by Linda Swain
“What could that be?” she asked with a suspicious note in her voice. “What have you got in mind?”
“Something, my darling,” he replied, reminding himself of the box he needed from their bedroom closet, “that would fit a goddess such as you.”
* * * *
It was a memory that Anton would always cherish. The sight of his dashing Papa dressed in his most elegant clothes, a dark cape swirling mysteriously around him, and his Maman, clothed in a white gown, a gold rope around her waist that seemed to hide the bebe that Anton couldn’t wait to see. No goddess could have ever been as beautiful, the young boy decided.
As he was wheeled into a room that had been so colorfully decorated at his Maman’s direction, he pushed aside the ragged robe that covered his legs and helped disguise his wheelchair. Today was not a day for such things, he decided, forcing himself to meet his guests without assistance, laughing as the children soon begun playing games with him despite his chair.
The sound of his son’s laughter brought a lump to Ash’s throat, and when he spoke to Katherine, his voice shook with emotion. “I had always been fearful,” he admitted as they watched children bobbing for apples, “that Anton would be laughed at, but now, thanks to you, he is like any other child.”
Indeed, Anton had his own moments of misgiving, holding back within the confines of his char, watching as the other children laughed and played. Before either parent could intervene, Megan suggested a rousing game of charades that soon had Anton forgetting his shyness.
“He is like any other child, he always has been,” Kat insisted, even as she felt her own baby kicking and stirring within her. “And the more he sees that he is accepted, the easier it will become.”
For a time, Ashton simply regarded the festivities from the sidelines, his gaze shifting back and forth between his son and his wife, who had, it seemed, taken it upon herself to lead the children to a long table in the center of the room. He had seen it set up there when they’d entered, and its lack of chairs had caught his eye, but when Anton had entered the room so shyly, his paternal instincts had come to the forefront and the table had been forgotten. But Kat was leading the children towards the table now as Megan and Jeanette came in through a side door, their arms laden with crafting supplies. As Ashton watched, the children were given a handful of the washing pins that the maids used when they hung the laundry out to dry, and told to decorate the pins in any manner they wished. Kat handed out packets of colored pencils and crayons to each child, then stood back as Megan and Jeanette stepped forward, aiding the children in cutting up bits of gaily-colored felt to glue onto the clothespins they had selected.
Anton flashed a blinding smile in his father’s direction when he held up a handful of his clothespins, which, Ashton saw, he had decorated to match the shades of clothing his parents wore. Perhaps I worried too much that, because he could not run and walk like the other children, he would not have fun here. But look at my deft and clever little boy!
“Papa, look what I have made!” Anton called happily as Megan helped him glue another bit of felt to his clothespin. He held out a pair of them, one of them draped in black felt, its fiery green eyes marked in bright crayon. Another swatch of felt wrapped around the ‘neck’ of the clothespin just beneath the eyes, representing, Ashton thought, the cape that swirled around his own ankles. The second pin that he held out for inspection was wrapped wholly in white paper, its ‘waist’ cinched in by a scribbled strip of bright yellow. The top of the clothespin was crowned in dark red crayon, and it was obvious even to the other children who the pair was supposed to represent. Much giggling and delight burst forth as the other children at the table saw what Anton had done and worked to represent their own parents.
Ashton smiled as Katherine returned to his side from where she had been inspecting each child’s creation. “What is the purpose behind the pins?” He questioned as the crafting process began to wind down. Anton, he noticed, had paired off each of his pins in the same manner, carefully creating three sets of his parents, while the other guests had simply pressed or colored their pins in the haphazard way of children.
Kat smiled and pointed to a wide-mouthed empty container set some distance away from the table. “The clothespins go in there,” she replied. “Each child has to come up to the bottle and drop the pin in without bending over the container. I’ve set the children up in teams, so that everything is fair. Anton could do it by wheeling his chair to the side of the container, but that gives him an advantage over the other children, who have to drop the pin from a longer distance. So he’ll pick his team’s pins when it’s his turn, and he’ll keep count of how many pins the other boy or girl successfully drops in the cup.”
