Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) (6 page)

“It just seems like a lot of nonsense. A waste of a perfectly good evening,” Gertrude said, sounding like her father, Uncle William.

After getting undressed, Gertrude sat on the bed and pulled the covers over her tiny legs.

“Maggie?”

“Yes?”

“Why does Grandfather Clement call his poem a trifle?”

Maggie shook her head, not knowing the answer. But then she remembered the mushrooms and whispered, “I believe he finds it to be poisonous.”

Gertrude squinted her eyes in a questioning manner, but she eventually just shrugged before turning over on her side.

Maggie couldn’t imagine going to sleep; her head was buzzing with too many questions. She didn’t understand why Henry hadn’t mentioned anything that morning. He had been inquisitive, but nothing that alluded to his intention of paying Chelsea Manor and Grandfather Clement a visit.

Feeling restless, Maggie pulled on the trousers that had yet to be returned to Louis and quietly left the bedroom. The adults were still downstairs, no doubt discussing what had transpired earlier. And Maggie wanted to listen.

Maggie snuck down to the main floor, but paused at the bottom of the staircase so those in the Great Room wouldn’t see her through the open doors. With her back pressed to the wall, Maggie slipped through the foyer and then ducked into the dining room where everyone had enjoyed the Christmas Eve dinner. In the corner there was a doorway that led to a narrow passage near the kitchen pantry. Beyond the kitchen was the small dining area and a backroom with a cot.

Grandfather Clement occasionally would request a servant to spend the night, watching over the Manor. But even with the night’s unusual visitor, all the servants had been allowed to return to their nearby housing for the remainder of Christmas Eve.

Maggie peeked through the crack of the door separating the dining area and the Great Room. Only Grandfather Clement’s children had stayed behind after the others had gone to bed, and they were now gathered around the fireplace having a rather serious discussion.

“This is a complete and utter waste of time,” Uncle William huffed, pacing in front of the mantel. “If that Sidney Livingston had visited Mother, I surely would remember it.”

Mary sighed. “How many times must we tell you, William? You had yet to be born.”

“I believe Sidney stopped coming around sometime after William’s birth,” Uncle Benjamin recalled.

“Even as a baby William had the ability to chase people away,” Uncle CF joked.

Nobody else found the comment amusing and Uncle William looked downright enraged.

“Then why didn’t either of you say anything when Henry was here?” Uncle William snapped.

“Because I wasn’t sure to trust my own memory,” Uncle Benjamin defended. “I was five years old at the time. Mary was just four.” He nodded toward his sister.

“CF was just a toddler,” Mary added. “Margaret was…” She trailed off.

“Margaret was about eight,” Uncle Benjamin continued. “I believe Sidney was closest to her. And to Mother, of course.”

“What do you say, Clement Francis?” Aunt Emily asked. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”

Uncle CF scrunched his brow as though there was a memory just waiting to be discovered. But he just shook his head, doubtfully. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “When I think I have a memory, I’m not sure if it’s real or just sprung from the conversation we’re having now.”

“Well, what does all of this show?” Uncle William asked. “What if there was a man named Sidney Livingston? And what if Mother and Margaret knew him? What does that prove?”

Uncle Benjamin muttered, “I dare not say.”

“Why?” Uncle William said, his eyes growing large. “What are you afraid of saying?”

Uncle Benjamin sighed. “I do remember a man―a man named Sidney. To think I had nearly forgotten. He was just a mysterious shadow sitting in my memory for all of these years. But I do recall him. He was a handsome man. And he was kind to us children. Is that what you remember, Mary?”

Mary looked taken aback. “I do remember such a man. And though his face isn’t completely clear to me, I recollect his character. And the feelings attached to him.”

“What feelings?” Uncle William scoffed.

Uncle Benjamin and Mary caught each other’s eye.

“You sense it, too.” Uncle Benjamin observed. “Don’t you, Mary?”

She nodded.

“What are you talking about?” Uncle William was growing even angrier. “What feelings?”

“Love,” Uncle CF said. The word was blurted so suddenly that his voice barely seemed to believe it had spoken it. “Sidney and Mother―they loved each other. And I believe… I believe he loved us, too.” Uncle CF looked around at his siblings. “Am I wrong?”

“Of course, you’re wrong!” Uncle William spat. “You were a baby. Just a minute ago you said you don’t remember this man, and now you’re insinuating that he and Mother were romantically involved. Have you gone mad as well?”

Uncle CF glanced over at Uncle Benjamin who gave a weak smile.

