Two Pink Lines

Winter arrived in Connecticut in a quiet symphony of white snow, dusting the forty rolling acres of the Greenwich estate in immaculate silence. At seven o’clock on a cold, frosty December morning, the sun broke through the snow-laden branches of the ancient sugar maples, casting long golden shadows across the frozen pond. Smoke curled lazily from the four massive stone chimneys of the restored 1820 manor house, and inside the…