Chapter Twenty-two - Santayana

"This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea." T.C. McQueen sat stoically in the front seat of Dale Steinbeck's car. He stared fixedly through the windshield. It was raining softly, but the weather was supposed to clear up. Like so many things having to do with Kylen, this escapade had begun innocently enough. McQueen remembered the conversation. It had taken place during the Sunday brunch Kylen had prepared for the residents of the Barn.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she had said. "But you are invited to the farm for Thanksgiving. Dad would like you to come. I'd like you to come. All three of you."

Amy - the ever polite and well bred - Amy had then said something about it being a private and family time. McQueen had almost felt like kissing her for the first time in over four years. Almost. Kylen had finessed that argument neatly. Which was made worse by the fact that she didn't really understand that she was finessing him. "Are you kidding?" Kylen had said. "We always have guests. Somebody is always dragging someone home for Thanksgiving. It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without guests. The sleeping arrangements won't be deluxe, but there is more than enough room for you three. Won't you please come? Dale, it isn't a gourmet meal. Just the traditional dishes - peasant food - but we have a good time."

"Are you going to have candied yams with those little marshmallows?" Dale had asked.

"Yes," Kylen had answered, feeling almost ashamed. She was afraid that the dish would be too pedestrian for Dale's taste.

"Oh, I love that. Did you know that Marcelo now offers that at 'Lion D'or' for Thanksgiving? Ah, tradition is a wonderful thing. We'll come." He had said, deciding for all of them. It had delighted Amy and irritated McQueen.

Any excuses or refusals that McQueen could think of had sounded rude, even petulant - even to his own ears, so they had all remained unsaid. So now he found himself riding towards the big Celina Family Thanksgiving. "I'm the someone Kylen found to 'drag' home. Look Daddy, look what the cat dragged in. Well, Kylen is going to get the prize. A medical genius, an exiled Main Line Ice Queen, and the Gimp. There is a fairy tale in there somewhere."

From her vantage point in the back seat, Amy watched McQueen clenching his jaw. This whole trip had made him very edgy, and she wasn't really sure why. It was an old pattern. He usually created more questions than answers in her life. Ty was an easier man to deal with when around Kylen. Dale had been right about that. It was almost as if Kylen made a bridge between him and other people. Having someone around with shared experiences did make a difference to Ty.

"Ty, you look as if you are going to the dentist. This isn't your first family Thanksgiving. Relax," she gently chided.

They were true statements. Ty hated going to the dentist, and he had, indeed, spent Thanksgiving with friends in their homes. But they had been small gatherings; just four to six people, all of whom he knew. Bring a bottle of wine, watch the game with squadmates, eat dinner, then leave when people start to fall asleep on the couch. He had never been expected to spend the night. He would loose a day and a half, if not two days of rehab and conditioning. It was a profligate waste of time. And Kylen had said something about expecting around twenty people. "It had better be a damn big house. I am not going to sleep on the floor, in front of any fireplace 'en famille'."

Steinbeck only partially guessed the reason for McQueen's tension. "Don't worry Tyrus, you can always just get lost in the crowd."

McQueen snorted and thought: "Yea, right. A crippled Marine Tank - Oh, I'll blend right into the background for sure."

Even though the dinner was planned for the evening - some people were going to be late. ("Thank your lucky stars, McQueen.") Dale had insisted that they hit the road early. In McQueen's estimation Dale was far too concerned with other peoples lives. Steinbeck had said that he had never 'experienced' a family like Kylen's; he, having been reared, like Amy, in a household that was cold and remote. Holidays had been pieces of theater - very formal dinners with servants. A household full of real people like Kylen was too fascinating a prospect. No, they would arrive early, as invited, to fully soak in the whole atmosphere.

They pulled into Ridge Farm at a little before noon. A full six hours before dinner was planned and McQueen didn't hold out any hope that they would even sit down before eight. There were already five cars in the yard. "It has to be absolute chaos inside that house," he thought.