Ashton thought that Anton might disagree with Katherine’s notion of fairness after seeing how the other children got to fully participate in the game, but such was not the case. He appeared to thoroughly enjoy his role of scorekeeper and threw his little derby hat into the air in delight every time one of the pins bounced into the container and stayed within its confines. He was rosy-cheeked with laughter and joy, Ashton saw, and had to blink hard when his eyes blurred with emotion. Turning away as the children crowded around Anton at the end of the game to congratulate his team for coming in second, he cleared his throat and glanced sidelong at Kat, who was watching the proceedings with eyes even mistier than his own. “What will they do now?”
She shrugged. “It’s up to Anton – we could bob for apples or dance, or Madam Megan has agreed to tell some ghost stories.”
Ashton frowned quizzically as his former au pair breezed by him with a tray full of little refreshments for the children. “She knows ghost stories?”
“You would be surprised at what I know,” Megan returned pertly, patting the glossy blonde curls of a polite little boy as he bowed his head in thanks for his cup. “But oui, ghost stories are part of my repertoire. Are you so surprised?”
“You never told me such things,” he protested. “I never knew you were a storyteller as well as …”
The older woman chuckled, her eyes twinkling. “A woman must have some secrets, non? Besides, if you had known I knew ghost stories, I would never have gotten you to go to bed.”
“All right, children, what do you want to do next?” Kat called, her silken gown flowing mysteriously around her. The candles with which she’d insisted the room be lit – though Ashton, worried about the dimness of such lighting on Anton’s eyes as well as the possibility of Kat taking a fall, had forced a compromise. The room’s decorations accommodated nearly as many candles today as their bedroom had over the previous few nights as Ashton had massaged Kat’s skin with his collection of fragrant oils. While they cast appropriately spooky shadows, there was no danger of anyone taking a fall because of the dim lighting.
Kat paused in front of one of the candles now and twisted her delicate hands into strange shapes. “Do you want to dance?” Two rabbits swirled across the expanse of one wall. “Or bob for some apples, perhaps?” A shadow-bird dipped its long beak into a container and flittered away, to be replaced by the strange, hunched shape of a woman holding a book. “Or would you like to hear ghost stories?”
“Dancing!”
“Apples!”
“No, ghost stories!”
“We should let Anton decide!” The winner of the clothespin game was dressed in winding, ragged clothing that was probably, Kat thought, supposed to resemble the Mummy from the popular film from a few years ago, and he shuffled forward once shyly once he had the room’s attention. “After all, he was so nice and gave me a prize for winning the game,” he added.
Glancing at Anton, Ashton was touched to see a glow of pleased embarrassment rise into his son’s cheeks as the congregation of children turned to him. “Well,” he considered. “I have never danced before. How does one dance in a wheelchair?”
A little girl draped in a patchwork of discarded silks and satins giggled and darted over to his chair. “We will show you!” she
announced, gesturing to her friends, as they stepped smartly forward to surround Anton’s chair. Setting their hands on the heavy wooden contraption, they quickly spun it back and forth and from side to side, their laughter bouncing off the walls.
Laying a hand on Ashton’s arm as he frowned, Kat shook her head at him and glanced at Jeanette, who wound the arm of a nearby gramophone. Gentle music burst forth a moment later, and she drew Ashton’s arms gently around her expanding waist. “Dance with me,” she told him, “watch and see, they’ll follow suit.”
He was quite amazed to find that she was right; as soon as he had swirled her into a slow waltz, the giggles had begun to die away, replaced with whispers of awe at the sight of Anton’s “beautiful Maman” as she danced with Anton’s ‘dashing Papa”. Soon, with one of the strong boys standing behind to direct his chair, the armrests of Anton’s chair were grasped by two other little girls and he was slowly brought around in a circle in order to imitate his parents’ dancing while the other children paired off and spun around until they dropped, giggling, to the floor.
