‘James Howell, you are insufferable!’
‘Am I not? Merry Christmas, Mary Ellen LeBoyne, and a prosperous New Year.’
She watched him drive out of the development before she turned from the window to other concerns. She tried first to reach Sylvia and got no answer. Certainly Sylvia’s daughters would be home from college by now. That odious mother was also in residence. Oh, they were all probably out shopping like everyone else.
The thought of the stores today defeated Mirelle so she compromised by baking Christmas cookies and worrying over Sylvia. She had only one more tray of cookies to finish when she remembered Sylvia wondering what sort of a sick pig Mirelle would make for her.
What Sylvia needed was not a sick pig, but a talisman, Mirelle told herself. She could barely wait to get the cookies out of the oven before she was away to the studio and digging into the clay barrel.
With the almost finished model of the Lucy before her, it didn’t take long to make a small replica. She worked steadily, absorbed, until the kids got home from school. She took a break then, because the concentrated effort made her head ache. But the little figure lacked only the detailing before it would be ready for firing. With any luck she’d have the finished statuette to present to Sylvia for Christmas. Mirelle couldn’t explain why she knew it would be the perfect gift for her. Perhaps, hopefully, the miniature would be a catalyst for Sylvia, too.
23
STEVE DID NOT get home that night. Nor did Mirelle hear from him. At the sight of his unused bed the next morning, a niggling half-fear, half-anger started in her belly. She called the office to see if he might have gone there straight from the airport. Steve’d been expected back, his secretary said, and left the question in her voice hanging expectantly. Mirelle mumbled some nonsense about a possible hold-up in Christmas air traffic and hung up.
That’s what she told the children when they got home from school and began to notice their father’s continued absence.
‘We have to get our tree today,’ Nick said, frowning and looking exceedingly like his grandfather Neagu. ‘All the good ones’ll be gone if we wait much longer.’
‘I think we can just get the tree. Daddy will understand,’ Mirelle said, unable to cope with imminent full-scale sulks.
Roman gave her an odd look for her unexpected capitulation. It was a long-standing family custom that Steve and the children bought the family tree and saw to its trimming.
They got a tree, a full-branched, ‘hen of a tree’, as Nick styled it. She spent far more than she intended, or thought she should. Certainly more than Steve would, for he shopped the tree lots assiduously for the best bargain. She let the children set it up in the gameroom and get the ornaments out.
‘We’ll leave the creche until Daddy gets home or he will really hit the roof,’ Mirelle told them, but she and Nick did position the creche board in the living-room. Santa Claus reigned in the gameroom, and all the new toys and mess centered there. But the creche, with its landscape of Bethlehem, stable-cave, inn and fields, was traditionally in the living-room, expressing the original meaning of the festival.
She made hamburgers for a quick supper, and to economise for the cost of the tree, and they ate as they decorated. Roman did his best to officiate but his manner, reminiscent of his father, provoked his sister.
‘You’re acting just like Daddy.’
‘Why not?’ Roman asked. ‘He’s not here and I am the oldest son.’
‘I think we should’ve waited for Daddy,’ and Tonia looked about to burst into tears.
‘We’ve left the creche to do with Daddy,’ Mirelle said hastily. ‘He prefers it anyway. Remember? Now stick some more lights to the left there, Nick. It’s awfully bare. Tonia, don’t set those fairy lights in too deep. Keep them on the tips of the branches.’
She had rather hoped that trimming the tree would take up the entire evening. Then Tonia started pawing through the creche box and found her favorite camel in pieces. The tears came in earnest. Mirelle managed to restore her daughter’s humor by promising to fire up the kiln and replace any and all favorites that had failed to survive. With what she thought was true inspiration she suggested that they wrap their presents for their father. Only no one had shopped for parents yet. Roman got rather exercised because he hadn’t been able to make newspaper collections and rake in the Christmas tip money out of which he bought his gifts.
