Sylvia and her parents and Aunt M were gathered in the Little Room of the Head’s House, reading the books they had given each other for Christmas. It was cozy and warm. Her dad had lit a fire. “I love reading together like this,” he said. “It’s how it used to be before central heating. Now everybody goes off to their own room.”
Sylvia remembered back in sophomore year when Gregory van Buren had mentioned in class that Jane Austen wrote her novels in the living room surrounded by conversation and card games. Elizabeth had murmured from her desk, “Maybe that’s why her books are so boring.”
“What?” Gregory had asked.
Elizabeth had answered: “I really didn’t care whether Miss Bennett and Mr. Darcy ever got married. He was a horse’s ass, and she should never have persuaded herself that he wasn’t. Like it implies in the first sentence, what is interesting is the economics of the time. That could have been explained in a short essay, not in a boring romance novel.” Gregory had challenged her to write that essay and three days later she handed it in. It was so interestingly acerbic that Gregory read it out loud to the class.
Sylvia was trying to remember whether that was the moment she’d first been attracted to Elizabeth or if it was when she first noticed the oil rig on her ankle with the big X over it when she heard a knock on the front door.
Her dad got up and went to the door. Sylvia heard him say, “Merry Christmas and happy new year, Gloria. Come on in. Want some coffee?”
“No, thank you. I have some good news for Rachel and Sylvia, that’s all.”
“Good news? What a nice Christmas present! Come on in.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Gloria said, a minute later, her large form almost filling the doorway to the Little Room. She was dressed in a wool shirt and jeans, no coat. Upholding the tradition even on vacation.
“That’s all right, come on in,” her mom said. “What’s up?”
“Yes, tell us,” Sylvia said. Why doesn’t she ever tell me when I’m by myself? Aunt M was watching Sylvia over the top of her book. Her face was blank.
“Whoever stole the stuff brought it back.”
“They did!” Sylvia said. “When?”
“I don’t know.” Gloria looked mystified. “Security found it early this morning. Someone left a pile of it by the door of the shed.”
“Really?” her mom said. “That is good news.”
“Someone stole something?” her dad asked.
“Yes,” her mom said. “A while back. From the Outdoor Adventure Club.”
“Oh?” He glanced at Sylvia. “I don’t remember your telling us that. The Outdoor Club is pretty important to you.”
“I didn’t think it was that interesting,” Sylvia said. “I mean, people steal things.”
“Besides, you weren’t home,” her mom said, pointedly.
He flushed and stared.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
Gloria frowned, looked confused.
“Well, anyway,” Sylvia said. “It’s a relief to know it was an outside job, since the stuff was returned on vacation when the students were gone.”
Her mom looked surprised. “I never suspected it would be anything else.”
“But why would anybody return the stuff?” Gloria asked. “If they wanted it bad enough to steal it, wouldn’t they keep it?”
“It happens all the time where I live,” Aunt M said.
“Really?”
Aunt M shrugged. “Even crooks can have a change of heart.”
“This is really good news,” Sylvia said. “I’ll announce it in Morning Meeting the first day of school.”
Gloria nodded. “Good idea. You announced it was stolen, so you should announce it was returned.” She paused. “I’d appreciate it if you helped me get everything back where it belongs. You know better than I do about that.”
“Now?” Sylvia said.
“No time like the present,” Aunt M said.
“Okay.” Sylvia put her book down, opened, on the arm of her chair, and followed Gloria out. Her mother and father watched. Aunt M was focusing hard on her book.
“BY THE WAY, you need a new key,” Gloria said, unlocking the padlock. “Remind me.” She opened the door. The security person on duty had delivered the stuff to her and she’d put it just inside the shed. She picked up the down jacket, rubbed a bit of dirt off a sleeve, frowned, lifted the jacket up to her nose and sniffed. “Somebody wore this for a while,” she said, handing it to Sylvia. “We should have it cleaned, don’t you think?
Sylvia lifted the jacket to her nose and sniffed. It smelled like wood smoke. She was in the lean-to again, taking it off, while Christopher looked the other way. “We don’t clean them after the girls wear them,” she said.