When the song had at last ended, and Kat moved away from Ashton, her features wore the softest, most beautiful smile her husband thought he had ever seen. He reached out and touched her cheek with one hand, smiling as she turned away, clapping her hands while calling for Giles to bring in the great copper washtub that would serve as a container for the apples that the children were all suddenly clamoring to see. Even Anton managed to get in on the fun; as Megan held his arms fast behind his body, he was able to bend over the tub and grab for the rosy fruit with his small white teeth.
Soon enough, however, Kat began to see signs in Anton of the same fatigue she herself was feeling, though he was struggling valiantly against falling asleep in his chair as Megan entranced the children with her broad collection of ghostly tales. As she and Ash called the party to its end, Megan and Jeanette presented each child with a bag of treats they could take home. She stood with Ashton at the doorway as each child was met with their parents, thanking them for coming as Megan pushed Anton down the hall to his room. As Kat followed the path of the wheelchair after the last child went on his way, Anton turned his head and blinked at her with sleepy green eyes. “Maman, may we have more parties like this?”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, feeling exhaustion setting in. “But I’m afraid that we won’t be having another party until after the newest member of our family is here. There are lots of other holidays to come, though.” Briefly, she explained the American tradition of Thanksgiving and showed him how closely his beloved Noel followed on its heels. Anton’s eyes lit with excitement at the thought of the festivities ahead, even as his body cried out wearily for sleep.
Ashton stepped up, realizing that Katherine could happily sit with Anton the entire night and tell him stories of the holidays they both loved so much. “Come, Anton. You can hear more stories about the holidays tomorrow. For now, it is time for all of us to seek our beds.” Firmly, Ashton nodded to Megan, but not before bending to place a kiss on his son’s cheek. He ruffled his son’s hair. “You enjoyed yourself, oui?”
“Oh yes, Papa,” he replied dreamily. “I think it was one of the most wonderful days of my life.”
Ashton smiled gently. “Good, bien-aimé,” he murmured. “Sleep well.”
Turning, he caught sight of the open, warm expression of love for Anton that reflected from Kat’s eyes, and he felt his heart twist slightly. Hiding his emotions behind a stern look as they left the room, Ash wagged a finger at his wife. “He is not the only one who needs rest. You have much to do still, and you need to get more rest to be able to do it.”
Kat smiled, thinking of the final touches she had to make for the nursery. She’d designed the nursery herself and had overseen much of its construction, but Ashton was right in that there were still a few more touches she wished to place on the room. I still have my layette to pack as well; I haven’t finished the stitching on those clothes yet or finished the blankets for the bassinet … She sighed wearily and Ashton draped his arms around her in a gentle embrace, the jealousy in his heart fading as he felt her warm body nestle against his. “Come, my love; after you are safely tucked in, perhaps I shall read to you more about Le Fantôme de l'Opéra. Our time together is getting close at hand, so I wish to ease you into the best sleep possible. I want the best for you – and the best for our child. Nothing – I mean nothing – will endanger either one of you, so long as I draw breath.”
* * * *
Big deal, so it’s Thanksgiving, Nick thought a few weeks later, as he sat in one of the few diners open for the holiday. It’s no big deal to me; he continued, as something that was supposed to be turkey oozed into mountains of a white mess that masqueraded as mashed potatoes and gravy. Shoving his fork listlessly though the goop, he set it aside with a sigh a moment later. He hadn’t had much appetite before he’d come here, and … well, even Kat’s cooking was better than this stuff.
He could have joined Tim and Sandy, he supposed. But who wants to be a third wheel, especially on their first holiday together since they were married. All that it would have accomplished was bringing back memories that were best forgotten. Not that he really could.
In his mind, he could still picture the look on Kat’s face as she concentrated between work and home, during her best to make the holiday into something special. It hadn’t mattered at the time that the turkey was dry, the potatoes were nothing but lumps, and the gravy could have been used to plaster wallpaper. They had still laughed and plowed through the meal, the scent of candles and flowers somehow overpowering the stench of her burned pumpkin pie.
