The Punch Bowl--Part Two

The Punchbowl—Part Two

Regina greeted new arrivals, pointed out the den designated as the cloakroom, and suggested a look at the terraced garden beyond the French doors where mums still bloomed in the same colors as the leaves falling around them. From a plush blue-gray armchair, a frail hand settled on Regina’s forearm. The pungent aroma of professionally perfected white curls wafted up from one of the aunts.

“Regina, dear, lovely as always.” The older woman offered a rose-dusted cheek.

Regina bent and dutifully pecked. “How nice to see you. Have Trace and the girls said hello?”

“My nephew never forgets his hosting duties and Amy saw to my coat. I don’t believe young Tracey has made an appearance yet. I hope she’s not ill.”

“She’s fine,” Regina answered, careful to restrain the sigh. “I’m sure she’s around somewhere.”

“Almost a teenager now isn’t she? Adolescence, my, my.” The childless aunt nodded in commiseration. “I’m sure one day she’ll be every bit as accomplished a young lady as her older sister.”

“Yes, well,” said Regina, “if you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly, dear.”

Regina returned to the kitchen and sat down to peel and cut carrots for the vegetable platter. She supposed if Tracey were to make an appearance she should go roust her from her bedroom. Cutting vegetables required less effort. She wondered how other parents managed. Thankfully, Amy at nineteen was nearly safe from the pitfalls of teenaged angst. Firstborn and blessed with a moderate temperament and symmetrical features, her path had seemed relatively mine free.

Born several miscarriages later, Tracey Leonora was named for her father when the doctor made it clear there should be no more babies. Months went by before Regina came to terms with her own disappointment and apologized to Trace for the break in family tradition. He’d gazed at her in complete bewilderment.

Friday—The Point of the Gospel, Jesus’ childhood. Part Three of “The Punchbowl”, Monday.