by Leslie Meier
“Mommy, isn’t that wreath big?”
Lucy smiled down at Sara, who was dressed in her prettiest Polly Flinders dress and was sitting beside her in the crowded church pew.
“Yes, it’s very big,” agreed Lucy as she admired the enormous green wreath that hung behind the pulpit. Lovingly assembled by the flower committee, the wreath was the only decoration in the plain Protestant meeting house. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and reflected off the white walls. This church had no stained glass or carved-wood paneling; there was no kneeling, no sense of hushed anticipation. Members of the congregation greeted each other and chatted while children ran up and down the aisles. This was the Sunday of the Christmas pageant, and the church was overflowing with families. A chord from the organ brought everyone to order, and the congregation rose to sing an old carol, “Venite Adoramus.”
Lucy loved the pageant. It was the same every year, and she enjoyed watching the children progress through the ranks. The very youngest were angels, naturally angelic with their plump rosy cheeks and soft baby hair, but they soon graduated to become sheep and other animals. After a year or two the animals went on to become shepherds. The very oldest had the important parts: Mary, Joseph, the Three Wise Men, Herod the King, and the angel Gabriel. This year Elizabeth was a lead angel and Toby was a shepherd. Little Sara was still too young, so she was watching with her parents and dreaming of next year, when it would be her turn.
Lucy had grown up in New York City, where her family had attended a large and wealthy Episcopalian church. As a child she had taken part in the Christmas pageant there, dressed in elaborate costumes donated by a rich parishioner. That pageant had been a very elaborate affair, complete with hired actors and singers for the main parts. It had been wonderful in its way; the darkened church had smelled of evergreens and the candlelit, glittering processions had been dramatic and mysterious. Yet Lucy much preferred the sunlit, homemade pageant in Tinker’s Cove.
Hearing the familiar strains of “Angels We Have Heard on High,” Lucy craned her neck to see Elizabeth. She nudged Bill and they beamed with pride as their daughter, glowing with self-consciousness, paraded down the aisle. This year she even had a line. Lucy perched anxiously on the edge of the pew until Elizabeth announced, “Behold, I bring you tidings of great joy!” and she could safely relax.
Leaning against the straight back of the pew, Lucy thought how different the atmosphere in the church seemed today from yesterday. Yesterday’s mourners had been replaced with families intent on celebrating Christmas. It was wonderful to see so many young families in the church, thought Lucy. When she had first started attending, Toby had been a baby and she had come to services with him cradled against her chest in a Snugli.
The congregation then had consisted mainly of old people; some Sundays the youngest member was sixty-seven years old! The women in particular had made Lucy feel welcome. They had fussed over baby Toby, delivered casseroles to her house when she caught pneumonia, and given her slips and cuttings from their gardens. Lucy was truly fond of some of the old members like Miss Tilley. She smiled to see her gaunt figure and straight back across the aisle.
When Miss Tilley had been the librarian at the Broadbrooks Free Library, she had been legendary for her strict overdue book policy and her tart tongue. She was not likable, but she had a penetrating intelligence that earned her the town’s respect. It was rumored that she had been friends with Longfellow’s daughter, Alice, and Lucy always meant to ask her if it was true.
Next to Miss Tilley sat Faith Willets. Faith was a simple, good-hearted woman who dressed in plain old polyester from Sears—and had the most beautiful garden Lucy had ever seen. Faith was the president of the Organic Gardening Club, and wrote the “Garden Checklist” that appeared in the Pennysaver each week. The acre surrounding her Cape Cod house was planted like an English cottage garden with fruit trees, perennial flowers, herbs, and even vegetables. Faith was the primary donor to the Memorial Day plant sale, and Lucy was a faithful customer.
