Mick is trying to let his little sisters have the kind of magical Christmas he is missing now that he's pretty much grown up.
No great drama or character development in here, just a bit of seasonal fun and feeling (I hope).
"Amid the Falling Snow" by Enya struck me as a matching soundtrack for that magical Christmas feeling:
How I remember sleepless nights
when we would read by candlelight,
and on the windowpane outside
a new world made of snow;
a million feathers falling down,
a million stars that touch the ground,
so many secrets to be found
amid the falling snow.
Maybe I am falling down.
Tell me should I touch the ground?
Maybe I won't make a sound
in the darkness all around.
The silence of a winter's night
brings memories I hold inside:
remembering a blue moonlight
upon the fallen snow.
Maybe I am falling down.
Tell me should I touch the ground?
Maybe I won't make a sound
in the darkness all around.
I close my window to the night.
I leave the sky her tears of white.
And all is lit by candlelight
amid the falling snow.
And all is lit by candlelight
amid the falling snow.
We heard the girls' bright laughter as we walked down the stairs. Dan said something I couldn't understand, making them giggle even more.
Mom opened the living-room door and proudly showed her lighthouse to Dan. He admired it in surprise, praising my craft with such honest enthusiasm that I regretted not having done another little carving for him. Instead, I would give him the book he'd wanted which Mom had bought for me. Well, I hoped he would be happy about that, too. It was too late now anyway to remedy my lapse.
Jess and Janie were both kneeling on the hearth rug, the contents of their stockings strewn around them. Janie was already munching something, as always, and beamed at me. "See what we got, Mick! Do you want a cookie?"
"No, thank you, love. I hope there's a stocking for me, too."
"Of course there is!" Jess said, pointing at the mantelpiece.
"Brilliant!" I said and took it down. Sitting cross-legged on the hearth rug, the fire warming my back, crackling pleasantly, I examined its contents – a nice mix of cookies, fruit and nuts that reminded me of those magical Christmases of my childhood, some of my favourite chocolate, socks and gloves - and then reached into the breast pocket of my blue flannel pajamas.
I looked from Jess to Janie and back again in mock surprise. "Oh, just see what I've found here! I almost forgot that Santa Claus asked me to give this one to you, Jess" – she held out her hand and accepted the small package with utmost care - "while this is for Janie." She wiped a few crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand and grabbed her gift.
"Oooh!" Jess's blue-grey eyes widened when she had carefully removed the paper. "A seahorse!" she breathed. "Just like the one in the story!"
"And like the one on Grandpa's boat", I added. Grandpa had bought a new fishing boat when I was twelve, and we had christened it the Blue Seahorse because I was so fascinated with those little creatures. While I had painted the name on the prow in bold, careful blue letters, Grandpa had carved a large seahorse to use as a figurehead. Jess loved to hear about the seahorse, so it had featured in many of my stories.
"Mommy, Daddy, look, I got a Freddie!" Janie squealed after ripping the wrapping paper off impatiently. I nodded and grinned. Freddie was my fairytale prince's dolphin friend. Janie was mad about him.
Mom and Dan had come over and marvelled at the wooden creatures the girls held out to them.
"These are really, really beautiful gifts, Mick", Mom said quietly, a moist shimmer in her eyes. "Truly special. Thank you so much. You can't imagine how happy I am that you're here."
"Don't mention it", I said.
Her radiant smile and obvious happiness made me feel a little uneasy. This joyful Christmas tableau was a beautiful but fragile thing, to be enjoyed momentarily but not made to persist. Both she and I knew that it wouldn't last, that I would be on my way back to Maine soon and leave her and the girls behind, missing me. I prayed that she didn't have too high hopes of me staying longer than intended or coming back more often.
I brushed those thoughts aside when Jess asked, "Will you play something for us?" and pointed at the piano. The lid was open and a book of Christmas music was waiting for me on the music rack.
"If you don't mind that I haven't practiced since last summer", I said and sat down on the piano stool, running a finger along the silky surface of the ivory keys. "What do you want to hear, sweetie?"
"'Silent Night'. And all of you must sing along", she demanded earnestly.
I leafed through the book, found the page and did a little prelude before intoning the actual song. Jess's small but clear voice set in, perfectly in time, then Mom's lovely alto and Janie's loud bellowing. She was nowhere as good a singer as Jess but made up for her blatant lack of talent by showing great enthusiasm. Dan's reedy little tenor was barely audible over the other voices, but he sang along with all the verses and smiled benignly as we were finished.
"Would you play that beautiful Bach chorale for me, Mick?" he asked diffidently. "I keep forgetting the title but it was some Advent hymn, I think."
