Plundered Christmas (2 page)

When I had first come here, I was about eight and I hated the idea. I grew up outside Charleston and loved all the benefits a cultured city could give. The idea of coming out to a glorified cabin that was miles from anything, and even farther from my friends, both horrified and terrified me. But as child, I had no say in the matter and I went.

It took a couple of summers and Sunny's never-failing companionship before I began to look forward to the quiet. It helped, too, that I discovered Josephine about a mile down the road. We became close friends and stayed that way through the teen years. I was the maid of honor at her wedding and she was the matron of honor at mine. She means so much to me that James let me choose her name for our daughter.

I looked up. I knew the stone path that wound through the evergreens. It hadn't changed much. My feet had brought me to her door after all these years. But it wasn't her door anymore. Her parents sold the place years back and lived in a nice community in Northern Florida. And it had been nearly four years since I had seen Josephine. Both of us married military men.

Unfortunately, her Air Force husband took her in different directions than my James took me. The last time we had tea together, at a quaint spot near her parents' condo, was just before they shipped off to Japan. If everything worked out according to their current orders, he'd be working at the Air Force Academy next. It might be stateside, but still way too far away.

Jelly gave the leash a slight tug, looked up at me and yipped. “You're staying too much in the past,” his dark eyes seemed to say.

“You're right boy. I need to head back and tend to a turkey, anyway.”

At a faster pace, I led him back to the cabin. It was only when I got within eyesight that I realized I had not spent a single solitary moment thinking about what I intended to. Nor, had I asked God's opinion on any of it. I just fretted, letting the worry tracks in my brain play on whichever one happened to be handy.

For the last part of the road, I urged Jelly into a run. Those little legs had such power and determination that our dog relished the exertion more than I did. But at least it did blow some of the cobwebs out.

I breathed a short prayer between my gasps for air. I really needed to exercise more.
God …make…things…work…how…you…want…them.

It wasn't much, but I felt better. I couldn't control my father in any case. God knew what Dad needed and if Margo was meant for him.

I used the rag we had hanging there to wipe the majority of the slobber off of Jelly's mouth before I unclipped his leash and led him inside the house.

“Thanks, boy,” I said as I patted his rump.

Thinking I wanted more, I guess, he quickly turned and licked my face before I could stand up and out of the danger zone.

Laughter came from around the corner. “You got ‘Jellied,' Mom!”

I tried to find a dry spot on the rag to wipe off the worst damage to my face. “No kidding.”

Justin came to my side and gave me his version of a hug, which most people would call a pat. “I didn't mean anything.”

“I know, sweetie.” I tried to figure where my boy was coming from to be near the back porch. “Had you been checking on the football game or the shark processing?”

“Neither. I was sent to look for you. It's getting close to turkey time.” He rubbed his stomach in an exaggerated motion. “And I'm just about starving.”

Since our drooling canine had already made his way into the house and couldn't damage me further, I went inside with Justin. I would finish Thanksgiving dinner, with help from both kids, and get it on the table. Justin could open the can of cranberry sauce and heat the gravy. Josie could mash the potatoes and put the pie Mrs. Folger had made for me in the oven to heat. But first, I would head to the bathroom to wash my face.

Forty-five minutes later, all the food had been transferred to the middle of the big table and we took our places around it, Dad at one head and James at the other. Frank and I had called it the “big” table ever since Dad had found an old door at a nearby rummage sale and turned it into our formal dining table. (With just the four of us, we usually ate in the kitchen.) The big table always set the stage for holiday dinners or company coming.

As I wondered why Dad held off on blessing the food, I noticed that he had changed his clothes. When I left for my hike down memory lane with Jelly, he had been in his usual red flannel shirt and khakis—Dad's standard uniform. Now, he wore the sweater I bought him for Christmas last year, a pair of dress slacks and his silver hair had been slicked back.

Frank beat me to the punch. “What's up, Dad?”

Josie got up from her seat and went over to love on her grandfather. “He even smells good.”