“Our girls aren’t crooks.”
“Maybe he isn’t either.”
Gloria looked at her.
“Or she,” Sylvia added. “I’ll put it back over there.” She pointed to the place where the other down jackets hung neatly side by side.
“No, let’s have it cleaned,” Gloria said, reaching for the jacket.
Sylvia shrugged, pretending she didn’t care. Christopher’s just as clean as you are. And you don’t have to wash in a freezing river. It would be worth saying it just to see Gloria’s face.
Gloria turned and dropped the down jacket outside of the shed. “I’ll take it to the dry cleaners. Better to be safe. We owe it to the girls.”
They spent the next ten minutes or so returning everything else to its rightful place, while Sylvia’s resentment of Gloria’s unknowing insult to Christopher grew so intense she wanted to scream his story right in Gloria’s face and tell her to shove it if she didn’t like it. When the job was done, Sylvia fled, stepping past the down jacket, without so much as a backward glance or wave, leaving Gloria mystified by the door. She hadn’t even said goodbye.
Halfway back to the Head’s House, Sylvia pulled out her phone and e-mailed Elizabeth and Auda: All stuff returned. GB agrees I report.
By the time she was at the front door, Elizabeth had responded: Good. Then almost immediately: All done. Sylvia deleted both messages and emptied her trash file.
“WELCOME BACK,” MARIAN said when Sylvia returned. She and Rachel and Bob were still reading by the fire.
“How’d they get in?” Bob asked her. “Was it a padlock?”
“Yes. Gloria’s getting me a new key.”
“Did they pick the lock? Or just pry the hasp off where the lock goes through?”
“Why so interested, Bob?” Rachel asked. “What difference does it make?”
“I don’t know. Just curious, I guess. If the lock was picked, it means professional burglars. They fence the stuff. If it’s just pried off, it’s amateur. Poor people who need the warm clothes.”
“Yeah,” Marian said. “Where I come from, much more stealing gets done in the winter time. Makes me almost want to root for the robbers, you know? But I guess that’s what charities are for. Like Goodwill. So people don’t have to steal.
“Yeah, nonprofits,” she went on when no one answered. “Goodwill for giving away warm clothes to people who would freeze to death without them. And Miss Oliver’s School for Girls. For getting smart kids into college. Right?”
“Wrong!” Rachel said. “We do a whole lot more than that.”
“Yes, you do,” Marian said, nodding her head vigorously. “The empowerment of young women. Something that really needs to be done.”
“Well, thanks,” Rachel said. “I’m glad you approve.”
“Oh I do. I do. I just wonder sometimes. Empowerment for what? Don’t you?”
Rachel flushed. She stared at Marian.
“Mom?” Sylvia said.
“She does wonder,” Bob said. “Every day. I know.”
“That’s right,” Rachel said, still staring at her sister. “Every day. But you are not the one to tell me.”
Marian nodded. A half-smile appearing. “You got that right.”
“I get a lot of things right. In case you didn’t know.”
“Of course I know. You always have. You’ll get this one right too, I bet. You’ll find the answer—unless you wait too long.”
“Glad you think so,” Rachel said, her tone as testy as it ever got. “But right now I hope everyone will just mind her own business.” She stood up. “And also, right now it’s time for lunch.” She moved toward the door.
Sylvia jumped up. Maybe a little too eagerly, given how interesting the conversation was? “I’ll help you make it, Mom.”
“Come on then.”
“I am, sort of,” Marian murmured to the backs of Sylvia and Rachel as they went through the door.
“Sort of what?” Bob asked.
“Minding my own business.”
“Because she’s your sister?”
Marian hesitated. “Yeah. You could put it that way, I suppose.”
Bob nodded, apparently satisfied. He stayed in his chair. So did Marian. “But why would whoever stole it bring it back?” Bob asked. “That’s what I also want to know.”
“Me too,” Marian said. “I’d love to ask that question. The answer would be really interesting.” She stood up and headed for the kitchen.
Bob stayed in his chair for another little while. Still pondering.
IN THE KITCHEN, Sylvia looked at the e-mail from Auda on her phone. Where’s his family? Are they strong?