She would get the gift ready to mail off and address a few cards in the quiet of her living room. There would be no yelling. That’s what she liked about living states away from her family. No one would ambush her with complaints and arguments when she walked through the door.
Except Skippy. Skippy waited. One fat, getting fatter, cat to talk to. She did complain at times about her mistress being gone too long, about her dinner being late, about things Cora could not fathom. But Cora never felt condemned by Skippy, just prodded a little.
Once inside her second-floor apartment, she pulled off her gloves, blew her nose, and went looking for Skippy.
The cat was not behind the curtain, sitting on the window seat, staring at falling snow. Not in her closet, curled up in a boot she’d knocked over. Not in the linen closet, sleeping on clean towels. She wasn’t in any of her favorite spots. Cora looked around and saw the paper bag that, this morning, had been filled with wadded scraps of Christmas paper. Balls of pretty paper and bits of ribbon littered the floor. There. Cora bent over and spied her calico cat in the bag.
“Did you have fun, Skippy?”
The cat rolled on her back and batted the top of the paper bag. Skippy then jumped from her cave and padded after Cora, as her owner headed for the bedroom.
Thirty minutes later, Cora sat at the dining room table in her cozy pink robe that enveloped her from neck to ankles. She stirred a bowl of soup and eyed the fifteen packages she’d wrapped earlier in the week. Two more sat waiting for their ribbons.
These would cost a lot less to send if some of these people were on speaking terms. She could box them together and ship them off in large boxes.
She spooned chicken and rice into her mouth and swallowed. The soup was a tad too hot. She kept stirring.
She could send one package with seven gifts inside to Grandma Peterson, who could dispense them to her side of the family. She could send three to Aunt Carol.
She took another sip. Cooler.
Aunt Carol could keep her gift and give two to her kids. She could send five to her mom…
Cora grimaced. She had three much older sisters and one younger. “If Mom were on speaking terms with my sisters, that would help.”
She eyed Skippy, who had lifted a rear leg to clean between her back toes. “You don’t care, do you? Well, I’m trying to. And I think I’m doing a pretty good job with this Christmas thing.”
She reached over and flipped the switch on her radio. A Christmas carol poured out and jarred her nerves. She really should think about Christmas and not who received the presents. Better to think “my uncle” than “Joe, that bar bum and pool shark.”
She finished her dinner, watching her cat wash her front paws.
“You and I need to play. You’re”—she paused as Skippy turned a meaningful glare at her—“getting a bit rotund, dear kitty.”
Skippy sneezed and commenced licking her chest.
After dinner, Cora curled up on the couch with her Warner, Werner, and Wizbotterdad bag. Skippy came to investigate the rattling paper.
Uncle Eric. Uncle Eric used to recite “You Are Old, Father William.” He said it was about a knight. But Cora wasn’t so sure. She dredged up memories from college English. The poem was by Lewis Carroll, who was really named Dodson, Dogson, Dodgson, or something.
“He wrote Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” she said. “There’s a cat in the story, but not as fine a cat as you. He smiles too much.”
Skippy gave her a squint-eyed look.
Cora eased the leather-bound book out of the bag. “The William I met at the bookstore qualifies for at least ancient.”
She put the book in her lap and ran her fingers over the embossed title: How the Knights Found Their Ladies.
She might have been hasty. She didn’t know if Uncle Eric would like this. She hefted the book, guessing its weight to be around four pounds. She should have found a lighter gift. This would cost a fortune to mail.
Skippy sniffed at the binding, feline curiosity piqued. Cora stroked her fur and pushed her back. She opened the book to have a peek inside. A piece of thick paper fell out. Skippy pounced on it as it twirled to the floor.
“What is it, kitty? A bookmark?” She slipped it out from between Skippy’s paws, then turned the rectangle over in her hands. Not a bookmark. A ticket.
Admit one to the Wizards’ Christmas Ball
Costumes required
Dinner and Dancing
and your Destiny
Never heard of it. She tucked the ticket in between the pages and continued to flip through the book, stopping to read an occasional paragraph.
