“Aunt Lilly Hale says that during hunting season they actually come onto her lawn, right up to the house, in daylight. They know no one will shoot that close to the house.”
One of the larger deer raised its head. In less than one second they vanished so completely it was difficult to believe they had been there.
Emmie slipped her hand into his. Her fingers were a little cool, the bones tiny. His eyes prickled. He had been the sexual aggressor, and yeah, aggressor was the right word. He’d gone after her without a lot of concern for the impact he would have on her life. She had always responded, but except for the beginning when she’d grabbed his arm and dragged him into the small office, she had never touched him first. An odd pride filled his chest that somewhere in this day she had given him this much trust.
Emmie led him around the house to a back door. “Nobody uses the front door.”
“What do you mean? Everybody used it at the breakfast.”
“That wasn’t a family gathering. That was social. Different rules.” Emmie led him up a short flight of brick steps and onto a screened porch. Without knocking, she opened a glass door decorated with a spray of pine boughs gathered with a large red bow.
They entered to cries of, “Hey, look who’s here,” and an olfactory blast of roasting turkey and sage, tangy cranberry, cinnamon, yeasty rolls, and an oddly refreshing resiny smell coming from pine boughs stuck everywhere. There was also the smell of a lot of people. American people.
Every place had a smell, and the people in a country also had a discreet, recognizable odor. He’d left Afghanistan months ago but he was still was surprised sometimes to smell a bunch of Americans in one place.
“Don’t get hung up on expectations,” he’d told trainees. “Once you’re inserted, it’s never the way you thought it would be, and even if you’ve been there before, it’s never the way it was.”
He knew better, but he’d fallen for his expectations. He’d anticipated a low-key, decorous gathering. Not this. The kitchen was a surging mass of people, colors, sounds, and smells, and calls for consultation shouted above the noise of a mixer.
Underneath it all was the smell of the house. He remembered it from before. There was a certain smell all old houses had in common. Old wood, old wool, old dust—no matter how clean. This one had that smell. But he also thought it smelled like stability, lives lived to completion, and kindness, sweet and dark and rich and complex.
At the stove in conversation with other cooks, Miss Lilly Hale, a large poinsettia-printed apron over her sweater and slacks, heard the commotion and turned around. “Do-Lord, I’m so glad you’re here!” She held out her arms in clear expectation of a hug.
Do-Lord had one of those “where the hell am I?” moments. Everybody had them. They could be scary seconds of disorientation when waking up in a strange place. Or Zen moments in which the juxtaposition of the familiar into the unfamiliar produces an awakening when you suddenly find it remarkable that you are here. It could totally derail one’s focus, which usually wasn’t good. It could also make perception hyperclear. A person suddenly knew how remarkable, special, and singular this particular instant is.
Of all the things he’d ever done, hugging an old lady wasn’t one. He wasn’t sure what he should get hold of her by. He stepped closer, and her arms came around his middle and squeezed while he tried to reason where he could safely put his hands. Lilly Hale Sessoms was a substantial woman, so he was surprised at how little she felt, and how fragile. And peculiarly soft. Not flabby. But like some crucial binder that keeps flesh together was breaking down. He didn’t dare squeeze her. He settled for placing his hands lightly on her shoulder blades until she let go of him.
As she pulled away her gray curls brushed the underside of his chin, and his throat tightened around a strange lump. And the world settled back into ordinary reality.
After a few exchanges of ritual greeting phrases, Lilly Hale twinkled, so obviously sizing him up it was impossible to take offense, and said, “I expect you’re a very useful young man.”
“Yes, ma’am, that I am.”
“I need someone to set up the children’s table in the family room. I have to leave it until the last minute. Come with me.”
She led him through the crowd spilling into the wide hall. Pickett’s sisters Grace and Sarah Bea and their husbands were there, along with others he had met at the wedding. Occasionally, she stopped to introduce him.
