millicent hissed at George, shaking her head.

"It is not gone," George said as he rose from his chair and carried their luggage in from the foyer. "Mary has it upstairs."

Aunt Millicent's head jerked up. "When did you retrieve it?" she asked, following after him.

He fixed his glasses and thought about it for a moment. "Just after Wendy was born, Mary sold her hair and I sold my pocket watch."

He wiped his spectacles with his handkerchief as Aunt Millicent screeched in horror. "HER HAIR! How could you let your wife sell her hair?"

George raised his eyebrow in her direction, clearly asking her, "How do you think we were able to survive, with our relatives billing us for the privilege of breathing?"

"It grew back, Aunt Millicent," Mary replied softly as she descended the stairs, Wendy's gifts safely put away in the hall closet.

"But dearest, to cut your long locks for a piece of jewelry--."

"I didn't just cut my long locks for a piece of jewelry, I cut my hair to pay the rent, heat and hot water bills so we didn't freeze in the winter , and to buy groceries so we didn't starve. George sold his pocket watch to pay the midwife, and to buy me clothes after Wendy was born. How do you think we survived when disowned by our parents? All those wonderful memories of the past aside Aunt Millicent, George was inaccurate, he repurchased the broche as a Christmas gift to me after all our debts were paid." Mary explained taking George's arm around her waist that he loving offered.

Aunt Millicent turned up her nose and snorted, "What your parents did, they did because they felt it in your best interests."

George shifted his head to his wife and met her gaze, "Mary, I told you not to cut your long hair. What a lesson that would have been to us when we froze to death and starved that first winter."

The sarcasm was not lost on Aunt Millicent, who was a master at it. "All you would have had to do is come home." She still held her head high.

Mary jerked her head to her aunt as she sneered "We were not welcome home."

With that said, Mary returned her attention to her husband, "No George, I think the bigger lesson would have been learned if we had left Wendy in the orphanage," Mary answered and continued, "You see Aunt Millicent, we had to chose whether we wanted to sacrifice all that we had left of ourselves or Wendy. We chose to keep Wendy. I'm sorry that you didn't agree with our decision, but since you did nothing but gossip and tell lies about us, I really don't care what you think. George, Aunt Millicent's luggage."

George ran up the stairs taking two at a time and gathered her bags. He assisted her into a cab, and she told him she was not to return until they, both Mary and George, apologized for their rude behavior.

With her gone, Grandpa Joe sat down with George and Mary and enjoyed what was left of the evening in silence. "I'm sorry, children," Grandpa Joe offered, as George and Mary went up the stairs to bed.

"Worry not, Father, we learned our lesson and are better off for it." Mary did not look back and only continued to climb.

George said nothing to Grandpa Joe, only to Mary when they reached their room. "I'm sorry that you had to cut your hair." Mary was changing into her last lace nightie from their holiday. She sat down at her vanity and removed the pins the held her hair atop her head. As she began to brush the long silken strands of brunette -- still without one gray hair -- she replied, "George, Wendy must never be made to sell her hair." He nodded his agreement to her request and questioned, "Mary, why didn't your Aunt Millicent want your father to marry your mother?"

"The same reason she didn't want me to marry you George." Mary answered, and with that they both finished dressing for bed.

The children were still awake in the nursery and it was to be a long night of talking back and forth under their blankets. They were not sure what had changed in their mother while she was away, but something was different. Wendy was still upset, whimpering her dismays, and Michael and John did their very best to comfort her.

The scent from the fancy perfume her mother chose because of "the feminine aroma reminds me of the essence of a young girl growing up into womanhood," was all but sniffed from her wrist. And the pretty doll and even prettier dress taken away for her disobedience and rebellious behavior made her unable to sleep. It wasn't that Wendy didn't want to grow up, just not yet. She didn't understand why mother had chosen so long ago to trade the play tea sets and rag dolls for a real tea serving and real babies that cried and needed things. Contrarily, when Wendy tired of her dolls, she would put them back in the toy box and forget about them. If it was lovely weather outside, her pretend tea party with the queen was canceled to go climb trees.

Wendy saw that her mother had no such choices. If Wendy, John or Michael cried for her, she could not hide them away in a box. When it was lovely weather, a fine day for a walk in the park, but father wanted his supper early, she was trapped inside. She was trapped with her father forever. No removable face or persona, George Darling was her husband. He was a banker who knew the cost of everything, even a hug, and told her. She would never be swept away by a knight in shining armor or pirate captain. She was stuck with the king.

