An Island Christmas
Page 2
“Look, Lauren, you can’t turn a cheetah into a house cat and you can’t turn me into a model.”
“I never said you could. What I’m saying is that if you could lower your standards a smidgen and allow Mom to have the Norman Rockwell Christmas wedding she longs for, it might go a long way toward helping her accept your marriage to Archie.”
Felicia, always restless when cooped up inside, jumped up off their thrift shop sofa and began to pace. “That might never happen. Archie’s like Rob Roy and Mom’s like Martha Stewart. Last year when Mom and Dad came out to visit us, Mom was all Queen Elizabeth, turning up her nose at our apartment, as if we were living out of cardboard boxes.”
“Didn’t you eat out of cardboard boxes?” Lauren couldn’t help teasing.
“You are totally loving all this, aren’t you?” Felicia accused. “Yes, we did eat out of cardboard boxes because the nights Dad didn’t take us out to dinner, we had pizza or take-out Chinese like we always do. Archie doesn’t expect me to serve him a four course meal every night, complete with the proper wine.”
“It’s not the superficial stuff that worries Mom,” Lauren said gently. “It’s more the values stuff. Like the importance of family.”
“Come on, there are all kinds of families. His parents got divorced when he was young, and a few years ago his father died. But Archie and his mom are still a family,” Felicia said defiantly. “I think his mom’s totally awesome. She worked as a soccer coach and gym teacher at a girls’ school in South Carolina and raised Archie all by herself.”
“Okay. I respect that. Still, you have to admit that Archie doesn’t really fit into our family. We stay in one place for generations. Archie is a vagabond. And he’s turning you into one.”
“In the first place,” argued Felicia, “I’ve always wanted to travel. In the second place, Archie isn’t turning me into anything except a very happy woman. In the third place, we have both worked our tails off as white-water rafting guides for the last five years to save money for this trip. If that isn’t behaving responsibly and reliably, what is?”
“Fine,” Lauren said. “Let’s talk about the wedding. I have an idea I think you’ll like. Let me be in charge.”
“This is the sound of me trying not to scream,” Felicia said.
“Come on, think about it. Who used to give her dolls weddings? Who thinks the way Mom does? I’ve already made some notes. The ceremony will be at St. Paul’s Church. The reception will be at home. You should wear a plain white satin dress, and a red velvet cloak.”
“I’ll look like Little Red Riding Hood,” Felicia objected.
Lauren continued unfazed. “Archie’s last name is Galloway. I’ve already checked the tartan book. His pattern is mostly green. Does he have a kilt?”
“You bet Archie has his own kilt. He’s so proud of his Scottish heritage I’m just grateful he doesn’t play bagpipes.”
“Fabulous. He can wear his kilt with all the trappings and you can wear a red velvet sash around your waist—”
“And a poinsettia in my hair.” Felicia snorted.
“I’m considering having your dress trimmed with white faux fur on the cuffs and hem. I’ll definitely loan you my diamond earrings.”
“I don’t have pierced ears.”
“Of course you don’t. Fine. I’ll think of something else. The point is, I can make all the arrangements. Mother will enjoy working with me on the color scheme—”
“Our wedding will have a color scheme? This is a nightmare.”
“Not if you let me take care of it. I can plan it all from soup to nuts. I already know what size you wear. Mom and I can plan the decorations for the house and the menus. I’m sure she’ll want to invite a few of her own friends and some of the friends you went to school with.”
“No, it wouldn’t be fair to Archie if I had my friends there and he didn’t have any. It’s sad enough that his father’s dead and he’s an only child. Let’s keep it simple. Please. I want a calm, quiet, brief ceremony.”
“Fine, then. But will you let me be in charge of the details?”
