“I’m right here, Katie – you don’t have to shout.”
“Oh. Well, anyway, we have a guest for dinner.”
“What? Who?”
“Me,” said Crane, walking into the kitchen. “I was invited, I think I should add.”
“Of course you were,” said Thea, looking at me in question.
“You have to see what he made,” I said excitedly, peering over my shoulder into the yard. “Well, you will, if Myrne ever gets it inside.”
I saw that Myrne had not yet come very far away from the gate. He was heaving the crib upwards; but it fell only about an inch forward each time he heaved. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said. “I’d better go and help him, before he breaks it.”
With the two of us carrying it, the crib soon found its way into the kitchen.
“My word,” said Thea, hands on her apron-clad hips. “You made this, Mr Crane?”
“That I did,” said Crane, with a kind of stalwart pride.
“You certainly warrant a supper, then.” She shook her head in amazement. “Just to think, that you were building this while these two were pounding away at sticks in the yard!”
Neither Myrne nor I said anything in our own defence. It seemed rather a hopeless case.
“Smells mighty nice in here, I’ll tell ye that much,” said Crane, his mind obviously still fixed upon the food so close to his nose. He looked carefully at Thea. “And it’ll taste just as nice, if you cook anything like yer ma. I have hope enough – ye look exactly like her.”
Thea’s cheeks turned slightly pink.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s a compliment. I’ll tell ye, if I hadn’t been head over heels for my Lily – yer ma woulda been just the girl for me.”
The pink escalated into a full-blown flush.
“Yep,” said Crane. “Ye’ll make a mighty fine wife someday, I’ll tell ye that much. I’m surprised that all the fellas aren’t fallin’ all over yer porch, just tryin’ to get to you.”
Thea looked quickly at me, and then rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry,” said Crane. “I’ve always had a big mouth. I’ll just try to be quiet.”
“It’s all right, Mr Crane. Don’t give it a thought.”
He smiled, clearly already half in love with the daughter of the woman who had once given him cake.
“Please sit down,” Thea said to him, gesturing towards the table.
He nodded, still gazing upon her as if in a daze.
Kerry was setting the table. When Myrne sat down, and laid his head for a moment on the tabletop, she began to bat at him with a roll of napkins. “No, no, no!” she said. “We’re about to eat off that table. You take your sweaty head right off of it.”
“Sorry,” said Myrne, going immediately into the bathroom – presumably to wash his sweaty head.
Thea looked me over. “I’d advise you to go and do the same.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I muttered.
In the bathroom, I found Myrne scrubbing his face vigorously with soap.
“Are you trying to take off your skin?” I asked, shoving him aside so I could wash my hands.
“Shut up, you,” he mumbled, shoving me back.
“I think it’s kind of cute.”
“What?”
“You and Kerry.”
“Me and Kerry what?”
“You like her.”
His face was aghast as he said, much more loudly than was necessary, “I do not!”
I just smirked at him.
“I don’t, Kate.”
“Fine, then,” I said, picking at the dirt beneath my fingernails. “But she likes you, too.”
“Say what?” he asked quickly, dropping the now-discoloured bar of soap.
“It really doesn’t matter,” I said, wiping my face with a towel. “You just told me so yourself.”
“But, I –”
“Time for dinner,” I said, quitting the bathroom without looking back at him.
It was all too fun.
***
The food was quite as good as it smelled – and Crane seemed all too appreciative. I could not help thinking, though it made no sense at all, that he had made the crib just to get the food. (He did have three helpings.)
“Thank ye, me dear,” he said, pushing back his chair. “It’s been a long while since I’ve had anything so wonderful. Me dear Lily passed on a few years ago now.”
“I’m sorry,” said Thea. “But you’re entirely welcome.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll be goin’,” he said, rising and half-hobbling to the door.
“I’ll walk you out,” I said, jumping up to go with him.
We went slowly to the gate, primarily because Crane could not move much more quickly than slowly. How he had gotten the crib all the way to his own side of the fence, I’ll never know. (All I knew was that it must have increased Myrne’s embarrassment tenfold.)
“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” I said.
“I certainly did,” he answered, pushing open the gate. “I thank ye again.”
“There’s no need for that.”
He smiled. “Ye’ve got quite a house-full there, missy.”
“I won’t deny you there.”
“How comes a group like you to live all under one roof?” he asked. “Are ye all family?”
“I suppose you could say that.”
“Well, there’s no room for thinkin’ about it. When it comes to family, either ye are or ye’re not.”
“True enough.”
“So?”
I returned his honest smile. “Aye.”
“That’s better,” he said, surprising me by clapping me on the shoulder.
“I can’t believe I’ve never even talked to you before,” I said.
“Ah, well – things like that happen, me dear. People get caught up in their own things, their own ways. Sometimes they don’t see all that there is to see. But we see each other now, and that’s a good thing.”
“It is,” I agreed, watching as he went through the gate and made his weary way back home.
And it was then, as I crossed the lawn beside Dolly, that I looked upon the silver-tree. I had neither looked at it nor thought of it since coming home. I was afraid, I think, that it would not seem the same to me.