This book wasn’t for Uncle Eric at all. It was not a history, it was a story. Kind of romantic too. Definitely not Uncle Eric’s preferred reading.
Skippy curled against her thigh and purred.
“You know what, cat? I’m going to keep it.”
Skippy made her approval known by stretching her neck up and rubbing her chin on the edge of the leather cover. Cora put the book on the sofa and picked up Skippy for a cuddle. The cat squirmed out of her arms, batted at the ticket sticking out of the pages, and scampered off.
“I love you too,” called Cora.
She pulled the ticket out and read it again: Wizards’ Christmas Ball. She turned out the light and headed for bed. But as she got ready, her eye caught the computer on her desk. Maybe she could find a bit more information.
2
Simon Derrick stepped out of his snow-packed boots and tiptoed in his stocking feet through the kitchen to the living room. The floorboards under the old green linoleum creaked under his weight. None of his family members looked up from their projects. He placed an armload of chopped wood in the box beside the fireplace.
“Simon, singing?” Sandy’s round face wore her thinking-very-hard expression. The corners of her almond-shaped eyes, typical of Down syndrome, crinkled behind pretty pink spectacle frames. Laughing or thinking, she always looked like a pixie. She kept telling Simon she would be twenty-five in January, and therefore could no longer be a pixie. They hadn’t been able to decide what she should be next. He wanted her to stay his pixie.
She pointed her pencil at him. “Singing?”
As he took off his coat, he grinned at his sister. “I know what messed you up, Sandy. Ready? S-I-N-G.” He paused, waiting for her to get the letters down on her Christmas card. When she looked up, he added, “I-N-G.”
She shook her head, straight brown locks of hair swinging around her face. “I already did I-N-G.”
“Two of them?”
She shook her head.
“Sing-ing.” He took care to pronounce each syllable distinctly. “There’s two.”
Sandy giggled. “It doesn’t sound like that.”
“Of course not. Singing should sound like this.” He stood straighter, placed one hand on his chest and extended the other. He let out his best operatic bellow. “Away in a manger—”
“Stop!” Covering her ears, his mother turned from the jigsaw puzzle she was doing with Grandpa John. “You’re ruining a beautiful carol.”
“Yes, enough of that silliness. I want to really sing,” said Aunt Mae. “It’s just what we need.” She struggled up from her seat and trotted across the room to grab her guitar.
“No hippie music,” shouted Grandpa John.
Simon grinned as he went to pull Aunt Mae’s stool from the closet. Great-aunt Mae was older than her brother John but acted younger. She said it was all the yogurt and whole grains. Skinny as a rail, with long gray hair hanging straight down her back, she wore long skirts, huge blouses, and sandals. In winter she wore sandals with colorful socks she’d knitted. She also made hemp belts and lots of jewelry from stones. She had belonged to a folk-singing troupe in the sixties.
She scowled at her brother and shouted, “Christmas music.”
Grandpa John waved a hand at her. “That’s fine, then.”
Simon sat on the arm of the couch. Sandy gathered two i
nstruments, a harmonica and a beatnik drum, and came to sit on the sofa near her brother. Simon’s mother played the piano to accompany Aunt Mae’s guitar. Sandy played the bongo, and she kept a neat beat. Simon played the harmonica.
He soaked up the warmth of the fire and the joy of being with his family as they sang carols. These songs that brought back memories of years and years of celebrating the birth of Christ. The family had lost a few members over the years: his father, his brother, two uncles—all deceased. Simon glanced around and reminded himself to cherish what he had.
Sandy yawned several times during “Silent Night.” At the end of the song, before his mom had a chance to start another carol, he whisked his little sister’s drum away. “Time for bed.”
She made a face. “I’m twenty-four. You don’t have to send me to bed.”
“I’m not sending you to bed, Candy-Sandy. I bought you a new book today, and I don’t want you to go to sleep before we read it.”
