Carol North's image presented a regal woman, her mien somewhat severe but totally elegant and beautiful. She was coiffed with blond hair that fell to her waist and glowed like gold in a stream of that sun that poured from a window above and to her left.
Paul came into the room and stood beside us. "I should have taken it down," he said.
"Paul, she was beautiful! I never realized . . ."
"It's a nice likeness. It should be for what she paid for it."
"Her hair . . . it's magnificent!"
"She loved for Karen to brush her hair. It was her favorite feature." Her favorite, not his, his voice said as he continued. "I'm not sure what to do with the portrait."
"I don't want it," Karen said as she turned to leave the room.
"Maybe I'll store it," Paul said as he turned to follow his daughter, leaving me gazing at the woman I'd committed to replace.
The children were anxious to return to Summerside in the brief time remaining before I returned south but we weren't finished. We voted to complete our tour leaving Paul to pick up fried chicken for a meal on the run. I was sure the chore was out of the norm of his routine but he graciously agreed. In his absence we completed the first floor, without choosing any more items. I opened doors everywhere to the multitude of closets and ante rooms but as I grasped a knob of a door off the kitchen, Karen stopped me.
"That's just the cellar; there's nothing down there." The tightness in her voice startled me. She seemed frightened. She had shown no such reluctance searching the bowels and rafters of our Summerside home.
"What about Daddy's wine?" Timmy said. "There's some furniture too. Mrs. Doberchek said so. It's from before they made a hospital upstairs."
"It can't hurt to take a look," I said, taking both their hands. Karen pulled away.
I looked at her, waiting for an explanation but none was forthcoming. She turned to Timmy. "You go."
Timmy expressed no such reluctance and he and I descended the stairs together. It was an unremarkable basement, less crowded than I expected, dusty and obviously seldom visited. There were a few pieces of odd furniture; wooden chairs, a large bedstead and a sofa that smelled of mold, but nothing we could use. A locked room took up a quarter of the area.
"That's Daddy's wine cellar," Timmy said. "He comes down and gets his wine sometimes. I peeked one time. There are lots and lots of bottles."
"Why won't Karen come down here?" I asked.
Timmy shrugged. "We weren't supposed to 'cause we might get hurt but sometimes we'd sneak. She doesn't do that anymore. I guess she's scared. Girls are like that."