Christmas on Honeysuckle Lane

by Mary McDonough

  “Well, I went to a small liberal arts college called Ryder in Massachusetts. It’s a Shelby family tradition. See, my great-great-grandfather endowed the science wing a million years ago so . . .”

  Emma smiled. “You really had no choice?”

  “None. I’m an only child, so it was up to me to keep the old ways. Anyway, I got an undergraduate degree in painting and then went on to the Rhode Island School of Design, where I got a master’s in American furniture. After that I came back to Baltimore and worked in a few antique shops learning the ropes; you could even say I was a good old-fashioned apprentice in some ways. And then, when I was thirty, I came to Oliver’s Well and opened my own place.”

  “And you like living here?” Emma asked.

  “I do,” Morgan said. “Very much. I’ve been a local for almost eight years now. I’ve got an apartment over my gallery. It’s got great views and enough space for me to keep dabbling in my painting.”

  “Do you show your work locally?”

  “Honestly,” Morgan said, “I haven’t tried to place anything in years. For now, I just enjoy the process.”

  “I took a painting course in college,” Emma told him. “I had such high hopes for myself, but I was just awful. Sadly, I’ve got no creative talent whatsoever. I like to think I have taste and that I appreciate fine work, but as for making it . . .”

  Morgan laughed. “Those of us who are makers seriously appreciate those who can appreciate us!”

  A sudden chorus of “Happy Birthday” rose from the dining room next to the bar. Emma smiled. “I haven’t heard that done in ages.”

  “It happens here pretty much every night, I’m told. Celebrations. Anniversaries, engagements, you name it. The Angry Squire is the place to be when you have good news to share with the community.”

  Emma smiled. “So, Oliver’s Well. Any dirty local politics?” she asked. “I remember vaguely there was some scandal when I was a kid, but I couldn’t tell you what actually went on.”

  Morgan shook his head. “If there’s anything dirty going on I don’t know about it and, like I said, I don’t want to know about it. Politics and I don’t mix.”

  “What about crime?” Emma asked.

  “Petty theft on occasion, a few DUIs each summer, and that’s about it. Most people who live outside the immediate downtown area don’t even bother to lock their doors at night. The police chief and his deputy have probably the cushiest jobs in the state of Virginia.”

  “And the school system? I have a niece and nephew in grammar school and I haven’t heard my brother or sister-in-law complain.”

  “It’s solid,” Morgan said. “Respected. A town with a good public school system is a town in which any person might want to live, parent or not.” Morgan smiled. “Why all the questions?” he asked. “Are you thinking of moving back to your hometown?”

  Emma shrugged. “Just curious. It’s been ages since I’ve lived here and things can change so quickly.”

  “Not in Oliver’s Well! In fact, a few years back the OWHA began a Day in the Life project. Are you familiar with that sort of thing?”

  “I think so,” Emma said. “It’s where a photograph is taken every day at the same time and place and then catalogued.”

  Morgan nodded. “Right. Anyway, it’s the brainchild of Mary Bernadette Fitzgibbon, the grand old lady of the OWHA. You must know her.”

  Emma laughed. “Who doesn’t? She’s been angling for that George Bullock desk I told you about for ages. Besides, our family lives on the same street.”

  “Oh, right! Anyway, I have to say I’m not the only one to think it’s a bit of a silly project for a town where nothing much ever changes.”

  “Don’t you think there might be some value in things staying the same?” Emma asked.

  “Sure,” Morgan said. “Depending on what things you’re talking about. Scientific exploration? Medicine? Human rights? Animal rights for that matter. All things that should change, and for the better.” Morgan smiled and looked around the bar. “But places like the Angry Squire? I’d like this place to stay the same for a long while.”

  “Me, too,” Emma said.

  The rest of the evening passed as pleasantly as it had begun, and at almost ten P.M. Emma and Morgan parted ways outside the restaurant with a warm handshake. Emma realized that she had just spent by far the most enjoyable few hours of the entire year.

  She was home within minutes and tucked into her parents’ bed only minutes after that. Before she plugged her iPhone into its charger she checked for any new media messages or voice mails. And there it was. Ian had sent her a text. He was watching a movie on Amazon and had thought of her. He knew she would love the movie. He wished her pleasant dreams.