Wendy dreamed of her perfect love, the one that would get the kiss and the happily ever after. He randomly changed day to day depending on her mood. Sometimes he was the knight who rode to rescue her on his horse, sometimes it was a handsome prince who lived in a fancy castle and gave her anything she wanted. It was even, at times, the pirate captain, because he needed love, too. But never was it a banker who wore spectacles and read the paper in the kitchen. Wendy blamed George for her mother's actions, and in her imagination, made excuses for her mother. "Father complained that what mother wanted to buy me cost too much," she decided. "She picked out those things and said he did, so I would not be hurt that he forgot about me."

George had indeed chosen those items, and Mary had played no part in his carefully selected acquisition. In fact, Mary was not even at the store. Uncle Peter had taken George shopping for a gift for Aunt Millicent, to say thank you for watching after the children. There, in an expensive jewelry showroom in a more glamorous section of Paris, he saw it on display in the window. He knew Wendy loved anything that she thought was like her mother's. And this set was identical.

Mary had not lied; the set was very expensive. But he said, "Dash the expense," and had it inscribed. Wendy, in her anger, only saw her formal name engraved on the mirror, she never picked up the brush or comb. Each had been marked with her monogram. Had she opened the make up case, she would have found it filled with "suitable cosmetics for a young girl," George had paid extra for. The inside also held another inscription, "To my darling daughter Wendy."

"What did you pick out for me?" Mary had asked back at the hotel, seeing the wooden box with the satin-pillow lining and the emblem of the shop embossed on the top.

"Why nothing, Mary, it is a gift just for Wendy." George was so proud of it when he showed Mary that he beamed.

At that moment, Mary found herself resentful, for in all their years of marriage, George had never put that much thought or money into anything for her, whether it be her birthday or Christmas. And she was his wife, a woman he had vowed to forsake all others for. So, upon their return, that was why Mary was angry with her daughter. Mary treasured the smallest amount of pampering George bestowed upon her, and for Wendy to scoff at him, as though the engraved silver gifts in the wooden box were not enough or not what she wanted was an insult to her as well as George.

George and Mary were also awake that Sunday night. George rambled on about all the fun he had in Paris and how much he wanted to take the children on a holiday, "Not Paris, mind you, Mary, but maybe to the country in summer."

Mary listened as he went on and on about the expense of such a trip, and how he would never be able to take more time off from work. In the end he decided against it but offered to send her with her father and the children away, "only if you want to."

Mary had left the door to their room open, listening not only to George, but also to the children down the hall. She could not make out their words, but could tell there were some serious discussions going on. "Did you have a good time in Paris, Mary?" George finally asked, tugging on her nightgown to gain her attention to him. She was turned on her side facing away from him, he, lying on his back, was watching the ceiling.

"Not as much as you, George." Mary rose and put on her robe without another word and left the room.

George also got to his feet, for he, too, had heard the children and wanted to protect them from another possible reprimand, sensing Mary was not herself since they'd returned. He went into the nursery and found the children pretending to be asleep. Even Nana hid in the doghouse between their beds, put her paws up over her snout. For good measure, when he saw John peek through his eyelids, and Michael whispered, "Has father left yet?" George offered, "Just wanted to say good night to you, pleasant dreams."

George descended the stairs to find his wife scrubbing away at the kitchen floor. "Mary, what are you doing?" (Poor George, he would have done better to stay in bed and away from his wife this night!)

Mary erupted in her pent up frustration, "You know, George, that diamond broche is the only thing you ever bought for me the entire time we've been married and that was only because I cried for it. Not once on my birthday have you ever brought home a necklace or earrings, or any special gift just for me! At Christmas, it's always the children who get to unwrap fancy packages of toys and things they want, and I get nothing but 'the goose was delicious and you make the finest pies, dear.' " Mary did her best George impression, mimicking his normal compliments of her cooking.

"Peter showers his wife with presents -- did you see her engagement ring or her wedding band? She has an entire room in that castle just for her clothes and another room just as big for her shoes! The woman has some much jewelry George, Peter makes her keep it in vault in their bedchamber for fear they will be robbed!"

George was dumbfounded at her unexpected tirade. He did not know what to say only, "I do my best, Mary."