“Dad?” I gestured to the spread. “Can we bless the food and eat?”

At this, the doorbell rang and he all but leapt from his chair, nearly tripping over Josie. “She's here!”

If I hadn't seen him race to the door, I wouldn't have believed it. He made it from the table through the living room, down the front hall and to the door in less than ten seconds.

I heard the door open. I could have heard a pin drop because everyone at the table kept quiet. I tried to encourage the amplification abilities of my ears.

“Hallo, darling.” The woman's voice pulled it out to emphasize the word as if it had three syllables. I know, having spent the majority of my life in the South, that I have an accent. But she had a drawl. And not just any drawl. It sounded practiced and perfected. “I do hope we're not too late for your little dinner.”

“No, Margo, not at all.” I heard some shuffling sounds, other movement. It was all I could do to keep from leaping out of my chair and heading into the hallway to watch them. “Did you say ‘we?'” Dad asked.

“But of course. My driver.” She giggled like a much younger woman. “I had to get here somehow. You do have somewhere we can put him while we eat, of course.”

The waiting had gotten too much for Justin. I admit it, the smells coming from the table made my stomach complain.

“Dad,” he begged, “they're taking forever. Can't you pray so we can start eating?”

James looked at me in desperation. If this were his home, it would have been no problem. But he didn't want to be rude to my father or usurp his place. “Jeanine?”

“I'll ask.” Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself to meet my mother's replacement. Walk purposefully, I told myself. Be dignified. I strode through the living room and started into the hall.

Unfortunately, Dad has hardwood floors in the hallway. I say unfortunately, because my dog had been sitting in the hallway waiting for us to call him for treats. And if a dog is anticipating treats, any dog, he tends to salivate. My dog? He leaves drool puddles.

I hit a spot as slick as ice and slid about three feet towards Dad and his lady friend before my feet lost all semblance of traction, kicked up, and sent me to my backside.

It would have done the Three Stooges proud.

However, it did not seem to have that effect on Margo.

“What?” She huffed. She looked down at me over her nose.

I felt like a five-year-old back in mean Miss Anderson's kindergarten class.

To his credit, Dad hurried over to me and helped me up. “Are you OK?”

I rubbed my sore spots as lady-like as I could. I found this difficult since those bruises tended to be focused on my posterior. “Yes, I suppose so.” I looked over my shoulder and pointed at the wet mark down the hallway. “I was ‘Jellied.' Again. That's twice in the same day.”

A chuckle burst out of Dad's mouth, but then he gathered it back with a cough and swallowed it as quickly as he could. “Well, thank you, Jeanine, for finding the hazard for us.”

He went back to Margo, offered his arm and escorted her up to me. “Margo, this talented gymnast is my daughter, Jeanine Talbott.”

She nodded in my direction. “A pleasure.”

I had to admit, as much as I didn't want to, that her face did resemble Mom's. She had the same tiny mouth, beneath a fragile nose. Even her eyes were the same blue green. The color of the sea, Dad had always said. But her cheekbones had more of a chiseled appearance, more refined. Mom looked softer.

Or maybe my memories had her look that way. She had been my mother after all.

“I had come out to hasten you to dinner,” I admitted. “The kids are all a bit hungry and the food is getting cold.” I leaned in to my father and whispered to him that he should give Margo my place setting and that I'd bring out another one.

‘Well certainly,” Margo said. “I do apologize.” She looked up at Dad and smiled for all she was worth. “Lead the way, Robert.”

Dad escorted Margo to the dining room, deftly ignoring the pre-slicked areas of the floor. I began to follow them when I heard a slight knock. As I headed to the door, it opened and a man peered around the edge. Atop his head was a traditional white driving cap with dark black trim. I assumed he was Margo's driver.

“Did you come here with Margo?”

“Yes. I drove her all the way from the coast. Wouldn't want to trouble you any, but I'm a might thirsty after all that.”

The gentleman looked older than Dad did. What a difference a rank in society made! Dad, because of his years in the law profession, the money he made and the friends he helped, was Margo's beau. Yet another man, equally hardworking and helpful, drove her places and served her. It didn't set right with me.

