“God willing… I’m going to be a Mama.”
Paloma watched from her post at the door, in tears, as Pilar and Rose reunited, her heart overflowing with gratitude. She glanced around the room as more and more people began to flow inside toward the main tree, which they had all surrounded with gifts that now spanned three feet away from its outer edges.
Had they ever had so many people over at once?
The living room and kitchen, as well as the stairwell and part of the hall, were filled with family and friends, and several had brought their own folding chairs in order to make sure there was room for everyone. The youngest actively mobile children, as usual, would sit on the floor with a singular adult who would pass the gifts out to everyone.
This year, Edward insisted that, because he was turning fifty , someone else play Santa Claus this time around. And considering he’d had the job for ten years straight, it was not only an odd feeling, but a good one.
“Welcome,” she told her Uncle Masao and Auntie Anouk Chanel as they approached the door with their grandson, Christophe. “So glad you could come.” Christophe, arms loaded with gifts, smiled shyly at her and kept going without a reply. Her aunt and uncle stayed a moment to hug her and say quick hellos before continuing inside, each carrying a single small bag, as well as a beverage.
Thank You, God, that we decided to do this potluck this year, she prayed as she watched the pair find places for the soda and then head into the living room.
Ten minutes later, the last of their guests had arrived. The group –if she counted correctly, it was thirty seven people – did their best to make a circle, hands together, to sing the Doxology and pray over their meal, and the day.
“We thank and praise You, Father God, for this time together,” Eugenie began. “Thank You for Edward and Majesta on this, their birthday, and for Your Son, Jesus Christ, Who died on our behalf and Whom we also celebrate on this day. Bless the food to our bodies, bless the company to our spirits, bless the Word to our hearts and minds, in the name of our sweet Savior, Jesus the Christ,” she prayed, “amen.”
A hearty round of amens filled the air, and, hands dropped, Edward announced the day’s plan: lunch first, then a movie upstairs – courtesy of Juanito and Fifine Noel, who’d brought a television and other necessary equipment over the night before – for those who wanted to do that while the rest spent time catching up. They’d celebrate Christmas first, and then, once that was over, he and Majesta would receive their birthday gifts.
“Any questions,” he asked before releasing everyone to line up for their meal.
With no takers, he released the oldest adults to prepare their plates and on down the line to the youngest of the children – all around the nine to eleven year old range now.
A thrill went through Paloma at the thought of having a baby around again once Rose gave birth.
What would it be like, and for how long? Would Rose even keep the baby?
She hadn’t even thought of the possibility that she wouldn’t, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine as she stood in line behind Tom and Tawny.
“What’s wrong,” her best friend asked, a concerned look on her face.
How was it Tawny always knew?
“I was just thinking about something. We can talk later; it’s alright. It just… surprised me, is all.”
“You sure,” her friend asked, her braids shaking as she tilted her head a bit to the side.
“Yep.”
“Well, if you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
“You sure you’re sure?”
“Tawny,” she said, her voice louder than intended. “I’m sure.”
“Well, as long as you’re sure,” the woman said, laughing. “Wouldn’t want you not to be.”
Paloma sighed as the line moved forward; she inched along with them.
How could she explain her fear to Tawny? Tawny had had a good husband in Tom and that was wonderful, but it didn’t exactly prepare her for understanding how someone like Rose might feel out of place in the role of mother, without being a wife.
Especially the role of mother while trying to recover from a past filled with sadness and regret.
“Sorry; I wasn’t trying to snap at you,” she finally said. “I’m just…” She moved closer, to whisper in her friend’s ear. “I’m just concerned for Rose and her baby… I’ve got this sense that… oh, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore,” she said at a normal volume again. “I know better than to worry about it. Doesn’t keep me from doing just that, though.”
Her friend nodded. “I think we’ve been having some similar thoughts, then, because if you’re thinkin’ what I was thinkin’ yesterday, we’re on the same page, Girlfriend.”
Forty Four
Edward finished his lunch as he pondered his life. His eyes did a sweep around the room, thankful to be surrounded by so many loved ones.
Fifty.
He had no words to describe even to himself what he was feeling as he thought over his life to that point.
His years of loneliness amidst his family as a child, knowing he was different but never able to put a finger on why. His years of painful disquiet and near-silent obedience to all his father, King James, had ever asked of him, and then, that Louis had required of him, as well.
Years of war and family infighting and political intrigues that were nothing more than insecurities and greed tied into fancy bows of strung-along words that often meant nothing. Years of feeling like a misfit; being the outcast who tried to fit in. Years of never having someone he could safely share his thoughts, emotions, and beliefs with, save God.
He thought of the night he fought with his father – St. Cecilia’s Day, 1692. How he’d stayed home from the concert because he was so upset by the unfeeling requirement set upon him to marry a girl he didn’t know, and knew wouldn’t be a good match for him. And he thought of how, had he gone to the concert, he never would have been standing before the angel mirror during that awful storm… that awful storm that showed him a way to save the life of another, and in so doing, save himself from the heartache of a loveless marriage. The mirror that transformed his life as he stepped foot through time and landed in a shoe shop a few feet from a woman he, since, had come to know, love, and cherish, in sickness and in health.
