by A. L. Duncan
Gil eyed the doorway warily before whispering, “It never used to be a problem until the Major started getting trees that couldn’t fit in either way.” The horn of a motorcar squawked in the distance, eliciting a growl from him. “I know someone we can use as a battering ram.”
Michael frowned at the appearance of Oliver’s automobile and whispered to Janie, “Can’t we ’ave one nice, peaceful Christmas without ’im to muss it up?”
“Come on. Let’s get this monster in.” Janie grabbed hold of a section of trunk and gestured for them to pull it out.
They turned the tree, then all took hold of it in some fashion and, on Janie’s count of three, thrust it through the doorway, top first. With encouraging grunts and growls, the evergreen was thrust into the entrance hall, practically toppling the Major where he stood supervising.
Eyes wide, Liz laid a hand on her protruding belly. “Whoo! Is that what’s it like to ’ave a baby?”
Anna chuckled and elbowed her. “Let’s hope Dr. Collier ain’t having a run in with yours like that, luv.”
“Well, look at me! Three months and it’s already poppin’ out!”
Anna eyed Liz’s exaggerated gesture of sticking her belly out more. “That? No. Just you wait ’til you’re plump as a stuffed goose on feast day. Can’t sit, can’t stand, can’t sleep, and can’t stay out of the loo. Then, you’ll be praying to Mary, Jesus, and Joseph for it to pop before you do!” She laughed, and Liz joined in. “Just be glad you’re not carrying it in the hottest months. Oh, God Almighty, if it ain’t the most unbearable! I know. That’s when I had to carry me son.”
Ilene descended the stairs and laying a comforting hand on Liz’s arm smiled kindly. “I couldn’t be happier for you, Liz.”
Liz basked in Ilene’s smile. “Really?”
“Of course.”
Anna flushed. “I’m sorry, Missus,” she said. “That was clumsy of us.”
“Don’t be silly, Anna. It’s perfectly all right. In fact, we’ll celebrate the birth with a party. Don’t you think that would be fun, Liz?”
Liz giggled. “Oh, Missus, I might be a bit out of it, but I suppose Michael would love the idea.”
Ilene’s gaze was warm and compassionate. “Good. It’s settled then.” She turned and joined in the activity around the tree as merrily as if she had just finished a discussion on flower arrangements.
Liz sighed with regret. “Oh, bugger. I feel a bit guilty bringin’ it up. You know, with her not being able to ‘ave a baby an’ all.”
Anna patted Liz’s arm. “Now, child, pay attention. That there’s a woman with true grace. She’s accepted her fate with the dignity of the Queen herself. A brave woman, indeed. Just like her mother.”
OLIVER AND ANGELA climbed out of the motorcar without assistance. The lack of servants in attendance was glaringly obvious. Oliver scowled and pounded on the horn. “Where the bloody hell is everyone?”
The always dutiful Bartley appeared in his typical black and white attire, looking fresh and polished. “Good morning, Sir.”
“Well, Bartley,” Oliver barked. “Where are they? Where is everyone?”
“I believe all are engaged with the Major in the entrance hall, decorating the tree, Sir.”
“Well, they need to be out here—”
“Oh, put a lid on it, Oliver,” said Angela. “For God’s sakes, it’s Christmas!”
Her abrupt tone elicited a distasteful glare. “I hate Christmas.” He turned abruptly and marched into the house.
Angela sidled up to Bartley as he started removing the baggage. “You’re an intelligent enough man. Let me ask you something, Bartley. Why do you suppose it is that I’ve stayed with Oliver for as many years as I have?”
Without looking at her, he grasped the last bag. “Madame, I’m afraid that’s a question only you can answer.”
After a brief meeting of their eyes, he nodded respectfully and carried the luggage into the house, leaving Angela to mull over the truth of his reply.
OLIVER STOMPED INTO the empty foyer and shouted in an imperious tone, “I demand to know why I’ve not been received!”
Anna and Liz hesitated, nervously eyeing one another before looking to Janie, who led the train of servants cradling boxes of trinkets, ornaments, and other Christmas decorations.
“That’s no longer one of their duties,” she said, brushing past him.
Oliver snorted. “You’re joking!”
