Joy asked Delphine if she would like to share any of her memories of Noël. In a matter-of-fact way, Delphine said, “I grew up in foster care and I have no happy memories of celebrating these special days.”
As the others expressed dismay, Katherine moved to where Delphine was sitting on the floor. She knelt beside her and took her hand. “I am so sorry. It’s not fair for a child to grow up without happy holiday memories.“
There were murmurs of solace from everyone.
“Merci, Kat, mais c’est pas de problème. I’ve come to terms with all that and am making a life for myself. I get love and affection from animals and can give it in return. And I appreciate hearing all your stories. Please don’t stop on my account.”
Joy, Adorée, and François had each brought a decoration for the tree to add to the villa’s collection. They took their time searching for just the right spot to hang them and smiled with satisfaction at the final effect.
“Decorating le sapin is an art, you know. It takes time and thought to get it just right,” Joy stated.
“My father, Jozsef, always said our Christmas tree was a memory tree, and now that is what our sapin de Noël will be each year here,” Kat said. “Thank you for these new memories.”
Adorée had an additional surprise. She had requested a santonier to craft two Chocolate Lab santons; he created one sitting and the other caught in midstride.
“Guess which is which,” Delphine challenged. “Aucun doute!” she answered her own question to great laughter.
“I’m so glad we can set out both of them now. I was worried!” Adorée said, as she placed them on the mantel with the crèche.
A large bowl of fresh fruit replaced the fondue, accompanied by a plate of Kat’s shortbread and her mother’s Hungarian palachinta, the mouthwatering apricot crêpes that Molly referred to as palawhatsits. Cheers accompanied both offerings. As Philippe passed the shortbread around, he asked, “Is there a better cookie than this?”
A chorus of “Nooo!” answered him.
“And I even like to help make them,” he added.
Music played nonstop in the background. It ran the gamut from the soaring majesty of carols sung by the King’s College choir requested by Joy, to traditional French Christmas folk music that François loved, to Christmas albums of jazz musicians favored by Kat’s parents that Kat and Philippe also loved, to a long list of contemporary artists’ seasonal offerings on Adorée’s playlist. The surprise of the evening was Delphine hooking up her music, which featured carols by celebrated opera stars.
“Joy, one of many wonderful memories from la fête de Noël at the manoir last year was the caroling around your piano. You play so beautifully,” Kat reminisced.
“Eh bien,” Joy said, her eyes twinkling, “we will have to sing without a piano and surprise ourselves.”
The temperature had continued to drop during the evening, and Philippe had a small fire going—just enough to give the room an intimate ambiance without being a roaring blaze.
“We are preparing the hearth for you to present le cacho fio tomorrow evening, mon oncle,” Philippe said to François. “We can’t do without that.”
François smiled, indicating he was happy to continue the tradition of burning a special log.
Joy had been stifling yawns for a while and now suggested she would call it a night. Oncle François echoed that sentiment.
Delphine thanked everyone and took her leave. Katherine sent her off with an invitation to join them on Christmas Day for le Réveillon. The gratitude shown on the young woman’s face quickly confirmed that Kat had made a good suggestion.
Philippe, Adorée and Kat took Coco and Rocco out on their leashes for their nightly walk around some of the winding streets on the Cap, avoiding the garden entirely. The pace was slow as Rocco gingerly led the way. Picasso trotted obediently alongside Adorée, demonstrating the knack that well-behaved French dogs had of not wandering off.
“I’m still trying to figure out how you train a dog to do that,” Kat kept repeating, as the pups alternated straining at the leash to explore ditches or wrestling and nipping each other the entire time. “I don’t see it happening with these two.”
“Patience, minou. We need patience,” Philippe said. They both chuckled.
Later, when they were alone, Kat sat nestled against Philippe on the sofa. The only light was from the candles on the sideboard and mantel and the glowing embers in the hearth.
The smell of fresh evergreens permeated the air. The sapin, now sparkling with decorations, added its perfume to that of the cedar ropes and pine boughs that adorned the villa.
With the pups sleeping soundly, Belle padded into the room and, despite her burgeoning middle, hopped lightly onto Kat’s lap. She and Philippe took turns stroking this cat that had wiggled its way into their hearts. Her loud purring broke the silence in the room.
“My heart ached for Delphine this evening,” Kat said, her voice almost a whisper. “No child deserves a past like that.”
“C’est vrai, mon coeur. But I was impressed with how she seems to have processed that sadness and is building a life filled with a different kind of love. I’m glad you invited her to spend Christmas Day with us.”
“I knew you would be happy to do that. She has been nothing but kind to us, and I hope we can bring a sense of family to her and all that goes with it.”
“We will do our best. That’s something I have been learning from you this past year. Je t’aime, minou. Have I told you that today?”
Kat’s eyes shone. “You tell me. You show me. I feel it every day, chouchou. Je t’aime aussi.”
The lights on the tree reflected off the glass ornaments and the foil-wrapped sweets, creating an enchanting effect.
“Tomorrow night we will light the candles on the tree,” Philippe promised. “Is this Christmas/Noël beginning to feel the way you hoped it would? Have you lost your anxiety about it?”
