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“Emelda should have held out longer.” Edith was furious. They were all furious. The women, at least. And some of the men.

Angry or not, Beazie tried to placate everyone. “What could she have held out for? All the girls over the age of fifteen are married. The only potential is an infant, currently an only child.”

“Then she should have held out for Jennifer to grow old enough and June to have another daughter.” Edith pursed her lips, even though it was clear she knew she was being ridiculous. Emelda – Aunt Emelda – had died of cancer, a sudden-onset disease none of the immediate family had known about. Emelda’s two sisters and one brother had had several children, but, as Beazie had pointed out, the girls had been quick to make sure they wouldn’t be the next Aunt.

“We can call another family…” Sarah spoke like she knew she was going to get shot down. Their branch hadn’t so much “branched off” as “jumped ship,” back when Emelda and Edith’s mother was young.

“No.” Edith’s tone of voice left no room for argument. “No, there is no going back. We’re going to have to go with what we have.”

“Aunt Edith, you can’t mean…” Louisa was Chauncey’s older sister. She had gotten married at twenty-seven, confiding in nobody but Chauncey that she’d been hoping Emelda would pass early.

Chauncey could have told her better but, while his sister liked to confide in him, she’d never actually listened.

“Of course I can. If you’d gotten one snippet of the family treasure, you would have known already. Holding out in case she died, indeed. You should have started early. We’d have a girl of the proper age if you had.”

Louisa, who’d thought that was a secret, turned to her brother in betrayal. He held up both his hands. “I said nothing. It was pretty obvious, Lou.”

“Yeah.” The men had been quiet while the women argued. Now their cousin Alfred butted in. “Even Aunt Emelda knew. But, um. We’re the black sheep of the line for a reason, aren’t we?” He held up his hands in a gesture much like Chauncey’s. “Not me. I don’t have any more of it than Lou does, and, besides, I’m married with three kids.”

“Maybe Cathy…” Louisa was grasping at straws now. Chauncey thought about having his feelings hurt, but it was just the family line, wasn’t it?

“Don’t be stupid, Louisa Susan. We do not pass the line to those not of the family. Even though your Catherine, Alfred, is a lovely woman. No, it’s going to have to be Chauncey or John Henry.”

“Two kids out of wedlock. Sorry, Mom.” John Henry didn’t look sorry. Chauncey didn’t blame him.

“Well, I… we’ll deal with that later, John. So.” The attention of every female relative over the age of twenty turned onto Chauncey.

More than the attention, and more than his living relatives. The power, the “treasure” of the generations pressed down on him, wrapped around him, warped into him. “It seems.” His mother sounded far too proud of herself. “It seems we have an Uncle for the Aunt House.”

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