Cemetery Silk (12 page)

We rode home with Cassie chatting all the way about Agatha and her divine looks and temperament. Mother suggested we stop at the hardware store and get a dog crate, but Cassie wanted to get her a basket with a pillow.

Their new endless argument had begun.

When we got home, Cassie went up to the attic in search of a basket, and I went back to the library in search of peace.

Mother followed me.

“Your daughter is impossible!”

“I know, Mother. But in all fairness, you did agree to this puppy. By the way, why in the world did you?”

She was quiet for a moment, reflective. She sat down on the hearth and pushed the starter for the fire. It came on instantaneously in all its glory. She warmed her hands by the flames.

“Cassandra is terrified, Paisley. Don't you see it?” She went on. “She probably thinks like I do, that some very nasty things have gone on very close to us, and she's scared. She wants the dog for our security. That's why I agreed. Though heaven knows, it's the last thing I need in my life! But I love her, Paisley, very much. No matter how much we squabble, she's the dearest thing in the world to me,” she quickly added, “next to you and Velvet, of course.”

I smiled. “Yes, Mother, of course.”

I got up from the sofa and sat down beside her.

“You're very perceptive. I should have seen it for myself. I think you're right. Cassie is scared. Maybe we should can all this talk about murder and mayhem; and now with poor Rae Ann's death.…”

“Nonsense! We cannot avoid life for her, Paisley. We cannot change human behavior. She sees the evening news every night whether we talk about murder or not. What we can do is make her feel as secure as possible.”

She stood up and brushed the nonexistent ash from her Ralph Lauren slacks.

“And just for the record, I don't mind having the security of a watchdog myself.”

And so Aggie, the fearless, the wonder dog, the mighty hunter, became part of our little family at Meadowdale Farm.

Mother learned to curse in the next few weeks. She spouted forth with increasing vigor and expanding vocabulary. I could even hear her through the closed door to the library as I worked steadily, safe from the puppy fray, in my little writer's ivory tower.

I watched through the French doors of the library as late autumn turned to early winter and the leaves magically went from tree to ground almost over night.

Vast armies of high school students came to rake and burn leaves after class. They appeared one or two at a time. The same ones never showed up twice. Mother was General Patton with garden gloves.

Puppy Aggie and her slave, Cassandra, romped in the leaves and played wild and rambunctious games of tag and frisbee every day. Aggie had more sweaters than I, and a bright red collar with a heart shaped nametag.

She grew rapidly. She had an enormous amount of soft, fuzzy white hair. Aggie was really the cuddliest thing I had ever seen. You could not look at her without wanting to squeeze her and hold her and pet her. The problem was if you even dared, she would bite the hell out of whatever part of you she could reach. She was a moppet with the disposition of a cobra. We all had the scars to prove it.

Each night she would curl up in whoever's lap looked the warmest and the softest. When that person dared to touch her, she would hop down with a snarl and a curled lip and go to her basket or maybe someone else's lap. But she followed Cassie everywhere she went and I had never seen my daughter have so much fun.

I worked all day and many times late into the night. Mother or Cass would bring me a tray for lunch and dinner. Mother made clucking Mother Hen noises about the dangers inherent in my never seeing the light of day and having no exercise. She mumbled darkly about my getting osteoporosis from lack of sunshine and activity. She even mentioned the possibility of my getting scurvy. I worked on.

Finally, the week after Thanksgiving, I felt that I was ready to send what I had written to Pamela in New York. She could tell me right away if I was on the right track. I was scared to death.

We all drove downtown to the Rowan Springs Post Office in absolute silence and mailed my manuscript. We sat in Watson afterwards not really knowing what to say or do.

Aggie clambered over the seats and licked and nuzzled everyone in turn. It was all right to be affectionate if it was her idea and no one touched her. She whined to go for a walk. Cass put her leash on carefully, getting nipped only once. They got out of the car and Cassie took her in back of the post office to a grassy area to do her duty.

Mother and I sat and watched like department store dummies, hardly moving a muscle.

“What in the world is wrong with us, Paisley?”

“It's creative inertia. It happens.”

“Well, it simply cannot be tolerated.”

“Well, fine,” I laughed. “Fix it.”

“I will!” she declared. “Call Cassie.”

I leaned out of the car window and whistled, an ear piercing, New York cab hailing whistle. It turned every head within two miles. Cassie and Aggie came running as fast as they could.

“What in the world?” questioned Cassie breathlessly. “Is Gran all right?”

She picked up the dog, who still could not jump high enough to get in Watson, and climbed back in the back seat.

“Gran's fine and dandy. She's getting us out of inertia.” I told her.

“Oh, is that what it is. I was wondering. You never acted this way after you finished a Bartholomew story.”

“I did after the first one. You just don't remember.”