“No, CF is not mad,” Uncle Benjamin said. “I do not know the extent of Sidney and Mother’s relationship. But it was a loving one. No specific moment leads me to this conclusion. But when I search my mind and return to that time, I know it to be true. There was a young man named Sidney Livingston. He was close to Mother. For however long, I do not know. But he came to Chelsea Manor to see her and to play with the children. And when he did, even briefly, the house was full of happiness. And, yes, I dare say, there was love.”

“This whole conversation is very inappropriate,” Uncle William said.

“Perhaps,” Mary said. “But not any less true.”

“But,” Aunt Emily interjected. “Why would this Henry fellow come to see us? Even if all of this is true―that Sidney and Mother loved one another all those years ago. What business does he have coming here?”

“Yes,” Uncle William shook a supportive finger at his younger sister. “What’s the point to all of this? You have yet to answer that.”

Uncle Benjamin began to speak, but Uncle CF cut in. “Sidney was kicked out of the seminary. If there had been a relationship between Mother and him, surely Father would have disapproved. The plagiarism accusation could have been a lie. Maybe Henry wants to clear his father’s name.”

It seemed like an acceptable explanation to Mary, Uncle Benjamin, and Aunt Emily. But Uncle William was still not satisfied.

“You’ve lost your minds―all of you! This is our mother and father you are speculating about. And you’re going to take the word of some stranger?”

“I remember Sidney,” Uncle Benjamin insisted, rubbing his hand along his forehead. “I remember him visiting Mother here at the Manor. And there is this feeling of love and happiness attached to these memories that I cannot shake.”

“Very well,” Uncle William sulked. “Destroy the family and the good name of Clement Clarke Moore. As stated in Psalms: He that troubleth his house shall inherit fools!”

Uncle William then stormed out of the Great Room.

“It’s actually
inherit the wind
. And it’s from Proverbs,” Aunt Emily mumbled as Uncle William could be heard stomping up the creaky east staircase.

Mary shook her head. “Maybe we are remembering it all wrong. It is strange that for the past thirty years we hadn’t thought about Sidney Livingston. Perhaps we’ve just created all of this in our heads tonight.”

“All three of us?” Uncle Benjamin pointed out. “I do not think that is any more likely.”

“But maybe William’s right,” Aunt Emily said. “What does it matter now? Mother is gone. Sidney is deceased as well.”

“It does seem like a useless thing to worry about,” Uncle CF agreed. He flipped the jacket he was holding over his shoulder. “Let the dead rest peacefully. And let Father be. The last thing we need is to upset him―more so than usual, that is.”

Uncle CF and Aunt Emily left the room more quietly than Uncle William.

“What do you think, Benjamin?” Mary asked when it became just the two of them; unaware that a third set of ears was listening in the kitchen.

“I don’t know.” Uncle Benjamin shook his head and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “What’s troubling is not what I remember of Sidney. It’s what I feel like I’m forgetting. Like there was something specific he had said or done. Something that would make sense of it all―Sidney’s sudden departure from our lives, Henry’s coming here tonight, and Father’s defensiveness. There’s a detail missing. And I just do not know what it is.”

“I feel similarly,” Mary agreed. “But I do not believe the answer will appear tonight. Maybe with some rest, we’ll remember.”

Uncle Benjamin and Mary slowly filed out of the Great Room, leaving Maggie alone on the other side of the kitchen door, trying to process what she had heard.

Maggie’s sleep that Christmas Eve was short lived.

Swish. Whack. Thud.

Maggie shot straight up in bed. The room was dark except for the moonlight trickling through the window. Gertrude appeared undisturbed by whatever had awoken Maggie. But as Maggie was about to lie back down there came a rattling from outside. It sounded like the wind was knocking about branches of the giant sycamore that stood near the window. But there was something more deliberate in the noise. It was as though someone was actually climbing the tree.

The sycamore outside the window grew higher than Chelsea Manor with its branches starting at the west porch’s rooftop. If someone was able to get on top of the porch, they could potentially climb the length of the tree. Maggie had plotted it as a possible escape route in the event of a fire. But never once did she consider climbing up the sycamore.

She was too afraid of heights.

Maggie hurried over to the window and peered outside. It was impossible to see anything.

But then she heard it.

Footsteps.

And they were coming from the rooftop.

aggie listened until the stomping on the rooftop ceased.

All was quiet. And then…

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A low clatter sounded from inside the walls, as though someone was struggling to climb down the chimney.

Someone
was
climbing down the chimney, Maggie realized. She gripped the bed sheet to her chest, suddenly feeling exposed.