Mr. Dawes Jr. was being haunted by an umbrella. Not just any umbrella, This one was large and old fashioned with a bright green parrot head for a handle. He first noticed it in the stand at his club when he went to deposit his own modest umbrella into the receptacle. Mr. Dawes believed that life should be governed by precision and order. He did not approve of decorative accessories and this model was particularly egregious. The gaudy green feathers on the parrot head offended his sense of decorum and the shape of the handle made it difficult to grip in the wind and rain rendering the umbrella useless for its intended purpose. How strange it was to find an identical umbrella inhabiting the stand in his own home when he returned later that evening.

Mr. Dawes surveyed the umbrella with curiosity. Where on earth had it come from? He knew he hadn't purchased such a thing. Perhaps a visitor had left it and Norris, his faithful butler, had put it in the stand until it was claimed. As Mr. Dawes continued down the hall and towards the stairway he heard a rustling sound. Turning he saw that the umbrella had shifted position and now appeared to be watching him as he walked away. He must have bumped it when he passed. Putting the matter aside, Mr. Dawes turned once again and went upstairs to bed.

At breakfast the following morning, Mr. Dawes pondered the events of the night before. His visit to the club had felt very odd. He had been on an extended visit to his daughter in the States and had not dined there in several months. Everyone appeared happy to see him, but they also seemed to be watching him closely. He had the distinct impression that several members were talking about him behind his back. It made him so uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that he had glanced down at his clothing several times during the evening to make sure that his socks matched and he hadn't spilled food on his tie.

There had been several inquiries about his health. Two of the older partners in the bank made a point of speaking to him. "I rather thought you would be staying in New York with Lavinia," said John Mousely. "Will she be coming over here to be with you?" asked William Tubbs.

"Almost as if," thought Mr. Dawes, "I need her to take care of me."

Perhaps it was one of the perils of aging. People thought you were on the brink of decrepitude and senility just because you had passed your eighth decade. Why he wasn't even 90 yet. His brother was still sharp as a tack in spite of being four years older and his father had been just a few months shy of his 99th birthday when he passed still holding the reins of the bank firmly in his hands.

A sound like a cough or someone clearing their throat drew his attention to the corner of the dining room. There leaning against the wall was the parrot headed umbrella. "How the devil did that get in here?" thought Mr. Dawes and rang the bell for Norris. Norris had no idea what the umbrella was doing in the dining room, but he removed it and put it back in the stand in the hall.

After breakfast Mr. Dawes retired to the library to catch up on his correspondence and try to read the novel someone had recommended. The novel was long and soporific. Mr. Dawes caught himself nodding off three times. Maybe he had retired too soon. The hours of the morning moved slowly, particularly the ones when he used to be busy at the bank. He thought some of visiting but William had everything under control. He was determined not to be like his own father. Mr. Dawes Sr. had maintained his office in the bank long after he had ceded his position as head of the organization to his son. It had been a miserable time for Mr. Dawes Jr. who was president of the bank in name only.

Mr. Dawes Jr. was reluctant to put anyone through a similar experience even if it was only a great nephew. Of course there had been a time when he thought William would be his son-in-law. Lavinia had ended that plan. "How different things would be," thought Mr. Dawes, "if Jack had lived long enough to inherit my shares in the bank." Jonathan Herbert Dawes III had been every father's dream. Smart, talented and handsome, he had died unexpectedly at the age of 16.

"Would things have been different if Bertie had survived the war," wondered Mr. Dawes, "Probably not." Mr. Dawes didn't like to think about his disappointing younger son who had been estranged from the family before his death. When the message from the War Department had arrived saying that Albert was missing in action and presumed dead, it was the first indication that Mr. Dawes had that his son was even alive. Found and lost in less time than it took to read the letter. Mr. Dawes took the unopened parcel containing Bertie's effects upstairs to the attic and left it, shutting the door firmly behind him.

The heavy book he was holding slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a thump. "Bother!" thought Mr. Dawes and stooped over to pick it up. That was when he noticed the umbrella leaning against the fireplace. The parrot's beady eyes were looking right at him. He arose from his chair and leaving the book where it fell walked across the room to the umbrella. He picked it up and turned it slowly in his hands examining it from every angle. This time he decided to return it to the umbrella stand himself.

"Is everything all right sir?" inquired a voice.

Turning, Mr. Dawes saw Norris standing in the hall behind him.

"Yes," he answered. "It's just this umbrella…" Mr. Dawes voice trailed off. He couldn't very well say that the umbrella was following him. "I've never seen it before," he improvised, "but it seems very familiar. Did someone leave it here?"

"I've never noticed it before," said Norris. "Someone must have left it, but I don't remember anyone carrying it into the house. It's quite distinctive."

Norris looked at the umbrella for a moment and smiled. "I know why it seems so familiar," he said. "It's like the one in Miss Lavinia's books. It talks."

"What talks?" asked Mr. Dawes.

"The umbrella does, that is the parrot on the handle talks. The children are always trying to make it be quiet. In one of the stories Master Jack wraps his handkerchief around the beak to silence it." Norris continued. "Miss Lavinia always had a marvelous imagination, always up in the room writing in her journals and making up stories. Mrs. Norris and I weren't a bit surprised when she turned out to be an author."

"Yes," said Mr. Dawes. "Yes that must be it." He went back into the library and started searching the shelves to the left of the fireplace. He soon found what he was looking for. Mr. Dawes had read two of his daughter's novels and her nonfiction history of the Court of Louis XIV, but he had never read any of her children's books. There they were, as new as the day the publisher had mailed them to him. Their spines were still stiff and some of the pages still uncut. Mr. Dawes looked through the five volumes and chose one. Best to start at the beginning he thought and go in order.

Late in the afternoon Mr. Dawes set the book aside. His daughter was a very good writer. He had not dozed off once and he had lost track of the hours as he read. He needed time to sort out his thoughts and get his feelings under control before he started the second volume. For the first time in his life he had met his children—not the images of them he had carried around in his head for 40 some years—but the real people they had been.

It was obvious from the first page that Lavinia had inserted herself and her two brothers into the story as the main characters. As Jack, Bertie and Vinnie they traveled the world with their magical nanny and her talking umbrella. They had ridden elephants, been kidnapped by pirates and visited the bottom of the sea where they spoke to an ancient sea turtle. Jack (brilliant and impatient with his younger siblings who couldn't keep up). Bertie,( too shy to speak but showing uncommon courage in the face of danger) and Lavinia, (angry and rebellious at being left behind because she was the youngest and a girl) had each learned to value the other two for their differences and grown up in the process. Lavinia had dedicated the first book Jonathan and Albert, her brothers and best friends.

Mr. Dawes sighed. There was no mention of a father in the book. He guessed that was to be expected. Maybe the Dawes family lived such long lives because they needed more time to make up for their mistakes. He half expected to see the parrot umbrella in the library when he finished but it was nowhere in sight. He didn't see it again until he was in bed. The curtains in his room were open and the soft light from the moon illuminated the objects inside. There it was leaning against the chest of drawers. Mr. Dawes was quite certain it hadn't been there when he undressed or put his watch and ring on the tray on the night stand.

He surveyed it from his position in the bed. Should he talk to it he wondered and see if it answered back. But he had no idea what to say to an umbrella. In the book the parrot had been very talkative. He decided to let the parrot have the first word. He rolled over and went to sleep.