In fact, Lucy had first discovered the Tinker’s Cove church through the annual plant and used-book sales. One year Bill had discovered a treasure trove of erotica in the paperback section and had returned hopefully every year since. When she felt lonely and depressed after Toby’s birth, Lucy began attending services. She’d given up trying to be an Episcopalian in her teens when she’d decided she just couldn’t believe in God. She’d missed the hymns and sermons, however, and had been delighted to discover the friendly, informal community church. Shortly after she’d become a member, old Dr. Greenhut died and the congregation called a new, young minister, Dave Davidson.
Dave and his wife, Carol, were not a traditional ministerial couple. Carol avoided the Women’s Club meetings like the plague and rarely attended Sunday services. Instead she poured her energy into her career as a sculptor and turned the old barn behind the rectory into a studio. The congregation didn’t seem to mind; in fact, the Davidsons brought a new energy and vitality to the old church. Sunday school classes were organized and filled rapidly as many young families realized something was missing from their lives that church could provide.
The service was ending. Everyone rose to sing the “Hallelujah” chorus from Handel’s Messiah. No one could resist joining in, and the church was filled with the sound of joyous if somewhat off-key voices raised in celebration.
Lucy left Bill in the line of parishioners waiting to greet the minister and, taking Sara with her, went to find Toby and Elizabeth. Truth be told, she always felt awkward around large male authority figures like Dave and could never think of anything to say to him.
Back home and changed out of their Sunday best into jeans, Lucy and Bill made lunch and planned the rest of the day. Since the weather was so beautiful, they decided to take turns staying with the kids and going out for a run. Once the dishes were washed, Lucy put on her sweat pants and running shoes and headed out alone along the network of dirt roads that crisscrossed the woods. They were originally made by early settlers who cut timber for firewood, but nowadays they also led to hunting and fishing camps. They were ideal for a peaceful jog when the weather was warm; once the ground was covered with snow they were perfect for cross-country skiing. Today Lucy stood for a while on the back porch, taking a few deep breaths and deciding which route to take. Because she hadn’t been running much lately, she decided on an easy four-mile loop without hills that went around Erskine’s Pond. She did her stretches and set out, enjoying the bright sunshine and mild weather. The last few winters had followed a pattern of mild weather until Christmas; then once the holidays were over, bitter cold and heavy snow storms set in. It seemed as if this year was going to be no exception.
Once she got past the mile mark—an old Chevy truck that someone had left to rust in the woods—Lucy found her stride. The first mile was always the hardest, but she’d learned that if she didn’t give up, the rest was easy. She felt as if she could run forever along these soft roads, smelling the sharp, piny scent of the trees and catching glimpses of the pond sparkling through the trees. Problems and anxieties receded, leaving nothing but the pounding of her heart, the rhythmic in and out of her breath, and the regular thud of her feet on the path. All too soon she saw the tall, narrow chimney of their house, and rounding the bend, she saw Bill and the kids in the yard. Bill and Toby were tossing a football back and forth, and the girls were mixing up pine cone and stone soup. Lucy cooled down by walking around the house and then went in for a drink of water and a shower. As she closed the door she saw Bill wave as he started off on his run.
Since Bill was a more enthusiastic runner than she was, Lucy didn’t expect him back for a while. After her shower she settled down to stitch together the pieces of the sweater she had knitted for him. The girls were happy in their room playing with their Barbie dolls and Toby curled up in a corner of the couch with his book report book. It was only when she noticed the light getting dim and reached to switch on the lamp that she realized how late
it was. According to the old Regulator, it was almost four, which meant that Bill had been gone for nearly three hours.
Lucy tried to fight her rising sense of panic. Something must be wrong; he could have—indeed he had—run the Boston marathon in that time. She didn’t think he would have attempted anything so ambitious today. He knew she had to leave at five to pick up her mother at the airport.
