by Paddy Eger
A light tap on her door ended her lounging. “Who is it?”
“Mom. May I come in?”
She hopped up and flung the door open. “Merry Christmas, Mom. Welcome to my Montana home.”
Her mom walked in looking toasty warm in a chenille robe with matching slippers. They hugged before she held Marta away from her at arm’s length. “You‘re tired. Want to sleep a little longer?”
“No, I’m awake. I don’t want to waste a minute of time with you. Is Mrs. B. up yet?” Marta stifled a yawn.
“Yes. She’s busy in the kitchen.”
Marta yawned again. “Good. Well, this is my room.” She stretched side-to-side and executed a few pliés. “I got used to all the hot weather, and now it’s freezing cold until the heat reaches my vents, which takes a long time.”
Marta watched her survey the room. “Well, what do you think? Looks a lot like Gran’s house, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” Her mom smiled. “I like the way you’ve arranged everything. It feels comfortable.” She hugged Marta and moved to the door. “I need to shower and get dressed, so I’ll meet you downstairs in a little while.”
Marta took a quick shower and towel-dried her hair. Now, what to wear? She worked her way through her small selection of clothes. Many pieces hung looser than she remembered. She grabbed her red wool skirt, a collared blouse, and a tan cardigan. She fussed with her hair, then gave up and pulled it back into a loose ponytail, leaving ringlets trailing beside her ears.
Marta hummed as she descended the stairs. From the landing she heard the rattling of dishes and pots mingled with the aroma of baking bread. Her mom and Mrs. B. stood side by side at the kitchen work table talking in quiet voices. They both looked up when she entered.
“Good morning, ladies. Merry Christmas. Do I smell Jul Kaga baking?”
“Yes,” Mrs. B. said. “Your mother finished what you started yesterday. I’m baking it with the pies. Breakfast is almost ready.”
Marta put Bing Crosby’s White Christmas on the record player and hummed as she set the table for five, placing her mom at the foot of the table. Carol’s place would remain empty until classes resumed in January. Thank heavens she left for the holidays.
Shorty and James appeared minutes later, each wearing their best shirts and ties. After breakfast they rearranged the common room furniture to face the Christmas tree and the turntable where Christmas records played without interruption.
When the doorbell rang in the early evening, Marta hurried to answer it. Lynne and Steve entered, bringing in a cold breeze and arms full of gifts. Lynne stepped aside to hang her coat; Steve continued into the common room without stopping. “Merry Christmas, everyone,” he said. Nice to see all of you on such a beautiful day. Must be 15 degrees. I love a cold Christmas.”
Marta took the packages, allowing him space to remove his overcoat. Shorty jumped up and helped. When the commotion slowed, Marta took Steve’s hand and pulled him to face her mom. “Mom, I’d like to introduce Steve Mason. Steve, this is my mom. She arrived last night.”
Steve reached out his hand. “Mrs. Selbryth, I’m happy to meet you. Marta didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I surprised her. I’m glad to meet you, Steve. She’s told me a lot about you.”
“I hope she mentioned the good stuff.”
“Of course.”
“We’re happy you could join us,” Mrs. B. said. “Shorty and James hoped you’d keep your promise to join us.”
“I appreciate being asked. Sorry about last night. I had pick-up duty immediately after the Nutcracker, but the train rumbled in over an hour late.”
Mrs. B. served hot drinks in holiday mugs as gifts were distributed and opened. James and Shorty passed out the latest Christmas Ideal magazines. Marta’s mom handed out hand towels with hand-crocheted edges. Lynne passed out Popular Mechanics magazines to the men, sachets to the women, and a pale green scarf to Marta.
Steve gave the men each a mini-pliers in a leather case. He handed Marta’s mom, Mrs. B., Lynne, and Marta each a gift box of Russell Stover holiday candy, plus a packet of flowered handkerchiefs.
Marta smiled when she saw how he’d come prepared for any eventuality.