“Sorry, old boy,” she added.
“Ah. Oliver!” The Major stepped from the library carrying a flute of champagne, “Just in time to help with the tree.”
Janie nodded toward the Major. “Go on. Ask him yourself.”
Oliver completely ignored his father’s holiday enthusiasm and turned to the stairs in a huff.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s just worn out from the drive, Major. That’s all,” quipped Anna. “Not to worry. I’ll send him up a stiff bit of eggnog later on. That’ll ease him up.” Anna stepped past him to hand Liz a box of lights.
Seemingly mollified by Anna’s assurances, the Major went to Janie, his eyes on his son. “He’s always been such a lackluster lad at Christmas.” He sighed. “We need to find something to cheer him up, don’t you think? Something to loosen his cod a bit, eh?”
Janie’s snicker was contagious, and soon the Major’s laugh echoed through the manor.
Her poise regal and inapprehensive, Angela strode across the tiled entry hall with the usual confidence, pulling off her lengthy gloves. “My, my. Aren’t you unusually chipper today.”
The Major whirled around. “Angela.”
With a forced chuckle, Angela embraced her father-in-law. “Happy Christmas, Denys.”
“Happy Christmas, my dear.” He held her at arm’s length and admired her calf-length, black fur coat. “New?”
“Oliver’s gift. What do you think?”
“Absolutely splendid! Join me to the library?”
Angela glanced about the hall and found no other diversion. “Love to.”
The Major lifted the cane from his arm and led the way down the corridor toward the library. Angela looked up at Ilene, standing on a ladder with ornament in hand, and to the others who were fully engaged with decorating.
“Well, Happy Christmas, all of you,” she said brightly.
Amid the smattering of holiday wishes at various enthusiasms returned by the staff, Ilene said, “Happy Christmas, Angela.”
Angela’s eyes went to Janie, stooping beside the tree, sorting out decorations in a box. “Hello, darling. Do you like my gift from Oliver?”
Janie raised an eye to Angela’s shapely calves, which were startlingly close. “Very nice, Angela.”
“Would you like to touch it?”
Ignoring an unladylike snort from Ilene, Janie said, “That...won’t be necessary.”
“Come,” Angela prodded. “At least give us a hug. It is Christmas, after all.”
Janie realized that it might be the only way to politely get rid of Angela, so she stood and hastily delivered a one-armed hug.
Angela whispered seductively, “Have you thought about my offer?”
“Not at all.”
Angela pulled back and eyed Janie’s carefully schooled features. Clutching her purse to her breast, her other hand rested a finger on Janie’s lips before drawing away with a sigh. “Pity.”
After Angela departed, Ilene climbed down the ladder and reached out for an ornament, her fingers lingering on Janie’s during the exchange. She turned smugly back to her decorating.
Janie stepped up on the rung just beneath Ilene, her lips close to Ilene’s ear. “Your horns are showing, darling,” she murmured.
“Maybe a little.”
“Maybe a lot?”
Ilene smiled. “Maybe.”
Janie jumped down from the ladder and handed Ilene another ornament.
Music suddenly swirled around them and Janie looked around to see who was responsible.
Anna was swaying her hips to a piece of rag
time jazz coming from the radio she had plugged in out in the hall. “Now, let’s have some real fun.”
BY EVENING THE tree glistened in delicate beauty and enchantment. Draped with strings of cranberries and pine cones the size of a thumb, the needles sparkled with tiny, wooden toys, milk glass baubles, and gingerbread men, all beneath a radiant angel in lace.
There were hors d’oeuvres, cheese and morsels of brandied truffles, and a punchbowl of eggnog. Music and dance gave way to exhaustion, and all but two of the revelers had made their way to bed.
Janie and Ilene were drinking champagne and reminiscing about Christmases past. They laughed about childhood trinkets, toys, and gifts never used or affectionately worn out, and how Janie fell and split her trousers trying out her first pair of skates. Ilene recounted the falls from her first pony, and from the willow tree into the pond. There were also more somber stories of the Christmases of broken promises, and this, the first Christmas without their loved ones.
