It was obvious that Father had spotted them, for his face beamed with delight. He waved excitedly before taking up an oar to paddle them into the slip. Mother’s hands remained folded upon her lap. She sat as still as a masthead until Father had moored the boat, stepped onto the stout dock, and offered her assistance.

Mother rose, then bent to retrieve a large wicker basket from the bottom of the boat. Clutching its handle with one hand, she took Father’s with the other and stepped carefully onto the dock. The daughters remained stoic, Desdemona more so than Celeste, who was trembling. Little peeps of excitement slipped through her lips. Desdemona elbowed her for fear that Mother would hear. Father clearly heard but did not care. In fact, his face beamed with pride. He winked at the younger daughter, then quickly pressed a finger to his lips to save face.

The daughters held up the bowl between them. Desdemona averted her eyes as per the ritual, but she could see that Celeste did not.

Mother and Father in turn rinsed their hands, then smeared a soaked fingertip over their foreheads and on the lids of their eyes. Father had to remove his glasses to complete this practice. Once Mother had walked her through the stages, Desdemona never once thought to question this ritual of arrival in any way. Celeste, however, when her time came to learn, grilled Mother (to no avail) then Father for every detail behind every step. Later that same night, while they were in their beds, Desdemona had interrogated Celeste to learn what she had learned. All Celeste had told her was that Father said this practice was a way of washing off the world.

Now suitably cleansed, Mother gestured for the girls to rise and together the quartet made their way up the stony walkway toward the house. Mother entered through the rear door. She was the only one to ever use this access. Once she had been subsumed by the great house, Father paused to embrace each sister. In particular he fawned over Celeste, which neither surprised nor pained Desdemona. That Celeste was Father’s favourite was a fact often demonstrated.

“I can’t say how pleased I am to see you both,” he said. “You look so well and so present. Did we leave you with everything you needed this time?”

“We could use more cake,” Celeste said.

“My dear Celeste, we both know that this old place could be packed to the rafters with sweets and you would still hanker for more,” said Father. He winked and kissed the top of her head, then took both sisters by the hand and led them to the main entrance. At the double doors he stopped and spoke softly. “Mother has planned a Dumb Supper for tonight, so you both know what is required, yes?”

Desdemona said, “Yes, Father.”

“These suppers are dumb all right,” said Celeste.

“Hush!” ordered Desdemona.