January 2023

When they take a trip, Millie and her mother must stay with surly, strict Mr. Vinden Mr. Vinden didn’t enjoy houseguests. Mr. Vinden didn’t like people in general—but houseguests were particularly bad. Today was one of the dreaded days that he would have a houseguest. Actually, he would have two: Mrs. Perdy and her daughter, Mildred. He had never met them, but they were friends of his cousin and needed a place to stay. They sounded awful. No more than a week, he thought bitterly. If this woman tries to stay for any longer than a week, I won’t have it. He looked around the dusty bedrooms that his guests would be staying in. “This better do,” Mr. Vinden muttered, throwing some extra pillows onto the bed and brushing some of the accumulated grime off the nightstand with his forearm. “Where’s Ms. Amalie when we need her?” He was, of course, referring to his old maid, who had been working for him since he was a teenager. After making the bedroom look acceptable, he grabbed a hat and got his horses ready for the trip to the train station, which was a mere three miles away. Mr. Vinden was hardly ever seen by his neighbors, as he never left the house. Because of this, he found himself at the center of attention when he reached the town. Mr. Vinden hated attention from what he called “lower folks” almost as much as he hated houseguests— which was to say, he hated it very much. However, while he wasn’t very agreeable, he was very precise, so he arrived at the train station mere minutes before Mrs. Perdy’s train was to arrive. She was stern-faced, in a prim, purple dress. Her daughter, on the other hand, always seemed to have a smile on her face and was dressed in a very simple blue dress that Mr. Vinden thought was very unsuitable. “You must be Mr. Vinden!” Mrs. Perdy called, her shrill voice causing a few heads to turn toward them. “My daughter and I have been wanting to meet you for quite a time, haven’t we, Mildred?” Mrs. Perdy said this last bit with a tone that seemed to say, “I know I posed this as a question, but you had better answer it right, missy.” “Yes, Mother,” Mildred replied, her voice hardly above a whisper. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vinden.” Mr. Vinden could already tell he didn’t like them. For one thing, he tended to avoid anybody who attracted unnecessary attention toward him. Mrs. Perdy seemed to do exactly that. He wasn’t sure about the girl yet: the ugly dress could have been the mother’s choice, and besides this, he hadn’t interacted with children of that age in a long time, so maybe this was one of the good ones. If “good ones” even existed, that is. “Ah yes, Mrs. Perdy. Mildred, it is nice to be of your acquaintance.” Mr. Vinden’s mouth stayed in one straight line even as he said this. “Right this way.” And Mr. Vinden, though this was the polite thing to do at the time, did not offer to help Mrs. Perdy and Mildred carry their luggage or get into the rather high carriage. Mrs. Perdy whispered something in Mildred’s ear as they settled into the carriage. When Mr. Vinden glanced back at them, Mildred was nodding, a sad look on her face. Mr. Vinden’s tight face softened a little. As much as he disliked people, he wanted people to be pleased with him. By the time Mr. Vinden pulled his carriage into the rocky driveway and asked his servant to put the horses away in the stable, the sky had turned a soft, pinky color. “Dinner is at seven. I assume you want a tour?” Mr. Vinden’s face was back in a tight line, unexpressive and plain. “Yes, Mr. Vinden. That would be lovely,” Mrs. Perdy answered, dipping into a rather forced curtsy and motioning to Mildred to do the same. Hers was even more forced, and her eyes were wandering everywhere, taking in the new scenery. Her eyes paused at the great willow tree, with its soft blossoms and gently woven branches. “Your house is lovely, Mr. Vinden,” Mildred murmured, which, Mr. Vinden realized, was the first time that Mildred had addressed him without being ordered by her mother. “Thank you, Mildred,” Mr. Vinden replied curtly, without smiling. “And I prefer to be called Millie, if you don’t mind, sir.” She didn’t say it in an unkind way; however, Mr. Vinden’s face still grew sourer. “Very well then, Mrs. and Miss Perdy. Right this way is the dining hall, and to your left is the parlor. You will find other living rooms off of that one, and the kitchen is to the left of the dining hall.” Mr. Vinden made no effort to walk into each room; instead, he pointed at them with an air of great disinterest. Mrs. Perdy smiled just the same, but when Mr. Vinden turned away, he thought he saw Mildred frowning. MILLIE Millie didn’t like Mr. Vinden. That was strange as Millie disliked very few things. She was overall a very agreeable child; however, she sometimes had a hard time being as polite as most other girls her age. Besides this, she always found her mind somewhere far, far away from where she was in reality. She longed to be outdoors, away from everybody and everything that might make a fuss over something. “Millie, come on. We’re going up to our rooms to get changed for dinner,” her mother whispered, squeezing her shoulder before leading her up the great marble staircase. “Mother, I don’t like it here,” Millie whispered as she followed her mother upstairs. “Mr. Vinden is so rude, and I just want to go home!” She sighed and wiped dust from the banister. Seriously, does this man ever dust? “Now Millie, dear. Don’t be like that. I’m sure Mr. Vinden will be a very