Part 27 (1/2)

”Cheap,” Lorraine said. Almost laughing. She had her wallet under the pillow too, and fumbled through it for a couple of twenties, her ashy fingers long and slow. ”Army, you know. Iron thing.”

”With a stop watch and so on?”

”Yeah. All the stops.”

”Something athletic. Got it. Anything else?”

”Darwin has it covered.”

Clary adjusted the orange pillow and Lorraine let her head fall back. Poor face, poor swollen cheeks. Clary kissed her. ”Thanks,” she said, with her eyes closed.

The shops were crowded, of course, but Clary found a good watch on sale, only twenty more than Lorraine had given her. She splashed out on wrapping paper and tags, bright ribbon and sprigs of real holly.

Christmas was always like this for most people, she supposed-complicated, urgent, full of events. For the last few years Clary had driven down to Davina early on Christmas morning. Gliding over the snowy prairie, on the one day in the year when n.o.body went anywhere, all alone under the sun-dogged sun.

Paul watched them troop into the midnight service: Clary carrying Pearce, Mrs. Zenko next, then Grace and Moreland holding Dolly's hands and Darwin shambling up behind. Fern must be at home with Trevor. So many people to be connected to: last Christmas he'd never heard of most of them. Clary, with her red silk on. (Without it, the pale silk of her flank.) He wandered through the last Ma.s.s of the old life, the first of the new. He lit the candles, sang where it was required, and listened to the readings as Frank Rich intoned them, his sad ba.s.set-hound voice trying to trumpet: Fear not! When it was time for the homily, Paul stood and spoke to the congregation, but of course he was speaking to Darwin, to Clary, to the children, and Lorraine. ”Angels, we're told, have intense, painful, beauty. s.h.i.+ning with the grandeur of G.o.d-the invisible world made visible. Terrifying, for those ordinary people they spoke to. The first thing the angel told Zachariah was Do not be afraid! And to Mary, before telling her she would have a child who would be the son of G.o.d: Do not be afraid! On Christmas night, with the heavenly host, the angel says to the shepherds on their hillside, Do not be afraid! I bring you good news of great joy, which will be to all people...

”Fear is always with us: that we are not good enough or strong enough, and so will fail; that we will be hurt. Fear that what we love will be taken from us. Fear of dying, even fear of G.o.d, or of no G.o.d. But G.o.d surprises us by giving us strength to bear what we must; by giving us joy when we think nothing but sadness is possible. G.o.d became human to experience the power that death had over us. Do not be afraid-G.o.d is aware of us in the world, aware of the world we live in, striving for the great good of all people. The light s.h.i.+nes in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The world is charged with the grandeur of G.o.d, it will flame out like s.h.i.+ning from shook foil.”

He sat down.

Shook foil made Dolly think of Mrs. Zenko's house, where she smoothed out the tinfoil and used it again. She had a special drawer for keeping it. If Mrs. Zenko shook people, she would smooth them out again and save them for later.

Clary, tired and abstracted, felt a cold doubt about the Gerard Manley Hopkins she had wrapped for Paul. He must have it already-but this one was beautiful: heavy paper, all the poems. She could have got a pair of gloves for him, he needed gloves. But meeting his eyes as he sat in his chair to allow a moment of quiet, she thought, it's all right. It will flame out...

The hymn began, ”Silent Night.” Dolly loved that one. Trevor could not keep awake this late, poor Trevor, but it was all right because Fern was with him. Grace said she had pyjamas to give her later, because in her and Moreland's family everyone always has new pyjamas on Christmas Eve. Fern's new ones had a little ragged silky frill around the bottom of the pants, maybe hers would be like that. Dolly leaned against Clary's warm arm in her soft wool coat, that colour called taupe, with the black velvet collar. Dolly wished her mom had a coat like that. But she leaped backwards from the brink of that. Do not be afraid, Paul said. Dear G.o.d, Dolly thought, but did not know what to put next. My mom. The organ was playing and Paul was coming down the aisle again and now past them and out, but he had smiled at them more than at anyone. Because he loved Clary, but also the rest of them. Maybe that would count for something.

At the church door Darwin said he would see them in the morning. ”I like that surprise thing,” he said to Paul, and headed off for the hospital through the snow-floating night.

Clary held out her hand and was surprised herself when Paul put his arms around her tightly, in full view of all the parish, at least the late-night parish.

”I missed you today,” he said. He had snowflakes in his hair, and on his red satin stole. He looked strong and happy. She loved him.

”Will you come for breakfast?”

”I will,” he said.

”And for presents, and for dinner? We need you to carry turkey.”

”Mrs. Zenko told me how to make cranberry sauce, and I'm doing it before I go to sleep.”

The street was quiet, even with the departing congregation and their cheerful voices. Moreland fit Pearce's seat into the holder while Grace got the sleepy Dolly in, and wedged herself in beside her.

