by C F Dunn
“But the family don’t know what they are, do they?”
“No, they don’t – they just think they are part of a collection.”
“Priceless.”
“A very valuable one, yes.”
“And you keep them for old time’s sake?”
He hesitated. “Mostly, yes.”
“And as portable wealth in case you need to leave in a hurry?”
Matthew sat back in his chair and regarded me. “Yes, that as well, but I hope never to have to resort to using it as such.”
“I hope not,” I echoed emphatically. “At least using them once a year means they are kept in remarkable condition. Except this one.” I picked up a plate next to me whose coat of arms had been worn away. “Someone’s been overenthusiastic with the polish.”
“I reckon they only need washing this year, that’s all. These, however, do need a good clean.” He pulled one of a pair of tall candlesticks from a cloth bag, the silver smoked with oxidization. He inspected it, turning it around. “This hasn’t been cleaned for some time.”
“Hand it over, then, and I’ll make a start. It’s filthy. When was it last used?”
“Pat and Henry’s wedding, I think. Look, are you sure you don’t mind doing this?”
“Not in the least bit; it’s one of my favourite jobs at home. Why don’t you use these more often?”
Matthew was already finishing the central section of the other one, his hands moving swiftly and delicately over the surface. “Ellen didn’t li… we just never did.”
“They take a lot of work,” I suggested.
“Yes, but some things are worth it. If you like them.”
“Ah, I see. Well, they’re not to everyone’s taste, I suppose.”
Pat came bustling into the kitchen with intent. “I came to see how the potatoes are getting on.” Matthew and I exchanged glances. “You haven’t forgotten to put them on, Emma, have you? How do you manage to look after yourself? And you can stop smiling, Matthew, you’re just as much to blame.” She wrenched the oven door open, standing back to let the wave of heat out before taking the trays and rolling the cold potatoes into the sizzling fat and putting them back in the oven. “What have you been doing?” She came over to the table, squinting at the piles of silver. “Not cleaning these old things? Far too fussy, I don’t know why you bother.” She hurried out of the door without waiting for an answer and we burst out laughing.
“I rest my case,” I said. “Do you think she’ll forgive me?”
“She’ll forgive you, Pat forgives everyone, but whether she’ll trust you with vegetables again is another matter,” he chortled, buffing a large silver tray until it reflected his face.
“Mission accomplished,” I said, triumphantly.
“That’s amazing, Grams,” Harry declared, eyes popping at the sight of the enormous turkey. “It makes a change to have turkey at Christmas.” Joel put it on the sideboard lit by tall cream candles, flames licking and kicking in the draught from the open door.
“What do you normally have?” I asked no one in particular. Apparently keen to make amends, Ellie answered. “Venison or beef. We had goose one year, but I didn’t like that – too rich.”
Joel leaned around his mother. “Yeah, and we needed three of them to get enough meat.”
“Sure, only because you had a whole one to yourself.” Harry rounded his stomach at him and the three of them laughed.
Pat spooned steaming swede, fragrant with nutmeg, onto the first plate. “This is so you feel at home, chickadee. Dan, pass this to Emma, please. Help yourself to the jellies, won’t you?” Arranged around the nearest candlestick were three pretty stemmed glass dishes with vibrant jellies that shone orange and red in the glow of the candles. I took a little of each, the translucent colours pooling on the side of my plate.
“Pat, what are these? They look wonderful.” I passed them to Harry.
Pat peered at the dishes. “The one on the left is cranberry, the one in the middle sour apple, and the one on the right is cloudberry. I made them this fall. Do you have jelly with meat?”
Eager to make up for my earlier kitchen misdemeanour, I nodded enthusiastically. “We use crab apples for the same purpose, and believe it or not, it is the one bit of cooking I do get involved with every year without fail. We used to go to someone’s orchard years ago – I loved that – but now we go into the Wolds and collect them from the copses. I make bramble jelly as well.”
Pat flourished a spoon. “You see, there is hope for you yet.”
