Garland suggested a return to the study for a cordial after dinner, but my mother, who had eaten too much and had way too much wine, protested her fatigue. She looked to my father, who quickly agreed.

“Yes,” Garland said. “Very wise for us all to get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Well, then,” my father said, standing and helping my mother with her chair, “we will bid you good night and thank you for your hospitality.”

“And please confer my appreciation to your cook. I suppose I should call her a chef. Is it Miss or Mrs. Wilson?” my mother asked.

“It’s Mrs. Her husband looks after my horses and carriages, but I think she’s more married to her kitchen.”

My mother laughed loudly. The wine had reddened her face and brightened her eyes until they looked like the hearts of tiny candle flames.

“It was a wonderful dinner. Don’t let her get a divorce,” she added, which for my mother was quite witty.

Both my father and Garland laughed.

“Little chance. No worries. And you’ll always be invited to dinner, Mrs. Dixon.”

“That’s very kind,” my mother said. Suddenly, her eyes were drooping as if the whole day had hit her like a pillow in the face.

“To bed, my dear,” my father said. “Good night.”

He took her arm. I could see how she was leaning on him for support. He threw me an amused glance.

Garland nodded and then gave me a conspiratorial look as my parents started out to go to their room, my mother now complaining how my father was rushing her away. Frankly, I had never seen her as funny and as talkative. But strangely, as I saw them walking arm in arm toward the stairway, I felt an unexpected pang of sadness. It was the first time I really thought of them as older. So much of my life seemed like a pull and tug with them, but suddenly, the thought of leaving them, even for all this, was disturbing.

As soon as they were gone, Garland reached for my hand.

“How tired are you?” he asked.

“Pleasantly but not totally exhausted.”

“Then let’s continue in the fumes of this wonderful evening.”

My parents were up to the bedroom floor. My father was hurrying her along. Could it be with the goal of sex? Maybe this house brought the lust out in people. Garland ascribed so much magic to it.

He paused at the foot of the stairs. “Although I am ecstatic over the results from your first night here, which I realize wasn’t pleasant for you, of course, I want to be sure I make this second night much, much different. Shall we?” he asked.