The speed with which she kissed and hugged everyone good night didn’t surprise him. Books motivated her even better than sweets, and Sandy did like sweets. She scooted up the stairs. He hardly had time to bank the fire before she called down. “I’m ready.”
He said good night, grabbed the bag from Warner, Werner, and Wizbotterdad, and climbed the stairs. Sandy was tucked in bed, leaning against a stack of pillows, waiting for him with her stuffed hippopotamus. The hippo wore a rainbow-colored crocheted dress with beads woven into the hemline.
“Is the book about a kitten?” she asked.
He shook his head. Sandy wanted a kitten for Christmas, but he wasn’t going to be lured into a discussion of cats tonight.
“Two kittens?”
He pulled up his chair, opened the bag, and took out two books.
“Two books?” Sandy sat straighter. “Is one about a kitten?”
“No. This one is for a Mrs. Hudson at work. I drew her name for the Christmas gift exchange.”
“What’s her book about?”
“The Care and Feeding of Triplets. Mrs. Hudson’s daughter is going to have three babies.”
Sandy’s eyes grew big, and Simon wondered what she was thinking. He knew better than to ask. She could back him into corners he didn’t want to be in with her innocent questions. He plunged into a description of the odd bookshop.
“The older Mr. Wizbotterdad went down the aisle of how-to books, muttering something that sounded like ‘care and fuh-duh-wuhp igless.’ He’d tap the books, pull volumes halfway out, and then shove them in again, all the time saying, ‘care and fuh-duh-wuhp igless,’ ‘care and fuh-duh-wuhp igless.’ ”
Sandy giggled.
“Then he pulled out a book like he’d finally found a treasure and handed it to me.”
“This one?” said Sandy.
“No, not this one. It was a different book. The Care and Feeding of Piglets.”
Sandy laughed out loud, rolling in her bed and hugging Henrietta the Hippie Hippo. When she settled down, she had slipped deeper under the covers, and her head rested on the pillow.
She yawned. “Are you going to read?”
He opened the other book from the shop. A rectangular paper fell out. He bent to pick it up.
“What’s that?” Sandy stirred.
He flipped it over. “Just a bookmark.”
“May I see it?”
He handed it to his little sister.
She scrutinized it with a frown. “It doesn’t have any pictures.” She handed it back. “I’m too tired to read it, Simon.”
“And you don’t have your glasses on.” He took it and turned it over a couple of times. It said the same thing on the front and back. He read aloud. “ ‘Admit one to the Wizards’ Christmas Ball. Costumes required. Dinner and Dancing and your Destiny.’ ”
“It’s a ticket.” Sandy sat up. “To a ball.”
“It’s probably just an advertisement for something.”
“I’d like to go to a ball.”
“But there’s no day. No time. No location.”
“You could look it up on the Internet. You could find it.”
“I’ll look after you go to sleep. Lie down again,” he said. “I promise to look. Now, do you want me to read?”
“Yes.” Sandy snuggled under the covers and hugged her hippo.
“Are you warm enough?”
She nodded.
He opened the book again. “Once upon a time, there were two people, a man and a woman, who spent every day in the same office. They didn’t really know each other. Sometimes, he couldn’t even remember her name.
“He was happy, but not as happy as God wanted …”
He flipped the book closed and looked at the back. He opened to the copyright page and found that an obscure company had published the book.
“What’s the matter?” Sandy yawned again. “Are there pictures?”
He turned the book around and held it close to Sandy so she could see a picture of a castle with many workers busy doing their jobs.
She nodded. “Why did you stop?”
“The book’s a Christian book, and I didn’t know it.”
“That’s not bad. We love Jesus.”
“No, definitely not bad. I just didn’t know that.” Simon turned the book around to continue reading.
Sandy rolled onto her side. “What’s the name? You forgot to tell me the name.”
“How This Knight Found His Fair Lady.”
“Read.”
Simon nodded. “He was happy, but not as happy as God wanted him to be. He was busy, but not always busy doing what God wanted him to do. He didn’t know it, but God was about to do something about those two things.”