Kylen had directed them to come to the kitchen door rather than the front. "No one will hear you if you go there. After the crash on Tellus, Emrys disconnected the wires."

Dale jumped out of the car ready to begin. He bounded to the door on his long legs. Kylen was already there and met him with a hug. Amy was next into her embrace. Dale bounced back to the car to retrieve their bags. He was rubbing his hands together in obvious delight. "It smells fabulous," he exclaimed as he passed McQueen who was just half way up the walk. Kylen met McQueen on the walkway. She was able to gauge his thoughts with a cursory look. He wasn't happy to be there and Kylen could guess why. She smiled warmly and took his arm to assist him the rest of the way.

"Courage," she whispered as she ushered him into the house.

"Where are you stashing us?" Dale followed a few seconds behind.

"Just leave your bags there for now," Kylen said. "Let me introduce you to the current players in house." They had walked through the entry area which was filled with coats and boots and were now standing in the sizable kitchen which had two islands and an enormous bay window occupied by an old circular table. The house had been added to over the years and to the right there was what is frequently called a Keeping Room - A large sitting area with a fireplace divided from the kitchen by a counter. It was obvious that preparations were underway for a huge meal. The whole house smelled like apple pie.

"These are my sisters," she said. "The mother-to-be is Aislen. She is five years older than I am and this is her first baby, so remember everything you may have heard about pregnant women."

"Be Quiet, Mouse," the elder sister cracked back as she shook hands with the visitors and took over the introductions. "This is Bridgid - Bridee to the tribe." Aislen pushed the youngest member of the household forward. The thirteen-year-old looked remarkably like Kylen but with brown hair. She was already as tall as her sister and still had that coltish look signaling that she would probably grow taller still. "And that is Rebecca, Connor's wife." Rebecca waved from her place at the baking island. Her hands were covered in flour.

Kylen took over again. These were, after all, her guests and Aislen had a tendency to try and run things. Aislen's family nickname was 'The Judge.' "Don't take off your coats yet, Dad and the guys are out back arguing over the birds."

"Out back?" Amy questioned.

"Smoked turkey," the Celina Quartet said in unison.

"God is in His heaven and all is right with the world," Dale said. "Lead the way, by all means."

Kylen lead the way through the keeping room and out a door into the backyard. Eight men were standing around three smokers discussing the situation before them.

Frank Celina stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "I'm Frank and I know who you are already. Amy, Dr. Steinbeck, ('Call me Dale, please.'), and Colonel McQueen. Kylen described you all very well. I'm so pleased that you could come." The Celina men stepped forward one by one to introduce themselves. Connor, Ewan, and Benjamin McCoy, Aislen's husband. Allston (McQueen had a vision of Kylen kicking this gangly seventeen-year-old into the wall), Emrys and then there were two of Emrys' fraternity brothers James and David, who lived out of state and hadn't been able to get travel vouchers.

"Oh my, have you ever thought of wearing nametags?" Amy joked. "Please forgive me, but I may not keep you all straight to begin with."

"It's a test." One of them joked back. Amy had no idea which one had spoken.

Frank Celina spoke again. "Christian, our eldest will be here soon with his family and Eithne. They are coming from Boston. Eithne is dancing in The Nutcracker tomorrow night. She had a rehearsal this morning."

"I thought she was only seventeen, Allston's twin," said Dale.

"She is," Allston spoke up. "She's on scholarship to the School for the Arts in Boston. She is a wicked dancer." He was obviously very proud of his sister.

"Watch out Colonel. She is a redhead and all that that implies," said Connor. "Due to the War, this is the last production by Boston City Ballet until further notice. She is taking it all very personally. The Chigs have conspired to ruin her promising career, you know." The brothers all rolled their eyes. " If you think that 'The Mouse' is a handful, wait until you get a load of 'Butch.'

"Mouse and Butch?" Amy questioned.

