Plundered Christmas

by Susan Lyttek

  “Ladies,” Margo said. “May I ask what you’re doing? What’s the hold up?”

  I held up the parchment. “This raised brick caused the last carton to spill. We found this under it.”

  “Oh, my.” Margo’s mouth fell open as she claimed the find.

  ****

  Christmas decorating was put on hold immediately. All of Banet Island wanted to see the mysterious parchment and what it contained.

  I heard whispered questions.

  “Is it the map?” and “How could a visitor find what none of us did?” as well as grateful exultations. They all hoped that I had stumbled upon something, something precious and priceless for the Banet family.

  In the grand dining room, we huddled around the ancient paper as Margo used a hot skewer to lift and cut the wax, preserving the seal.

  Then William suggested that I, someone with no connections or interest in whatever it was, open the parchment and read it.

  Nervously, wearing the white cotton gloves someone loaned me, I unrolled the document. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find, or what they expected me to read, but it seemed to surprise everyone. The ornate script was difficult to decipher at first, but then, as I grew accustomed to it, a mysterious woman came to life upon its page.

  The year of our Lord, 1720, December

  Mary died. My best friend in all the world burned up by the cruelest of fevers. That was all I could turn my mind to when the cell door opened. They had come for her body.

  I had seen the baby kicking within her as Mary thrashed in agony. The poor thing did not realize its mother was dying. Nor did it know it would also, without ever seeing the light of day. I hugged my own belly. Oh dear God in heaven! What hope remained for my own infant?

  I felt a pang of another kind. What about my other child? Who had he become? Now that I had no hope of life, I longed for him, the one I had thrust aside for my pleasure and adventure. Fate is cruel and leads us in its merry ways simply, I believe, to see how we will dance.

  However, it was not the gaoler who opened the door to my confinement. Much to my surprise, it was my husband. I did suppose, even after my transgressions and flights of fancy that he was still my husband.

  “Be still,” he told me in a whisper. “Your father and I have arranged for your escape.”

  That my father could and would do such a thing, I could believe. Since the death of my mother, he indulged me far too much. But that he and James would work in concert seemed an incredible thing. Father had never cared for James. He often called him weak-willed and lily-livered. At sixteen, I believed not a word of it. On the other hand, perhaps I did give it credence and wanted to defy my father anyway.

  James urged me to silence as he afforded my exit. We had to be quick about it. The guards had been paid for only momentary blindness.

  I said a quick word of farewell to my longest, truest friend and put my favorite (and only remaining) shawl across her face. Then I followed James up and out to freedom.

  In the harbor, a small frigate with my father’s colors awaited us. After we boarded and set sail, James let me know the plan.

  Through his connections with the governor, he found a small, uninhabited island. Using the monies he had earned as informant, he purchased that same island. There, he explained, we would live in blissful anonymity.

  When I began to protest, he told me some details about the layout of our new abode and the way the prevalent currents avoided it. Few people, without intending to visit us, would find us. However, we had a ship.

  His plan was wise. The years had grown well on James. Father provided that he would leave us be and circulate various rumors about my disappearance: that I had died, that I had remarried and lived as a sedate housewife, and that I vanished as mysteriously as I had been born.

  Father only had two conditions for helping us. One, that we make available various items of interest we, shall we say, stumbled upon in our journeys for him to dispose of however he should wish. Some he would sell to profit by, but knowing how Father collects things which please him, others would find a place in his abode. However, the second condition was more personal. Perhaps he felt it made up for him being first an absent and then a permissive father? He required that I keep a journal, a record of my life and days to be available for him to read if ever he should visit us on the island. If I refused to do so, he would turn me back in to the Jamaican authorities.

  As Father had never made such a promise of retribution before, I had no reason to doubt it. However, as James explained, with what we planned for our livelihood, it would not do well to have all the pages in the same place.

  This, in evidence, is the first of such pages. I attest it to be as real and as truthful as I ever wrote.

  Anne, Queen of Banet Island

  Beneath her final words, a compass rose was drawn with one arrow pointing north and another southwest. I could only guess what that meant.

  5

  No one spoke after I finished reading the letter. I couldn’t help notice that this Anne from a much earlier time had a husband whose first name matched my own darling’s. How romantic. The connection made me want to know more about her. Why was she in jail? What had she done?

  “So,” breathed Aimee. “It was true after all.”

  I think the young woman was too excited and forgot herself, forgot who was listening to her.

  “What was true, after all, young woman?” Margo demanded. “What do you know and how do you know it?”

  Aimee practically melted under the woman’s gaze. But she said nothing.

  William spoke up. “Can’t you see the family resemblance, Auntie? Our cousin came with the Talbotts and Jensens. But she has Banet roots through and through.”

  Margo pulled on a pair of reading glasses and peered closely at Aimee. “Joseph Beauregard’s daughter? How did you imagine that you would be welcome here?”

  “Margo, please,” said Dad, putting an arm around her. “She’s our guest as much as yours.”