“Charles,” she said, to a twitchy, hunted-looking young man of about sixteen. “Chief Dulaude is going to set up the tables for me. Will you help him?”
In a few minutes he understood why Miss Lilly Hale had assigned him to the table detail and designated Charles as his helper. In short order, three teenage boys who had been hanging out with teen-angst casualness in the hall, unwilling to align themselves with the children in the family room or the older adults in the parlors, appeared. Two he recognized were Grace’s sons, and one, he wasn’t sure. That they wanted to hang out with a SEAL was clear. That they didn’t want to align themselves with Charles, equally clear.
If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was get a bunch of young guys working together. “Hey, men.” Do-Lord waved them over. “Give us a hand.”
“Emmie! You’re here!” Pickett carried a stack of linen napkins. She dropped them on a table and held out her arms.
“Pickett!”
Pickett held her at arm’s length. “Wait a minute—I’ve got to look at you! Turn around. Oh, my, you look terrific!”
Emmie was glad she’d changed into her new charcoal blue slacks and lavender-blue woven silk sweater. She looked good. She was dressed just right, and there was nothing so satisfying, she suddenly discovered, as sincere compliments from a good woman friend.
Pickett’s eyes were wide with wonder. “Emmie, what happened?’
Emmie laughed. “I finally noticed there was something missing from my life. Me.”
Once the tables were set up and covered with white linen cloths, and chairs were fetched from various places around the house, they were summoned to the large double parlor where a grand piano had been opened.
Lilly Hale called for attention. “James,” she announced indicating a scholarly-looking man in his fifties, “is going to read us the Christmas story from Luke. Then I’ve persuaded Hannah and Emmie to sing.”
Children were shushed, and James opened the Bible and began to read. “And it came to pass in those days, a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.”
“And they came and found Mary and Joseph and the babe lying in a manger.”
Charles took his seat at the piano. Emmie and Hannah, a dark-haired girl about fourteen, stood in the curve of the piano. Emmie squeezed Hannah’s hand and nodded to Charles to begin. For all his youth, from the first notes, Charles played with unmistakable mastery. “Away in a manger…” Over the glistening notes of the piano, voices poured like silk, finding silver curves in the fabric of space—tracing them with their song. The simple joy of allowing music to manifest through them shone in three faces. They knew they had been given a glimpse of the mystery from which all life springs.
Chapter 26
“EMMIE,” AUNT LILLY HALE DIRECTED, “I WANT YOU and Do-Lord to sit at an adult table. Pickett, you too. There are enough adults to supervise the children. Tyler will be fine with them.”
In the double parlors, furniture had been pushed back and two dinner tables spread with snowy linen. To accommodate all the diners, chairs from every corner of the house had been pressed into service to augment the regular dining chairs—another job assigned to Do-Lord and his crew.
Caleb set his plate beside Emmie’s, held her chair, and then Pickett’s. He was ready to take his own seat when the doorbell rang.
“My goodness! That’s the front door. Do-Lord, you’re up.” Lilly Hale said from her seat at the head of the table. “Would you answer it please?”
On the threshold stood Charlotte Calhoun and V
icky. As soon as she saw him, Vicky threw her arms around his waist. “You are here! I told Mother you would be.” She pulled back, smiling tremulously. “I told. It wasn’t fair for you to get in trouble when it was me.”
Aunt Lilly Hale appeared behind Do-Lord. “Why Charlotte!” She quickly mastered her surprise. “How wonderful you could come. And little Vicky too. Vicky, the children are eating in the family room. Run on back.”
“I hope we’re not intruding,” Charlotte apologized to Lilly Hale. “I know we sent regrets to your invitation, but we got free at the last minute. Vicky wanted to come so much.”
Lilly Hale waved that away. “You’re family. Of course, you’re welcome. Let me take your coat, and Do-Lord will show you how to get to the dining room to serve yourself.”
Vicky looked to her mother for permission and at her nod ran down the corridor.