Sitting next to Ilene on the staircase, Janie held up her half full champagne flute. “To Teddy, Richard, Pop, and...” She pulled the pendant from her pocket. It sparkled in the lights of the tree.
Happily intoxicated, Ilene’s gaze was drawn to Janie’s hand.
“It was a...gift. From someone I barely knew.”
“Is that the reason you felt driven to help the Jews in Vienna and on the train?”
“In part.” Janie stuffed the pendent back into her pocket and sucked in a lungful of air. “Say, I thought this was supposed to be a happy Christmas. Happy. What kind of schmaltzy word is that, and why do you Brits say ‘Happy Christmas, anyway?”
“And I suppose you Yanks think that ‘Merry Christmas’ is the proper greeting?” Ilene sniffed. “Merry, merry, merry. Sounds so pathetically put on, doesn’t it? And it’s so goody-goody. Happy, now there’s a word to the point. Happy. Damn happy!”
A little tipsy from an evening of indulging in champagne, Janie stood unsteadily. Bending down, she gazed into Ilene’s glassy eyes. “You, darling, are drunk.”
“Well, of course I’m drunk, silly.”
“You’ve never been drunk, have you?”
Ilene drifted into thought. “I don’t think so. At least, not for a very long time,” she replied. “I’ve never felt it necessary to experience that condition.”
“Well, come on then. It’s time for bed.” Janie put her arms around Ilene and hoisted her to her feet. “Upsy daisy.”
“No. No. No. I was...we were...just getting started.”
“To do what?”
“I don’t remember. But I know it was going to be good.”
Janie helped her up the stairs. “Trust me. You’ll just love laying your head on that pillow.”
“Mmm,” Ilene purred. “Is it your pillow?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then how do you know I’ll love it?”
“Bed always feels good after an evening of drinking. It’s natural for the body to want to flop.”
“Oh. I never knew that.” Partway up the hallway, Ilene said, “Can’t we stay in your room tonight, darling?”
“Shhh.” Janie looked around to be sure their voices hadn’t brought anyone out into the corridor. “Don’t you want your present?”
Ilene grabbed her arm. “When did you buy me a present, you devil? I’ll have to be more possessive of you in the future and not let you out of my sight.”
“I’m sneaky that way.” Janie pushed open Ilene’s bedroom door and walked her into the darkness.
Ilene giggled as Janie plopped her on the bed and lit the nearby lamp. Helping her to sit up, Janie smiled with anticipation.
“Did you like your fisherman’s sweater?”
Janie smiled. “Fit perfectly.”
“And the boots?”
“Wonderful, thank you.”
Ilene pursed her lips. “Not too Irish sheepherder?”
Janie laughed. “No.”
She reached under the bed and pulled out a beautifully wrought cherry box with intricate slivers of a variety of woods arranged in a rose petal design. She set the box in Ilene’s lap. Ilene gasped as her fingers gently stroked the smooth, rounded corners of the lid.
“Remember when you told me of how a particular piece from Delibes reminded you of when your father took you to the circus?”
“Why, yes.”
Janie’s fingers covered Ilene’s, and, as their eyes met, Janie whispered, “Pink cotton candy and popcorn tins, the maker of this weaves dreams within. Elephants and tigers, trick poodles and kangaroos, this I give you, your clowns and red balloons.”
Janie opened the lid, the metal cylinder cranked, and the room suddenly became alive with a resounding pitter of the tiny mechanism. To Ilene’s astonishment, the music box played her favorite tune: Delibes Coppelia Waltz. Janie saw how the music danced Ilene’s visions of her red balloons and clowns.
With tears filling her eyes, Ilene caressed the box as the tune played, her gaze fixed on the charming brass movement and tinker. Now and again she wiped a tear from the lacquered wood.
Janie brushed a tear from Ilene’s cheek and kissed the spot. “Happy Christmas, love.”
Chapter Twelve
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THE NEXT TWO months went by almost unnoticed if not for the frigid, icy winds carried onto shore. For the most part, the snows didn’t fall for but a dusting now and then. Yet, it was enough of a winter to keep most of Janie’s help occupied indoors, handling the continuing maintenance of the manor or repairing stalls in the stables. A late February windstorm, however, saw to the end of that. Michael and Gil kept preoccupied through the first days in March fixing roof tiles that had either been damaged or just carried off. Once in a while, Michael’s mule drawn cartwheel would roll over and crush a tile that had been flung into the pasture nearby.