She unhooked the leash from Aggie's collar.

“Ouch! Dammit dog!” Cassie sucked another wounded finger, “Well, Gran, what have you in mind for de-inerting us?”

“Does anybody know what time of year it is? What is going to happen in just three short weeks?”

I had honestly forgotten. “Christmas!” I shouted.

“Wow, since we skipped Thanksgiving, I lost track of the time.”

“Yes, my dears, Christmas is upon us, and we have nothing prepared. What say we go shopping!”

“Hooray! But what about Aggie? We can't leave her home alone,” worried Cassie.

“Oh , yes we can!” chorused Mother and I together.

At first, Cassie sulked and pouted like a ten year old, but as the day at the mall in Morgantown wore on, she got more and more into the holiday mood. After a while she forgot about the puppy altogether and was an enormous help with ideas and suggestions for our short but growing Christmas list.

“I must get Horatio something really exquisite this year,” pondered Mother. “Remember that lovely handbag he brought me from Florence this summer, Paisley?”

Mother's friend, Horatio Raleigh, had been around as long as I could remember. His grandfather had opened the one and only funeral home in Rowan Springs at the turn of the century. He had made his progeny and theirs in turn very wealthy.

Horatio worked very hard at the family business for the first fifty years of his life. Then he retired from active management and became a “bereavement consultant.” When some noteworthy and/or rich person passed away and the family needed to fork over an extra ten grand for his services that he would go into the shop to work. I had to admit, Horatio's advice was worth every penny of the ten thousand dollars. He had a terrific sense of style and unparalleled elegance. He was a lot like my mother, whom he had adored since they were in the third grade together. He had escorted her to every prom and party while they were growing up. Everyone in town expected them to marry, that is, until my father came to Rowan Springs after the war.

After a whirlwind courtship, Dad had eloped with the light of Horatio's life and Horatio Raleigh declared to one and all that life was over. Instead of committing suicide, he packed and went off to Europe. He returned two years later even more dapper and refined.

Surprisingly, he and Dad became fast friends. And he has continued to propose to my mother with great ritual every Valentine's Day since Dad died.

My Christmas list was very short, “Mother, Horatio, Cassie, Pam.” But I had seen nothing all day to spark my interest. I was getting tired and my feet and my head hurt. We had had a disappointing lunch at the so called “food court” in the mall and I was hungry.

I started to say something but Cassie beat me to it.

“I'm hungry, and my head aches, and my feet hurt.”

“Thank goodness,” said Mother. “Let's go home. I have some lovely fresh oysters. Mavis's son flew in with them this morning from Maine. We can have oyster stew.”

“Ugh, yummy,” grimaced Cassie.

The oyster stew was delicious, steaming hot and buttery, with just the right hint of the sea. Even Cassie ate some of it. By the time we got around to dinner, she was famished.

Aggie, it would appear, had tired of waiting for us to return and play. In her boredom she had chewed up the pricey down-filled satin comforter on Cassie's bed.

As advertised, the best, most expensive down comes in tiny, little white fluffy clusters. They stuck to everything and clogged up the vacuum cleaner every five minutes. Static electricity made it worse, of course, and the harder we worked to clean it up, the worse it got.

Mother finally threw up her hands in despair. She muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “…crate her and send her to the Gulag.” I don't know if she was referring to Cassie or Aggie. She stormed out of a room that resembled a diorama I had made of the South Pole in fifth grade.

“We're only missing the penguins,” I muttered.

“What's that, Mom?” asked Cassie querulously.

“Now don't get snippy with me, my girl!”

She blew a down cluster off the end of her nose.

“Look at my hair! I'm ruined! I'll never get this stuff out.”

“You're ruined! What about this?”

I held up the once beautiful rose satin now full of gaping holes from puppy teeth. I threw it back down on the bed and watched in dismay as even more down poofed out through the holes.

“There's not even a remote possibility that anyone can mend this satin and the damn down is everywhere. Do you know how much this thing cost?”

“Don't yell at me, Mom! It's not my fault.”

“Not your fault? Who promised to keep their puppy in the crate?”

“Aggie hates the crate. It's too confining.”

“That's the point!”

At least I knew what Cassandra needed for Christmas.

Chapter Twelve

The next day we brought boxes and boxes of Christmas paraphernalia down from the attic and up from the carriage house. We went to the local nursery and bought yards and yards of fresh greenery for garlands. We decorated and gamely redecorated as Aggie pulled it all down and tore it up, pine boughs, ribbons and all.

Mother and I finally resigned ourselves to this sad state of affairs. But we put our collective feet down at leaving the puppy alone in the house. The next time we went shopping we took her to visit her brothers. We laughed all the way to the mall after seeing them. Aggie was definitely the pick of the litter, and the only one who remotely resembled a Lhasa. The boys were much more affectionate, however, and did not bite.

