by Rice, Luanne
Martin didn’t know how much time had passed. Had he fallen asleep? If so, what had woken him up? His mother’s clock ticked across the room. His elbow leaned on the small pine table, a gift from his father’s grandmother in Alberta. Had something happened to May or Kylie?
Kylie’s dream of old ghosts…it had somehow entered Martin’s head, and he realized he’d been dreaming of the past. Other Christmases, long ago, in this same house. The sound of his mother’s knitting needles clacking, the feel of a baby in his arms.
“Natalie,” he said out loud.
Something moved across the room. A skirt swishing along the floor, an animal brushing past the table. He leaned forward with a start. Listening intently, he heard only the sound of his own heart beating. Or was that Thunder’s tail thumping on the floor?
“Who’s there?” he asked.
Thunder let out a small whimper. It sounded like fear, and when he did it again, Martin knew for sure there was someone else in the room.
“Who it it?” Martin asked again.
“Look at me,” came the voice.
Martin was dreaming. He shook his head, thinking of ghosts again. He hadn’t heard that voice in many years. Kylie’s gift for dreaming of the dead had rubbed off on him, and he strained himself listening. The lightness of it, the sweetness and joy. He knew her voice as if it hadn’t been silent all these years, as if she had never died.
“I’m dreaming,” he said, wanting never to wake up.
“You’re not,” Natalie whispered.
“I have to be; this can’t be real.”
“But it is. Go on—look at me.”
“I’m blind.”
“Daddy,” she said.
“I can’t see you,” he said. “Even in my dream.”
Then he felt her fingers on his face. She must have touched him hundreds of times in her lifetime—grabbed his nose or ears, tickled his chin, rubbed his scratchy beard with her tiny hands—and he would have known the feeling anywhere.
“Open your eyes,” she said.
And Martin did, and he saw. His daughter stood before him, dressed in white, gazing into his eyes.
“Oh, my sweetheart,” he said, feeling the tears come to his eyes.
Her dress looked like a child’s first communion dress, and she had wings that glimmered when she moved. Her face was radiant, as if she couldn’t believe they were together again. Stretching her arms out, she stepped forward.
“How have I lived without you?” he asked. He reached for her, but she backed away.
“The same way I’ve been without you,” she answered.
“I miss you so much,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
“Too much, I think.”
“That’s impossible,” he said. “You’re my beautiful child. My life changed forever the day I lost you.”
“Daddy, it changes every day. That’s what life is. A million changes, one right after another.”
Thunder bayed, waddling over to stand by Natalie. Glancing down at the dog, Martin raised his eyes back to the girl. She returned his gaze, as if she knew what he was thinking.
“Archie,” she said.
“I should have let you have that dog,” he said, his eyes flooding with tears. “It was so little to ask. I think of it every day.”
“But you let Kylie have Thunder,” Natalie said. “Do you know that when you let her keep him, it was like giving Archie to me? You gave us a second chance.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think you do,” she whispered, sounding too wise for the tiny girl she had been.
“I loved you so much,” he wept.
“Don’t say ‘loved,’ Daddy,” she said. “Love never dies.”
“I never thought I’d see you again.”
“I had to show you,” she said. “That love never dies.”
She reached out her hand and he started to take it. She pulled back slightly and said words that chilled his heart. “This will be the end. Once I hold your hand, I’ll never be able to come back again. This will be my last night on earth.”
“No, Natalie,” he started to say. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He took his daughter’s hand, just as he had when she was alive. He hugged her tenderly, not believing it could ever end—no matter what she said. “Tell me what to do. Anything, Natalie. I’ll do anything.”
“Get our skates and mittens, Daddy. Will you, please?” she said—and in her voice he recognized his own and his father’s before him—things kids had said to parents here at Lac Vert for generations. So Martin went to the kitchen shed and grabbed his old brown skates and Kylie’s new white ones. He took his mittens and a jacket from the mudroom.
They walked out into the cold night, Thunder galloping after them. Natalie led the way down the snowy path, straight toward the lake. They stopped in the gazebo to lace up their skates. One section of the surface was clean, as if Ray had plowed it, and following Natalie, Martin skated onto the ice. They held hands, flying up the lake.
The night was so dark, with just one bright star piercing the velvet sky. Was he blind or could he see? Holding his daughter’s hand, he forgot to care. They skated north over the fishing hole where he had spent so much time with Kylie these last two summers, and he ached to think of how poorly he had treated her recently.
“I sent her to you,” Natalie said, as if she could read his mind. “I knew you needed a daughter to love. Kylie was the one; she could see and hear me, and she helped me to find you again. See, Daddy, this night is as much for me as for you.”
“How, Nat?”
“I need to find a way to say goodbye.”
“Sssh,” Martin said.
They passed the island, skated around it, and came to what Martin remembered as the Green Cove. This was where he and Ray had learned to play the game of hockey. Martin remembered his father setting up a goal of pine branches, teaching Martin, Ray, and Genny to shoot with precision and power and accuracy.