But I looked at it now, and laid my hand affectionately against its trunk. The leaves, of course, had all fallen, and lay scattered and brown round the earth at its feet. Yet the tree itself was as magnificent as ever, shining its brilliant and beautiful silver in the pale light of the moon. Its branches seemed to reach down to me in welcome; and I kept my hand pressed long against it, feeling for the heartbeat that I knew was there.
“Do you know what this is?” I said to Dolly. I looked down at her, and she looked up at me, wagging her tail as if asking for an answer to my own question.
“This is a magical tree. Here – touch it, and you’ll see.”
She put her front paws against the tree, and stood up on her hind legs, so that the top of her head came almost level with my shoulder.
“You’re quite tall, you know,” said I.
The kitchen door opened then, and Thea poked her head out.
“What are you doing out there?”
“Saying hello to the silver-tree.”
She shook her head and smiled, and then waved for me to come back inside. I patted the tree once more; and then left it to the night.
Chapter 45
I soon grew quite used to the house I had once shared only with Thea, being so much more full of lives. Christmas was coming quickly upon us, and the snow was beginning to fall. I had seldom before truly appreciated the magic that the season brought; but I think that I was beginning to understand it.
And it was December the twenty-fourth, when I had a sudden epiphany.
“Good God,” I said, dropping the piece of toast I was eating. (Thea took a moment to frown at the crumbs I scattered everywhere.) “Here I’ve bee
n, home for almost a month – and I’ve not even gone to see Aggie.”
“Oh, my.” Thea looked up from the old slacks she was taking in for Myrne. “I hate to say it, but I forgot all about that dear old woman.”
“She’s my aunt, after all. How do you think I feel?”
“Go on, then. It’s still early morning. Why don’t you have a visit?”
I sighed. “I do want to see her, but I’m not looking forward to the questions.”
“So give a simple answer.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is there one?”
“You should know by now, Katie; there’s always a way to make things more complicated.”
“Do you want to come with me?”
“Not this time, I don’t think.”
I got up from the table, and she added (just in time to stop me from asking him), “Don’t take Myrne, either. You should have some time to yourselves.”
I could not believe that I was nervous to see Aggie. She had once been one of the only lights in my life! But now, after so much time, would things be different? Surely not.
Would they?
***
I had to knock several times before Aunt Aggie came to the door. I’m sure that she was not expecting any visitors that day – and what reason in the world did she have to think that it might be me?
The look on her face, when she opened that door, is still one of the most heart-wrenching things I have ever looked upon. First she looked blank; then confused; then amazed. And then she just started to cry.
“Oh, Katharine!” she said, flying forth like a sparrow, in the way that only a little old woman can do. The poor dear was getting on in years – and I figured that she must have been near seventy, that day that I went to her. We stood in the warm sunshine for quite some time, while she hugged me with all of the strength in her thin, withered arms.
“Where have you been, my girl?” she demanded.
“That’s a longer tale than I’ve the breath to tell, Auntie. But I’m sorry I never wrote you.”
“Well, I certainly would have appreciated it. I’ve been so worried! First your father disappears, and then, a year later, poof, there goes my Katharine, as well! What was I to think? It’s a wonder this old heart of mine didn’t up and give out!”
I smiled at her. “I’m so sorry, Auntie. Just know that it wasn’t my fault.”
“Don’t think that you’re going to get off, Katharine, with only that asinine little explanation!”
“Oh, I don’t, Auntie. But can we save it for another day?”
She hugged me again. “I never could say no to that smile of yours. Let me go and put the kettle on.”
***
Seeing Aggie made me feel better. It was like taking back a little of that normalcy, which I had left behind two years before.
And I would take all that I could get.
***
I was awoken next morning by the opening of the bedroom door, and a small voice saying, “Merry Christmas.”
Then the door closed quietly.
“Was that Mary-Anne?” I asked aloud.
Since I had thought that I was talking only to myself, Thea’s voice, issuing from the near-darkness, made me start.
“It certainly was,” she said. I did not have to look at her, to know that she was smiling.
“I don’t think I’ve heard her speak to anyone but Kerry,” I said, still somewhat in awe.
“Until now.”
I just shook my head, enjoying yet another of the many examples of late, which demonstrated how seemingly hopeless things could turn out quite all right.
“Well,” said Thea, “it is Christmas. I suppose we should get up.”
We found everyone sitting up in the parlour.
“The little one invaded my cabinet,” said Myrne.
I looked at Mary-Anne, who was sitting in between Kerry and Myrne on the sofa. I’m not sure I had ever seen her smile so much (at least not since those first days that I knew her).
I went to sit down in the armchair, laying Joseph in my lap. With a yawn and a “Move over,” Thea squeezed in beside me.
“Isn’t this nice?” Myrne asked sarcastically, rubbing at his eyes.
“Oh, buck up,” said Kerry. “It’s Christmas, for goodness’ sake.”
“Does it count without presents?”
“It’s not about presents, you lout.”
“It is for me.”
“Then I suppose you’re just going to have a terrible day!”
