Free The Sundial by Shirley Jackson

good work there—you know, flatter her a little; we all like that . Julia, you’ve got more patience—you take up with—what’s the little one’s name?” she asked Essex.
    “Fancy,” said Essex, enchanted.
    “Fancy. Julia, you get after the little girl. Play with her. Tell her stories, comb her hair, look at her toys. Romp.”
    “If you please,” Miss Ogilvie said stiffly, “Fancy is my pupil. She will be engaged at her schoolwork for the greater part of the day.”
    “She will?” Mrs. Willow looked at Miss Ogilvie. “No one’s going to cut you out,” she said at last. “There’s plenty for all of us, honey.”
    Miss Ogilvie laughed shortly. “Aunt Fanny’s father might not think so.”
    Mrs. Willow frowned. “What have I got to do with Aunt Fanny’s father?” she asked. “The old boy’s dead fifteen years.”
    Miss Ogilvie laughed again, glanced at Essex, and then leaned forward. “I suppose I had better be the one to tell you,” she said.
    _____
    “Good morning , Aunt Fanny,” Mrs. Willow said; the sun was shining goldenly on the terrace where Aunt Fanny and Maryjane were sitting after breakfast, “good morning to you. And to you ,” she said, to Maryjane. “Are you the mother of that delightful child? My gels are both in love with her already.”
    “You won’t get any breakfast,” Aunt Fanny said with satisfaction. “The table was cleared an hour ago.”
    “I’ll run along down the kitchen in a minute. They will be sure to have something for a starving old woman. How well your brother is looking, Aunt Fanny. I am quite surprised to see how well he looks.”
    “He has had a blow recently, ma’am; he could scarcely look very well.”
    “A blow indeed,” Maryjane said darkly. “Unmotherly monster.”
    “I?”
    “A mother,” Maryjane explained, “who pushes her only son down the stairs and leaves his devoted wife a widow.”
    “Maryjane,” Aunt Fanny said. “Not before this lady, please.”
    “A widow,” Maryjane said. “A fatherless orphan.”
    “I’m very sorry to hear it,” Mrs. Willow said inadequately, and then, in a rush to Aunt Fanny, “I think you were away when I visited here long ago; I have always remembered the magnificence of this house, and the kindness of your father.”
    “My father was an upright, courteous man.”
    Mrs. Willow’s voice was saddened. “You will certainly not believe this, but his passing was a deep personal loss to me. I valued him more than I can say; a truly upright man, as you say.”
    “You are right,” Aunt Fanny said. “I certainly do not believe that.”
    “Aunt Fanny,” said Mrs. Willow, “I do not want to keep on offending you. I have the greatest admiration and fondness for every member of your family, and so do my two daughters.”
    “And well you should,” Aunt Fanny said. “I was not brought up to make friends out of my own class, Mrs. Willow.”
    “But there are to be no more differing classes, are there?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Miss Ogilvie told us last night of the joyful message you had from your father; Aunt Fanny, you have been very much favored.”
    “Good heavens,” said Aunt Fanny. “She actually told you?”
    “I thought your father instructed specifically that all within the house were among the . . . ah . . . blessed. We have come, my daughters and I, in very good time.”
    “Good heavens,” Aunt Fanny said again. “Good heavens.”
    “Yes,” Maryjane said, “it is quite true. I am to have no more asthma. Aunt Fanny’s father said clearly that sickness, like my asthma, would vanish from the earth. I will never have asthma again, after the world has been cleansed.”
    After a minute Aunt Fanny spoke faintly. “I have never disobeyed my father,” she said. “His instructions were quite clear; perhaps I was wrong in not telling you myself. Mrs. Willow, you and your daughters are—” Aunt Fanny gasped, and nearly choked “—welcome here,” she finished at last.
    “Thank