“His mom went to school with him?”
“Colleen said they were never apart. School, church, the park, the playground—wherever young Henry was, Mackenzie was always nearby. Colleen told me that Henry thrived in the Richmond school with other children who were deaf. She talked about their visits home and how his hands and Mackenzie’s were always in motion, talking to each other. They returned every Christmas to the green granite house. Now, remember, there were no more lavish parties for all the townsfolk or any of the festive Christmas music, but Henry’s grandmother showered that place in colored lights and filled the mansion with the things that delighted him most, like the smell of cinnamon cookies and pine boughs and the sparkling lights that covered the trees in the gardens. To this day, Emerald Crest sparkles at Christmas, at least on the outside. I guess Henry’s trying to hang on to what he remembers about Christmas.”
“But where is his mom now? Why doesn’t she come home for Christmas? She didn’t leave Henry and go looking for that good-for-nothing Frenchman, did she? Boy, that would make a good story.”
“Julia, for goodness’ sake. Where did that question come from? Of course she didn’t. She’s in heaven, along with both of her parents. So Henry is alone in the world, except for your father and grandfather and Mrs. Schumacher. Your grandfather still visits him on occasion. If I recall, Henry was about your age when she was killed.”
“Killed? She was killed?” I hoped I could remember everything Grancie was telling me.
“Yes. It was a truly sad and tragic thing that happened. Mackenzie and Henry were walking to the park in downtown Richmond, and they were talking with their hands, and that requires looking, you know. Henry must have been so excited and not paying attention to the traffic. He stepped into the path of an oncoming car at a busy intersection. Apparently, his mother tried to save him, but the car hit both of them. Mackenzie died right next to Henry, lying in the middle of that busy street. One of Henry’s arms was broken, and his hips and legs were badly injured and required surgery. His grandparents rushed to Richmond, and Colleen stayed for weeks until Henry recovered. Your grandfather took care of all the funeral arrangements back here. It was a quiet funeral and private, just for the family and their pastor. That left little Henry to return to Emerald Crest without his mom. His grandmother Colleen brought him home and mothered him for nearly thirty years. She learned sign language so they could communicate, but his grandfather never did. When Colleen died, Henry Lafferty the First and the Second were left to live in silence amid the walls of that green mansion on the hill.”
“But Henry the Second didn’t have to stay. I would have left. I couldn’t live without talking to someone, even if it was with my hands. Why didn’t he go back to school in Richmond to be with his friends?”
“Remember, sweetie, this was a different day, and he was severely crippled and unable to hear. He couldn’t go alone, and who could go with him? Colleen was torn. She wanted to give Henry the best, but she couldn’t leave her husband. Henry rarely left the house even as a child, and by the time he was an adult, he had adjusted to a reclusive life. Your grandfather told me that he immersed himself in a soundless world of books, sculpture, and bird watching, and that he was quite contented with his life. Just because he lives alone doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know what’s going on in the world, you know.”
I was about to ask Grancie how long it had been since she had seen Mr. Lafferty, but the doorbell rang.
“That must be your mom. Quick, throw your crocheting in the basket and put it in the corner. We don’t want to spoil her surprise. Grab a book like you’re reading, and remember, not one word of what I told you to anyone. Your dad knows this, so you can talk to him if you must talk to someone.”
“I promise, Grancie. I won’t tell a soul. But Mr. Lafferty invited me, and I’m going back to play the piano for him. I’m glad I know this now.”
I heard Mom’s voice. “Anybody here?”
Grancie answered the door. “We’re here, Jennifer. We were out in the sunroom. A beautiful day to be out there.”
“Yes. The wind’s getting crisp, but you probably have the late-afternoon sunshine coming through all those windows.”
“We do, indeed. And the afternoon sunshine is its most beautiful in late October, don’t you think?” Grancie guided Mom to the sunroom.
“Oh, yes. Wish I had time to sit and enjoy it with you for a few minutes. I can’t believe I’ll be turning the calendar to November soon, and then it’ll be Christmas. Gather up your things, Julia. We must hurry. Your dad’s getting Jackson from practice, and you and I are picking up pizza and making a salad.” She turned to Grancie. “I had an auxiliary meeting this morning before I volunteered at the hospital. We were wondering if you might help us with the table decorations for the Christmas gala. You have that gift with flowers and for making things beautiful. What do you say?”
We walked toward the kitchen and the back door, and I thought of how Grancie and Mr. Lafferty’s grandmother could have been good friends. They both liked beautiful things.
“Of course I’ll help. We can chat about that later.”
Mom opened the door.
“Wait. Did you see Mr. Tucker or any of his family at the hospital today?”
Mom put her arm around me and guided me out the door to the porch. “Only briefly. When I arrived at the hospital this morning, they were preparing to airlift him to Charleston. Funds were even provided for the family’s travel so they could be with him. They have specialists there and more advanced equipment. I’m hoping this story will have a happy ending, but he’s had a very close call. My heart just goes out to that family. They’ve already lost so much.”
Grancie got that peaceful look on her face. “Yes, but it only takes a moment, just one moment, to change lots of things. That one moment when someone decided to be generous to this family could be a turning point in their lives.”