"Nicknames. I'm 'Mouse' and Eithne is 'Butch'," Kylen answered. "It gets really confusing. Ignore them."

McQueen felt vaguely sick to his stomach. "This is way too much Americana for me."

*************

The Celina sisters had tried unsuccessfully to clear people out of the kitchen proper by placing bowls of munchies, cheese and veggie trays, crab dip and fruit on the counter in the keeping room. They had only achieved moderate success. As all the Celina's knew and as Steinbeck explained to McQueen: "The best part of parties always happen in the kitchen. That's where you get the best food and the best gossip."

McQueen sat off to the side at the table for about a half an hour while Amy tried to help with baking pies and Dale traveled back and forth between the kitchen and the turkey smoking in the backyard. Sure enough, there was a steady stream of people coming through the kitchen. All tasting the food, telling a story and frequently cracking jokes. Almost everyone floated over and lit briefly at the table to speak to the mysterious and commanding Colonel who had become so important to Kylen. They were courteous and friendly - most asked about his health and rehabilitation. The game was on in the keeping room but Allston had set up a mini-screen (sound off) on the kitchen table so that no one need miss a play.

The sisters all accepted this behavior. As long as no one got in their way, they seemed put up with almost any interruption. Amy was unused to this type of activity and camaraderie but was making a game attempt to fit in and seemed, to both Dale and McQueen, to be enjoying herself. McQueen crossed to the counter to get himself more coffee. Aislen suddenly leaned back against one of the islands and smiling grabbed Bridee's hand and pressed it against her stomach.

"There," she whispered.

"OOOOh," Bridee whispered and before he could react Bridee had grabbed McQueen's hand and pressed it against Aislen's stomach. He snatched the hand away as if he had touched something hot. "Not this. Not in front of Amy," he thought. McQueen had been invited more than once to touch the stomach of a pregnant woman. He had always declined. At first it had been discomfort with touching people and basic disinterest, and then it had been due to his own shyness, then his own sense of loss. But this time Aislen, smiling that secret smile of pregnant women, gently took his hand back before he could protest, placing it 'just so' on her belly.

"It's OK. Just think of me as a little Buddha. Rub the belly for luck," she joked. "There... There. Did you feel that?"

McQueen didn't realize it but his face took on the expression universal to all men through the millennia. The expression of wonderment and total incomprehension. The expression that is only seen when a man touches life within another person's body. All the women shared the look of secret power known only to women - be they mothers or no - and smiled kindly.

"Oh, may I please?" Dale piped in and the women all laughed. McQueen wasn't quite sure why.

*************

Christian arrived; his wife, Abby, their fourteen-month-old daughter, Karin, and his younger sister, Eithne were trailing in his wake. The entire family was now home.

"It's about time," came up from a chorus of voices in the kitchen/keeping room. McQueen wasn't sure who all had spoken. The addition of four new people had once again stirred the pot and what had seemed to him to be only barely controlled chaos spilled over into a storm of activity; hugs, thumping on the back and multiple conversations. People passed the toddler around like an object d'art to be admired. Jokes, endearments and insults tumbling over one another. What McQueen particularly noticed was the manner in which Kylen and Christian enfolded each other. They did not let go and Christian had to greet his remaining siblings with one arm while he held onto Kylen. Christian had clearly always been her protector.

McQueen noted, as well, how Eithne moved about the room. "A red head and all that that implies," he thought. Only seventeen, but clearly already a force to be reckoned with. The air seemed to crackle and spark around her. She was tiny - the exact opposite of her easygoing twin, Allston, who had scooped her up into his arms. Eithne was almost impossibly feminine and delicate. The dancer. The ballerina. Calling her 'Butch' was undoubtedly the family way of keeping her grounded. But the love and affection - the knowledge and appreciation of each other was obvious.