“This way,” he said, leading Charlotte into the hall. “With so many tables set up, there’s only one path open to the food.”
When they were out of earshot, she stopped him. “I’m so grateful you were there this afternoon. I had to come and thank you after Vicky told me what happened. I’m sorry you had a run in with Mr. Fairchild. He wasn’t speaking for me or my husband. You will always be welcome in our house. Vicky is… she’s a handful.”
Do-Lord shook his head. “She’s resourceful, that’s for sure.”
“I want to do something for you—”
“Thank you, ma’am. Nothing is required.” When he saw she was ready to protest he added, “Really ma’am.” He let his voice harden into a command. “The less said the better.”
Charlotte acquiesced with a nod that said she was only temporarily agreeing. “I hope you will at least come to dinner. My husband never got a chance to speak to you and welcome you into our home.”
“Thank you for making Charlotte feel at home. She is family, on her mother’s side, and ever since they moved to Wilmington she’s been invited to my Christmas dinner, but she’s never come.” Lilly Hale was in full spate. Do-Lord let the comfortable sound drift around him and didn’t worry about needing to reply. If she wanted him to say something, she’d tell him. “Charlotte told me Vicky insisted they come tonight. I understand that Charlotte and Teague lead busy lives, but I’m glad to see she’s finally taking her responsibility to make sure Vicky knows her cousins seriously. My late husband, Garson, used to complain about all the fuss. And I’d say to him, ‘Garson, a family is not something that just happens, you must build it.’ I started having this party when our children were grown and had moved away from here. I saw that the grandchildren were growing up not understanding how they were related. This is the homeplace.”
“Are all these people kin?”
“I always invite some dear friends who have become honorary family members—like Emmie. After all, a family doesn’t begin with blood ties. A family starts with ties of the heart.”
“Aunt Lilly Hale,” one of the women working at the sink called, holding up a bowl and saucer all made into one, “can this gravy boat go in the dishwasher?”
“Yes, oh, and Grace, be sure to count the silver before it’s put away.” Emmie and Grace, who were drying a mountain of silver utensils, traded a secret smile.
“I saw that.” The matriarch laughed. “You’re too young to remember the Christmas eve we sifted garbage at 10:00 p.m. looking for one of the silver forks.”
“Oh, Lord, Mama, I remember.” The fiftyish woman married to the James who had read from the Bible, looked up from the leftovers she was organizing. “It was cold, and you made Daddy put the garbage barrels—the humongous oil drums we used back then—on the pickup and drive them up to the house where there was enough light. You made every one of us children spread the garbage out in pans on the porch there. Daddy was cussing a blue streak. But you said the fork was in the garbage, and you were right.”
“After that I made a rule that no garbage could be carried from the house until all the silver was accounted for.”
The exchanges had the well-worn feel of a story that had been told over and over. Strophe and antistrophe, everyone knew the words, knew what came next, and the different voices flowed together so seamlessly it was like a story told in chorus.
“And you made sure you taught all your daughters—”
“And daughters-in-law—”
“And granddaughters—”
“And nieces—”
“And great-nieces—”
“And great-great nephews,” said Grace’s son, returning a chair to its place at the kitchen table.
“Let me show you the we room we added when my mother came to live with us,” Lilly Hale told Do-Lord conversationally.
“Sit down,” she commanded in a steely tone as soon as they were in a large bedroom. She took a chair and indicated he should sit on the bed. “It’s probably too soon to ask this, but I no longer have as much time as I once did. Old ladies are allowed much more latitude than young women to be rudely inquisitive,” she explained. “I take shameless advantage of it.”
He didn’t like the feeling that he was being called to account for his actions. He didn’t like it one bit. Still, Do-Lord had to smile at her charm.
She folded her hands in her lap and leveled him with an uncompromising look. “How serious are you about Emmie?”
“I’m ready to be as serious as she wants me to be.”
“And Emmie?” she prodded. “How does she feel?”