Something must have happened to him, she thought. But what? He was a big strong man in his prime. Of course, Sam Miller had been in his prime, too, and someone had managed to kill him. She knew she was being ridiculous. No one wanted to kill Bill. But when she switched on the porch light and stood looking out the door, she couldn’t help remembering Patches’ lifeless body lying in the driveway. It was getting too dark to wait any longer, she decided. She would have to take out the Subaru and look for him. She piled the kids into the car and slowly and carefully drove along the rutted, twisted dirt road. Running along these roads was one thing; it was quite another to drive them at night, even in a four-wheel-drive. The woods were gloomy, filled with dark, shadowy shapes, and the branches brushed and snapped against the car.
Lucy gripped the steering wheel in clenched hands, her neck and shoulders rigid with anxiety as she searched for him. When she finally saw his familiar figure in the road, the tension drained from her body, leaving her with a terrific headache and aching muscles.
Bill was moving slowly, however, and as he came closer, Lucy could see he was limping.
“What happened?” she asked as he climbed into the car.
“I must have pulled a muscle or something. God, my knee hurts.”
“Do you need a doctor?”
“No, I’ll put some ice on it when I get home. How late is it? Don’t you have to get to the airport?”
Lucy checked her watch. “It’s almost five. I’ll drop you at the house and get the kids something to eat on the way. McDonald’s okay, kids?”
As Lucy sat on the molded plastic seat in the airport, she knew she had made a mistake. Having grown up on a steady diet of tofu and brown rice, the kids adored McDonald’s. Their excitement, fueled by excessive amounts of sugar, caffeine, and saturated fats, was almost unbearable. Her mother’s plane was due at seven o’clock, and Lucy very much hoped it would be on time. She could see her reflection in the expanse of plate glass that overlooked the runway. She was a very small figure, surrounded by a moving blur of brightly clad children.
“Please sit down and wait nicely for Grandma,” she begged through clenched teeth.
“Ooh, here comes another one!” shouted Toby. The girls screamed and jumped from their seats, running to press their hands and noses against the window.
“Is it Grandma? Is it Grandma?” they demanded.
Lucy checked her watch. Five minutes past seven. “Maybe,” she said. “I hope so.” Actually, she rationalized, this isn’t so bad. At least she wouldn’t have to face her mother alone. Ever since her father had died six months ago, Lucy had dreaded being alone with her mother. When she last saw her mother, the pain of her loss was so palpable that Lucy could barely stand to be with her. One look at her grief-ravaged face and Lucy had wanted to flee back to the safety of Bill’s arms, back to the cocoon of her house. “There is no safety, no security,” her mother’s reproachful eyes always seemed to say. “I thought there was, but I was wrong.”
Lucy crossed her arms across her chest, pressed her lips together, and looked up to see the automatic doors opening. Her mother picked her way carefully along the rubber matting, holding herself together only by the tightly wound threads of restraint and good breeding. She might well have been the survivor of some dreadful battle or holocaust, a witness to unspeakable horror, scarcely sure herself whether she was alive or dead.
CHAPTER EIGHT
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“Hi, Mom,” said Lucy, rising from her seat and brushing her cheek against her mother’s.
“Hello, Lucy,” her mother responded tonelessly.
The children gathered around her, waiting expectantly to be fussed over, but their grandmother didn’t seem to notice them.
“How was the flight?” Lucy asked, searching her purse for change to give the kids so they could buy gumballs from the machine.
“It was fine,” her mother answered automatically.
“Well, do you have a baggage check or anything? How do we get your bags?”
“A baggage check?” Her mother seemed never to have heard of such a thing.
“Didn’t you hand over your luggage at the ticket counter?” Lucy demanded.
“I guess I must have. I don’t have it now.”
“No, you don’t,” agreed Lucy, fighting the urge to take her by her shoulders and shake her. “You must have checked your bags, and they gave you a ticket. Do you remember what you did with it?”
“No, I don’t,” admitted her mother. “I don’t remember that at all.”
“Well,” said Lucy, speaking softly and patiently as she might to one of the children, “how about looking in your pockets and your purse. I don’t think that man will let you take a suitcase without your ticket stub.” She indicated an extremely large uniformed baggage attendant.