"Hawkes would be poleaxed. He would follow her around like a puppy dog," McQueen thought. McQueen had surprised himself with that idea. He looked around the room and imagined The Wildcards moving in and out of the crowd. Who would align with whom? What they would talk about. He imagined hearing Glen Ross' laugh. He suddenly felt very alone in the room.

McQueen looked up to see Kylen standing before him with Christian on her arm.

"Colonel McQueen, this is Christian. Christian, Colonel McQueen."

Christian gave McQueen a sturdy handshake. "Thank you Colonel, Thank you for coming." The younger man's strong emotional reaction to having Kylen home was obvious. McQueen was becoming uncomfortable.

Like his sister, Christian, could sense the Marine's discomfort. And, like Kylen, he chose to handle the situation with humor.

"You know, people were laying bets whether or not you would show." Christian said.

"Why wouldn't I?" McQueen asked shooting Kylen a 'you got me into this' look. "I can give you at least three or four reasons. Hope you didn't bet against it, Chris, my boy. Up until 0700 this morning you would have been right. What have you told them all, Kylen?"

"Because she is such a pain in the neck and just the tip of the iceberg," Christian ribbed his sister.

"She is at that," McQueen agreed and Kylen knew that somehow, and for reasons she didn't understand, she was in hot water.

"So, tell me," Christian said, warming to Colonel McQueen. "Has she given you a nickname yet? That is 'The Mouse's' job if I'm not around."

"Since when?" Kylen asked indignantly. "And no, I haven't given Colonel McQueen a nickname." She looked at McQueen. It was a patent lie. She was getting good at that. But he understood and shared her desire to keep her name for him private.

"Don't concern yourself, Colonel, someone will name you before you leave. If not to your face - then behind your back. We are an irreverent bunch," Christian said and Kylen slugged his arm.

"What do they call you, Christian?" McQueen asked conversationally.

"Oh, I don't have a nickname I'm called 'Christian.' To be said in reverential tones like one would say 'Your Excellency'," he said breezily. The strong emotions had been reined back in, much to everyone's relief.

"Oh, brother," groaned Kylen. "Get your wife and kid settled in 'Your Excellency'." She followed her brother as he turned to attend to things.

McQueen decided that Glen Ross would hang out with Christian and Frank.

Dale Steinbeck appeared at McQueen's side and gestured around the room. "This, Ty," he whispered into McQueen's ear. "This is the real thing. The family is one of nature's masterpieces."

*************

The pies were now in the oven and the sisters had moved on to preparing the rest of the meal.

"Who is going to teach me how to do the yams with the little marshmallows?" Dale asked.

"Well, I'm supposed to make that," said Abby obviously a little unsure - not understanding what was going on.

"That's OK, Kid," McQueen thought from his hideaway at the table. "Neither do I."

"This is Dr. Steinbeck," Kylen interjected. ('Call me Dale.') "This is Abby, wife to 'His Excellency' Christian, mother to the marvelous Karin, and a wonderful musician and teacher in her own right. Dale wants to learn how to do the marshmallow thing, Abby."

"Well, I put apples and walnuts in mine," Abby said.

"All the better, my dear. All the better," Dale gloated. "Just wait 'til I tell Marcelo."

************

"Hey Christian," someone called. "Nice weather."

"We don't control the weather...." Christian called out and then lifted his arms as if directing an orchestra.

"We moderate it" chanted at least six people, including Kylen.

People then began to call out what were obviously oft-repeated phrases in the household. "Average monthly rainfall has to be maintained" - "The Golden Mean" - "New England still has to be New England" - "If you don't like snow move to Bermuda" (which seemed to be a particular group favorite) - "Storms are how the earth cleanses itself."

McQueen was initially shocked by this seemingly disrespectful outburst. Even Frank had joined in. But it was immediately followed by people thumping Christian on the back or kissing him on the cheek. Christian was obviously a Climate Engineer. And once again the entire family had shared the experience. McQueen then had another thought. "Christian has a job in a protected class and a good deferment."

End Chapter Twenty-two