Aria Manor had been relatively quite despite the appearance from Oliver and Angela who’d continue to pop in for weekend visits. Much to Janie and Ilene’s added joy, however, the Major had been called to London on business, since the first of the year. Janie had made progress in relaxing the manor’s stiff atmosphere, and during the quiet times of the week, Anna and Liz would be allowed to sit with Janie and Ilene for afternoon tea. Liz was coming into her sixth month of pregnancy and needed to sit down more frequently. Though when Oliver was present, she dutifully kept up appearances as if nothing could slow her down.
The Major returned from business in London on a Saturday evening. He had been gone for weeks. Before he retired to his room, he invited Janie and Oliver to join him for an early hunt on Sunday morning. Anna was to prepare them a good breakfast before they got started.
Ilene was already in the breakfast room when Janie came in. They exchanged loving gazes. “I don’t understand it,” mused Ilene. “If you actually don’t care for hunting all that much, why do you continue to humor him so?”
Janie shrugged and sat down carefully. “Denys likes the company. Besides, I can use a good stretching of my legs.”
Ilene sat down. “I thought you had a ‘stretch’ on the roof yesterday.”
“That was a slipped tile,” Janie corrected, laying a napkin in her lap. “But that’s not why I’m sore this morning, is it?”
Ilene blushed and choked on a sip of juice.
Entering with a food tray, Anna noted Ilene’s sudden coughing spell. “Are you all right, Missus?”
Ilene struggled to recover her voice. “Fine.” Ilene glared at Janie.
“The juice went down the wrong way,” Janie said. “So, Anna,” Janie said, “where is everyone?”
Anna placed Janie’s breakfast before her. “Well, Oliver never eats breakfast. He drinks it, after gargling with gin. The Major’s on his way. Leg’s a bit stiff this morning. Always is on crisp days. Mrs. Vanderholt came in late last night after another Bible meeting with the Vicar.” Her expression sparked chuckles from Janie and Ilene.
Just then, the M
ajor limped into the room wearing a frown. He greeted everyone with a dry, “Morning.” Uncharacteristically, he did not make eye contact, and he was unusually pale.
Ilene laid down her fork. “Father, are you all right? You look a bit peaked.”
With Anna’s assistance, the Major slid into his seat and waved off his daughter’s comment. “The leg’s playing the devil with me, that’s all.”
Anna set a plate of hard boiled eggs and grilled sausage before him. “I’ve set Dr. Collier’s medicine right there by your tea.”
He nodded in acknowledgment.
“Are you sure you still want to go hunting?” asked Janie. “We could do it another day, when you’re feeling better.”
“Today is the day,” the Major said enthusiastically. “I can feel it! And this fog is the key. I’m sure to get close enough to get a decent buck today.”
“I’d say you’ve already done enough on that leg. He’s paced half the morning away on it.” Ilene turned to Janie. “Father paces when he’s debating strong issues.” Addressing her father, she said, “What was it this time that irked you?”
The Major’s laugh was a vicious bark. “Oh, that Chamberlain’s a bloody fool!”
Ilene turned to Janie. “The Prime Minister.”
“He’s trying to get King George to think about reforming North Africa like we did in India. If he believed that negotiations were difficult with Bombay, wait until he tries to work with a reluctant Tunisia. It’s just too damn close to Sicily. Tunisia’s persuasion could really sway Mussolini either way.”
He waved the idea off like a pesky gnat. “Mussolini is a snake in the grass. If left alone, he will slither back under his rock where he belongs, and he will do little harm.”
The incident in Vienna was still very vivid to Janie. Any talk about European politics left a bad taste in her mouth. “Having witnessed what we did in Vienna, something tells me the same can’t be said of this Hitler. Or are you, Major, of the same callous opinion as your peers, that it was only one of several isolated incidents?”
The Major sighed. “No. No. You’re quite right. Adolf Hitler is the type of man who, if ignored, will only continue his subtle persuasions upon minds that are all too eager for change.”