  With a sigh, Emma turned off the light and slid down under the covers. Why can’t he leave me alone? she thought. She didn’t want Ian to care about her, not now. Not ever again.

  Especially, Emma realized, not after tonight.

  CHAPTER 29

  A few minutes after Daniel arrived at number 32 that morning, Andie left the house for a walk.

  “For exercise?” Daniel had asked her, plopping his tool bag on the counter next to the sink.

  “For peace of mind,” his sister had replied. “Walking is a form of meditation for me. If it helps to keep my arteries clear, all the better.”

  Daniel had been about to say something to the effect of, “Well, some of us aren’t lucky enough to have free time to exercise, let alone meditate,” but his phone had rung just then. It was one of his long-time clients and he promptly answered the call, all thoughts of his sister and her privilege forgotten.

  “I thought I heard you come in.”

  Daniel turned away from the sink to see Emma in the doorway of the kitchen. “I noticed the sink wasn’t draining properly, so I thought I’d give it a look.”

  “Any luck?” his sister asked, leaning against the counter.

  “I think so.” Daniel turned on the cold water faucet and watched for a moment as the water drained smoothly and quickly.

  “You really are a jack of all trades!”

  Daniel put the drain-clearing snake back in his tool bag before replying. “Sometimes,” he said, “you have no choice but to just tackle the job at hand.”

  Emma briefly put her hand on Daniel’s arm. “Like you did with Mom,” she said.

  Daniel didn’t know what to say, so he busied himself filling the kettle with water for a pot of coffee.

  “Those last days with Mom must have been so hard on you, Danny,” Emma went on. “I really did feel for you. I still feel for you. You gave the family an enormously important gift by being with Mom in her last moments.”

  Daniel felt tears pricking at his eyelids and willed them away. “I didn’t want her to die alone,” he said simply, turning on the gas under the kettle. “Though at the very end I don’t think she really knew I was there. If she did, she was beyond letting me know.”

  “That’s so sad,” Emma murmured.

  “Last Christmas . . .” Daniel shook his head. “It was like it went by in a blur. I felt as if I was living through a haze, not really there, not fully taking in the fact that Mom was gone. But this year . . .”

  “I think I know what you mean, Danny,” Emma said. “It was the same for me last year. The holidays came and went and though I went through the motions—parties and presents—they barely registered with me. Just like Mom’s being gone hadn’t quite registered.”

  “Yeah. For months after Mom died I’d drive by the house half expecting to see her in the front yard, pulling up a weed or watering the roses. I hardly even missed her because I couldn’t really believe what had happened.”

  “But her death didn’t come as a huge surprise, did it? I mean, we knew she was failing. It wasn’t a sudden or accidental thing.”

  “Death is always a surprise,” Daniel said forcefully. “At least, it’s always a shock, even if you’ve been expecting it. It’s just so . . . It’s just so fina
l. And yet,” he went on, “sometimes still in my dreams, I turn a corner or open a door and there’s Mom, healthy and smiling, and I say, ‘There you are! I knew you were here somewhere,’ and for that moment, I truly believe that she didn’t die, that I’d made a mistake. And then, my head tells me that I’m dreaming and that my mother is indeed dead. And that’s that. Final.”

  Daniel felt surprised by his own forthcoming mood. He hadn’t planned on sharing his feelings in this way with Emma, with anyone, really. But it didn’t feel so bad, opening up, and opening up was something Anna Maria was always encouraging him to do.

  “I remember so clearly the time I last saw Mom alive,” Emma said then. “It was about two weeks before she passed.”

  “I remember, too,” Daniel said. “I was glad that you came.”

  “She seemed to have rallied since my previous visit. I really thought she would be with us for at least a few more months. I had absolutely no sense that the end was so near.” Emma sighed. “After she’d died I thought that maybe she’d put on a bit of a show for me, that she hadn’t wanted me to see how bad she really was. That she hadn’t wanted me to see her die. I thought that maybe my being around at the end would have been embarrassing for her. I don’t know.”