“Hopefully, the moment he gets to Charleston will be the moment that turns things around for them.” Mom looked down at me. “Let’s go, Jules.”
I didn’t ask any questions, but I just knew this was the family that had needed Mr. Lafferty’s help. That’s why Dad had gone out there to see him, and I was there the moment Mr. Lafferty said yes. He’d come through, but nobody knew except Dad and me and Mrs. Walker. There wouldn’t even be one person to say thank you to Mr. Lafferty. But he still did good things anyway.
Mom had often said being grateful showed good manners and upbringing, and that it was the key to being happy. I thought she would expect me to write a thank-you note if someone passed me a tissue during church. Mr. Lafferty was private, probably for good reason, but he surely was robbing somebody of saying thank you.
Mom hugged Grancie. “Thanks, Nancie. You were a lifesaver this afternoon. I know Julia had a good time. She missed you Tuesday night.”
Grancie kissed my forehead and winked at me. “Oh, yes. She told me all about chromosomes.”
“No, Grancie. Not chromosomes. Chromatography, and don’t forget about the chlorophyll and all the green things we talked about. There’s always more to a leaf than we can see.” I winked back at Grancie.
For the next few days, my head was like Jackson’s basketball when he put too much air in it, on its way to exploding. I had way too much information and no way to let it out. The night I came home from Grancie’s, I mentioned to Dad that she’d told me about Mr. Lafferty and what happened to Mackenzie, his mother. He frowned and got quiet. I told him I promised Grancie I wouldn’t say a word to anyone because it wasn’t my story to tell. He didn’t exactly smile, but at least the scowl on his face went away. I decided not to mention it again.
But I did ask him that night if he’d called Mrs. Walker about teaching me sign language. Dad said, “I haven’t made a decision about that yet. I’ll let you know what I’ve decided the first of November.”
“The first of November? But it’s the twenty-first of October. What does November first have to do wit
h anything?”
“It has to do with when I’ll give you my answer.” He was all about postponing. That’s what lawyers did. His strategy worked with Jackson, because Jackson was always on to something new or else he just forgot.
I stand at the garden window at Emerald Crest, looking at the pine needles mingling with snowflakes as they drift onto a snow-covered garden. I mentally count the seasons I’ve watched change through this window—all sixteen years of four seasons, and every one of them beautiful in a different way. But I remember best the first season, and it was winter.
I sigh. I must not stand here reliving my memories any longer. Postponing my apology to Mrs. Finch will not make it easier and only gives her more time for her anger to fester. I can hear her now, stomping around in the dining room, mumbling to herself as I enter. She doesn’t look at me, only continuing to arrange silk holly around the brass candlesticks on the table.
“Why couldn’t you just have listened to me, Julia? I don’t know why you chose to have this gala in the dead of winter. Not a leaf on a tree. Nothing alive and everyone freezing to death in this snow. This could have been such a lavish spring party, but no, you had to do things your way.”
I bite my tongue and my lip, hold my hands behind my back, and take a deep breath. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get to plan a spring gala of your choosing. Maybe we can persuade Mr. Lafferty to host a spring party another year, and you’ll get to plan that one.” I know about postponing things because of Dad. Sometimes problems go away when dealing with them is delayed, and sometimes they don’t. He always says wisdom is knowing the difference.
“Only if I get to plan that party without your help.” She refuses to look at me.
“I see your point, Mrs. Finch.” I walk away to the garden room before I owe her another apology for something that slipped between my lips.
Ice crystals around the windowpanes frame the view, where more snow clouds are settling on the mountains. I think of children who will enjoy this winter scene and their first spring here, and then a steamy summer before fall temperatures steal the green from the leaves again. No visible leaves today, only bare limbs. But it makes my heart sing to think that Mr. Lafferty wants to have the gala at Christmas. He understands there is beauty in every season, in every leaf, including the ones beneath the snow, gently giving themselves back to the soil, and the unseen buds on the sycamore tree waiting for spring. So why postpone a gala till spring, when we can celebrate at Christmas?
Dad postponed giving me his answer about my taking sign language lessons from Mrs. Walker. But I wasn’t like Jackson. I wasn’t about to forget, not when I’d set my mind to something. I marked the days on my calendar until November the first. I did everything I could to make the time pass. I practiced the piano and learned some more Christmas songs to play for Mr. Lafferty. I even went with Piper over to Elkins to her dance class, and I went back on Saturday when she auditioned for her part in the Christmas program at the theater. She was the best dancer, and everybody knew it. She was born to be a ballerina.
I also checked out a book in the school library about sign language. That’s when I learned about body language and how we communicate with our faces and expressions. I’d already figured that out. All I needed to do was look at Dad to know when I’d said enough about something. And I remembered Mr. Lafferty’s face and his hands and how sometimes his hands moved fast like he was angry or excited and sometimes they were gentle like he was tired or thinking. And his face said so much, even without opening his mouth.