Felicia felt totally itchy. She idolized her older sister while at the same time she couldn’t stand being around Lauren for more than a few days. Lauren, like their mother, was a perfectionist. Felicia had thought that when Lauren had her two children she would loosen up and that had sort of happened. But Lauren still didn’t comprehend the way Felicia thought. If Lauren was an A, Felicia was a Z. If Felicia and Archie had their way, they’d be married outdoors in the sunshine, standing beneath Delicate Arch. They would be wearing hiking clothes and if Felicia carried flowers, they would be Indian paintbrush and Arizona daisies.
But Felicia loved her mother and knew how important this occasion was for her.
“I surrender. This is very nice of you, Lauren, and I know you’ll make Mom happy. Are you sure you’ll have time to make the arrangements and take care of your own Christmas, too?”
“Absolutely! This is the sort of project that invigorates me. Oh, Felicia, it’s going to be so much fun.”
“I certainly hope so,” Felicia said doubtfully.
The moment she clicked off her cell, Felicia stuck it in her khaki shorts pocket, opened the apartment door, and thundered down the stairs to the street. She had to go out in the sunshine and walk. She had known this wedding business would drive her mad.
The crazy thing was that Felicia cherished Christmas on Nantucket. She always had. She loved the small town atmosphere, the security of nearby neighbors as the dark winter drew nearer. When she was younger, her parents first bought their home on the island. She’d enjoyed being an angel in the Christmas pageant the year their next-door neighbors played Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. That was probably the only time in her life Felicia was considered an angel. The Christmas parties back then were noisy, giddy fun, and her mother’s Christmas Eve and Christmas Day meals were gastronomical delights, not to mention the adorable Christmas cookies Felicia and Lauren always baked, giggling and eating the icing as they worked.
Archie had never been to the island, and that was another reason Felicia wanted to have their wedding there, so she could show him the landscape she knew so well. But the main reason was to make her mother happy. She adored her mother and realized her tomboyishness disappointed Jilly. This was the best present she could think of. Her dad would like it, too, although he was much more mellow about everything.
Maybe her dad could convince her mother that once Felicia was married, she would have her own life with Archie, and she should be free to live it as she wanted.
3
A week later, George trudged up the stairs with a wicker basket of fresh laundry in his arms. He found Jilly in the guest bedroom. “Here you go, Lady Gordon, one clean set of snowman-covered sheets and a reindeer-patterned duvet.”
“Help me make the bed, will you please, George?” Jilly asked. “My back is starting to ache.”
“I’m not surprised,” George said as he flapped out the bottom sheet and helped Jilly spread it on the mattress. “You’ve been working like a crazy woman on the house.”
“We’ll never have another Christmas like this one. I want it to be perfect,” said Jilly. “Anyway, I have most of it done. Lauren and Porter will be in Lauren’s old bedroom with air mattresses on the floor for Portia and Lawrence. Felicia and Archie will have her old bedroom. Pat Galloway could have the guest room but she prefers staying in a hotel. I’ve put on Christmas sheets and quilts anyway.”
“I noticed,” George told his wife. “Looks great. And I’m sure that now that the kids are older, nothing will get broken.”
Jilly was quiet as she helped George finish making the bed. She plumped up the pillows in their Christmas shams and smoothed out a few tiny wrinkles on the duvet.
“We don’t have any little-boy toys in the house, but I bought a few “Meg Mackintosh” mystery books I think Lawrence will like and I’ve put them on the bedside table. As for Portia, I left Lauren’s old doll carr
iage and baby doll in the room for her to play with.”
Suddenly Jilly collapsed on the bed, dropped her face into her hands, and began to cry.
Alarmed, George sat down, put his arm around his wife, and asked, “Hey, honey, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, George,” cried Jilly, “when I got out the baby carriage, it made me remember when Lauren’s children were babies and slept in our daughters’ crib. There it was, up in the attic, all folded up, with a mattress wrapped in plastic, and the soft baby sheets and blankets and bumpers tucked away in a plastic box. And we’ll never use any of it again.”
“How can you say that?” George asked. “Felicia’s getting married. I’m sure she’ll have kids someday.”