Nick, with a great show of Christmas magnanimity, offered to collect without charging a cent for his services. In the next breath, he mentioned with heavy emphasis his longing for a war game. Tonia, quick to recognise a golden opportunity, insisted that she was just as capable of making collections as Nick, because she needed such a lot of new Barbie doll clothes. Seeing the makings of a battle royal, Mirelle decreed that both children would help Roman the very next morning, and sent them off to bed.
When she tucked Tonia in, the girl was still upset over having done the tree without her father. Mirelle managed to reassure her but, as she walked downstairs, she wasn’t all that confident. Steve should be home. What could be holding him up in Cleveland? Particularly just before Christmas? Even major crises waited until after the Christmas parties.
Suddenly, with sickening certainty, she knew what had happened: he’d gone to Florida. His mother had got him to go to Florida because she couldn’t cope with the emergency of his father’s illness, and obviously Ralph was no help. How ironic! How too terribly, horribly ironic! Mirelle’s laugh was silent and mirthless. She clutched herself about the ribs.
Here she’d renounced a lover, resolved to be a better wife, and her husband had decamped.
The sane observer shouted denial, accused her of self-pity, of wallowing in guilt. And she’d promised not to. Steve was only delayed in the holiday traffic: that was all. The weather was atrocious, storm warnings all across the country.
To get her mind off this insidious track, she turned to the damaged creche figures. She was disgusted with her first attempt at a new camel: it had no soul, no grace, even for a camel. Her fingers were clumsy. As she rose to get her file on animals, she saw the almost completed statuette and remembered that she still hadn’t raised anyone at Sylvia’s house. Surely by now, ten o’clock, someone would be home.
G.F. answered the phone.
‘G.F., where is Sylvia?’
There was a brief pause.
‘G.F., I’ve considered myself Sylvia’s friend. She called me Saturday, sounding completely unlike herself. I haven’t heard from her since, nor have I been able to get any answer during the day. Please tell me what’s wrong.’
‘She called you on Saturday?’ G.F. was surprised.
‘Yes, and she talked as if her mouth was full of cotton. She hung up abruptly.’
There was a weary sigh on the other end of the phone.
‘Sylvia is in the Philadelphia Institute. She entered voluntarily on Friday.’
‘The Institute? Voluntarily?’
‘Sylvia hasn’t been well. I think you’ve realised that, Mirelle. She’s undergoing a course of treatment which may help her get a grip on herself.’
Mirelle found it difficult to grasp the significance of his stark words. Sylvia had admitted to being under psychiatric care, but that was a long step from entering a psychiatric hospital. Or was it? How could she, Mirelle, possibly gauge the condition of anyone’s mind? She couldn’t control her own wild thoughts and fancies. But Sylvia hadn’t sounded . . . psychotic. She’d sounded drunk.
‘You mean, Sylvia’s an alcoholic?’ Mirelle wanted that to be the problem.
G.F. gave a wry snort. ‘That would be easier to treat. Sylvia is in mental distress, Mirelle. That’s what they treat at the Institute.’
‘Oh, G.F., I’m so sorry. So terribly sorry.’
‘You shouldn’t be, Mirelle. You’ve been a big help all this fall, you know.’
‘Me? I couldn’t have been, G.F.’
‘I beg to differ.’ His voice dropped suddenly. ‘She’ll be able t
o see you soon, I think, Mirelle.’ He spoke swiftly as if anxious not to be overheard. ‘In fact, you’re the only one on the visitors’ list. She stipulated that you had to bring a sick pig when you came. Does that make any sense?’ Plainly it made none to him.
‘Yes, it does, G.F. And tell her, if you’re in touch, that I’ve got something along that line for her.’
‘I will, Mirelle. And Merry Christmas.’ That last was said in a normally cheerful tone.
‘The same to you.’ Her response was automatic and Mirelle gasped. How could she? With Sylvia hospitalised at Christmas! But G.F. had rung off.
How could she have been a big help to Sylvia this fall? Sylvia had spent so much time helping her. And Mirelle had called it meddling. How could she?