I thought about Mr. Lafferty and about my next visit, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Thank heavens Piper didn’t ask me any more questions about the green mansion. She was into sugar plum fairies and dance costumes. I held my breath every day at school, hoping Angus and Gary had forgotten all about our conversation about ghosts and caves. I could breathe when Halloween was over and they didn’t ask about the Halloween story I’d told them I was writing.
But now I would finally know if Mrs. Walker would teach me sign language.
When I reminded Dad at breakfast that it was the first day of November, he looked at his watch and then at me. “I believe it will still be the first day of November this evening.”
After school, I went straight upstairs to my room. Our house was part old and part new. My parents had bought this place when they got married, and they’d been working on it ever since. They had lots of stories. Dad wanted a house in town so he could walk to work and to the courthouse, but Mom wanted to live in the country. She wanted a big yard so she could plant vegetables and raise chickens, and she really wanted a barn.
They settled on this stacked-stone house on the edge of town and tore down walls and added on rooms. Mom wanted a brand-new kitchen and a big family room. She liked it that she could be in the kitchen and keep her eye on Jackson and me. She didn’t get the barn she wanted, but she got a carriage house. She made it into a studio where she could go and paint and not have to clean up. Dad helped her make a garden for the herbs she liked for cooking and some vegetables, and they planted fruit trees. We had pears and apples and peaches and even figs.
They tried raising chickens before I was born. Dad told funny stories about things they’d find in the chicken coop and about the rooster that crowed all night and went missing. Mom always thought the neighbors had stewed that bird. Dad said that’s when she gave up on chickens.
Jackson’s room, my room, and the guest room were all upstairs. The good part was I didn’t have to share a bathroom. My room was on the corner, with windows where I could see the carriage house out back and the peach and apple trees from the side windows. The apples were almost gone. One more gusty day like today, and no more apples until next October.
I loved my room. Everything was blue, just like I liked it—light-blue walls, blue curtains, blue pillows, and the blue quilt that had been my other grandmother’s. I didn’t really remember her because she’d died when I was just a baby.
The windows shone with light all day, but they didn’t leave much wall space for bookshelves. I had about an acre of books. But the best part of my room was my desk. Grancie and G-Pa had given it to me for my tenth birthday. It had belonged to my great-grandfather, and it was about the size of King William County—a maple roll-top with lots of drawers and slots and cubbies. It even had two secret compartments and was about the only thing in my room that wasn’t blue.
I stayed in my room reading until Mom called me for dinner, then went straight to the stone fireplace when I got downstairs. Jackson had built a bonfire in it. Building fires was one thing he was good for, which I appreciated after the chill in my room. I warmed my hands and turned around. “Jackson, you build such good fires that you’d be a great pyromaniac.”
He smiled. He thought it was a compliment because it was a big word and he didn’t even know what a pyromaniac was.
Dad was already home, so we all took our seats at the table. Steaming bowls of homemade chili, hot buttered corn bread, and apple salad. My kind of supper on the first night in November.
Dad didn’t even give me a chance to ask. “Julia, let’s have a pleasant meal. Your mom has gone out of her way to prepare something we all like. Then we’ll have a powwow around the fireplace. It’s still November first.”
That didn’t sound good. I didn’t think Dad knew what a real powwow was. It was a time when the Indians partied—dancing, eating, singing, being friendly. But when Dad said powwow, it just meant we were going to have a talk, kind of like a come-to-Jesus meeting. And it didn’t much sound like I would like it.
We finished our meal. It was my night to help Mom clear the table, and Dad sent Jackson for another couple of logs to put on the fire. By the time Mom and I finished in the kitchen, they were into the first quarter of a basketball game on television. Dad sat in his lounge chair, and Jackson was draped over the entire sofa, so I sat in the rocking chair near the fire. That way, Dad had to look in my direction while he watched TV.
I sat up strai
ght and stared in his direction, but I didn’t say anything.
Finally, at the commercial, Dad turned to me. “Julia, you look like you might be waiting for the dentist to call you back to fill your tooth. Are you in pain?”
“Not exactly. I’m just waiting for the powwow.”
“Oh, that’s right. The powwow.” Dad looked at his watch. “Only four hours and seventeen minutes until November the second.”
“We don’t really need a powwow. Just tell me. Is Mrs. Walker going to teach me or not?”
“No, she’s not going to teach—”
I knew it. I knew I wasn’t going to like this. I began my argument before he could finish. “But I have time. It won’t take away from my studies or anything else.”
“That’s not the problem, Julia. She doesn’t have time. But … she suggested …” He pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper from under his chair. “This.”
“What is that? A peace offering since I don’t get the only thing in the world I really want?”
“Not exactly. Why don’t you open it?”
I got up and took it from Dad’s hand. It was a package addressed to me. I opened it. “Oh, wow!” I yanked off the cellophane. “This is a great peace offering.”
Jackson roused from the sofa. “What is it?”
“It’s a set of DVDs that will teach me sign language.”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “Like I told you. You could teach yourself.”
“Yes, I can, and I can learn as fast as I want to. I won’t have to wait on lessons. I’m already learning to fingerspell from the book I checked out of the school library. This is the best. Did Mrs. Walker give it to me? I should write her a note.”
Silent Days, Holy Night Page 5