  Daniel smiled. “Funny,” he said, pouring boiling water into the press pot into which he had already dumped the coffee beans he had ground earlier. “Anna Maria said much the same thing to me recently. She said that Mom might not have wanted her daughters to witness her in such a vulnerable state. That maybe it was better that you and Andie weren’t around more.”

  “Oh.” Emma’s face seemed to fall. “I’m not sure how I should take that. . . .”

  “All Anna Maria meant,” Daniel added hurriedly, “was that Mom was always so conscious of making a good impression on people, especially her daughters.... I don’t know for sure why Mom died exactly when she did, Emma. All I know is that she’s gone, and hopefully, she’s with Dad.”

  “Danny? What were Mom’s very last words? I mean, coherent words? I never asked you before now because”—Emma shook her head—”maybe I was afraid to hear them.”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  Daniel cleared his throat. He had only told Anna Maria this bit of the story, and then it was with copious tears. “Well,” he said, “I got up from the chair at one point and leaned over her in the bed. I remember I took her hand with my left hand and braced myself against the bed with my right. Suddenly, I thought, she looked . . . upset. ‘Mom,’ I said, ‘are you okay? Are you in pain?’ ”

  Emma put her hand to her heart. “What did she say?”

  “She looked right at me and said, clear as a bell”—Daniel paused and arranged his face in a suitably grim expression—“ ‘You’re leaning on my leg.’ ”

  A laugh of shock burst from his sister. “Danny, no!”

  Daniel laughed, too. “I felt awful, of course. Seriously, I wanted to kick myself. But Mom sort of smiled and . . . and about forty minutes later she was gone.”

  “Have you told Andie any of this?” Emma asked.

  “No. She’s never asked about the details of Mom’s passing.” And, he thought, it’s because she doesn’t really care what I went through in those hours.

  “Look, I don’t mean to pry, but are things okay between you and Andie?”

  “Why shouldn’t they be?” Daniel countered; he knew he sounded defensive.

  “I don’t know. It’s just that you seem a bit annoyed or impatient with her.”

  Daniel shrugged. “She gets on my nerves sometimes, that’s all. She always has. Look, don’t forget about the concert tonight.”

  “I won’t,” Emma promised. “I haven’t been inside the Church of the Immaculate Conception since someone’s funeral back when I was in high school. I remember it being beautiful. All that scrolling plaster and gorgeous artwork.”

  “And the choir has won several awards in statewide competitions,” Daniel said enthusiastically. “We’re in for a real treat.”

  Emma smiled at her brother. “I’m glad I’m here, Danny. I just want you to know that. Thank you for suggesting we all come together this Christmas.”

  Daniel, suddenly uncomfortable, turned away from his sister to take cups from their cabinet over the microwave. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Just don’t forget to get a real estate agent signed up.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Andie couldn’t remember the last time she had been inside the Church of the Immaculate Conception. It might have been as long ago as her primary school days, when one of the class trips was to the local places of worship. She remembered being so excited about visiting the various churches and the synagogue in neighboring Westminster. She had loved learning a bit about the different religions and their traditions, and though the variety of religions practiced in and around Oliver’s Well wasn’t particularly large, still, she had gotten a tantalizing taste of something far bigger than her own little life.

  The entire family but Bob were in attendance at the concert that evening; he was having dinner with old friends in Smithstown. Andie smiled to herself. Bob had always been the social butterfly of the two. He had been the one to introduce them to the neighbors when they moved into their little house just after the wedding; he had been the one to suggest they host an open house that first Christmas as husband and wife.

  Andie slipped into the pew next to her family and glanced around the crowded church. Maureen Kline and her parents, Jeannette and Danny, were seated a few rows ahead, next to several members of the Fitzgibbon clan. And there was Joe and Jenna Herbert and their two kids. Andie didn’t immediately recognize anyone else, though she suspected that she would remember more than a few people if they spoke to her at intermission.

  The program ranged from jovial secular songs like “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” and “Frosty the Snowman” to the more lovely sacred hymns like “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” All were recognizable, and though the members of the chorus might not welcome the “help,” Andie noted that many of the audience were singing along under their breath. She felt a happiness flow through her, a happiness laced with that new friend, nostalgia.