Do-Lord decided to push back. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“Because I’m asking you.” She tapped the uphol stered arm of her chair with one gnarled finger. She relented a little. “Emmie is sensitive. I don’t wish to embarrass her or make her self-conscious.”
She had given a little. He could give a little. “I haven’t won her over to my way of thinking yet. But I’m going to try.”
She digested that without comment. “Do you have a family?”
“My mother is dead.”
A trace of sympathy flickered in her eyes, but her expression didn’t soften. “And your father?”
“Was never in the picture.”
“He was not married to your mother.”
“No, ma’am.”
“And you were raised without a father’s guidance.” He’d never thought of it in exactly that way. There was no need to reply. The facts spoke for themselves.
“People who have been raised without family ties do not always grasp family values. I suspect that new husband of Pickett’s doesn’t. However, Pickett is quite strong. She understands how a family functions and dysfunctions.” Lilly Hale smiled at her little joke. “She’ll set him straight.”
Do-Lord was suddenly confused. Unless he was mistaken, Pickett’s sister Lyle was a lesbian. Jax didn’t have a problem with that. “Do you mean like trying to keep homosexuals away from kids?”
“Pshaw!” Do-Lord hadn’t heard the old-fashioned exclamation since he was a kid. It made him feel connected to the old lady—like she was somebody he’d known a long time. “Some people act like homosexuals only recently moved into society. They have always been among us. Always been one of us. Let me tell you, if congregations eliminated their homosexual members, the music programs of three-fourths of the churches in this state would collapse. It was true seventy years ago, and it’s true today.”
“So, which family values do you mean?”
“Kindness, devotion to one another’s well-being, respect, and responsibility for teaching the children as well as guarding them from harm. And heaping amounts of forgiveness and tolerance. Especially the last. Families are made up of human beings, not saints. We are weak, selfish, and shortsighted much of the time, and we make mistakes as often as we get it right.”
Lilly Hale came out of lecture mode and gave him a weary smile. “You are close to the height of your physical and mental powers with the natural arrogance of youth. You don’t believe me. You think you’re different. My boy—” On her lips the words sounded like a
real endearment. “There will be times when you fail the people you love most.”
Against his will, he thought of how he had endangered Jax and his team. And of his mother, lying so still, so silent, so beautiful, where the red light of the setting sun touched her hair.
“The values that I’m talking about demand we search our own conscience, not the conscience of others. These are the values that constantly invite us up to a higher standard. And forgive us, and comfort us when we inevitably fail. These are the values that nourish love. They will allow a family to flourish in the good times and survive the bad times.”
She had gone back into lecture mode. Still, he was listening. Against his will, but listening. He thought of what he had promised Emmie. “What about fidelity and loyalty?”
“They are good to have,” she allowed.
“But?”
“In the bad times, they will not be enough.”
They were silent a minute. “We’ve been absent a long while,” she said at last. “Give me your hand. This chair is too low. Always was.”
She didn’t release his arm even after she was standing. Instead, she leaned on it as they made their way back to the noise and crowd. She halted him in the hallway, behind the stairs. “What is your given name?” she asked out of the blue.
“Caleb.”
“What did your mother call you?”
“That. Caleb.”
“It’s a good name. Caleb was one of the two Israelite spies who told the truth. All the other spies lied because they didn’t have the courage to go forward. They didn’t want to face what must be faced to reach the Promised Land.
“Caleb,” she said as she resumed walking, “I imagine Pickett’s mother will want Emmie to come home for Christmas, especially if Pickett doesn’t come. If she does, why don’t you plan to come and stay with me? My children are all middle-aged and dull and mistakenly believe they’re supposed to raise me now. I’ll enjoy having a young person around.”
Do-Lord put the truck’s wipers on their lowest setting to deal with the heavy dew that kept condensing on the windshield. The foil-covered leftovers he’d placed on the floor behind his seat filled the cab with fragrant reminders of the feast they had left.
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