Free Tidings of Great Boys by Shelley Adina Page A

only thing I could. I squeezed Carly’s hand. And when she squeezed back, I knew that at least she understood
     there were times when a person just didn’t have the words.

    WE MADE MINI PIZZAS for lunch and, when everyone was done, I found a piece of paper and a pen in Dad’s office and returned
     to the kitchen table. “All right, here’s what we need to do. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve and Lissa’s parents will be coming in
     the morning. So just a small family party tomorrow night, with maybe a few of the neighbors in. Dr. Kelso, the Crombies, Dad’s
     friends from the village and any of the tenants who want to stop by for a wee dram.”
    “They still have to be fed,” Carly reminded me.
    “Hors d’oeuvres only. I e-mailed Mrs. Gillie a list, so we can make them when she brings the ingredients. Just simple things.
     For now, we need to go up to the storage rooms and get down all the decorating clobber. Some people—” I raised my voice so
     that Dad, who had come in and gone into the estate office down the kitchen corridor, would hear me “—forgot there’s such a
     thing as Christmas spirit.”
    “Bah, humbug,” came his voice, filled with good humor.
    Even I was puffing by the time we climbed the staircases to the fourth floor, where the Victorian nurseries had been turned
     into a game room and the governess’s and nurse’s rooms into storage rooms. “The attics are up above here,” I explained, “but
     there’s nothing up there but ancient gardening tools and boxes of moldy books. And mice. And maybe bats.”
    “What about clothes?” Carly asked. “They’re not up there with the mice, are they?”
    I nodded toward a closed door down at the end. “There are bags of things in there, if you like yellowing tennis dresses from
     the twenties and vile woolly swimming costumes. But we need to focus on—”
    Too late. Carly had already taken off at a run.
    Gillian grinned at me. “You know that’s why she’s really here. She’s convinced there’s some titled lady’s court gown buried
     in there that she can analyze for design.”
    “And maybe wear,” Lissa said.
    “And maybe take home,” Shani added.
    “There might be. I’ve never actually looked, except when I was little and we’d play dress-up when it was raining. If she finds
     something she likes, she’s welcome to it. I’d certainly never put the ratty things on.”
    I hoped she found what she was looking for. Or at least a place to be alone. If it were me, I’d want to process things like
     mothers and prayers and responsibilities and give myself some time to sort them out in my mind.
    I led the way into one of the storerooms, where the boxes were sensibly marked Wrapping Paper and Lights and Crèche. “Here
     we are. When Mum was here, she’d have the sitting room and the music room decorated with candles and cedar garlands. We’d
     put—”
    “Music room?” Gillian interrupted. “We didn’t see that on the tour, did we?”
    “No. Sorry. Of course you’d be interested in that.”
    “Are there instruments in it?”
    “We have a piano that’s about two hundred years old, and a big gold harp, and a collection of flutes, but they’re all mounted
     in cases.”
    “Is the harp tuned?” She sounded almost breathless.
    “Are you joking? I don’t think it’s been touched since George the Fifth was king.”
    A great big smile spread across Gillian’s face.
    “We’re going to lose another one,” Lissa commented. “I didn’t know you played a concert harp, Gillian.”
    “I don’t anymore. But I still know how to tune and pedal one.”
    Of course she did. What sewing machines and kitchen appliances did for Carly, musical instruments did for Gillian. It must
     be nice to be gifted with something. I’d be happy to be able to decorate half as well as my mother did. But even my feeble
     efforts had to be better than nothing.
    “Come on. Let’s get all this downstairs.”
    Two trips later, we gasped and moaned our