“Yes, and she’ll probably give birth in a yurt in the Gobi Desert, attended by two Mongolians and a goat.”
George threw back his head and laughed, hugging Jilly to him. “You have quite an imagination.”
“I don’t need an imagination when I have a daughter like Felicia,” Jilly said glumly.
“You really have been working too hard,” George said soothingly. “You’re upset over nothing. Listen, it’s Stroll weekend. What are we doing sitting inside? Let’s go for a walk and then I’ll take you out to lunch.”
“George, what a great idea.” Jilly wiped tears from her eyes and stood up. “I’ll change clothes and put on some lipstick.”
In a flash, Jilly’s mood brightened. The Nantucket Christmas Stroll took place the first weekend after Thanksgiving weekend. This annual occasion became more exciting every year, as islanders and tourists alike entered into a shimmering bubble of holiday magic with the sweet salt air glittering like fairy dust over their heads. The town blocked the use of cars on Main Street so that the hundreds of strollers could amble along, pausing to listen to the Victorian carolers in cloaks and bonnets singing to the crowds, or to watch Santa and Mrs. Claus arrive on the Coast Guard boat down at Straight Wharf.
The stores were filled with luxurious and delectable gifts, their windows decorated with artistic flair. Mermaids and snowmen, reindeer and ice skaters, gingerbread sailboats and candy canes twinkled behind the glass. The town crier strode through the town, welcoming people and announcing the beginnings of pageants, fairs, and readings.
The crowds themselves decorated the streets; it had become a custom to dress with dash for the Stroll. Women wore red velvet cloaks and wide picture hats with feathers or faux fur coats and earmuffs. Some men and women wore hats with reindeer antlers, or red and white Santa hats, or green elf caps with golden bells jingling from the pointed tip.
Jilly put on warm wool slacks and her green cashmere sweater, topped with her green wool coat. She added her special Christmas earrings, one red, one green, which flashed on and off, because she’d remembered to put the new batteries in. She added a bright crimson slash of lipstick and smiled at herself in the mirror. She felt better already.
Hurrying down the stairs, she caught up her purse and her leather gloves.
George was waiting in the front hall, looking quite handsome in his black wool dress coat, even though the buttons strained over his belly; he’d worn this coat for years. Jilly picked up the new headgear she’d purchased for him this year, a red felt stocking cap with miniature green felt Christmas trees bobbling above each ear.
“Not a chance,” George said, stepping backward.
“It’s specially for the Stroll,” cajoled Jilly. She took the red and white candy-cane-striped muffler she had knit for him and wrapped it around his neck, kissing his cheek as she did. “Try it on. Show some Christmas spirit.”
“Fine, but I refuse to wear it in the restaurant,” George grumbled.
Jilly put her Santa hat on, adjusting it so that the fat white pom-pom at the end fell over her shoulder. Taking George’s arm, she twinkled up at him. “Let’s go!”
As they walked into town, the Gordons began to turn up their coat collars and pull their mufflers tighter around their necks. No snow had fallen yet, but the day was unseasonably cold, and when they reached Main Street, they saw that the other strollers already had rosy cheeks. They encountered some acquaintances who had their matching corgis on red and green leashes. The dogs and owners alike wore blinking Christmas lights around their necks. The Gordons patted the dogs, greeted the humans, and continued their walk.
“I’d forgotten that this has really become a dog holiday,” said George.
“Well, this is a dog island, after all. And the dogs seem happy to be decked out.”
Jilly pointed at a large yellow Lab wearing reindeer ears. Farther down the street, an elegant white poodle sported a glamorous headband with several sequined white snowflakes attached by springs. And trotting along happily like a well-fed pig, a very fat pug paraded down the street wearing a red satin bow around her neck.
“What a sweet little puppy,” Jilly cried. “May I pet her?” she asked the owner, who rather resembled a pug herself.
“Of course,” the owner said. “Her name is Poppy.”