He thought of the courtship he and Paloma had shared, and of their wedding; of the twins’ birth, his surgery, and Cherish’s birth. He thought of all the little things that made for wonderful memories, and he thought of his time in the hospital after he collapsed.
Memories flooded in and tears came to his eyes as he finished the last few bites of his broccoli beef and chow mein. Thoughts of meeting Rose for the first time; meeting Rosemary, and saying goodbye to them. Memories of clues found, and clients who, somehow, were related in one way or another to the history of the mysterious mirror. And now, after years of hard work, thinking about what Jason had told him earlier: yet another clue… finally.
But what could it be? He said France, so would it have to do with my family, or is it something different?
Paloma moved toward him, and he smiled at her.
“Hey,” she said. “How’s your lunch?”
She sat down next to him on the couch, sipping a Virgil’s root beer, a card in her hand. “This is for you, by the way. It came in yesterday’s mail, and I thought…”
Edward set his plate aside to accept it as he answered.
“Good… filling… a nice treat.” What else could he say? There was enough variety to keep him satisfied with the menu for hours to come, since there were already many leftovers sitting in the fridge from the meal.
The first thing he noticed was a French postmark.
The sender, though, was Kristof Sage.
“What?”
“I have no idea. It’s the first thing I’ve heard from him since the award show four years ago. I thought he’d gone underground, out of the limelight, but he sent me something, too… an a
rticle he wrote about Amethyst & Alabaster for a local paper in Nice. It wasn’t flattering, but it wasn’t as disparaging as he was when he stayed here,” she told him before taking another few sips of her root beer.
“Well, do you think I should wait, then,” he asked. “If it’s anything like he sent you, I’d guess it might not be the best-”
“He wrote me that you needed to open it on your birthday. That’s all I know.”
“And so you’re blindly following orders,” he asked her, incredulous. “After all he’s put you and Mariana and your team through? After what he put our family through?”
He knew his voice had gotten louder, and the other conversations in the room stopped; all was quiet but for his own words, and the occasional scraping of silverware on plates.
He looked up. Everyone was looking at him; a few with their jaws dropped. Tears were welling in his wife’s eyes, and Rose moved away just a little bit further. His children ceased the game of Uno they were playing at the kitchen table to listen.
Great, he thought. Now I have to open it in front of everybody, if push comes to shove. Lord, we sure don’t need this from Mr. Sage right now, if it’s just going to be a downer.
“What’s going on,” Jason asked, weaving through the others, toward them. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” he replied. “Nothing to worry about right now. I just… I got a letter… it feels like a card, actually… from someone I didn’t expect, that’s all.”
“Well, what are you waiting for, then,” Mark called from the other room. “Why not get it over with and open it? What can it hurt?”
Edward cringed.
A chorus of “why nots,” “yeahs,” and a single “makes sense to me,” echoed through the room. He slumped, defeated.
Was he really the only one who didn’t want it opened right now? It was for him, after all.
“Well,” he said, sighing, “I guess I may as well, then. I just hope it’s something positive.” He took a deep breath; picked the envelope up from where he’d dropped it in his lap, and glanced at Paloma, who nodded encouragingly at him.
Jason offered him a knife to open it with, and he hesitated, then accepted, returning it promptly. “Here goes nothing… or… something,”
With slow precision, he pulled the card – which, indeed, contained a letter within – from the envelope. He took a deep breath; another; another.
Finally, he looked down at the cover. Nothing out of the ordinary; looked like a birthday card so far.
He opened it, setting the letter aside for the time being. There was no way – whatever it said – he would be reading it aloud for everyone in the room to hear. “Um,” he began. “Nothing special here,” he told everyone, hoping they wouldn’t request he read it aloud.
That’d be just what he needed on his birthday- and their Christmas celebration – a cranky passel of people.
How dare the man?
What right does he have to…?
“Well,” Mark asked, moving closer. “Aren’t you going to read it, then? If it’s not that big a deal…”
“Would you like to read it yourself before suggesting I read it aloud for everyone?”
“Well, I just thought…”
“You know, Mark… some things are private for a reason. But go ahead,” Edward said, holding the card out to the man, who stood there, hands on his hips, glasses beginning to slouch down his nose. “Be my guest, Guest.”
The tension in the room felt heavy and thick as Mark moved the few steps closer to him and the card exchanged hands. After what seemed to be only a cursory glance at the contents, Mark cleared his throat.
“Yes,” Edward asked him. “It’s your daughter’s birthday, remember… not just mine. Oh, and did I mention it’s Christmas Eve?”
“I, um…”
This time, he could tell Mark was reading it. The further along he got, the wider his eyes became.
“This was sent as a birthday card? seriously?” He looked over at Paloma, then back to Edward, meeting his eyes.
“To yours truly.”