"Well, George, often your best isn't good enough. Aunt Millicent asked me what wonderful souvenirs I returned with from Paris and I had to tell that woman, nothing, for that is what you gave me. She told me just this evening that she suggested you buy me a hair clip for our trip. The one I have was my mother's, and it is missing stones and is bent from use. She told me you said I didn't need another one. That the one I have 'is just right as rain.' " She again mimicked his tone.

"Did it ever occur to you, George Darling, that I should get the things I want, too, not that I need them, but that I want them, and I want to receive them from you? You could have found an inexpensive hair clip, just as nice. But you didn't think I was special enough to have it. In truth, you don't think me special enough to have anything! I didn't even have a fine party dress for Paris. I had to borrow my sister-in-law's gowns! Can you even begin to imagine how embarrassing that was for me. I had to lie George! I had to lie and say I forgot to pack one. Not just one George, SEVEN, for we had a party to go to every single night, and 'Oh no dearest Mary, did you not read my telegram? In it, I clearly stated we would be doing a lot of entertaining and a woman as magnificent as you can not be seen in the same gown twice, what would my wealthy friends think?' Mary now mimicked Peter Darling.

"Your brother Peter felt sorry for me George and felt it his duty to purchase for me a suitable dress, although I would not call it that! And then I had to stand there and be thankful for his generosity while he just went on and on about how you...forget it George."

Mary stood up as she ranted and now had her arms crossed in front of her. She held her stare to the floor, while George gazed in utter shock and disbelief at her. He went to her quickly, as she had finally stopped shouting at him, only to be pushed away, inciting another round of her yelling.

"I am not your wife George and the children's mother, I am your maid, your chef, your launderer and your whore all rolled in to one, apparently. When it comes to the children, I am nothing more than their nanny and nurse. You really are lucky, George, to have found a woman with so many talents. I suppose that just being staff in this house; I should know I am not entitled to anything but my weekly wages, which you have again cut for my misspending. I am underpaid for this profession, and overworked!"

She stormed past him and back up the stairs, "Go to sleep, children, this very instant!" They still were making a racket, thinking they were quiet. Mary slammed their bedroom door, but not before throwing George's pillow and blanket down the stairs.

It seems Wendy was correct at guessing the identity of her mother this night. Mary had become a wicked witch. All the times she held her tongue when she really wanted to shout at her husband over his unfairness to her were released, and it felt so good to dismiss those demons she grew instantly exhausted. That night, Mary slept in the bed and George on the sofa.

The children were awake first and down the stairs, dressed for school and ready for breakfast Monday morning. It seemed strange that Mary was not in the kitchen that morning, cooking, attired correctly, with tea brewing in the kettle, like every morning before. The three of them looked up the stairs as one. "You go," Michael nudged John who responded, "No, you, Wendy."

Wendy climbed the stairs slowly to her parents' room. She knocked on the door and waited for the voice that commanded her to "enter, but remain in the doorway." Mr. and Mrs. George Darling's room was strictly off limits to the children. Aside from the time Wendy hid in the wardrobe, no one except Mary and George had ever dared venture in. This particular morning there was no answer. Wendy softly whispered, "Mother..." to the door, but still no reply.

Just as she was about to turn the doorknob without permission, Grandpa Joe opened his. "Wendy..." he said, catching his granddaughter red-handed. "You know you are not to go in unless you parents tell you to."

Wendy had been crying most of the night. Even now, with her face washed, and dressed in her school uniform, the evidence of her miserable evening was present on her face. "No one is downstairs," she replied still quite upset and on the verge of tears.

Grandpa Joe rapped loudly on the door and yelled to Mary to open up. The door creaked open and George peeked his head out. He mumbled something to Grandpa Joe and smiled at Wendy.

"Alright children, Grandpa Joe is taking you to school, we'll get breakfast on the way."

John and Michael cheered from downstairs. Grandpa Joe would take them to a bakery and get them pastries and treats. Wendy followed after Grandpa Joe, but looked up one last time before her parents' door was out of sight.

George opened the door, dressed and ready for work, "Come now, Wendy, let us be off." He shushed her the rest of the way down. She affixed her coat and hat and glanced back to see her mother standing at the top of the stairs as if to make a grand entrance still in her nightgown and robe. There was something very different about her indeed.