So I tried my hand at "Sleepers Awake", which was the disaster I had expected, not having played a note for such a long time. Dan beamed at me anyway, and I went back on safer ground and picked "The First Noel", that old holiday favourite of mine. I played "In the Bleak Midwinter" for Mom and "Jingle Bells" for Janie and "God rest ye merry, Gentlemen" for Dan and would have gone on with some other beloved treasures, but that was the moment when Mom glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner and exclaimed that it was time to get dressed and leave for church.
I endured the curious stares and exaggerated friendliness of Mom's lady friends as they greeted us outside the church with a blank smile on my face, hoping not too many of them would make good on their promises to "have a chat after church" because it was "just so nice to see you again".
It was a clear, crisp winter day, above us blue skies, some clouds on the horizon holding a vague promise of snow to come.
Inside the church, it was rather warm. People in thick winter coats filled the pews, moving ever closer together to accommodate latecomers. The slanted sunlight flooding in through the simple stained-glass windows formed puddles of colour on the floor and the white altar cloth and, almost magically, cast a golden glow over the lavishly decorated, big fir tree to one side of the altar. Jess was ravished by the sight. "Just look, how beautiful", she whispered into my ear.
Of course, both girls had been eager to occupy the coveted places next to me, but as the church was so crowded, Janie had ended up sitting in my lap while Jess was squeezed closely against me. Her thin legs in her white woollen stockings were dangling a few inches above the floor as her watchful eyes took in the play of light and colour in amazement.
A bell chimed, and the organ set in, all stops out in a rousing, festive rendition of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing". Jess jumped to her feet, and I got up, too, quickly picking up Janie before she could complain that she couldn't see anything. When the choir and congregation launched into the first verse together, I joined in with all my heart, feeling at ease with myself and the world for now, swept away by the powerful music and a wave of loving emotion. I held Janie up with one arm while she clung to my neck and laid the other hand on Jess's bony little shoulder in her winter coat. She pressed herself against me, looking up at me with shiny eyes, and we shared a big smile while we kept singing along.
Janie fell asleep during the sermon, slumped against my chest. The short night she'd had and the excitement were taking their toll. I was unable to wake her when it was time to stand again, so I remained seated with her plump little body in my arms, heavy with slumber.
Jess stood next to me and cast a wry glance at her sister, as if to say, Typical!
Mom, on my other side, brushed Janie's fair curls from her face and smiled. "She often falls asleep in church. She'll wake up in time for the recessional hymn", she whispered. And indeed, as the organist played the first notes of "O Little Town of Bethlehem" at the end of the service, she began to stir and blinked at me. I gave her a wink only she could see, and she grinned broadly before smacking a wet kiss on my cheek that was fortunately drowned out by the music.
The dreaded handshaking and well-wishing with the other parishioners after the service was cut short by Mom urging us to leave so we'd be home in time for the final preparation for lunch and our guests' arrival.
I had pushed the prospect of Grandpa Cleaver and Aunt Dorothy's visit into the farthest corner of my mind and was rather dismayed at the reminder. That was the part of the holiday I was definitely not looking forward to.
Since Dan's brother George, a lawyer, had died a few years ago, Mom and Dan had invited them for Christmas Day every year, much to my chagrin. I could have dealt with the indifference Dan's father usually showed towards that boy that wasn't of his own blood. At least he was kind with the girls and showered them with gifts and affection.
Aunt Dorothy was in a league of her own. A woman straight out of those Victorian novels Eliza liked to read. She'd have been a perfect spinster governess with her hair pulled back tightly in an old-fashioned bun, her high-necked blouses and her unforgiving steely eyes, looking down her nose with an unbearable holier-than-thou attitude. I had never seen her narrow lips widen in amusement or joy, only that prim little ghost of a smile that sometimes crept over her face for a second. What I hated most about her was how she permanently tried to reprimand the girls for some minor infringements of what she considered good manners.
No need to mention that she despised everything about me and made me feel it. She had never really warmed to my mother and still thought her brother-in-law had married below his station, but she had come to treat her as somewhat equal, albeit with a very chilly civility, while she showed nothing but disdain for me. That ungrateful boy who hadn't ever made proper attempts at fitting in, refused to get a decent haircut, balked at the mere thought of group activity and, what was worst of all, didn't even seize his great chance of going to college, a chance he'd never have had without his mother's remarriage to a respectable member of society.
"Fine, let's get it over and done with", I muttered under my breath one hour later when the doorbell rang.
"Did you say something, Mick?" Jess asked, looking up from the doll she was currently dressing in the new frock she had got for Christmas.