“All is calm,” murmured Kat. “At least for the moment.”
29
On the morning of Christmas Eve, everyone was busy doing their own thing.
Adorée was off shopping with friends at the Marché de Noël. Before he left for work, Philippe had remarked to Kat that his daughter seemed happy to be seeing some of the old gang again.
“I noticed,” Kat agreed. “I’m glad her bitter breakup with that no-good two-timer in London hasn’t crushed her spirit.”
Joy was next door visiting with Simone.
François insisted on going for a walk with Katherine and Coco, proudly showing her the shock absorbers on his walker. “So I can manage the cobblestones without a problem!”
Kat was happy to have some quiet time alone with this gentleman. As she told him often, she was eternally grateful for the wise words he had shared with her in Paris on her first visit to France. She could hear his calm and gentle voice from back then, sharing that life is full of choices and she should not miss the opportunity to be brave and live life to the fullest.
She reminded him now, “Your words brought me back to France and gave me the opportunity to start a new life.”
“Katherine, ma chère, life often brings people together in the most unexpected ways. For whatever reason, you were destined to become part of our family—and this old man is so very glad of that.”
She slipped her arm through his and they shared a smile.
Sometimes you don’t have to know someone for a long time to feel you have known them forever. That’s how this special man is to me.
They had decided to keep the evening limited to their small family group of five since Christmas Day would see a crowd at the dining table.
Most of the afternoon was spent preparing food. It was agreed that the menu would be seriously cut back from other Christmas Eve feasts. Nevertheless, there were still many more choices than needed.
During the afternoon, Joy’s cell phone rang twice as both of her children made video calls from their vacation places to wish everyone Joye
ux Noël.
She confided to Katherine after the calls that she, too, had suffered une petite crise de Noël, when she first considered how this holiday would be so different for her family. “Now I see how much we are enjoying being here celebrating with you, it’s a lovely change. As I said to you a few days ago, changement a du bon.”
“I think we’re both having good lessons about change this Christmas,” Katherine agreed. “Let’s have a glass of rosé and a toast to being more relaxed about that. I’m done with getting my knickers in a twist.”
“Ha! I haven’t heard that saying in a while. Talk about childhood memories!” Joy laughed, referring to her British upbringing. “Let’s definitely toast to that.”
They had also agreed to attend the messe de minuit, opting for the earlier service at the cathedral rather than the later one.
“You mean the one at six thirty p.m.,” Molly had translated in a Skype call from Toronto as they were getting ready to leave for the church. “Call us when you get home then. We won’t have our service until the real midnight tonight, Toronto time.”
The evening had cooled considerably, and they bundled up with jackets and scarves.
The cathedral was packed, ringing with friendly greetings. As the voices of the choir soared to the rafters, Kat was reminded how these ancient churches had magnificent acoustics. For someone who was not religious, Kat still got goosebumps from the spirit of these services.
Attending Christmas Eve mass in a church that had stood on that very spot for over a thousand years, sitting on hand-carved wooden chairs worn with hundreds of years of use, and surrounded by precious paintings from medieval times, Katherine’s heart swelled knowing all this was simply part of her life now.
Philippe’s reserved parking spot for the market came in very handy on an occasion like this. Parking places were few and far between in the narrow streets of the old town. Oncle François was able to handle the short walk from the car to the cathedral without a problem. He left his walker at home, relying on just a cane and Philippe’s strong arm.
Back at home, before doing anything else, Kat returned Molly’s Skype call. Everyone took turns saying hello and wishing Joyeux Noël and Merry Christmas to Molly and Tony. They had all become close the previous winter, when Molly had recuperated from a bad accident at Kat and Philippe’s. That connection had been reinforced even more at the wedding.
“It’s time for a return visit, Molly,” Joy told her, and everyone hollered the same sentiment in the background. “We loved having you come to our part of Provence! Tu dois revenir! You must come back.”
Kat repeated the invitation. “We’re waiting for you and Tony to make more memories over here with us. You need to see how beautiful Tony’s tilework looks in the garden.”
He had come to Antibes to ask Molly to marry him, and it turned out he had inherited the ceramic tile craftsmanship of his Italian ancestors. There was an ornate tiled wall in the garden that he had created as a wedding gift and a thank you for the friendship they shared during some tumultuous events that year.
They chatted a bit longer, and the dogs were paraded in to say hello. Picasso pressed his face right up to the screen at the sound of Molly’s voice, and the pups bounced about in their usual fashion.
“Love those bright red bows!” Molly squealed.
Adorée appeared holding Belle, who also sported a red bow.
“Wowza!” Molly exclaimed. “She looks like she’s about to pop any day!”
“We’re hoping it won’t be tonight!” Philippe said.
“Thanks! This has been great! Have a wonderful day tomorrow—each and every one of you! Merry Christmas and Joyeux Noël! Gotta go, Katski. Tony is preaching the midnight mass. Tomorrow we’re helping a host of wonderful volunteers serve a community Christmas dinner at the homeless shelter. It’s always a happy event! Does anyone do that over there?”