”Home, James,” Grace said to Clary. ”And don't spare the horses.”

Paul watched them go. The dearest freshness, he thought. The night had a glow to it, streetlights refracted in the falling snow, the city lights staining upwards in a peachy aureole into the night sky. Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Cranberry sauce. No time to waste.

39. Christmas present.

At 8 a.m. on Christmas morning Moreland opened the door to Paul and Clayton, standing together on the porch with their arms full of presents. Odd pair, Moreland thought, but Christmas makes strange bedfellows, probably on purpose. He gave them coffee and kept them out of Grace's way while she got breakfast going.

Dolly felt mysteriously irritable, like she'd eaten too much candy. She unwrapped each present carefully, peeling the tape so slowly that Trevor begged to be allowed to open another one while they were waiting. Pearce beat on the drum Darwin had given him until Darwin said he'd changed his mind and put it away up high.

Dolly's present from Clary was boots, red suede with rubber soles so you could run, embroidery up the sides, and sheepskin lining. They were so nice that she leaped up and hugged Clary with one boot in each hand, and the boots swung around and whacked Clary by accident, but she didn't get mad. Fern gave her magnetic earrings, and Grace and Moreland gave her a fleece hoodie, and Gran gave both her and Trevor a lifesaver book. Then there were only Darwin's present and her dad's left to open. She was scared that she would like Darwin's present better, and that would make her dad mad. The grown-ups were opening too, so she could delay things by folding the wrapping paper, rolling up the ribbon around her hand, tidying her pile of presents so far. Darwin and her dad liked their sweaters from her and Trevor; they put them on right away. They were twins, except her dad looked uncomfortable, sitting cross-legged on the floor, but he always did.

Clary opened a present from Paul, a book of poems, and she laughed, and handed him one to open from her. ”You're joking,” he said-and when he unwrapped his, it was the exact same book by the same guy. That was funny.

”Great minds think alike,” Grace and Moreland said at the same time.

Dolly picked up the one from her dad. Whatever it was, she would make sure that she didn't like Darwin's better. It was bulky but not too heavy. She pulled the tape off. Purple, soft, what was it? She tore the paper. A big-a velvet pillow, with a round velvet b.u.t.ton in the centre, frayed-out fringe all around it in different layers of purple and blue. The velvet was the softest thing she had ever touched. It went one way, and when you brushed your hand over it the other way it changed to a darker, sweeter colour.

She lifted her eyes and saw her dad looking at her. ”I made it,” he said. ”For you. For when I-”

”I love it,” she said.

He looked so happy.

Lorraine pulled herself up out of empty sleep and looked at the rectangular whiteness of the window. Christmas. The freckly nurse was on, she was a kind one. She found the new lipstick and blush from Clary, and propped up the mirror. Lorraine wiped off most of the lipstick because it looked so weird over the bled-out whiteness of her lips, but what was left probably cheered up her face.

The nurse looked at her critically, then flicked the blush again. ”My mom always used to put a dab of rouge on her chin,” she said. ”Instant pretty, she called it.”

Lorraine looked again. ”Okay,” she said. She smiled, to test it. ”Less sick, at least.”

”You're doing well,” the nurse said seriously. Sherry was her name, like the drink, and her freckles were that colour. ”You're doing a good job.”

”Will you get the bag in the closet?” Lorraine asked. ”Presents.”

If she lay on her side there was room for them on the bed, except for the tricycle Darwin had spirited up last night, with a huge bow on the handlebars. That could stay in the closet for Pearce to find.

She could hear them coming: Trevor's voice piping closer, wanting to be the one to give her their present. The room filled up, the children all crowding up to the bed. She hugged them over the bright pile.

”Don't wait,” she said, when Clary tried to stem the tide. ”Open everything!”

Paper on the bed, on the floor, everywhere, ribbon wrapping around them. Darwin helped Pearce open the closet door. He stared at the trike for a while, touching the white handgrip, then the saddle, then the wheel; he let them help him onto it and sat while they put his feet on the pedals. Trevor offered to show him how to ride.

Where was Clayton? She pulled Darwin's present out from under the pillow, and watched him open Rose's dad's watch. He put it up to his ear, to hear it ticking, with his eyes closed.

Six strange white orchids on a bending stalk from Paul; they found a good spot for it on the window ledge. A cream-coloured shawl from Clary, soft wool, very pretty. Flowers and a shroud, Lorraine thought, but she put it around her shoulders and thanked Clary nicely.

In a momentary silence they could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Dinner already? Dolly went to the door to see.

Her dad. He was carrying a chair, a big chair with legs that clumped on the floor every few steps, sounding like several people. He put the chair down at the door-then had to back it up awkwardly to get in himself. Finally he and the chair were both in the room.

”For you,” he said to Lorraine. ”For our place.”