“Come on into the kitchen, sir.”

“I don't want to cause trouble.” Though he hadn't moved, he seemed to pull away from me.

“No trouble at all, Mr...” I left a blank waiting for his name.

“No mister,” he said. “Just call me Charlie.” He took off his hat, held it in his hands and looked down on it.

“OK Charlie. I'm Jeanine." I pointed straight ahead. “Let's get you some Thanksgiving.”

He pulled farther away. “Just a drink, ma'am. Miss Margo wouldn't want me celebrating on the job.”

Then and there, I made up my mind. I rushed over to him and grabbed his elbow. “I am the hostess here, Charlie, and the one who cooked most of our meal. You're going to sit in our nice warm kitchen with a cup of coffee and a plate of food. And if Margo complains, I'll tell her I forced you.”

“Jeanine!” James called from the dining room. “Are you coming?”

“Pray and start eating!” I called back. “I'll be there in just a minute.”

I led the still protesting Charlie into the kitchen, sat him down at the table, poured him a cup of my best coffee and then assembled a plate.

When I watched him bow his head over his food, I patted his hand.

For the first time that day, I felt good. Really good.

 

 

 

 

2

 

The rest of Thanksgiving...

The day went without a hitch. Periodically, I sent Josie or Justin in to see if Charlie needed anything else. Or I went myself.

Jelly, after begging persistently and slobbering on more than one leg under the big table, was relegated to the kitchen, too. I don't think either Jelly or Charlie minded. I have a feeling Charlie fed Jelly more turkey than the dog needed. In return, Jelly loyally curled by his feet, only nudging the old man's hand occasionally when a pet was overdue. I wouldn't have to wager that the boot closest to the lovable dog benefitted from a personal drool polish.

In the dining room, we made appropriate small talk.

Margo absolutely beamed at anything Dad had to say or made comments like “You're so witty, Robert!” or “I wish I had thought of that, Robert!” She threw his name around the room like a prized trophy, and he ate it up.

The kids didn't seem to notice. In their usual Thanksgiving style, they ate plenty of their favorite foods and minimal amounts of the healthy ones. Then they camped by the TV in the guest room and argued about whether to watch a Christmas show or one of the football games. Sometimes, on commercial breaks, they'd come out to ask Charlie whatever question occurred to them. And then they'd argue about which question was more important. Since Margo didn't pay much attention to them, they didn't pay much attention to her.

At one point, Dad took her out to the workshop to show her his work on the shark. She must have lungs of steel, because she didn't come back in coughing. Instead, she praised his progress.

“I can't wait for it to hang in the welcome foyer at our estate. You do excellent work, Robert!” She giggled again. It sounded like a teenager's giggle and just didn't match her senior elegance. “But I shouldn't expect anything else. After all, I chose you.”

That set badly with me. How could she choose my father like a piece of furniture?

Just about when we wanted to start grazing on the leftovers, Margo announced that it was time to leave.

“My daughter wants me to help her tackle the boutiques in the city tomorrow morning before we head back to the island.” She smiled expansively at all of us. “I have so enjoyed my time with your little family, Robert. And if we're to be related someday, I think it's only fair that I return the favor. I would like to ask all of you to join us at the estate for Christmas.” She didn't wait for us to reply. “Can you escort me to the door, Robert?” She waited for Dad's elbow. Halfway to the door, she called back over her shoulder, “Charles! Departure!”

The tired driver rushed out of the kitchen, passed the couple in the hallway and opened the front door. “Yes, madam.”

Justin followed Charlie out of the kitchen, only moving slower. “I don't like that woman, Mom.”

I didn't respond right away, so he reacted as if he'd said the wrong thing.

“I mean, I know Papa thinks she's great, but I just don't see it. She doesn't seem to like anyone but him.”

I ruffled his hair. “I wish I disagreed with you, sweetie. But your grandfather's a good and godly man. He may very well see something that we've missed.”