At Marta’s turn, she presented the male boarders with a new board game called Clue. For Lynne she had purchased two new pairs of pink tights and attached a note which read, ”I’ll teach you to mend properly.”
She watched Steve unwrap her gift, a dark blue silk tie with a faint diagonal design. “It’s for the ballet.”
Steve replaced his holiday string tie with the gift and kissed Marta’s cheek.
At a lull after the gift exchange, while Mrs. B. refilled mugs, Steve reached for Marta’s hand. “Come outside? For a minute?”
Marta grabbed her coat and followed him onto the icy porch. He sat in the swing and patted the space beside him. “I have a special present for you, but I didn’t want to give it to you with everyone watching.” He handed her a small box wrapped in silver paper with a glittery silver bow. “I planned to give this to you last night, but…open it.”
When she opened the box, her eyes widened. A small, heart-shaped stone hung from a silver chain. Its pale blueness sparkled like summer sunlight on the ocean.
“It’s not your birthstone, a blue topaz, but the jeweler said white turquoise is a symbol of friendship and luck. This one reminded me of the evening sky at the cabin. I hope you like it.“
Marta stared at the necklace. “Steve, it’s lovely. But, you already gave me a coat. This is too much.”
“No. I saw this and knew I wanted you to have it.”
She closed her hand around the stone. “Thanks. I love it.”
Steve looped the pendant around her neck and hooked the clasp. Then he circled around and kissed her lips. Her hands shook as she straightened the heart to hang between her collarbones.
“I’ll wear it whenever I’m not dancing.” She paused and kissed his cheek, wishing they could linger. “Come on.” She hauled him back inside.
She showed the necklace to everyone, ending with her mom who said, “How lovely. Marta’s father gave me a necklace when we first started dating. I still wear it. Marta wore it to her audition for the ballet company.”
Steve sat beside Marta on the small couch. He captured her hand and squeezed it. She returned the squeezes until she moved to restart the stack of Christmas records.
Steve spoke with everyone, shifting easily from mining to current events to stories about Billings, asking each person questions, like a reporter but with obvious interest. Had he learned that in college? Marta wished she had his gift of conversation.
After dinner, Mrs. B. stood. “I have a gift for everyone to share.” She removed a blanket from a huge box that had occupied a corner of the room for several days. “I hope this doesn’t change things too much. Everyone needs to help unwrap it.”
Shorty reached out toward Marta, offering his hand. “Come on. Help us out.”
The three boarders tore off the Christmas wrapping to discover an RCA Victor television. Shorty laughed. “You said you didn’t want one of these things in here. What changed your mind?”
Mrs. B. pursed her lips. “I didn’t want to be the only house on the block without one. Besides, there are good news programs, plays, and music. The antenna is installed on the roof. But we need to find a place to set it up.”
James got up without a word, unplugged the record player, and repositioned the narrow pine table it stood on. Shorty helped him slide the TV into the corner. They fastened on the metal rabbit-ear antenna and turned on the set to check the picture. The black and white images resembled a home movie, but instead of friends they saw the Boston Pops playing Christmas songs. The record player sat forgotten on the relocated table.
“Looks pret
ty good,” James said. “We can still play cards while the rest of you watch the tube.”
“Where did you hear it called ‘the tube’?” asked Shorty.
James shrugged his shoulders. “Cuz I’m quiet don’t mean I don’t know things.”
Lynne and Marta cleared away the last of the dishes. While Marta washed, Lynne leaned against the counter. “So, Marta, have you told Steve how you feel? It’s obvious he’s nuts about you.”
“Sorta. It’s hard to explain that I enjoy his company and all, but that I need to focus on my dancing.”
“Well, he’s busy with school, so I’m sure he’ll understand. But guys don’t like to feel like women are using them.”
“I’m not using him.”