"No, nothing important, love", I replied, bracing myself for the feared visitors. I heard Mom and Dan greeting the new arrivals at the door and leading them through into the living room. Suppressing a sigh, I rose from the sofa and put aside the new book I'd been leafing through.
The girls were delighted to see their grandfather, and he even deemed me worthy of a rather friendly smile and a firm handshake and gave me a little package. Aunt Dorothy greeted me coolly and said with a stiff nod, "Merry Christmas to you, Michael." I hadn't expected a present from her anyway, but I was truly at a loss for words when she felt the need to explain that she hadn't brought anything for me because I was too old for presents now that I was standing on my own two feet, working. As a fisherman.
Mom, sensing the rage bubbling up within me, gave me a warning look. I bit back a scathing answer as to not disturb the Christmas spirit and followed the rest of the family over to the dining room. Mom had set the table with her best plates and silverware and crystal glasses, and a tempting scent was wafting in from the kitchen.
The soup and the turkey were both delicious. Everybody was tucking in with a hearty appetite. Mom smiled proudly when Dan's father praised her cooking and helped himself to another serving of turkey and vegetables. It would have been a wonderful family feast if it hadn't been for Aunt Dorothy who kept telling the girls not to slouch and not to slurp and not to talk too much or too loudly. "Children should be seen but not heard" was one of her favourite pieces of advice.
We had almost finished the main course when Aunt Dorothy nodded sourly at a hilarious story Dan had told about one of his patients, mimicking amusement with a forced twitch of her thin line of a mouth while the others laughed, stabbing at a bit of meat with her fork. As she lifted it to her mouth, it fell off the prongs and back on the plate, splashing sauce on the tablecloth and down the front of her blouse. Her eyes widened, and she pursed her lips in irritation as she frantically dabbed at her chest with her napkin.
Jess and Janie exchanged a look. I couldn't resist winking at them, and they burst into laughter. Dan tried to hide a grin and failed, as did his father. Mom looked around the table nervously.
Aunt Dorothy's eyes narrowed in anger, and she berated Jess and Janie coldly, "It is not seemly for little girls to laugh at an adult's misfortune like that. Jessica, you at least should be old enough to know."
Jess stopped mid-laugh. "I'm sorry, Aunt Dorothy", she said, momentarily insecure but breaking into another gap-toothed grin as her glance fell on the sauce stains, "but it just looked so … so funny, and you pulled such a face …" She made a vain attempt at stifling another laugh, and Janie giggled along.
"Really, Jessica. Jane. Pull yourselves together and behave like little ladies ought to behave."
"Why?" Jess asked innocently. "Ladies are boring. You can't have much fun being a lady."
Mom closed her eyes in despair.
Aunt Dorothy's eyes bulged. "Don't you get smart with me, Jessica!"
"But Jess is very smart, Aunt Dorothy!" Janie piped up in her sister's defence. "She's one of the smartest girls in her class!"
"You are a bit too young to be talking back at adults, Jane. Be careful or Santa Claus will send his servant round to punish you. He will take your presents back with him and give them to another child who's better behaved and who will appreciate them more than you seem to do."
Janie was so startled by the harsh tone and the threat of losing her gifts that she broke into tears.
"You made Janie cry, Aunt Dorothy!" Jess called out in indignation, demonstratively putting one arm around her sister's shoulders.
"You need to learn to behave, both of you!" Aunt Dorothy hissed angrily. "You really …"
Mom and Dan both sat paralysed, and Grandpa Cleaver seemed to be wondering whether to intervene on his granddaughters' behalf or not, but I couldn't stand it any longer. I dropped my fork on the plate with a loud clatter, half rose from my chair and leaned forward in a sudden rage.
"Why don't you just leave the girls alone for once? Nobody seems to mind their laughing but you. That's probably because you've never really laughed in your whole life. Or is this the only thing that gives you pleasure, scolding and scaring little girls?"
"Mick, please don't spoil the holiday by making a scene", Mom pleaded.
"Oh, I don't think it's me who spoiled the day for the girls", I retorted. "They haven't done anything wrong, they're just a little keyed up with excitement, which I think is pretty normal for kids on Christmas Day."
I glared again at Aunt Dorothy who was, for once, so shocked that she couldn't say a word, breathing hard, veins on her thin neck throbbing visibly.
Nobody else stirred either. A tense silence hung in the air, heavy, almost palpable.