Mirelle reached for the small Lucy. If she was right, and this statuette could be a talisman for Sylvia, now was the time to finish it. She’d take her worries out on the clay – Sylvia had envied her that outlet – and put in the figure all her love and concern and hope, and believe that the messages would come across to the recipient. She was able to forget why the statue must be perfect in the process of perfecting. With a woad-blue, and smiling to herself at the recollection of Jamie’s indignant spluttering, she covered the little Lucy. With luck, she’d get it dug out and cast tomorrow. And she’d make her luck.
Affectionately she looked across at the big statue. Lucy had been the catalyst for her twice now. It was a hopeful conceit to believe that the same magic might work for Sylvia.
She took up the little camel then and reworked it to her satisfaction. Before fatigue forced her to stop, she had replaced most of the broken animals. It was nearly two when she staggered to her room. She was too tired, suddenly, to undress, and just pulled the quilt over her.
She woke with a start as something brushed against her foot, cold from being outside the cover.
‘Go back to sleep, honey. I just got in,’ Steve whispered. His hands were gentle as he picked her up and slid her under the blankets. He tucked her in and kissed her cheek. She smiled because he was so tender and fell deeply asleep.
The usual high-pitched shriek of protest from Tonia woke her in the morning. She sat up, instantly aware of the raucous snores from the next bed. Relief was almost a pain in her belly as she rose and flew from the room, determined to shut Tonia up and lay down strict silence. Steve must get his sleep.
Tonia, fortunately, retained enough of her previous week’s inhibitions to comply with the threat of Daddy’s continued displeasure. Nick was bribed to clear the walk of a light snow that had fallen during the night. Roman was already adding up his newspaper accounts so the kids could collect for him.
The office called to check Steve’s whereabouts at nine-thirty and she promised that he’d phone in as soon as he woke. His secretary was a little dismayed at her refusal to wake him but Mirelle was politely adamant. She got all the children out of the house, having suggested that Roman could sit on the sled and be taken about to supervise the collection process.
It wasn’t until after she had put some of the creche replacements in the kiln for firing that she glanced into the living-room. And saw that Steve had plunked down his bags there. He couldn’t have missed the portrait.
She sighed deeply. He had come home. That was the first step. She was putting the second batch of figures in the kiln when she heard him moving about. She met him on the landing. He was shaved and dressed for the office. He looked rested but there were lines of strain apparent in his face. He was suddenly very dear to her, as if she had to be threatened with his loss to appreciate how much he meant to her. She would have given anything for the right words to express her jumbled feelings.
‘Did the office call?’ he asked, as he gave her a hug and a kiss.
She wanted to believe that neither were perfunctory.
‘Yes, indeed,’ she said in cheerful tones. ‘I said you’d got in very late and I was going to let you sleep. Miss Hayes was rather put out.’
‘Idiot woman. Any coffee?’
‘Yes, I’ve been keeping it warm.’ She stepped past him to get the pot. ‘Did the Cleveland thing straighten out?’
‘Naturally,’ he replied disdainfully. ‘A matter of proper briefing and a little blarney. Then I had to go on to Orlando.’
She almost dropped the coffee. She’d been right. His mother had made him run to her. Her hand was trembling so violently that she spilled nearly as much as she poured into his cup. He was riffling through the mail and didn’t notice.
‘I’m glad you went, Steve. You’d’ve worried all during Christmas if you hadn’t.’ He had come back to her. He had come home.
Steve looked directly at her, then. ‘Ralph called me and insisted I had to come.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘He’s almost as bad as Mother, you know. Dad was all right, resting comfortably, and that pair was hanging crepe.’ He gave a mirthless snort of laughter. ‘In fact, the doctor had given orders for no visitors for Dad because Mother carried on so much she upset him. I got in touch with the Blackburns, you know, Red’s parents, and they promised to divert Mother.’
‘Did our flowers get there?’ That was surely safe to ask, Mirelle decided.
‘Yes, the biggest poinsettia I’ve ever seen. Fix me a couple of eggs, will you, Mirelle?’
‘Coming up.’ Maybe he hadn’t seen the portrait last night. He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining-room, sipping his coffee while she fried his eggs.
‘Where’re the kids?’
‘I sent them all out to help Roman collect his Christmas loot.’
‘Roman’s out?’ Steve frowned.