Jason moved forward, holding out a hand. “May I?”
Edward sighed; at this rate, everyone would know what it said anyway… may as well have just read it. He glanced around the room, where there was finally some movement again, and held his breath as Mark passed the card over.
“There’s no signature. Who’s it from,” Mark asked him as Jason read the card for himself.
“Do you remember a few years ago when we had an accessories designer friend of the Peacocks stay with us… always dressed in suits, carried a cane, gorgeous white hair, horrible attitude,” Paloma asked, breaking back into the conversation at last.
Mark shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Wait,” Jason asked, looking up and handing the note back to Edward. “Are you talking about…?”
The man was red as the yarn in his sweater, and Edward could almost see the rage radiating from him in waves.
“I remember, Papa,” Cherish piped up, moving closer, an uncomfortable-looking Confetti wrestling around in her arms. “That guy that refused to be called anything but Kristof. As if everyone always went by last names but him,” she said. “He was a pain, and mean, too.”
Several people began to ask questions; so many people Edward could hardly differentiate between them. He could hear Angelique, and Paloma, and Masao; he heard Jason, Mark, Eugenie, and Duncan; he heard Cherish continuing to complain about the man in question, and he heard Rose clear her throat before he saw her walking away.
“Please don’t go, Rose,” he called, halting everyone’s speech again. “I knew this was a bad idea, and I take full responsibility for it getting out of hand. Please, don’t go. We’d really like you to stay. It’s Christmas, after all… and I don’t turn fifty every day, either.”
Rose looked up at him, startled.
“I was going for seconds on the food,” she said, laughing. “Trust me, this is nothing compared to the stress of where I’ve been. Piece of cake,” she said. “Nothing to it. No problems at all.”
Paloma moved toward the young woman and put an arm around her. “Sorry. He wasn’t the only one who thought you might be… trying to escape what was happening, and I, for one, wouldn’t blame you,” she said as everything began to calm down again.
Confetti finally freed herself from the prison of arms she was in and bounded away, much to Edward’s amusement. He looked back down at the card, still trying to process it; now he really was thankful not to have tried reading the letter that came with it, too.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Stuart, it read.
If your wife told you about this, I guess you’re still stuck with her, and if not, then, well, congratulations.
I just wanted to wish you a wonderful 50th birthday, filled with peace. You weren’t all that bad a guy, considering the life you’ve chosen. I still don’t see what someone like you is doing with such a… how do I even put this delicately? I won’t, as someone not to mince words. You married a prissy old hog, and I wish I could have saved you from that choice, Old Chap, but what’s done is done. You’re girdled in tight to a woman who refrains too often from wearing one. Do the best you can with what you’ve got, Old Man.
At 60, like me, you will surely regret it if you don’t. And regrets, Edward… they will haunt you forever.
Oh, yes… by the by… a Happy Christmas to you! It is a time to celebrate, after all…
Edward sighed again, feeling a fury rise within him. The man had some nerve!
Who would ever send a card so low, so rude, and downright mean? Besides, how could the man not see the absolute beauty Paloma exuded day in and day out from the moment Edward had laid eyes on her?
He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. Unsuccessful at that, he shoved the letter and card into his pocket and quickly made his way through the group and walked outside.
“Listen, Edward,” he heard Mark say behind him even as the door was st
ill opening. “I didn’t mean to…”
“Forget it, Mark. Forget it. I thought you knew better than this by now, but I was wrong.”
“But, Edward, I’m trying to…”
“I know you’ve got your issues, and I know you’ve come a long way… I’m glad you’ve grown as much as you have, but that still doesn’t give you the right to make me look like a fool in my own home in front of family and friends. We all make mistakes, but this was too much… you go too far, Friend.”
“At least you’re calling me Friend now; ten minutes ago I was merely Guest,” Mark countered as he shoved his hands in his pockets and marched up to him through the frozen grass. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to make amends.”
“Amends?”
“I may not practice psychology anymore; I may be someone who studies sociology from home now and does smaller projects to keep my stress level down, but you… you act like something like that letter isn’t a big deal, and it is. Even I can see that it is. And the man who wrote that is not only tactless, he’s the one who’s a pig.”
“Now, there’s no need to be calling…”
“Now you’re defending that man?”
“What are you even saying, Mark?” Edward moved further out into the lawn; further away from Mark, even as he heard someone else stepping outside behind him. Now what, he thought. More people to come ridicule me and slight me for not wanting to embarrass my wife, who doesn’t deserve this? More people to kill the joy of the day?
“Edward? Mark? Can I… can I talk to you both for a minute?”
Stunned, he turned around. Rose stood there, her feet in nothing but socks, and without a jacket. She stood there, visibly shivering, and her hair, loose from its earlier constraint, flew around her in the bitter north wind.
“Get back inside. You’ll freeze out here,” he told her, irritated now more than ever.
“Then let’s go upstairs, if you insist. I… there are some things I really want to talk to you about. I… I need to do it before I lose heart and courage to do it.”
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 26