“I wouldn’t hold out for much else though, Pat,” I rushed. “I only like making them because it brings out the hunter-gatherer in me and doesn’t involve having to sit around a table with people more than a couple of times a year.” It was neither a tactful nor a wise comment to make and I didn’t need to hear the just audible groan from Matthew to be aware of my blunder the second it left my mouth. A hush fell, the searchlight of Maggie’s eyes trained upon me along with everyone else’s.
“OK,” I said slowly, “that didn’t come out the way it was supposed to. I meant…” I hesitated because the trouble was, that was exactly what I did mean. “What I didn’t mean to imply,” I tried again, “was that I don’t like eating with people… with you, just that I don’t…”
Henry said soberly from across the table. “Emma, you don’t need to explain.”
“Yes, but I do,” I said with a note of desperation. “I’m sorry, I know I’m a pain when it comes to food. I don’t mean to be, it’s just that it’s such a big deal for families, and it’s not for me.”
Pat’s sympathy made me feel even worse. “It’s fine, sweetie, all families are different. Not every family has to eat together. I know some who never get around a table at all.”
I stared in turmoil at the nut-brown surface of the table. Matthew bent close to me. “It doesn’t matter, Emma, let it go.”
I looked at him, and then at the rest of them, and realized that, as much as I would have liked to have crawled under the table at that moment, letting it go was the one thing I couldn’t do.
“It is a big thing in my family though, Pat. My family make a big deal of it. It was always important: the gathering of the family, the formality, the ritual of it. We had huge family meals that went on and on with endless… questions.”
“Then you’re saying you don’t like formal meals?” Harry said, frowning as he tried to work out what I meant.
“Yes – no… no, not really. I’m fine with formality to a degree, I have to be – Cambridge just about invented it. And I’m fine here. It’s not the place, it’s the people.” I sighed. “It’s my family I have problems with.” Even from where I was sitting I could see the gleam in Maggie’s eyes. Goodness only knew what she would make of this, and why she always made me feel as if she was compiling a dossier on me.
Joel raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “So you don’t eat because of your family? Gee-sh, and I thought this family was strange.”
“Joel!” Jeannie snapped.
“Well, he’s right,” I smiled apologetically, “not entirely, of course. I do eat, but my family… let’s just say mealtimes were not as relaxed as they are here; not for me, anyway. I think I associate food with tension.”
Henry picked up his glass and inspected the contents. “Our asking you a lot of questions isn’t going to help you much, then, is it? I’m sorry, Emma – this must be very difficult for you.”
I considered what he had said for a moment. “It isn’t so much the questions, Henry, as who’s asking them, and what lies behind them, and the implications that prompted them in the first place. You can’t escape so easily when you’re sitting around a table being… er… interrogated.”
“Does this feel like an interrogation to you?” Henry asked gently, placing his glass back on the table.
I smiled suddenly. “No, and even if it did, I think I’m glad you asked because now you know, I hope that you won’t think I’m so rude or downright… odd.”<
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Joel guffawed. “Odd? You? Sure you are – you’re here with us, aren’t you?”
Matthew interposed as Jeannie opened her mouth to reprimand him again. “Quite, thank you, Joel. I doubt whether Emma needs much reminding of the peculiarities of the family with you to help her.” Laughter ruffled the warm air and Joel grinned cheerfully, and now that my secret was out, the muscles in my stomach relaxed, and I began to taste the food I ate. It was the first time that I had ever fully identified and voiced the complex issues surrounding my hang-up with food. Now that I had, it felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from me. It didn’t improve my appetite as such, but what I ate I enjoyed for the first time in so many years that I had lost count.
I successfully avoided most of the soapsuds flying around the kitchen until Harry and Ellie decided I had managed to get away with too much, and pinned my arms while Joel deposited a large handful on the top of my head. I wiped the bubbles from my hair as they drooled down my cheek, and flicked the suds off my hands in his direction, managing to keep a very straight face.