Suddenly, as if his vision had not only returned but become extrasensory, Martin could see them all playing. A dark winter day thirty years ago, with the light dying and night falling, his father shouting out commands and encouragement. The look in his father’s eyes! Martin stared with disbelief: It was bright with love, with adoration for his only son.
“He left us the next year,” Martin said.
“It hurts to be left,” Natalie said.
“I hate what he did to you.” As Martin said the word “hate,” the scene disappeared, and he was back to the present, in this dark night of Christmas thirty years later. Natalie shimmered beside him, holding his hand.
“He hates it, too,” Natalie said. “He would never have done it on purpose, not for anything in the world.”
“Forgive me,” Martin whispered. “For leaving you with him, for not being able to protect you. Please forgive me, Nat.”
“I don’t need to, Daddy,” she said.
“I can’t believe that.”
They began to skate home, very slowly, and Martin felt fear and dread growing in his chest. She’d be leaving soon. The dream would end, and Natalie would be gone and he would be blind again. When they were in sight of the house, they saw Thunder waiting on the ice.
“Don’t go,” he whispered. “Never leave me again.”
She didn’t reply, but held his hand tighter. He remembered her baby days, when he had skated with her in a backpack all the way up to Ray’s house, just to show her off.
“It’s almost time,” she said.
“Don’t say that.”
“I have to know what you know,” she said. “It’s the reason I came back, that I’ve been among the living.”
“What I know?” he asked, confused.
“You’re my father,” she said solemnly, “but I’ve learned some things that most people, even adults, don’t learn until—”
“Until it’s too late,” Martin said, guessing her last words.
And then her voice filled the air wi
th a sweetness so piercing it brought tears to his eyes: “The truth.”
Listening, Martin trembled, feeling the bitterness in his heart suddenly give way. It broke like a dam, pouring out of him like a river.
“You saw, didn’t you, Daddy?” Natalie asked. “Back there, at the old goal?”
“I saw my father,” Martin said, his voice breaking. “Me and my friends, when we were young.”
“Not just who,” Natalie said tenderly. “But what?”
“Love.” Martin answered, again picturing the look in his father’s eyes. He held the word in his mind, a thousand images filling his sight: his mother’s arms, his father’s eyes, May’s embrace, Kylie’s constant warmth.
“Prisons don’t all look alike,” Natalie told him. And her words were so deep, Martin had to look twice to make sure it was really her. A huge icicle fell from the barn roof; it crashed and tinkled, and the falling ice became the sound of bells. The bells rang loudly, and Thunder bayed.
“Prisons don’t all look alike,” Natalie said again, as if the words were very important. She was crying, but she had an expression of love and happiness on her face. When she kissed Martin, he saw her tears sparkling on his skin, and remembered that summer night when Kylie had left glitter on his cheeks.
“My darling child,” Martin said.
“Go see your father,” Natalie said.
Martin felt himself nodding, agreeing to something he didn’t quite understand. Natalie threw herself into his arms, and he hugged her with everything he had. His heart was pounding, and he knew that although he never wanted to let her go, it was the only way she could ever be free.
“I love you forever, Daddy,” she said. “Tell Kylie thank you.”
“Nat…”
“For everything. Everything!”
“Natalie…” he whispered.
But she was gone. The ice bells were still ringing, and the first light of Christmas morning began to fill the sky. It was dark gray, but as Martin stared it turned silver. The star hung low over the hills, and Thunder bayed until his voice was hoarse.
Still seeing clearly, Martin walked back into the house. He wanted Natalie to be waiting inside, but she wasn’t. He looked all around the room, and his gaze fell on the old embroidery picture his mother had done before he was born.
She had made it for Martin, with her husband still at her side. Martin stared at the animals, at peace in the manger, and at the words: “The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard lie down with the kid, and a little child shall lead them.”
Martin had been that little child once, and then Natalie, and now Kylie. She had been trying to lead him all along. His eyes filled with tears, and he looked around the familiar room for the last time. He went to the window, to be gazing at the lake when it happened.
When the sun came up, it turned the world light even as Martin’s sight went dark again, but he was ready.
Blindly, he felt his way up the stairs. The banister showed him the way, even though he knew every step by heart. May stirred when he climbed into bed beside her. His hands and feet were cold from his trip up the lake, and her body felt so warm beside him.
“I love you,” he whispered to his sleeping wife. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered back.
“Something happened,” he said. “Just like Kylie said it would.”
“What?” she asked, trying to wake up.
But Martin wasn’t ready to tell her yet. He felt the pounding of his heart, remembering the trip he’d just had, up the lake with his daughter. He had another journey to make, and he wanted his family to make it with him. But right now he wanted to rest and remember.
So they fell asleep together until Kylie woke them up, calling Merry Christmas at the top of her lungs.
Chapter 29
ANOTHER CHRISTMAS PASSED IN ESTONIA without word from Martin. Serge had just about given up on hearing from him. He lay in his bunk, arms folded behind his head, staring at the concrete walls. Reading no longer distracted him. He hadn’t worked out for several weeks now. What was the point in keeping his body healthy and fit? He had started wishing only to die.