“Right. He drives you everywhere, he buys you gifts, and he looks at you like a puppy dog. Did you think that maybe he’s cutting corners with his job or with classes to see you?”
“No. He wouldn’t do that, would he?”
“From the look on his face and the way he holds your hand, he might.” Lynne grabbed a flour sack towel and began drying the plates that stood in the dish rack. Then she rejoined the group without mentioning Steve again.
Marta put the dishes away and stood staring out the kitchen window. Lynne knew lots about boyfriend stuff. When they worked on the next article, she’d make time to talk things through with Steve. That gave her a week to decide how to explain dancing and how dating Steve fit into her schedule. Could be a complicated conversation.
Later than night, Marta sat with her mom in the common room, enjoying the quiet. “This would be perfect if Dad were here. I feel like I didn’t know him long enough. I mean, I remember him, but I expected he’d be around for Sunday picnics, teaching me to drive, and watching me dance.”
Her mom patted Marta’s hand. “It’s hard, isn’t it? I miss him every day.”
“Did you two talk about things like his work and you staying home to raise me?”
“Of course. You have to share your thoughts when you love someone. Even when you disagree, you need to share what you are thinking. Why do you ask?”
“I’m trying to figure out how to be a grownup. It’s more work than I imagined.” She toyed with a loose thread on the sofa. “What do you talk about with Robert?”
“Mostly day-to-day things like work, the news, movies, and our families. We’re both returning to dating after lots of years without being in a relationship, so we’re keeping it simple.”
Was keeping it simple when dating even possible? Marta had her doubts.
Mornings Marta and her mom ate breakfast together. After Marta practiced in the basement, they shared lunch and explored downtown Billings. One blustery afternoon, Mrs. B. and her mom sat in the common room drinking tea.
Marta busied herself making dinner rolls. As she put them in the oven and began cleaning up the work table, she heard her name mentioned. She stepped closer to the common room to listen.
“And it’s wonderful that you let her use the basement. Renting a practice room would be costly.”
“Marta is special to us all. We live for her baking. She adds a lightness to our mealtime conversations. You can be proud of her. Now we need to fatten her up. I’m afraid she’ll blow away with the first good storm.”
Marta froze in place. Eat? She ate. Her mom knew food didn’t interest her when she’d danced all day. Why didn’t she tell Mrs. B. that fact?
“I’ve worried about her staying healthy,” her mom said. “She works so hard. I wonder if she ever takes vitamins.”
Marta stepped into the room. “I’m fine. You two worry too much. Now that the tour is over, things at the ballet company will settle back down. We’ll move back into our old routines. I’ll get plenty of sleep, and you can count on Mrs. B. to keep me properly fed.”
Her mom reached out and touched Marta’s arm. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have talked about you. We’re just worried that’s all.”
“I know. But, you know how I get when I’m tired; I can’t eat.”
“I do. Mrs. B. says you still crave ginger ale and fruit cocktail.”
Marta smiled. “Yes. I know it’s strange, but it works.”
“Good. Let’s head to the grocery store before I leave tomorrow. We can see what looks appetizing to you.”
Saturday morning they stood together on the train landing. Mom’s suitcase sat next to their legs. “This time I’m the one leaving,” her mom said.
“I’m glad you came on the train.”
“After your bus adventure, I decided the extra money was worth it, especially this time of year.”
Marta handed her mother a flat package. “Open this now, Mom. It’s a copy of the newspaper’s group photo from the day I met Steve.”
Her mom’s hands trembled as she undid the wrapping. “Marta. It’s lovely. I’ll put it on my desk at the dance studio to inspire the students.”
“When you get home you’ll find another one waiting for you, plus a photo of me in my Coppélia peasant costume. If you want more, let me know.”
They hugged. Marta pulled back, feeling her mom’s body shake. Tears crowded her mom’s eyes. ”I’m sorry I’m crying. I‘m just so proud of your becoming a beautiful, responsible young woman.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you came. Having you here made Christmas and the Nutcracker special. You’re the one who made all this possible, Mom. You helped me live my dream.”