  Margo pulled away and gave my father a look of disgust. “She may be your guest, if you wish, but Aimee Beauregard is no guest of mine.” She marched up to my brother’s intended, who looked as if she would rather be anywhere but where she found herself. Our hostess jabbed her forefinger repeatedly into Aimee’s chest as if it were a knife. “After what your father did, after what he told the world and threatened to expose, after he promised to turn this island into a media circus with TV crews and glamour seeking archaeologists? After all of that, you have the nerve to turn up here?”

  Somewhere in the midst of Margo’s tirade, Aimee found a backbone. “But Aunt Margo,” the word “aunt” sounded like an insult from her lips. “My father was obviously right. His research was accurate and his report well documented. Our money and our roots do come from piracy. And the grandmother of all of us at the head of it is Anne Bonny, the pirate queen.”

  At the last word, my father’s girlfriend wheeled back and slapped Aimee across the face.

  We all cringed at the sound. The slap left a visible handprint on the side of Aimee’s face.

  “Dear Aunt,” Aimee said as she turned her face, revealing the clean, unblemished cheek. “The Lord I serve says I should turn the other. If you wish to slap it as well, please do so.”

  They stood there, facing each other for several minutes.

  Then Margo spun on her heel and marched imperiously away. “I expect this tree fully decorated when I come back!” she commanded.

  Once she had left the house and effectively slammed the front door, I rushed over to Aimee. “Are you OK?”

  The moment over, she deflated. “Yes, Mrs. ..." ”

  “Jeanine,” I said as softly and warmly as I could.

  “Jeanine.” With her left hand, she traced the print on her face.

  I imagine it stung quite a bit. So William wasn’t an old boyfriend after all. They were cousins.

  Without a word, Frank came to her side. “It wasn’t the reunion you imagined, was
it, sweetheart?”

  “You two talked about this?” I asked.

  Frank nodded. “Not too long ago. As we walked to get the tree. We hoped that Margo wouldn’t recognize her. The last time she saw Aimee, Aimee was five.” He reached for Aimee’s hand and traced the mark with her. “I think it’s beautiful,” he said.

  I was horrified, but he continued.

  “Not how it looks or how it happened, but how my girl handled it all. Isn’t she amazing, Jeanine?”

  I had to admit that she was. But they also needed time together. So I grabbed a box, found my husband and kids, and began to untangle some lights.

  ****

  We worked on the tree all day, only stopping to graze on the tea sandwiches, cookies, and fruit set out in the dining room by the cook and her helper. I rather liked not having to cook or think about food until I became hungry.

  Finally, around five o’ clock, Dad and James looked up and pronounced the tree complete.

  “We only need someone to turn it on and make the holiday official,” Justin said.

  Since we didn’t live there, none of us felt right doing the honors.

  I found Charlie out back near the cellar. “Do you have any idea where Margo is?” I asked. “We haven’t seen her in hours and the tree is ready.”

  He didn’t answer me right away. In fact, he seemed rather surprised that I was asking. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

  I must have looked disappointed at that news, because he added, “Why don’t you let that boy of yours plug in the lights? Nothing better than a child seeing Christmas.”

  “But it’s not our tree, Charlie. It’s not our house. We wouldn’t feel right.”

  He gave me a nudge back toward the house. “Nonsense, ma’am. You decorated it. You deserve to see it lit first.”

  I had an idea. Charlie had lived with these people and worked for them all his life. It was as much his tree as Margo’s. “Why don’t you do us the honors, Charlie? It’s your home, too.”

  He looked over his shoulder at the cellar. Then he slowly rotated his head, looking around the island before he looked back at me. “No, ma’am. It’s not my home. I may live here, but it’s never been home.” He surprised me by reaching for my hand. Then he patted it for a moment. “You’re a kind woman, Mrs. Talbott. I wish I knew more of your like in my years.” Then he let go as quick as he had grabbed it. “Now go enjoy the tree and the beginnings of Christmas with that family of yours.”

  As he stood there, staring out at the rest of the island, not making a move to follow me or find Miss Margo, I left. What else could I do?

  When I returned to the manor, I could see lights twinkling as soon as I walked in the front door.

  Justin and Josie ran up to me. “Miss Margo’s daughter, Mary, just walked up to the extension cord, picked it up and plugged it in. Then she walked away. She didn’t do anything Christmas-y about it. In fact, she acted more like it and we, were a major pain.”

  James tried to mollify them. “It wasn’t quite as bad as all that, kids. And, at least now the lights are on.” He pulled us into a family hug. “And isn’t it a beautiful tree?”

  We looked at it in camaraderie and silence. The only place I had ever seen a tree that compared was in the mall. But as perfect as it was to look at, it had no heart, no character. I guess that was because no one here really cared if it was up or not. They had an immense evergreen grown for them and brought to the island year after year. Yet it seemed they did it all more out of tradition than a love of the season and what it represented.

  Dad called us over to the couch that faced the tree. The flashing lights colored his face. I could see his well-worn Bible in his hand.

  “I don’t know where Margo is, or any of her family, for that matter. But we are together and the tree here before us reminds us of why we celebrate this night.”

  We knew what was coming.