“Molly, I haven’t checked that out, but you’re inspiring me. I’ll let you know. Joyeux Noël and Merry Christmas to you both.”
Tony joined Molly on the screen. “Show us your tree, please!”
Philippe and Kat lit the candles and turned off the lights. Everyone gasped in the room and on the phone.
“I knew you would come through, Katski!” Molly cried. “You conquered your Christmas conundrum!”
“With the help of my family, yes! You were right, Moll.”
Molly and Tony sent their love to all and signed off with, “And a happy, happy, merry, merry, ho, ho, ho to all of you!”
With lingering smiles, everyone slipped to their room to change clothes. François reappeared looking handsome in his green velvet smoking jacket with a green cravat. He was ready to fulfill his role with le cacho fio.
He and Adorée, the oldest and youngest, picked up a special olive-wood log sitting on the hearth and carried it three times around the table. They set it in the hearth, and then sprinkled the log with sweet mulled wine, salt, and bread crumbs. Finally, they lit the fire while François recited the ancient Provençal blessing.
With careful attention, the fire would be kept going for three days.
As she had last year, Joy translated for the others.
* * *
Christmas log
Give us the fire
Let us rejoice
God give us the joy
Christmas comes, all is well
God give us the favor to see the
Coming year
And if we are not more
Let us not be less.
* * *
Cries of Santé! filled the room as they all then took their seats.
With Joy’s direction, Kat had focused on the Provençal traditions for this meal, even though they had cut the menu considerably. Still, there was no meat this night.
The dining table was covered with three white tablecloths with three candles and the three saucers of le blé de la Sainte-Barbe that Kat had carefully nurtured since Andrew’s visit. The three sets of everything represented the Holy Trinity, Joy had reminded her.
The green stems of wheat were now straight and strong, promising a good year to come. Philippe insisted this would only be guaranteed if he and Kat kissed over them. She, of course, complied.
The soup course was served first, previously prepared and just in need of reheating. They had agreed in advance for a lightly spiced roasted chestnut recipe that was a big hit in previous meals.
Escargots were served next, bathed in butter, garlic, and parsley. Baguette was essential to soak up the scrumptious sauce.
Joy had requested to be in charge of the main course. She never wavered from her popular and traditional dish, la morue en raito, as it had become a family tradition. The salted cod was cooked in a rich red wine sauce with tomato, olives, and capers and served with small cross-shaped pasta.
Side dishes of spinach au gratin, potatoes Lyonnaise, and ratatouille provided a delicious accompaniment. Mouthwatering aromas hung in the air. Each course was appreciated and lingered over.
With only five around the table, compared to the eighteen of the previous year, the atmosphere was more subdued but festive nevertheless. There was no shortage of conversation, and Kat often asked to be reminded of the traditions behind the various dishes.
Oncle François was a reliable source of entertainment. His face flushed with happiness as he recited the Provençal poetry of his youth. He enticed them all to join him in some simple choruses of ancient carols, which they sang with gusto.
When the dishes had been cleared, it was time for dessert. Kat would never forget how her mind had raced the previous year, when she had been told about the traditional Les Treize—the thirteen desserts. They were meant to symbolize Christ and the twelve apostles. The rule was each person must have a bite of each.
Really? she had thought. How will this be possible? Thirteen dishes after this big meal?
There had been a definite sense of relief when she saw that the thirteen were simple offerings, all with their own
meanings. Basically, they were breads, nuts, and fruits—including figs, melon, oranges, grapes—and Kat’s favorites, nougat, Calissons, and pain d’épice, which Kat called French gingerbread.
It was easy to have a small sample of each. Coffee and digestifs followed, along with a variety of the finest goat cheeses Philippe had begun acquiring weeks before, especially for this meal.
“Mon Dieu!” Joy exclaimed. “C’est presque minuit!”
“Almost midnight! How did that happen?”
Everyone declared they were ready to climb into bed after that very special day. Kat handed out candle snuffers, and soon the candlelight was gone.
“That was so special, ma chère Katherine,” Joy said. “As much as I love our usual large family gatherings, the intimacy of our time together has been so meaningful. We are family. No matter how many are gathered, that feeling is undeniable.”
“Don’t forget to leave your shoes by the fireplace. We are hoping for a visit from Père Noël,” Philippe said.
“And not that creepy Père Fouettard!” Kat stated firmly.
30
Christmas Day began slowly. Katherine eased out of bed at seven a.m. to prepare her mother’s recipe for sage and onion stuffing. To her surprise, the collection of animals on the bed remained asleep with Philippe.
As she worked at this familiar task, Katherine felt a twinge of regret for the anxieties she had let get the better of her in the preceding weeks. She knew she was stronger than she had behaved—except for Rocco’s disappearance—and appreciated how Philippe had calmly supported her as best he could. Like her mother always counseled her, it was all working out.
An hour later, the substantial turkey was in the oven. She’d slipped her hand under the skin of the bird and applied a seasoned rub of sage, rosemary, thyme, marjoram, salt, pepper, and olive oil along with some crushed garlic—her mother’s secret touch.
The First Noël at the Villa des Violettes Page 15