“I truly understand how ballet is magical for you. I can’t imagine you doing anything else with your life.”
Her mom boarded the train. When she appeared at a seat window, they continued their goodbyes: smiling, blowing kisses, and waving as the train slid away from the station.
Marta sat on the floor in the basement practice room, resting and imagining her mom’s location as the train moved through the Rockies. Their time together had raced by. Funny though, toward the end of her stay, long quiet times became more common. Had her mom changed, or had she?
After Marta turned off the overhead light, she reached for the basement door handle. It turned in her hand. She stepped back. A hand waved around for the light switch. Click!
Marta stood face to face with Carol.
“Oh!” Carol sprang back.
Marta backed up and leaned against a support beam near the door. “Can I help you?”
Carol’s face turned red as a Christmas bow. “No, I’m looking, ah, for ah, ah box.”
Marta brushed past her. “Turn off the light when you’re done looking.”
17
Marta and Lynne drove to Steve’s cabin the evening before he and his friends were to arrive. The plan for the long New Year’s weekend included snowy walks, snowshoeing, and sledding, as well as cozy fires, board games, and Charades. Marta promised they’d make the cabin “warm and inviting,” if they didn’t take the train to Spokane to see the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo perform. A relaxing visit to the mountains beat out a snowy trip to the ballet.
As they drove to the cabin, Marta stewed about meeting college students. Steve had called it ”great fun.” Great fun? Maybe for Lynne, who found it easy to talk with strangers. Marta wanted time alone with Steve to try to explain her feelings and her goals as a dancer. She didn’t want to compete for his attention with brainy college girls.
When they pulled into the gravel driveway, Lynne hit the steering wheel with her fists. “Can you believe I forgot the chicken? You start a fire while I’ll go back to town. We’ll unpack later. Don’t get in any trouble while I’m gone.”
While Lynne backed out the curved driveway, Marta climbed the steps and slid across the icy porch toward the door. Slippery. She took the cabin key from its hiding place above the entry light, unlocked the door, put the key back, and stepped inside. She inhaled the icy air and repeated aloud, “This w
ill be fun, this will be fun. I can do this.”
First things first. Bring in wood from the huge pile on the porch and start a fire. Marta stepped outside and closed the door behind her. The porch felt like an ice rink. She skidded across the wooden boards toward the wood pile. Her hand reached for the porch railing.
Crack. The railing splintered as if made of pickup sticks.
The sound confused her. Her balance shifted. She grabbed for the corner porch post, but missed. Her arms pinwheeled, seeking control.
She heard a scream, her scream, as she began to fall.
Is this how her dad died, twisting and arching like a high jumper, sailing through the air? Did he scream or fall silently?
Marta grabbed handfuls of the night sky, but she crashed onto cold, rock-strewn ground. Her outstretched chin knocked her head back with a violent punch.
When she opened her eyes, fireplace logs lay around and on top of her, crushing her like petals in a flower press. She shivered. Pain swept through her body in sickening waves. Her left ankle throbbed with a wild bass drum beat. Her left hand lay beneath her in a macabre position.
Lynne’s car was nowhere in sight. Should she call out? No. The nearest cabin was down the road and around the bend. Could she stand? No. She’d need to crawl to the steps.
Piece by piece, she pushed the logs off her body, no small feat with one hand. Shifting her weight onto her right elbow, she inched along the frozen ground where the overhang drip line created a bare trail around the cabin. Her fingers stiffened from the cold.
Halfway to the front of the cabin she rested her head on the ground. The pain she experienced far outweighed her incident in the stream. That meant this fall caused serious damage. Where was Lynne?
Rocks gouged her body in a hundred places as she continued to scoot forward. At the corner she rested again. She saw the steps down the long side of the cabin; a distance three times what she’d crawled so far.