“Oops, you’ve gone too far, bro’,” Harry smirked at us, backing away just in case I turned on him.
I set my jaw, my eyes steel. “Vengeance will be mine,” I growled at Joel, his scalped blond hair dotted with bubbles from Harry’s latest attempt to duck him in the sink.
“Ooohhh, I’m scared,” he mocked. Walking behind him, Matthew deftly flicked at the back of his head with a tea towel. “So you should be,” he uttered quietly in his ear, as Joel spun around and tried to whop him back, missing him.
“You can’t take Emma’s side – it’s not fair,” Joel complained, rubbing his head although it looked perfectly all right to me.
“I don’t need to – Emma’s quite capable of looking after herself,” Matthew said, drying one of the Regency glass dishes and placing it with the other dry things on a large tray. He took them through to the dining room for putting away. I thought that his faith in my attempts at self-preservation might be somewhat optimistic – or misplaced, even – but I still glowed quietly at his praise and took the next glass dish from Pat.
Dan looked over his shoulder. “If you three get on with your chores, we can get to our presents before the night’s through. At the rate we’re going, it’ll be tomorrow and we might as well put them away until next year and save ourselves a fortune.” He smiled at Jeannie, standing with her hands immersed in the soapy water, and she returned his smile with a softened expression, handing the glass she was washing to him for rinsing.
“And we didn’t get to give the Christmas Eve gifts, either,” Pat reminded us all.
“Yeah, sis’, and whose fault was that?” Joel taunted.
Ellie pushed a hand past her mother into the sink, scooped up some suds, and threw them at him.
“Cut it out, you kids!” Dan said more sharply, but Joel was already retaliating, shoving his hand into the sink as Jeannie turned away to fetch another load of dirty dishes.
Crunch. Even muffled by the depth of water, we all heard the sound as the brittle glass exploded in the sink.
“Joel!” I cried as his face went from white to scarlet and back again, his eyes wide with surprise. Nobody moved. “Joel… Matthew!” I looked around in desperation but he wasn’t there, while the rest of the family remained standing exactly where they were, exchanging looks. I couldn’t understand why nobody did anything. “For goodness’ sake!” I exclaimed in exasperation, grabbing a clean tea towel. “Joel, give me your hand.”
Obediently, he took his hand out of the blood-reddened water, eyes fixed on my face, and held it out for me to see. Glass shards pierced his skin, his palm lacerated by a dozen slivers of fine, lead crystal sharper than scalpels, blood oozing around each puncture. I stared at it in dismay and he turned it slowly in front of my eyes, a grin seeping across his face. He made tweezers out of two fingers of his uninjured hand and pulled a piece of glass from his skin, watching for my reaction. No further blood, no sudden gush, followed the splinter of glass as it fell with a chink on the stone draining board. Ellie tittered nervously. He repeated the action, then again and again until his palm was clear. Where the glass had penetrated, hardly a mark remained, only the faintest red bruising under the already healing skin. Barely aware that Matthew had come back into the kitchen, I took Joel’s hand in both of mine examining it back and front. “You could have told me!” I accused anyone and everyone.
“And spoil the fun, right? No way! You should have seen your face,” Joel grinned down at me.
I felt Matthew’s hands on my shoulders. “All right, that’s enough, Joel. I’m sorry, Emma – I didn’t think to tell you and I didn’t think it would be necessary to tell you quite like this.” He shot a look at Joel.
“Klutz,” Ellie snuck in. “Sorry,” she muttered, as Matthew cautioned her with a glance.
Still spellbound, I asked, “Are you all able to heal like that?”
“I can’t,” said Jeannie, picking the pieces of glass off the draining board with due deference to their sharpness. Pat came over to help her. “Neither can I, more’s the pity. It was such a shock when I found out, too.”
I wasn’t sure whether I felt shocked or miffed at being duped so effectively. I wondered if she had suffered the same con. “How did you find out, Pat?”