When he went out into the yard, he stayed far away from the west gate. Since winter had hit hard, Ricky hardly ever came anymore. Serge felt a combination of emotions about that fact: He worried when he didn’t see the boy, and he felt defeated when he did. The guards were probably right. What chance did a kid like that have? His father’s legacy had been drugs and violence.
Sometimes Serge remembered his conversations with Tino and recalled the young man’s pride in his son. It had been so disgustingly similar to Serge’s own. How many years had passed—throughout so much of Martin’s youth—with Serge promising that next week he’d visit, next month he’d bring Martin out to Detroit or L.A. or wherever the next game was?
He would show Martin’s picture to his teammates, tell them what a great son he had. He carried a lock of Martin’s baby hair, and it had been his lucky charm at the casinos: He would pat his pocket before rolling the dice, and he had sworn it brought him luck.
But it hadn’t brought him family.
The day they had come to the apartment and hurt Natalie, Serge had touched his lucky charm—as if a lock of hair meant more than a living child. Thinking of Natalie, Serge bowed his head. Christmases were the worst for that. He was haunted by regret and sorrow, by all the things he had left undone and unsaid.
Serge had chased his son away on his own. Wherever Martin was, whatever he was going through, Serge had deprived himself of the opportunity to help. He could love Martin from afar, but Martin was too smart to open a door to his father.
Now, standing in the prison yard, he happened to glance over at the gate. The boy was there. Wearing a too-thin baseball jacket, throwing his ball into the air and catching it again, he was checking to see whether Serge saw.
Serge narrowed his eyes—the sun was bright on the piles of dirty snow. He watched the kid’s form: much better, as if he’d been practicing his throw. To see better, he took a step closer. The boy pretended not to notice, but he put on a little extra power as he fired the next one.
Little kids had no business hanging around a prison, Serge thought bitterly. Bad things happened around bad men—just look at Natalie.
“Where’s your mother?” Serge asked.
Ricky didn’t answer, but just kept throwing.
“It’s cold out here. You should be home where you belong.”
The boy shrugged. Serge noticed his grimy face, his filthy sneakers. He’d been walking through mud and rain and snow since summer in those things. His glove was the same old one, his baseball was brown. No one had combed his hair that day.
Serge cared about him, and that was a sorry state of affairs. Look what had happened to the last child he had been left in charge of. Thinking of Natalie, Serge tensed up all over.
“Go home,” he called to Ricky.
Ricky stopped playing, shocked by Serge’s tone of voice.
“Find somewhere better to go. You want a teacher, a coach. Not a bunch of criminals. Hear me?”
Ricky’s mouth was set tight, his eyes wide.
“I’m a killer, kid. You don’t want me telling you how to throw a ball, and your father’s not here. He’s gone from this place, got that? Go find a coach. Go to school, Ricky. Right now—”
As the boy’s eyes filled with tears, he began backing away. He stumbled over his dirty sneakers and dropped his ball. It rolled over to the gate, and as he crouched down to pick it up, his hand nearly touched Serge’s shoe. Looking up, his terrified eyes met Serge’s.
“Go,” Serge said.
And the boy grabbed his ball and ran away.
A long row of icicles hung along the cell block’s western wall, and a sudden gust of wind blew them off. They crashed to the pavement, tinkling one after another, sounding to Serge like church bells.
Watching Ricky disappear down the hill, he held the bars and l
istened to the bells. They reminded him of home, of the old church in Lac Vert, of how the mystical bells would peal at Christmas. They would play carols and hymns. Serge had listened to them with his wife and son, sitting in their pew on Christmas morning, celebrating the birth of the child.
Serge should have done more of that, he thought now: celebrated the children of his life. He had scared Ricky away, and he was glad. He hoped the boy wouldn’t come back.
Something had come over Martin. May didn’t know what it was, but she gave thanks from the bottom of her heart. On Christmas morning, he had climbed into her bed. After months of staying away, he wanted to hold her, whisper to her, make love to her body and spirit.
He had held her so tenderly. She had listened to him whisper how wrong he’d been, how much he loved her, that Kylie was right and something had happened. May had whispered back: “What happened, Martin? Tell me.”
“We’re in this together,” Martin had replied, but that was all he’d say.
And for the next few days, that is what happened: Suddenly, they were in it together. No Christmas present could have made her happier. Martin had asked her for help in taking a bath, getting his clothes. He had let her tie his shoes. When he bumped into a chair, he had asked her to help him make the way clearer. At breakfast, he had asked her to show him where everything was on the table.
May had guided his hand.
“Your coffee, your plate. Muffins in a basket.”
“Butter,” Kylie had said, carefully pushing the covered dish closer. “And here’s a knife…”
They had decorated the tree. Genny had gone into the attic and brought out old cardboard boxes filled with Agnes’s ornaments. Sitting back, Martin had listened to Kylie describe them to him: “A red ball with a glitter snowman, a gold reindeer, four white snowflakes.”
“Are they paper?”
“Yes.”
“I made those in second grade.”
Kylie had hung them right in front, in a place of honor. She had found ornaments shaped like hockey skates, a puck, and a stick. There were six tiny crystal angels. But the ornament that captured her attention most was one small silver bell.