‘Oh, he’s ensconced on the sled with Tonia and Nick as his willing steeds.’
‘Nick looks a good deal like his grandfather, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, he does,’ and Mirelle hazarded a quick glance at Steve. To her astonishment, he began to chuckle, ducking his head to smooth the hair on his neck.
‘God, your father looks like he’d been everywhere and done everything. You don’t suppose Nick will take after him?’
‘Good Lord, I hope not. One rake is enough for any family.’
She flipped the eggs on the plate and retrieved the toast which had just popped up.
‘Tree looks great,’ Steve said, pulling out his chair. ‘Who supervised?’
‘Roman. We did everything except the creche.’ Steve caught her hand as she put his plate down and looked up at her, his eyes dark, troubled and pleading.
‘I’ll do that tonight with you, won’t I, Mirelle?’
Mirelle ran her hand through his crisp hair, resting it lightly on the back of his strong neck.
‘Yes, Steve. We’ll do that together tonight. After all, it’s a tradition in our family!’
Wilmington, Delaware and Sea Cliff, Long Island, USA. Mount Merrion and Dundrum, Ireland.
THE END
Also by Anne McCaffrey
Anne McCaffrey’s books can be read individually or as series. However, for greatest enjoyment the following sequences are recommended:
The Dragon Books
DRAGONFLIGHT
DRAGONQUEST
DRAGONSONG
DRAGONSINGER: HARPER OF PERN
THE WHITE DRAGON
DRAGONDRUMS
MORETA: DRAGONLADY OF PERN
NERILKA’S STORY & THE COELURA
DRAGONSDAWN
THE RENEGADES OF PERN
ALL THE WEYRS OF PERN
THE CHRONICLES OF PERN: FIRST FALL
THE DOLPHINS OF PERN
RED STAR RISING: THE SECOND CHRONICLES OF PERN
(published in US as DRAGONSEYE)
THE MASTERHARPER OF PERN
THE SKIES OF PERN
and with Todd McCaffrey:
DRAGON’S KIN
DRAGON’S FIRE
DRAGON HARPER
DRAGON’S TIME
SKY DRAGONS
by Todd McCaffrey:
DRAGONSBLOOD
DRAGONH
EART
DRAGONGIRL
Crystal Singer Books
THE CRYSTAL SINGER
KILLASHANDRA
CRYSTAL LINE
Talent Series
TO RIDE PEGASUS
PEGASUS IN FLIGHT
PEGASUS IN SPACE
Tower and the Hive Sequence
THE ROWAN
DAMIA
DAMIA’S CHILDREN
LYON’S PRIDE
THE TOWER AND THE HIVE
Catteni Sequence
FREEDOM’S LANDING
FREEDOM’S CHOICE
FREEDOM’S CHALLENGE
FREEDOM’S RANSOM
Individual Titles
RESTOREE
DECISION AT DOONA
THE SHIP WHO SANG
GET OFF THE UNICORN
THE GIRL WHO HEARD DRAGONS
BLACK HORSES FOR THE KING
NIMISHA’S SHIP
A GIFT OF DRAGONS
The Petaybee novels
written in collaboration with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough
POWERS THAT BE
POWER LINES
POWER PLAY
CHANGELINGS
MAELSTROM
DELUGE
The Acorna Series
ACORNA (with Margaret Ball)
ACORNA’S QUEST (with Margaret Ball)
ACORNA’S PEOPLE (with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough)
ACORNA’S WORLD (with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough)
ACORNA’S SEARCH (with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough)
ACORNA’S REBELS (with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough)
ACORNA’S TRIUMPH (with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough)
ACORNA’S CHILDREN: FIRST WARNING (with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough)
ACORNA’S CHILDREN: SECOND WAVE (with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough)
ACORNA’S CHILDREN: THIRD WATCH (with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough)
and published by Corgi Books
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
A Random House Group Company
www.transworldbooks.co.uk
THE YEAR OF THE LUCY
A CORGI BOOK 9780552128186
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN: 9781448152261
The Year of the Lucy Page 31