CHAPTER TEN
MY FATHER STOOD by the ticket booth, looking distinguished in his best charcoal-grey suit and a blue tie. I paused for a moment before stepping down from the train car onto the pavement, savoring the sight of him. Dearest Father! He looked just as he had all those months ago but for an extra sprinkling of silver in his full brown beard.
Clutching my suitcase, I edged through the milling mass of my fellow travelers; it had been a surprisingly tiresome ride, and my stiff legs ached as though I had not used them in a week. I kept my eyes trained on Father's face, my heart fluttering with fresh anticipation, as I hurried toward him.
He turned as I passed the queue of waiting passengers, and I laughed to see that familiar broad smile light up his eyes as he caught sight of me. "Girlie!"
"Daddy!" I rushed forward into his arms.
He held me tightly, one trembling hand pressed against my hair. My face was burrowed against his coat; I breathed in the musky scent of his favorite aftershave, a sting of tears coming to my eyes. Oh, how I had missed him! I had been grateful for the slight communication available to us in the telephone, but nothing could compare to the pleasure of having him here next to me, solid and familiar and reassuring.
At length he took a step back, heavy hands moving to my shoulders, and surveyed me from head to toe. I saw his concern at seeing me so weak and pale, but also that look of gentle relief that I was there at all. He reached up to wipe a tear from my cheek. "There, there, Girlie – you're home now."
I slipped my hand into his and held it firmly while we collected my bags from the porter and went out onto the street, where the car was waiting. I bundled inside while Father cranked the engine; I watched the street and its bustle of activity keenly – all that motion and noise seemed so foreign now.
Satisfied that the car wouldn't stall halfway down the road, Father opened the door and slid onto the seat next to me. He stole a glance at me from under bushy grey brows. "Ready, Girlie?"
I smiled. "Ready."
And then we were off. My senses were crowded with familiar sights, smells, and sounds, rushing around me in an overwhelming deluge – I could scarcely fix my attention on one thing before I was distracted by another; there was so much to see! For the first time it struck me how very accustomed I had become to the silence and serenity of the mountains. All this movement...it was intimidating somehow, but so very exciting. I was tempted to bounce up and down on the padded seat like a child, but under Father's watchful eye, I managed to keep the impulse under control.
Neither Father or I said a word all the way to the house – I had so much to say that I could hardly think of where to begin, and Father had never been much of a talker to begin with. Still, it was a companionable sort of quiet; and every time he turned his head to look at me, he grinned, as if the sight of my thin, white-cheeked face brought him too great a joy to contain.
We pulled up to the curb in front of our house. I pressed my nose to the window, drinking in the sight of that familiar blue manse with the apple trees and white picket fence. It was so very fine a sight that it took several minutes for me to realize that the car had stopped and Father was waiting for me to get out. He laughed and teased me about being absent-minded as he helped me onto the snow-dusted pavement.
Just as Father began to unload my luggage, the front door opened and Mother's slim, elegant figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the sunlight. I ran up the path to embrace her, and for once she didn't chide me for dashing about in such an unladylike manner; instead she hurried down the steps to meet me.
Her arms came around me and pressed me close; she didn't say a word, but I felt a sudden dampness where her cheek was pressed against mine. Father appeared behind us with the bags and gently urged my mother forward into the house. "We ought to get Christy inside – it's too chilly out here for her."
Mother reacted to that announcement at once, hurrying me inside to sit before the fireplace in the drawing-room. She was uncharacteristically nervous, fussing with my water-logged clothing and fluttering around me anxiously while Father and the manservant lugged my trunks up the staircase to my old room.
The instant Father returned downstairs, Mother took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, seeming determined to compose herself. As soon as she had her wits about her again, she settled me down into an armchair and sent the maid for tea. Sitting down on the settee, she leaned back and studied me keenly.
"My word, Christy," she said, "you're as thin as a rail! And your hair!" Her slender white fingers moved to tenderly smooth back one pathetic ringlet from my forehead. "Poor dear – we'll go to a hairdresser and have this fixed up when you're feeling better."
Father only chuckled. "We'll fatten you up like a Christmas goose, Girlie."
"I can't wait." My mouth watered at the prospect.
Mother, however, was not amused. "Are you feeling quite well, dearest? I hope the journey wasn't too tiring. Perhaps you ought to go lie down for a while before dinner."
"Really, Mother, I'm feeling just fine. I haven't felt ill since —"
"Well, if it ain't Prissy Chrissy." My brother's voice floated down from the top of the staircase, and I looked up to see his impish freckled face grinning at me from over the banister.
"George Huddleston," Mother exclaimed, "kindly be serious for one moment. Is that any way to greet your sister? And do stop hanging on the railing like that – it takes poor Sarah hours to shine it back up."
George winked at me and strolled deliberately down the stairs, whistling as he went. When he came forward to give me a brief hug, I was shocked by how much he seemed to have grown since I saw him last. Why, he towered over me by at least three inches – surely my little brother shouldn't be that tall!
I saw him take in my appearance as he pulled away. Still a little uncomfortable with my thinned hair, which was neatly bound up in Zady's blue kerchief, I reached up unconsciously to cover my scalp with my hand. "Pretty bad, huh?"