Jilly knelt and reached out a hand to the pug. Poppy stuck out a peppermint pink tongue and licked Jilly’s hand.
“Hello, sweetie,” Jilly greeted the puppy. She looked up at her husband. “I wish we had a little dog like this.”
“Have you ever had a dog?” the pug owner inquired.
“No,” Jilly answered briefly, not wanting to admit what a neat freak she was. “But maybe …”
The pug owner continued, “Not to be a Grinch, I only ask because I’d forgotten how much work dogs are. They have to be walked several times a day, and it’s holy murder crawling out of bed early on a dark winter morning to take Poppy out. But she yips and yaps and scratches at the bed until I do. Then there’s the matter of chewing. I can’t tell you how many leather shoes Poppy’s ruined. And she’s not even a big dog, certainly not one of those eternally hungry dogs like yellow Labs who will eat anything, even the contents of wastebaskets, no matter how much you feed them.”
“Goodness!” Jilly stood up. “I appreciate you warning us about all this.”
The pug owner replied, “Of course I’m crazy about Poppy, and I won’t give her up. Anyway, Merry Christmas!” With that, the fat little pug and her owner waddled away.
The Gordons strolled on, crisscrossing the cobblestone streets, stopping to watch Joe Zito and his puppet, Grunge, entertain a flock of children, pausing farther up the street to listen to the Victorian carolers.
“My stomach’s growling,” George mumbled as “Come All Ye Faithful” ended. “Let’s go eat lunch before the restaurants are too crowded.”
He steered Jilly toward the Brotherhood, a historic pub with fireplaces, juicy hamburgers, and a full list of wine and beers. He knew what he wanted, but Jilly stared at the menu for so long he thought she’d slipped into a coma.
“Jilly?”
“Oh … I guess I’ll have a salad.” Listlessly, she let the menu fall from her hand.
“You’re kidding. No one eats a salad when it’s so cold. Don’t tell me you’re trying to lose weight over Christmas!” Now he was worried.
“I’m not hungry, George.” Jilly gazed out the window, idly watching the crowds pass by.
George stared at his wife. How could he help her? They were too old to have another baby, which was no doubt what she secretly wanted. Lauren and Porter wouldn’t have another child; they’d confessed that Porter had had a vasectomy, considering two children enough. Felicia might have a child someday, but until then would Jilly remain so downhearted? His wife was an odd mixture of perfectionism and softheartedness.
He could buy her a puppy, but that meant newspapers on the floor, toilet training, long nights interrupted by pitiful howling, and eventually, as the pug owner had said, chewed shoes.
Suddenly, he had an inspiration.
“Jilly!” Reaching over, he took her hand, indicating his desire for her full attention.
“Yes, dear?”
“I’m going to buy you a kitten!”
4
By ten A.M., Felicia and Archie had finished a lazy breakfast of pancakes and bacon, following an energetic session under the bedcovers. Now they were showering, dressing, and preparing for the arrival of friends for the Sunday NFL game between the New England Patriots and the Buffalo Bills.
“Archie,” said Felicia in her sweetest voice, “I have a few early Christmas presents for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Archie came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist.
Felicia gestured toward the bed. “I bought you some things. Would you try one of the shirts on to be sure they’re big enough?”
Archie stomped over toward the bed—he wasn’t angry, he always sounded like he was stomping—and stared down at the pile of new clothes as if they were rattlesnakes. “What the heck?”
“For our trip to Nantucket,” Felicia explained.
Archie looked wary. “I have clothes.”
“I know you do, but we’re going to be on Nantucket for two weeks. It’s winter and it’s cold. I know we’ll spend most of the time hiking around the island, but some evenings Mom and Dad will want us to eat out. They’ll want us to join them at Christmas cocktail parties, and I’m sure they have a Christmas party planned, as well. They want to show you off, and you can’t be wearing a torn T-shirt that says Take a Hike.”