by Janette Oke
"I was. . . was hoping I'd found a way to hold him this time," Mrs. Stafford-Smyth said wearily.
"Hold him? Hold who?"
"Pierre. My Petah."
Alarmed, Belinda said, "What do you mean?" already fearing what the answer might be.
"He's leaving. He just came to tell me. He says he can't bear Boston wintahs. He's . . . he's going back to France."
Belinda had no voice to respond to the woman. She simply stood beside her, her hand gently stroking the cheeks, the brow, the silver hair.
"I thought . . . I thought he seemed happiah this time. That now, with anothah young person in the house, he . . . he might stay."
Belinda still said nothing.
"You .. . you didn't have a lovah's quarrel, now did you, deah?" asked the woman.
Belinda found her voice then. "Oh my, no! Why . . . why we've been nothing more than friends . . . just friends."
The woman looked sorrowful. "I . . . I was hoping. . ." she began, but she did not finish her statement.
With the chill that gripped Belinda's heart, she wondered if she subconsciously had been hoping to hold on to Pierre herself, but she did not confess as much to her employer.
"When . . . when is he leaving?" she asked quietly.
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"He has already booked passage. He sails on Friday."
Friday! That was two days hence. That didn't give one much time for good-byes. But perhaps that was the way Pierre wanted
it.
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth sighed wearily. "You don't understand, deah," she said. "I realize now that I have no way to hold him heah. No way. If I want to see him and Frank, then I must go to them. They will nevah, nevah come home to me."
Belinda nodded. She thought she did understand.
Belinda tried hard not to let her emotions show as she bade Pierre good-bye.
"I can never thank you for all the. . . the sharing of Boston," she told him. "Ya--you made the city live for me."
Pierre took her hand and held it firmly. "I'm the one to say thanks," he said a bit grandly, then more sincerely, "I have had a good time."
"It's going to be rather . . . well, dreary without you," she admitted. "I don't know how your grandmother and I shall ever bear it."
"Take care of her, Belinda," he said, earnestness now in his tone. "I know that it is unfair of me to even ask it of you when I .. . when I should be staying here, doing it myself. But I can't. Not just now I know . . . I know you can't understand that, but I beg you not to think too unkindly of me."
"I could never think unkindly of you," Belinda said sincerely. "And as far as your grandmother is concerned, I'll . . . I'll try" Belinda promised. "I know she will miss you terribly. That she misses Franz. She would love to see Franz and his new . . . new. . ." Belinda floundered.
"New love," prompted Pierre. "Though I am the first to admit that Franz may well have changed loves once or twice since
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I left him. He has changed often in the past, you know Although this time, he insists it is different."
Belinda smiled.
"Safe journey" Belinda said simply.
"In France we say, 'Bon voyage," he reminded her. "Bon voyage," repeated Belinda.
He gave her a quick, rather brotherly hug, and then he was gone. Belinda stood and watched the carriage until it was out of sight, a tightness in her throat. She had liked Pierre. She had even thought he might care for her, just a little . .. but now he had turned and casually walked out of her life.
Little did Belinda know that Pierre was running away. He was beginning to care too much for Belinda, but unlike his grandmother, Pierre was thoroughly convinced their two vastly different worlds would not mix. Pierre did not wish to give up his world as he knew it, nor did he feel comfortable about asking Belinda to give up hers. The only answer, in Pierre's thinking, was to put the ocean between them.
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TWENTY-FIVE
A Taste f or Tr avel
While one winter storm after another swept through the area, Belinda shivered and watched the wind pile banks of driven snow where banks of flowering begonias had so recently been.
No wonder Pierre escaped, she thought to herself grimly. She would gladly have left for parts unknown herself Then she shook her head at how sheltered she had become, how dependent on the finer things of life--even good weather. Why, this kind of snow couldn't come close to matching a true northerner out on the prairie. . . .
Dear Ma, she sat down to write, I do miss you all just awfully. And sometimes I can't quite figure out what I'm doing way out here so far from home. But Mrs. Stafford-Smyth needs someone to be with her and be a friend--even more now that her grandson has returned to France. . . . She knew her mother no doubt would read between the lines and yearn over her youngest, and that her parents would be praying for her.
Not all Belinda's days were chilly and bleak. On the nicer ones, she bundled up against the cold and went for walks or had the carriage brought around so she might do some shopping for Christmas gifts. She was looking forward to sending packages home for her family.
As Christmas drew closer, Belinda felt a renewed stirring of homesickness. The letters from her mother continued to arrive
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regularly, and occasionally Belinda received notes from other members of the family, as well.
Luke wrote with news of the medical practice. Belinda was pleased to learn that they had decided to have Rand build them an office separate and complete, giving Abbie back the privacy of their home. Luke then planned to convert the old office in the house into a large room for the two growing boys.
The up-to-date reports on Abe's arm informed Belinda that he had been away for surgery--two surgeries, in fact--and though the arm was still not completely restored, it was vastly improved over what it had been. Abe beams when he shows it off to the family members, Belinda read, and the tears that blurred the words on the page came from a heart of thankfulness.