She turned away. “I… don’t remember. It was a long time ago. I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”
I was about to say something but Matthew squeezed the top of my shoulders to warn me not to pursue it. Dan and Jeanette exchanged looks, equally puzzled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the door close behind Maggie as she left the room.
Henry picked up the kettle before Pat reached it. “You go and organize the presents, Pat – I’ll see to this. Kids, go help your grandmother.”
The kitchen emptied. I looked at Matthew. “Later,” he said, and I started to pick up the remaining shards of glass from the side. He put out a hand to stop me. “I think I’d better do that.” He finished the task, draining the sink and scraping out the remains of the glass as if they were petals. I couldn’t help wincing until he showed me his hands.
“OK,” I acknowledged. “I get the message; you’re indestructible.”
He smiled. “Pretty much.”
“Good,” I said, kissing the palm of each of his hands. “Long may you remain so.”
CHAPTER
7
The Gift
In the quiet of the drawing room, the Christmas tree lights gave the impression of warmth. We were the first there. I dislodged one of the baubles where its cotton caught on a branch, making it hang askew. It swung lazily back and forth, its faded red surface reflecting a moving miniature of my face, before settling plumb-straight.
Matthew admired it. “Thank you for decorating the tree.” He touched a green bauble, its silvered dimples like tummy buttons, making it spin gently. “I had almost forgotten what they looked like. They haven’t been used for forty-six years or so. You’ve made it feel more like home again.”
I linked my arm with his. “You can’t have Christmas without a tree; there would be nowhere to daydream without it.”
He slipped his arm around my waist. “Is that what you do when left to your own devices – daydream?”
“When I was little, if I could escape from the table before everyone else, I would lie under the branches and watch the lights against the trunk and the baubles, and pretend I was alone in my own forest. You should try it – it’s very contemplative. Did you ever do something like that when you were young?”
I watched his eyes wander back in time and a wistful smile draw across his face.
“When I wanted to be by myself, I would go down to the river to a small spinney of hawthorn by the bank where I couldn’t be seen. It was sheltered and I made a den when I was about six or seven years old, where I used to sit for hours and watch the water. It was never the same – always changing, depending on the weather, or the time of day, or how much rain we’d
had. I fell in once, trying to catch trout. I didn’t do that again. I nearly drowned but it wasn’t as bad as the beating I was given when I went home dripping.” He laughed softly at the memory.
I pulled a face. “You were beaten for nearly drowning?”
“Ah well, you see, my father was away and Nathaniel’s father was steward then, and he didn’t want me killing myself while in his charge. So, yes, I had a thorough thrashing, but I didn’t try to catch trout by myself again, and I didn’t tell my father or I might have had another one.” I sensed no resentment in his voice, and he seemed to accept that the punishment meted out to him was probably justified, but to my modern sentiments it still seemed harsh.
“Were you beaten often?” I must have sounded unduly anxious because his eyes creased with mirth.
“No, I wasn’t, and I probably should have been, but my father was a very mild man who believed he should lead by example and that you couldn’t beat righteousness into a child. Just occasionally, however, if I did something dangerous – like trying to ride the bullocks in Long Acre field during a thunderstorm – I’d get a beating for it. I think that the fear of losing me overcame his natural reserve.”
“I can’t see you as a reckless youth, somehow.”
He grinned, making it much easier to visualize him fifteen years old and intent on self-destruction.
“Imagine a mix of Harry and Joel and then take away all caution. I’m afraid my uncle wasn’t the best influence. He was younger than my father and didn’t have his responsibilities or the burden of my mother’s death, and he had a reputation as a bit of a hellraiser. As a teenager, I didn’t have the maturity to understand that, so…” He paused, listening for any sounds outside the room, then dropped his voice. “… I was sent to Cambridge to channel my energy and natural curiosity into something more positive, and to put a safe distance between William and me.” He finished and turned just as the drawing room door opened and Jeannie and Dan came through, followed by Ellie and Joel with trays of cups and two porcelain pots.