He looked up and watched Sandy breathe deeply, eyes closed. A pixie. A kindhearted, organized, levelheaded pixie. She didn’t read or spell very well, and you could forget math altogether. But as long as she was at home, he knew Grandpa would get his medicine on time, Mom would stop crocheting her doll dresses long enough to get dinner, and Aunt Mae would get out of bed in the morning, shower, and get dressed.
The last was a big responsibility. Once Aunt Mae was up, the elderly woman ran on full steam. But unless someone prodded her out of bed, she’d stay there. The longer she stayed there, the harder it was to get her up.
He stuck the ticket in the book and set the book on Sandy’s nightstand. He pushed the chair back and reached to turn out her little lamp. Light shot from the circle in the top of the shade and illuminated an embroidered sampler with the words Be brave and try new things stitched onto it. Sandy had decided it was the family motto. Sometimes he marveled at her bravery.
“Don’t forget about my kitten,” Sandy called, her eyes still closed.
He sighed as he went out the door. He didn’t shut it all the way because having the door closed scared his very special sister. He’d have to find a kitten before Christmas.
Simon got ready for bed and sat down at his desk in his room. His face and T-shirt were reflected in the computer screen. For Christmas he wanted to replace his old computer and get one with an antiglare monitor. With a few clicks, he’d opened a search engine.
He typed “Wizards’ Christmas Ball” in the little box.
The Web site came up quickly.
December 23, 8:00 p.m., Melchior Hotel. The address was on the same street as those funny shops.
Must have a ticket to attend. Well, that seemed obvious. It would be fun to take Sandy.
Must wear costume befitting a ballroom dance. Sandy would love that.
He continued to read. Frowning, he started at the top and scrolled down to the bottom. Who put this shindig on? Where were you supposed to get these tickets? He clicked on another page. Pictures of past balls changed in a well-designed slide show. Several people stood around in wizard robes with tall hats, and women wore fancy ball gowns. It looked like everyone was having fun. But there was no information about how to purchase a ticket.
He clicked through to a page that showed sponsors for t
he ball. All of them were stores on Sage Street.
Aha! Warner, Werner, and Wizbotterdad. The bookstore was a sponsor. He’d go back and get another ticket there.
He closed the site, and while he moved the cursor down to click Start, he saw in the monitor his light blue T-shirt turn pink. He squinted and leaned forward.
Instead of his reflection, he saw a woman’s face. She was squinting and leaning toward the screen. He jumped back, and so did she. He blinked, and it was him again.
Definitely him in his blue T-shirt.
He shut down the machine. Weird. Was it a ghost image from a site trying to load? He’d never heard of a ghost image. He shook his head, swiped his hand down his face, and pushed away from the desk.
He was tired. Just tired.
Cora found a Web site for the ball. The pictures of previous balls looked intriguing, but everyone in them had a partner. Couple after couple gazed into each other’s eyes as they danced, sat at tables smiling and laughing, and held hands as they walked from the beautiful ballroom backdrop to the intimate tables.
Cora couldn’t see herself, by herself, enjoying such an affair. And she didn’t have a dress. Every woman in the photos wore a glamorous costume that shimmered and sparkled. This extravaganza was for the rich and romantic, right? And she was poor and pragmatic, right?
She sighed and moved her mouse so the arrow hovered over the X in the upper right-hand corner. An image of a man hung in the background on her computer screen. She leaned forward, and the image seemed to lean forward as well. A reflection in the mirror would have responded exactly the same, except a mirror would have shown her female face, not the vague impression of a sleepy man.
She jerked back. Webcam? Her computer didn’t have a webcam, did it? She exited the site.
Wizards’ balls were not up her alley. Apparently Web sites for wizards’ balls were a challenge to logical thinking.
A fluke, that’s all.
She went to the living room to throw the ticket away. She didn’t know why it was important to chuck it in the trash immediately, but it was.
Two Tickets to the Christmas Ball Page 2