Myrne crossed his arms and sulked.
Mary-Anne continued to smile, bouncing ever so slightly up and down.
I coughed; Joseph snored in my lap.
“No lights,” Mary-Anne said suddenly. “No tree.”
I looked at Myrne. “Go get a tree.”
His head, which had been resting on the back of the sofa, snapped up. “Say what?”
“Go on. You’ve got nothing else to do.”
“Neither do you!”
“You’re the man. You do it.”
“Since when have you cared that I’m a man? You never let me do anything! Now you want me to go and cut down a tree?”
“Yes, I do.”
“The tree is Mary-Anne’s favourite part of Christmas,” Kerry said to Myrne. “And she’s so happy today. Won’t you get at least a small one?”
His look of obstinacy seemed to fade slowly away. “Well . . . I suppose,” he said, rising from the sofa.
“Go and ask Mr Crane for an axe,” I called after him. “We don’t have one.”
“Of course you don’t,” I heard him mumble.
“Go on, girl,” said I; and Dolly rose up from the floor to follow after him.
“What a dear,” said Kerry, watching him go.
I could not help but ask: “Are we talking about the same person?”
Thea nudged me rather roughly in the ribs.
“He’s not so bad,” said Kerry. “He’s got a sweet side.”
“If you say so,” I replied. Then I turned my head to look at Thea, and whispered, “I’ll pinch you if you do it again.”
***
I was surprised at how quickly Myrne returned – with an admirable tree, no less.
“You’re not as useless as I thought,” I said.
“Less so than you.”
“I’ll let that go, seeing as this is such a nice tree.”
He looked at it proudly. “Isn’t it, though?”
“It’s beautiful, Mr Myrne!” exclaimed Mary-Anne, running over to hug him.
Joseph gurgled, the way he did sometimes when everyone was speaking, and he wanted to make some noise of his own.
Myrne tickled his stomach. “Don’t worry, little one. You’ll be cutting down trees before you know it – just like Uncle Myrne.”
“Only you’ll be much bigger and stronger,” I added.
“It’s all right, Joe,” said Myrne, scooping the baby out of my arms. “Don’t feel pressured by her expectations.”
We had the tree decorated by ten o’clock – or at least, as decorated as we could manage. Mary-Anne went out to gather some pinecones, and Thea rummaged around in the attic for almost an hour, to find the star that her family had used when she was a child. Myrne put Mary-Anne up on his shoulders, so that she could set it atop the tree.
Mary-Anne wanted to put candles in the branches, the way her mother had used to do; but none of us thought it wise to strain what better fortune had recently been ours. We began with explaining to Mary-Anne, just how much less enjoyable her Christmas night would be, if all the house burned to the ground – and then we set out a surplus of candles on every flat and solid surface, to provide what cheerful light she was yearning for. In the end she stood there in the centre of the parlour, looking all about, with an expression of implicit joy upon her little face.
We had no money for gifts – an unfortunate state of holiday affairs which Myrne had already so tactfully alluded to – but still it turned out to be a lovely day. Al
l of us went into the kitchen together, to make a large and early meal; and then we went outside to take a walk down my favourite path through the woods, which had been transformed into a bright, white world.
Halfway down the path, Myrne and Mary-Anne got into a snowball fight. There was a small frozen pond on the left side of the path, opposite the river; and in an effort to win the fight, Mary-Anne knocked Myrne down onto the ice. He had slid out nearly to the middle, before he was able to regain his feet.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he said breathlessly.
Mary-Anne just laughed.
“Well, as long as you’re amused.”
“I know that I am,” I offered.
He glowered at me.
“Maybe we should just keep walking,” Thea suggested, “before Katie and Myrne get into a real fight.”
“Oh, but it would make my Christmas!” said Myrne.
I laughed at him. “I would only pummel you and make you cry.”
“You’ll see,” he said, as he slid back to the path. “Someday I’m going to punch you right in the nose. Then you’ll be crying.”
“What do you want to bet?”
“All of your pride, for the rest of your life.”
“It’s a wager, you little –”
“Hey now!” said Kerry, holding up a heavily bundled Joseph for us to see. “What kind of an example are you setting for this baby?”
“A good one,” Myrne replied. “He’s going to have to learn how to stand up to his mother, anyway.”
“What are you trying to say?” I asked.
“That you’re overbearing.”
“I am not!”
“You are too. He’ll tell you someday.”
“I hereby revoke your title as uncle.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can do whatever I want. Mother trumps uncle.”
Thea sighed. “Listening to the two of you, you wouldn’t even know that you were adults – never mind the guardians of an infant!”
Myrne’s scowl returned. “She started it.”
“And you finished it,” Thea told him.
Myrne walked on ahead of us, stamping along like a scolded child. Dolly sprang after him to lick his hand, no doubt in an attempt to comfort him.
Just as Myrne rounded a bend in the path, and disappeared from my line of sight (the distance between us being enough to cause me to expect no more repercussion from that particular spat of ours), Thea turned to me. “Why do you have to taunt him?” she asked.
An Irish Heart Page 45