George's smile was sympathetic, and my embarrassment melted away. "It's not that bad." He tugged playfully on one curl. "See? There's still enough to pull."
I punched him lightly on the arm. "Thanks."
Tea was served with a tray of refreshments; we talked and ate and laughed, and I stuffed myself with warm gingerbread. Everyone seemed to be speaking at once, and I realized that my family was as eager to share the latest news as I was to hear it. It seemed that many things had happened in a short period of time; great-uncle Thomas had died two weeks before; Aunt Daisy was moving back to New York; and Father's favorite nephew was set on enlisting in the military by the end of the season.
"Oh, and Cousin Millicent is to be married," Mother announced as she refilled our cups. "I hope that your father will be able to take the time off; it isn't until June, after all, and I would love to see Anne again – and Millicent would like to visit with you too, Christy. You were such bosom friends when you were little girls."
"I wish her all the best," I said. "Who is the lucky groom?"
"Frederick Stanhope. He seems to be a fine young man, and he's from a very respectable family."
"Speaking of beaus," George added, too innocently, "you didn't leave any broken hearts behind in Cutter Gap, did you, Christy?"
I felt myself flush as Father and Mother both paused and looked over to see my reaction. I tried to keep a straight face. "Of course not." Even as I spoke, a picture of Dr. MacNeill's downcast face came to mind.
Looking relieved, Mother shook her finger reprovingly at my brother. "George, what am I to do with you? Pay him no mind, Christy – he's been nothing but trouble all day."
George immediately denied this, to which Mother insisted that really was so; and Father just watched and chuckled as they quarreled. I could see that my mother was somewhat exasperated, but George seemed to be enjoying himself immensely -- he had always taken a wicked joy in riling Mother.
I exchanged an amused glance with Father and then sank back in the chair, nibbling at my fourth slice of gingerbread and listening contentedly as George and Mother argued.
It was good to be home.
THE REMAINDER OF the evening flew by. We shared a special dinner together; Cook had outdone herself to welcome me home, and I allowed her to fill my plate twice over. George looked as though he wanted to tease me about it, but a look from Father silenced him.
After sating myself so thoroughly, it didn't take long for me to become sleepy and begin to feel the effects of the morning's train ride. Mother sent me off to bed after I fell asleep in the parlor and nearly spilled my after-dinner coffee on the carpet. I went upstairs willingly after wishing my parents pleasant dreams and cornering George long enough to give him a goodnight kiss in retaliation for his pestering.
Stepping into my bedroom, I was surprised by how strange everything appeared. I was so accustomed to my stark little room at the mission house – this chamber seemed so large and unfamiliar, even though it was filled with my own childhood treasures: my extensive leaf collection lay arranged on my desk with a pile of books; fine silk and satin clothing hung in the closet; a row of porcelain dolls with lovely glass eyes and pouting red lips sat daintily on the shelf above my four-poster bed. It was all recognizable but somehow foreign.
Just a few weeks ago I had been hovering near death in the wilds of the mountains, and yet here I was now in my old bedroom, as if nothing had changed.
After slipping into my nightdress, I went to stand in front of the bay window. It overlooked the garden and the old magnolia tree just across the fence. Parting the delicate lace draperies, I peered out into the darkening yard. The stars overhead were particularly bright – it seemed that the overhanging storm clouds had retreated at least for a few hours.
Oddly enough, I thought of Doctor MacNeill, picturing him sitting out on the porch of Mrs. Tatum's boarding house, perhaps smoking his pipe and admiring the night sky, just as I was. Was he marveling at the beauty of the stars too? I wondered if I might have entered into his thoughts, maybe for only a moment.
I shook my head to clear away those foolish hopes and turned to crawl under the covers. Someone had thoughtfully placed a hot brick under the mattress-slip, and I sighed with pleasure; no bed had ever seemed so warm and wonderfully soft. I laid awake for a moment, watching the pattern of the oil-lamp flame against the wall. Suddenly it came to me that I really was home – my parents were down the hall, I was part of my family again, and most of all, I was alive, gloriously alive.
Smiling to myself, I pulled the quilts up to my chin, leaned over, and blew out the lamp.
A/N: First of all, I am SO sorry that I left you guys hanging for such a long time. Not that excuses ever really matter, but I truly was caught up in going-back-to-school preparations, and I didn't write a single word for almost two weeks. Hopefully now that my muse is working again, I can start posting regularly. Thanks so much for not giving up on me.
And now that I finally did get around to posting a chapter, it just happens to be part of the Neil-free section. :( Notice that I did try to sneak in a reference or two, but it's not the same as the real thing, I know. ; )
Anyway, this chapter -- as well as the next two or three -- are centered more around Christy's family and old acquaintances. What do you all think of Mom 'n Dad -- and George? We don't get much characterization for any of them, but from what actually is included in the novel, I thought that George sounded like a fun kid. Everyone needs an annoying but lovable sibling, after all. :D
I'll try to post Ch.11 sometime this week; thanks again to everyone for your comments and patience!