The older woman obediently went through her pockets and found nothing, so Lucy led her over to the row of seats so she could sit down and search her purse.
“It isn’t here,” her mother announced.
“What is that pink paper?” asked Lucy, spying a corner peeking out of an inner zipped compartment.
“I don’t know,” she replied, and pulled out a stub printed with large black numbers. She sat and looked at the paper, turning it over and over.
When she made no effort to move, Lucy said, “That looks like it. Let’s give it a try, okay?”
“All right,” her mother agreed, following her over to the baggage carousel.
“What does the bag look like?” asked Lucy. “How many are there?”
“Just one.”
“Do you see it?” asked Lucy.
“No, I don’t recognize any of these.”
Lucy bent over and began comparing the strips attached to the bags with the stub in her hand. She soon found a bag with matching numbers and asked, “Is this it?”
“It could be.” She was open to the possibility.
Lucy picked up the bag. “Now, where did the kids go?”
“The kids?”
“You know. My children. Your grandchildren,” snapped Lucy, her patience exhausted. “They were here a minute ago.”
“They were?”
“Here they are,” said Lucy as the three kids ran up. She was almost hysterical with tension and relief, and her head was pounding. “We’ve got the kids and we’ve got your bag, I guess we’re all set.”
“Did you bring us presents?” Toby asked boldly.
“No. I haven’t shopped yet.” All three children’s faces fell with disappointment, but their grandmother ignored their crestfallen expressions and turned to Lucy. “I didn’t want to carry the presents on the plane. I thought you and I could go shopping together this week.”
“I’m sure we can,” Lucy answered in a cheerful voice, but inwardly she was furious with her mother. One week until Christmas and her mother had just assumed she would have time to take her shopping. Somehow they would have to fit it in, but Lucy already felt deluged with Christmas preparations.
“I’ll carry the suitcase, Mom. You take Sara’s hand. I don’t want her running around in the parking lot. Elizabeth, Toby, stay with me and watch out for cars, okay?”
Lucy had the sudden feeling that now instead of having three children, she had four. She was going to have to take care of her mother as well as her children. The realization absolu
tely overwhelmed her.
As she led her little cortege out of the terminal, Lucy noticed a taxi pulling up. She was surprised to see Marcia Miller and little Sam IV climbing out of the backseat. As she loaded her mother’s suitcase into the Subaru and waited for the kids to pile in, she watched the cab driver unload suitcase after suitcase. Lucy couldn’t help but notice that these were not the canvas bags sold in the Country Cousins catalog; these bore the distinctive gold logo of Louis Vuitton. A long trip to someplace warm, thought Lucy as she put the key in the ignition. Not a bad idea at all. She wondered if she could stow away on their flight.
Arriving home, Lucy installed her mother on a corner of the couch, switched on the TV for her, and sent Bill in to keep her company.
“How’s the knee?” she asked as he hobbled past her.
“The ice helped, but it still hurts. If it’s not better tomorrow, I’ll go and see the doctor.”
Lucy sighed and went upstairs to get the kids ready for bed. Toby and Elizabeth could change into pajamas themselves, but Sara needed help. It was way past her bedtime, and she burst into tears when Lucy told her it was too late for a story. Bending down to kiss her good night, Lucy noticed that her forehead was awfully warm. A quick check with the thermometer revealed a temperature of a hundred and one. As Lucy counted out the cherry-flavored tablets, she wondered idly what else could go wrong this week.
That night she ran her bath as hot as she could stand and in a fit of self-indulgence poured in the last of her treasured Vitabath. As she leaned back in the delicious suds, she sighed and felt tears prick her eyes.
This was going to be an awful Christmas. It had been terrible to lose her father just a few months earlier. He had died suddenly of a heart attack. He had left for work as usual one morning, and by dinnertime he was lying in the intensive care unit of the hospital.