“Of course, given Sylvia’s color sense, she probably thinks it’s hideous,” Mother said.

“Exactly,” I said. “She really must hate me. Unless she’s suddenly had a complete change of taste since last year. And I think it’s wool.”

“Wool-cotton blend, if I’m not mistaken.” Mother was fingering the sweater with appreciation. “Very nice. And no, your brother opened his early, too. I’d say his is worse than usual. I believe it’s meant to be Santa petting Rudolph and the rest of the reindeer—although if so, you’d think she’d have used red and brown instead of orange and purple. Rob thinks it’s supposed to be a fruit basket being savaged by mutant hyenas. If that turns out to be a little small for you, let me try it on.”

“Hands off!” I pretended to swat her fingers. “I’m the one who insulted Sylvia. I should bear the burden of her displeasure.”

“I still have the last sweater or two she sent me and your father,” Mother said. “I haven’t mailed them to Alicia yet. I could donate them nearby.”

“Good idea,” I said. “Offend her as soon as possible, before she starts on your gift for next year. Why not donate them to the rummage sale we’ll be having with Mrs. Thornefield’s things?”

“Estate sale,” Mother corrected. “And yes, that’s a lovely idea. We need to schedule it soon. Though not until after I’ve had Sotheby’s and Christie’s in to look at a few of her things that might bring more at auction.”

“Not the furniture, I assume,” I said.

“Of course the furniture,” Mother said. “Mrs. Thornefield had excellent taste. Sheraton, Chippendale, Hepplewhite.”

“Then where did all those old horrors in the basement come from?” I asked. “I can’t see anything but big, heavy stuff that I wouldn’t give houseroom to.”

“Big, heavy stuff?” Mother suddenly looked anxious. “That doesn’t sound like Mrs.Thornefield’s things.”

“They probably put the best stuff at the far end of the basement,” Robyn said. “Away from the furnace, not to mention prying eyes. The big stuff’s probably church castoffs.”

“And there are tons of boxes,” I said. “I suppose they might have boxed up anything really fragile.”

“We could go over there now,” Mother said. “Just to check it out.”

“The play’s starting in fifteen minutes,” I said, glancing at my watch. “And I should put in appearance at the cast party. Let’s just get there early on Boxing Day. We told everyone to come at noon, right? We can get there a few hours early.”

“Why not tomorrow?” Mother asked.

“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” I protested. “We all have wrapping and cooking to do.”

“It won’t take long.”

“You haven’t seen the basement lately. Even if my shoulder were back to normal, there’s no way the two of us could manage all the boxes.”