It had been the greatest Thanksgiving he had ever had.
All because she was with me. The next year . . . well, the food had been better but we had just as much fun. And now? What about now? Who’s doing the cooking? Surely not Kat. I can just imagine the look on that ass’s face when he sees her version of a pie. Not that she’s in the kitchen anyway, not with the fancy chef that they have.
Lips that would have made a woman swoon, twisted sardonically into something worse than a smile. Does the fool of yours even know the first thing about carving a bird? Nick laughed softly. Well, we all have to learn sometime. Tossing back the last of his highball, he threw money down on the table, making certain to leave the waitress more than her usual tip. Hell, it is a holiday, isn’t it? He thought bitterly as he shouldered on his coat before pushing into the cold air beyond the café.
Already many of the shops were decorated for the Christmas holiday, another occasion he had little cause to celebrate. True, there was little reason for him to spend that holiday, any more than this one, alone. There’s always a willing body to keep me warm, and if there is a hint of intelligence behind the eyes, all the better. Kat had moved on with her life, and if their relationship was now strictly business, then it was time for him to move on, too.
But move on how? Or to where? It wasn’t as if he could forget Kat so easily. There wasn’t a time when she and Nick weren’t together nowadays – when she was around, she was sharing some tidbit of her new life with him. It was only when the baby moved that her eyes would turn from shining brightly to an expression of faint regret. Only once had she ever mentioned her expectancy and that was to ask what his father’s name had been.
The question had so surprised him that for a moment, he was speechless. “I don’t have the faintest idea. My mother always insisted it was Alan, but with as many guys as I remember going in and out that door, who knows? Why?”
She had shrugged her shoulders, a gesture that despite her pregnancy was as expressive as ever. “I just thought that it would be nice – Ash is certain that we’re going to have a boy and wanted the given name to be Philippe but . . . I wanted somehow to acknowledge – even if it was only between you and I some connection to you.”
Her words touched him, although by the expression on his face, a stranger would have believed that they were discussing nothing more earth shattering
than an increase in Tim’s wages. Finally, he looked at her, and for a moment, his heart rose in his eyes. “It would be nice,” he said slowly, “I mean, who knows, someday the truth might come out, and I could have some guy looking for me and wondering why I was never around. At least that way, I’d know who in the hell he was.”
But the kid will probably never know, he thought as he opened the doors to the club. Nick would never admit, not even to himself, how often he wondered what the child would look like. It doesn’t matter one bit.
He was distracted a moment later by the sound of someone calling out to him. “Hey, Nick, you’re in early! Wanna come and have some holiday cheer with me?”
He glanced at the tiny brunette with whom he’d shacked up all week, shrugging at the sight of her too-red lipstick and flyaway hair that was in desperate need of seeing the inside of a salon. One body was as good as another, he thought, and at least this one was smart enough not to ask questions and to keep her hands to herself. “Sure, sweetheart,” he said, turning on a smile that could have lit the club by itself. “You set ‘em up while I go change – or better yet, just grab a bottle and we’ll both get … changed.”
As he started up the stairs, he refused to admit that he was just going through the motions, trying to push aside the memories that insisted on returning. No one but Tim had seen the emptiness in his boss’s eyes. Or knew that no random warm body was ever going to fill the void that Kat had left behind.
Chapter Thirteen
December 1938
“Whoa, lady, I can barely see you above that stack of gifts that you’re carrying.” Easily, Ted swept the packages into his arms, his gray eyes gleaming softly. “One of those better be for me, although you’ve already given me the best gift of all.” Snow fell in lazy swirls around him, drifting into his oak-colored hair, covering the shoulders of Kat’s elegant fur coat. She laughed and, once her hands were free, gently lowered the raised collar that had been wrapped snugly against her cheeks. “More than one of them is for you, but what gift did I give you?”