  Thus began the Christmas tradition year after year.

  In fact, both kids moved close to him. They knew what came next.

  Josie made it to his side first and received the first question. “Can you tell me about it, Josie?”

  Of course, she could. This had been part of Christmas with Papa since she was a baby.

  “Legend says that Christians in Europe chose the evergreen to decorate and honor because it is like God in that it never changes. He is eternally the same. The evergreen never appears to die as the seasons change. It doesn’t lose its leaves like the other trees. Also, the tree has a natural shape like an arrow that points to heaven.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Aimee said. “I wish I’d learned that at your age. I just thought it was something people did at Christmas.” She and Frank had joined us, coming up from the dining room, while Josie had been talking. “I never thought of the meaning behind it.”

  “Well,” Justin said, not wanting to be outdone. “It is tradition for a lot of people. I don’t think most people ever think about why they put up a tree. They just do because it’s Christmas and it looks nice.”

  Aimee leaned into Frank. “I really think I’m going to like being a part of this family.”

  My father bounced off the couch faster than I could. “Does this mean?”

  Aimee shyly held out her left hand. A ring sat securely on her ring finger. An iridescent opal, sat in the center of the setting. By the deep rich glow of the stone, I could tell its quality. Surrounding the opal were a dozen or more little diamond chips making the petals of the flower.

  “Oh, it’s stunning! You have great taste, brother of mine.”

  He looked at Aimee instead of the ring in response to my outburst. “That I know.”

  I hugged my soon-to-be sister-in-law. “Welcome to the Jensen clan, Aimee.”

  She hugged me back. “Thank you.”

  Josie snuggled up, not wanting to be left out. “Didn’t I tell you, Aimee? Didn’t I tell you right off the bat?”

  Aimee crouched down to Josie’s level. “You are absolutely right. You told me on the boat that I would love your family. And that you would love me.” She whispered the last couple of words.

  “Does that mean I call you Aunt Aimee?” Justin asked.

  She smiled. “I guess so.”

  “Then, Aunt Aimee, get comfortable and have a seat so we can do the rest of the Christmas Eve tradition.”

  “There’s more?” She feigned surprise well.

  I think Frank had briefed her on our routine before they came over. We made room on the couch; it wasn’t hard because I think it could seat thirty in a pinch, and resumed the Jensen tales of the night.

  Frank took up the next part, perhaps to impress his new fiancée. “The tree, as we’ve said, points to God and his changeless, eternal nature. But what was the first thing we put on the tree?”

  “The lights?”

  “Exactly. Because as it says in the book of John, ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through Him, all things were made; without Him nothing was made that has been made. In Him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.’ The lights on the tree remind us of the true light, the light of the world, Jesus Christ.”

  I liked the next part. It always gave me goose bumps, so I decided I would tell it. “Next on every tree are the ornaments. What do the ornaments represent? What makes the tree of God beautiful?”

  “We do!” shouted Josie and Justin.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “As it says in Zechariah, ‘The Lord their God will save his people on that day as a shepherd saves his flock. They will sparkle in his land like jewels in a crown.’ Also, it looks like fruit on the tree and reminds us to be fruitful for Him in the coming year.”

  “Now,” said my father. “It is time for us to remember how our Savior came into this world.” He opened his well-worn Bible to the Gospel of Luke. “In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census shou
ld be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.’

  “‘So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David.’”

  Dad would have kept reading. I know this, because he did every year.

  But at this moment, Charlie burst in. “Help! Help!” He waved to all of us. “Miss Margo is hurt! Come quickly! Down by the docks!”

  For once, I thought logically instead of just racing off. “Should I gather some supplies?”

  Charlie looked stunned at the question. “Yes.” He looked desperate. “Whatever you have that can wrap a wound and stop bleeding. And blankets or towels to keep her warm. Mary and I just pulled her out of the water.”

  He ran out.

  Dad dropped his Bible on the couch, pulled up the comforter that was draped over one armrest, and ran after him. My father had distanced himself from Margo since he got here, but he had considered marrying her. You did not get that close to someone without wanting to help at any cost.

  I ran to the room assigned to us in the west wing and grabbed some of Jelly’s extra accident pads we’d brought on this journey. He’d been such a well-behaved dog, we hadn’t needed them. At least not for their intended purpose.

  Blood. Water. And the dock. It had to be the sharks. But why? And where was everyone else? For at least an hour, it had only been the Talbott-Jensen clan inside the great house, unless the rest were huddled in their rooms.

  I saw Aimee in the great room, looking at the tree, but holding her phone in front of her as I raced out. Was she going to take a picture? When she made no move to follow me, I assumed that she thought her aunt would neither want her nor need her.

  I couldn’t get over how un-Christmas it all was as I raced out with the absorbent pads to see to our injured hostess.

  ****

  Outside, the wind was whipping up. It didn’t feel like snow, of course, but it definitely wasn’t as warm as it had been this morning. With the sun down, the temperature had to be in the lower sixties or upper fifties. After the sun and eighties earlier in the day, it felt really cold. I ran, not just because of the emergency, but because I hoped I would warm up.