Arnie was back in church--and not just sitting stolidly on a pew He was involved again, and his faith had conquered the last trace of bitterness.
But not all the news was good news. There had been deaths among neighboring families, and Luke had lost a baby in delivery--the first in his experience--and had very nearly lost the young mother, too. He felt the tragedy keenly, and Belinda, understanding her brother, ached for him.
The partnership with Dr. Jackson Brown had been a good one. Luke from the beginning had been deeply involved with the practice of medicine, and he was now able to spend more time with Abbie and their growing family.
Ruthie's chattering had turned into understandable language. Thomas had been teaching her to say "Aunt Belinda," and Ruthie seemed to think their little game was fun. Luke wrote that the sound came out more like "Aw Binna." Belinda both laughed and wept over the little story. It was awfully nice to know she had not been forgotten at home.
Actually, both Rand and Jackson had written to Belinda, too. But when she responded with short, friendly but matter-of-fact
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notes, the answering correspondence from each of them had soon tapered off. Luke had reported in his letter that Rand stopped by last Saturday to invite Thomas and Aaron on a little fishing trip--and were they ever excited! Belinda smiled to herself as she imagined their enthusiastic chatter.
When Belinda had all her shopping done, her parcels wrapped, and her gifts on their way, there seemed to be nothing left to do except to wait out the days until Christmas finally arrived.
Belinda had never spent Christmas away from home before. She wondered just how Mrs. Stafford-Smyth celebrated the day. Surely one could not expect much in festivities with only two people.
Other than Pierre, Belinda still had not made any friends of her own age. True, there were a few young people whom she had met in his company, but now that he was gone, she had really lost contact with them. She supposed if things had been different and she had been included as staff in the big house a
s Potter seemed to feel was proper, she might have become friendly with Ella and Sarah. As it was, the girls spoke to her politely but did their talking and tittering outside of her hearing when they met each other in the halls or kitchen. Though she had tried to engage them in conversation, Belinda was not considered to be one of them.
The guests who joined Mrs. Stafford-Smyth for afternoon tea or an elaborate dinner were all older folk, and though Belinda was always expected to join them, she really did not feel part of those gatherings, either.
She took up handwork along with her walking and reading, and managed to tick the slow-moving days from her calendar, one by one.
Every day she spent some time with Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. She knew the older lady was as much in need of companionship as
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she herself. Usually they sipped tea, chatted, and did some kind of needlework before an open fire.
In a way it was cozy--at least to an onlooker it would have seemed so. But Belinda knew that deep down inside she felt a restlessness--a loneliness--and she wasn't sure just what to do about it.
On one such day, while Mrs. Stafford-Smyth was working skillfully on a silk sampler and Belinda embroidered a pair of cotton pillowcases, they chatted easily about many things.
"It's hard to believe that next week is Christmas," Belinda observed. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth did not even lift her eyes from her needlework. Belinda thought at first that she had not even heard the comment. She was about to speak further when Mrs. Stafford-Smyth answered, still without lifting her head.
"There was a time when Christmas brought a flurry of excitement in this house," she remarked. Then she added slowly, almost tiredly, "But no more."
Belinda felt her heart sink. It sounded as though the lady was dismissing Christmas as of no consequence.
"How do you celebrate Christmas?" Belinda dared to ask. "Celebrate it? 'Spend it,' you mean. Much as we are spending today, I expect."
Belinda's eyes lifted from the pillowcases to study her older companion. She saw a droop to the shoulders and resignation in her face.
"But . . . but it's Christ's birthday!" Belinda could not help exclaiming.
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth faced her then and her eyes brightened for a moment. "Oh, we go to the church service--to be sure. But there are no more stuffed stockings and tinseled tree."
Belinda had a sudden resolve. She needed Christmas. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth needed Christmas. She laid aside her needlework and quickly stood to her feet.
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"Let's!" she said excitedly.
The older woman's head lifted quickly and she stared as though Belinda had lost her senses.
"Let's!" said Belinda again.
"What are you--?" began Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, but Belinda interrupted, her eyes shining and her hands clasped.
"Let's have Christmas again! You and me. Let's have the tree and the tinsel and the stockings."
"But--but--"
"No 'buts. We need Christmas. I've never not had Christmas. Why, I would mope and cry all day without it. I just know I would. We can have Windsor get us a tree, and I'll decorate, and Cook can make plum pudding or butter tarts or whatever you like, and we'll share gifts with the staff and--"
The older woman began to chuckle softly. Belinda's fire seemed to have ignited something in her soul, as well. She gently laid down her silk piece and rubbed her hands together.
"If it means so much to you--"
"Oh, it does. It does!" cried Belinda.
"Then go ahead. Do whatever you like."
"No! No, not me. Us! Us! You need Christmas just as much as I do. We'll plan it together."
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth chuckled again. "My, you do go on, don't you? Well, if it pleases you--then of course we'll have Christmas. Ring for Windsah and Pottah. We'd best tell them of our plans as soon as possible. Staff will think I've gone completely mad--but--" She smiled. "Better a little mad than a lot lonely" she finished.