  At the intermission, Andie followed Rumi and Daniel out into the vestibule, filled to bursting with people of all ages.

  “Are you enjoying the concert?” Andie asked her daughter.

  “Yeah,” Rumi said. “But isn’t it a bit weird for you, Mom? I mean, you’re pretty much a Buddhist these days, aren’t you?”

  Daniel laughed. “Can a Buddhist commit blasphemy or say something heretical? They don’t believe in God, right?”

  Knowing that her brother was not truly informed about her practice, Andie ignored his questions. This was not a teaching moment for Daniel. “I’m not immune to celebration,” she told her daughter, “or to beautiful music. Besides, for me religion is largely a personal experience, not limited to creeds.”

  Rumi shrugged. “Whatever. I’m going to sit with some friends for the second half,” she said. “See you guys.”

  “You know,” Andie said, looking to her brother, “I really wanted to say a few words at Mom’s funeral. I know we weren’t always close, especially after I left Oliver’s Well, but I would have welcomed the opportunity to honor her by speaking publicly about her life. She really was extraordinary in some ways.”

  “She was extraordinary in all ways,” Daniel said with some heat, “and you could have honored her more if you’d shown up when she was dying, or even as soon as you were given the news that she had passed. Why didn’t you come back to help me with the details, the church and the undertakers?”

  “Danny,” Andie said patiently and quietly, “you know I was in Vietnam. I couldn’t get back immediately. It cost me a small fortune to get back as quickly as I did.”

  “The point is that I was the one on the scene,” he went on. “It was my right to give Mom’s eulogy and I did. What’s done is
done. Emma was fine with my decision. Why can’t you be?”

  Andie wondered if her sister was indeed fine with Daniel’s usurpation of rights. Well, usurpation was too strong a word. Still, when Andie had suggested that all three siblings might say a few words at Caro’s funeral her brother had rejected the idea out of hand.

  Leave the past where it belongs, Andie told herself. In the past. She shouldn’t have brought up an old grievance. Daniel could be self-righteous at times (if not in Bob’s opinion, then in hers), but he was also always the one willing to do the dirty work, and that counted for something. It counted for a lot.

  Andie looked at her brother’s face, now set in a grim, joyless expression, and felt sorrowful. Oh, Danny, she thought, drawing again on the wisdom of the Buddha, you will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by it.

  “You did a good job, Danny,” she said. “Keeping Mom happy and safe.”

  Daniel stuck his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Thanks,” he said shortly.

  “Come on. The choir is filing back into the church. We need to take our seats.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Emma spotted a familiar figure at the opposite end of the vestibule. Yes, it was Morgan Shelby, wearing a beautifully tailored topcoat. Just as she was considering making her way through the crowd to say hello to Morgan, Maureen waylaid her.

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m here with my parents and the Fitzgibbon clan. Well, those who live in Oliver’s Well. I’m guessing you’re here with your family?”

  “Yeah, the whole gang’s here except for Bob. I’ll try to catch your mom and dad after the concert,” Emma promised. “I haven’t seen them since my mother’s funeral.”

  “Here we go,” Maureen whispered. “Mrs. Fitzgibbon is coming our way.”

  Mary Bernadette joined them, her famous dazzling smile firmly in place. Emma hadn’t seen Mrs. Fitzgibbon since Caro’s funeral, and then she had been struck by how straight and elegant she still looked, in spite of having suffered both a stroke and a heart attack the year before. Now, if you looked closely, Emma thought, you could see small signs of age finally beginning to catch up with her, a slightly thinner frame, her eyes a little less intensely blue, her once gloriously thick hair not quite so thick. Still, Mary Bernadette was dressed as elegantly as she always had been, in a navy dress with a narrow black patent leather belt at the waist, a strand of pearls around her neck, and small but what looked like very good pearls in her ears. Emma almost smiled remembering how she had always suspected a fashion rivalry between Mrs. Fitzgibbon and Caro Reynolds, each out to outshine the other in simple sophistication.