Unexpectedly, it was Grandpa Cleaver who defused the situation. Taking my side, too. "I have to say I agree with Mick", he said calmly. "It's not worth making such a fuss, Dorothy." He patted Dorothy, who seemed to swell with indignation again, on the arm before she could launch into another tirade, told her to take a deep breath and calm down and let everyone finish this delicious Christmas lunch in peace which would no doubt be topped off by a beautiful surprise dessert. "Am I right, Jessie?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"Yes, Grandpa!" She was smiling again. "But it's a surprise, as you said. So I can't tell you just yet."
Janie's face was still miserable. "Chin up, sweetie", I said, pulling her over onto my knee. "Everything's alright."
"But … what if that servant does come and take away Freddie?" she whispered.
"Nobody's gonna take away your Freddie or any of the other gifts. Get that nonsense out of your head, love."
Meanwhile, Jess and Mom had got up to clear away the plates and fetch dessert. On her way into the kitchen, Jess stopped at the window with her stack of plates and cried excitedly, "Look! It's snowing!"
Indeed, thick white flakes were silently floating down outside the windowpane. Janie jumped off my lap and hurried over to the window.
I sneaked a glance at Dorothy. Her face looked even more pinched than usual, lips firmly pressed shut, as she watched the girls who oohed and aahed at the sight of the snow. Obviously, she was busy trying to eat her words while Dan and her father-in-law ignored her, talking shop about the practice.
I couldn't suppress a triumphant little smirk as I got up to join the girls. It was snowing quite heavily. Within short, trees and rooftops and street lights were wearing high white caps, and the girls beamed at the sight.
After dessert, Aunt Dorothy announced that she needed to lie down for a while. Nobody minded her departure for the spare bedroom. Mom served coffee for the rest of them, and I persuaded her to let the girls go outside with me to build a snowman.
Bundled up in coats and scarves and mittens, Jess and Janie, all shiny eyes and pink cheeks and giggles, helped me gather material for a very large snowman. We gave him a face with eyes and mouth made of small coal lumps and a carrot for a nose, then outfitted him with an upturned bucket for a hat and an old scarf around his neck. Dan donated an old pipe he wasn't using any more to stick into Mr. Frosty's mouth. "Now he's a perfect gentleman", he laughed.
The sun was back out now and it had stopped snowing. The girls were dancing around Mr. Frosty, singing "Jingle Bells". Mom stood by the dining-room window with Grandpa Cleaver, watching them, smiling.
Dan came over to where I was standing, my half-frozen hands pushed into the pockets of my coat. I wondered if he wasn't freezing in his shirt and jacket with only a plaid scarf around his neck against the cold and why he wasn't going back inside.
He looked up at me – I was at least three inches taller than him now – and blinked two or three times compulsively before he spoke. "I just … I just wanted to say thank you for coming", he said quietly. "I know you weren't keen on spending Christmas here. I know you never really felt at home here. But still you came."
"I did it for the girls", I said. "To make them happy. I wanted their Christmas to be perfect. Even if I'm not the perfect son."
Dan studied me for a moment. "Perfection is overrated", he said. "What's much more important is that you made everybody happy by coming."
"Everybody except Aunt Dorothy", I observed drily, raising one eyebrow mockingly.
"Aunt Dorothy is overrated, too", Dan said, keeping a straight face until I began to chuckle at his amazingly sarcastic remark.
We laughed until our sides hurt while the girls were hopping around Mr. Frosty, belting out song after song from their repertoire of Christmas carols.
Against their protest, I took them back inside as dusk began to descend. Mom made them change clothes and then warm up with a cup of hot chocolate by the fireplace. Aunt Dorothy had not yet deigned to leave the spare bedroom where she was sulking, but nobody seemed to miss her when a plate of cookies was passed around in the living room and Grandpa Cleaver asked me to play the piano a bit.
When I was finished, I sat back in one of the big armchairs, thinking of Eliza for the first time today. I felt a little guilty for having pushed her to the back of my mind so easily, missing her again, wondering what she was doing right now.
I didn't have much time to ponder the question, though. Jess and Janie were climbing into the armchair, Jess wedging herself between the armrest and me, Janie simply plonking herself on top of me.
"Ow!" I said in mock protest. "You've grown pretty heavy with all those cookies you ate, Janie."
"Phhh. You're just joking, Mick!" she replied precociously, treating my cheek to another of her wet kisses.
Jess was twisting my arm around herself, firmly snuggling up to me. I lowered my head to touch the top of hers, and she whispered into my ear, "You know what, Mick?"
"Huh?"
"This was the best Christmas ever. In all my life. And you were the best gift I've ever got."
"Better than the seahorse?"
"Much better", she said eagerly. After a moment's pause, she added, "But the seahorse is nice, too."