The next few days were spent in frenzied but joyful activity. After a trip out in the country, Windsor produced a magnificent tree. Potter rummaged in the attic and storage rooms until she discovered boxes of old garlands and tinseled decorations. Belinda shook the dust from them and trimmed the tree and hung
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streamers and garlands. From the kitchen came the scents of spices and baking as Cook prepared festive dishes. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth ordered the carriage and began returning from shopping outings with mysterious parcels and packages. A whole new air of excitement pervaded the house that had for so long been silent and empty. They were going to celebrate Christmas.
"I think we need some guests," said Belinda thoughtfully as their plans moved forward.
"Guests? But all my friends spend Christmas with family--or abroad," responded Mrs. Stafford-Smyth.
"Then we need new friends," said Belinda, biting her lip in concentration.
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth just looked at her in bewilderment.
"I know," said Belinda. "I'll stop by the church and see if one of the ministers knows of any new folks in town who are away from their families. How many should we ask for?"
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth began to chuckle. "I don't know. As many as you like, I guess. The formal dining table seats twelve."
"Then we'll need ten more," concluded Belinda matter-of- factly.
When Christmas Day dawned cold and windy, Belinda thought about their plans as she prepared for the morning worship service. Will there be any guests on such a day? She had talked with one of the ministers, and he had agreed to seek out guests to fill their table. But with the weather so cold, Belinda began to have doubts. She was also concerned about Mrs. Stafford-Smyth going to the church--should she be chancing an outing this morning? Perhaps she would prefer to stay at home by the fire.
But when Belinda descended the stairs, she found the lady already clothed in her warm woolens and furs and ready for the carriage trip to the large stone church.
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Belinda thought that the music of Christmas was especially beautiful as the well-trained church choir sang the story of Christmas. The deep recesses of the building seemed to echo back the praises. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of her little church back home and the handful of faithful worshipers who would be gathered there singing Christmas carols and hearing the story of Jesus' birth.
The ride back home was a silent one, with both Mrs. StaffordSmyth and Belinda busy with their own thoughts.
Tea was served in the drawing room and all of the staff was in attendance. The gifts that had been tucked under the festooned tree were distributed amid cries of appreciation and gleeful laughter. It was a good time, and Belinda felt a closeness to the staff she had never sensed before.
As the five-o'clock dinner hour approached, Belinda paced the room, looking first at the clock and then at the frosted windows beyond which the snow still blew in fitful gusts. We'll be all alone unless the weather improves, she warned herself But at ten of five the knocker sounded, and Windsor admitted a young couple who had been married only a few months. New to Boston, this was their first Christmas away from their families. Shortly after, a family of three arrived. The little boy, Robert, stared in wide- eyed fascination at the decorated tree. His parents had not yet been able to afford such "luxuries." Then a young teacher with her father, and another woman, newly widowed, brought the guest list to ten, just as Belinda had required. None of them were previously known to the household or to one another. Coming from various stations in life by manner and clothing, they very quickly sensed their common bond. It was Christmas and they were lonely. They needed one another.
After the meal and an evening of fellowship with a small gift distributed to each one, farewells were said, and Belinda looked out on the wintry evening with deep satisfaction. It was a great
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success! she exulted inwardly. And the wind has died down. It would not be as bone chilling for those who drove or trudged home through the snow
After Windsor had s
een the last guest to the door, Mrs. Stafford-Smyth and Belinda settled before the crackling fire in the marble fireplace for a last cup of hot cider and a few more minutes together to review the day.
"Thank you," said Mrs. Stafford-Smyth softly, and Belinda turned to look at her.
"Thank you for giving me anothah Christmas," the older woman said, and Belinda saw the glitter of tears in her eyes.
"Oh, but I didn't give Christmas," Belinda corrected gently. "He did. We just accepted His gift."
Belinda felt a bit let down after Christmas was "packed away" in the storage boxes and put back in the attic. The old house seemed to settle back into its normal quiet with only the sighing wind or the rustling fir trees to stir one's thoughts. Belinda was tired of reading--tired of needlework and more than tired of winter. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth must have felt the same way.
"I've been thinking," she mused one day as they sat by the fire, "I think that it's time to take a trip again."
Belinda's eyes lifted quickly from her knitting.
"I'm feeling perfectly well enough to travel now," the woman continued. "There's no need for us to sit heah listening to the wind day after day. We could be out seeing new things and meeting new people."
Belinda's heart quickened in her chest. Oh yes! she wanted to cry. Let's. Let's!
Instead, she held her peace--and her breath--and let the woman go on. "I think the south . . . maybe Italy or Spain. It's always nice there this time of year."
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Italy or Spain? Belinda could not believe she was hearing correctly. She had only dreamed of such places.
"Then we will swing up into France. Visit the boys. I wonder if Frank has married that young woman. We could spend spring there--in France. I like France in spring. We might even slip over to Germany or Austria for a few days. You've never seen Austria, have you? No, I thought not. You'd like it there, I think. The mountains are quite magnificent."