Once the shopping and the present wrapping was out of the way, Mother turned her attention to the holiday baking. Cassie and I offered to help but Mother feared that we'd just get in her way in the kitchen. She was right. I ate two pecans for every one I shelled, and no maraschino cherry in the world is safe from Cassie. Finally, Mother ordered us out of her kingdom and instructed us to fetch the Christmas tree from the backfield in time-honored Sterling tradition.

We bundled up with scarves and mittens and put two sweaters on Aggie because it looked like it might snow. With that hope in our hearts, we trudged down the lane to the little pond.

The trees and bushes and vines had been reduced to winter skeletons. They rattled and creaked like old dry bones in the increasingly bitter wind. Cassie's cheeks and nose were bright red, and little puffs of white steam came out of her mouth when she spoke.

“How much farther, Mom?”

“Far enough to get the perfect tree!”

“Arghhh! I'm freezing!”

Aggie bounded back and forth between us, then ran on ahead as she picked up the scent of something wild and wonderful and unknown. I wondered how her little doggie mind envisioned what she was smelling. She was obviously unafraid. Of course, she had never met an animal she couldn't handle, including us.

I had my eye out for a cedar tree. There was really nothing else that smelled as good as far as I was concerned. Cassie impatiently pointed out the trees growing along the fence that lined the lane. There were many because that was where the birds sat and defecated the seeds which later became little, then big cedars. But the fence itself usually distorted the growth of the young trunks. Most of the fencerow cedars were odd looking and misshapen. I wanted a nice, straight, perfectly shaped, Tasha Tudor tree.

We neared the jungle which still looked dense and impenetrable despite the lack of foliage. I stood up on a small hill looking down. I imagined for a moment that I saw smoke curling up out of the middle where our tree house had once stood. I turned to ask Cassie if she had seen it, but she was off chasing the dog. When I turned back around it was gone. I shivered and backed down the hill out of the wind and maybe out of sight. I had that creepy feeling of being watched.

But then I saw it! The perfect tree! I immediately forgot spooky feelings. I ran stumbling across the hard dry grass hillocks calling Cassie's name. She did not hear me, but the puppy did and veered towards me with her mistress not far behind.

Cassie was as excited as I was.

“You're right, Mom. It's perfect! Just the most perfect tree. Ummm, and smell.”

I broke off a tiny sprig and held it to my nose. I was immediately bombarded by memories of Christmas Past, just like ole Scrooge, but happier.

“Wow!” I shouted happily, “Merry Christmas!”

We held hands and danced around the chosen cedar like two Yuletide nitwits on a Hallmark card. While we danced we sang “Jingle Bells” and “O Tannenbaum.” Aggie nipped at our ankles and barked insanely.

When we were exhausted, I pulled a long piece of tooth-marked red ribbon out of my jacket pocket and tied it securely to one of the branches. One of Mother's more loyal after school workers had promised to come tomorrow afternoon. He said he would cut down the tree we had marked and carry it back to the house for us. From the looks of it, she might have to enlist two kids, two big ones.

It was almost dark when we got home. The lights from Mother's kitchen beckoned merrily. This was a cold wintry “big bad wolf” evening. I had entertained Cassie on the way home with the story of her Aunt Velvet's flying leap from the hayloft.

We entered the kitchen laughing or barking depending on our vocal apparatus.

Mother and Horatio Raleigh were making merry with a bottle of wine and what looked like some really good smoked salmon, fresh lime wedges, and pumpernickel bread.

Horatio stood and helped us shuck off our outer layers, then opened another bottle of wine while Mother got extra glasses. Cassie passed on the wine with a wan smile but dug into the salmon with enthusiasm.

“Ummnn! This is delicious, Horatio. You didn't get this at the Piggly Wiggly.”

“No, my dear, it's from Norway. One of my many generous friends sent this to me with instructions that I share it with someone special.”

He gazed fondly at Mother. “So here I am.”

Mother blushed a delicate pink right on cue.

“Horatio tells me the country club is abuzz with the news that we, to use Paisley's phraseology, ‘got screwed' out of ten million dollars.”

“Wow, that is a lot of money! Inflation is rampant even in rumors.”

I helped myself to another slice of salmon and pumpernickel.

“Do the country clubbers know how such a thing might have happened?”

Horatio laughed and clapped his hands in delight.

“Yes! It seems that your lovely mother once had a cousin who was a General, or maybe an Admiral. They're not quite in agreement on that point. Anyhow, the young man was stationed in London in 1944. While there, he fell passionately in love with a beautiful young British university student. She just so happened to be fifth in line to the throne of England, something about the Duke of Norfolk, I believe. The amorous couple married in secret but word got out. He was cashiered and she was removed from the line of succession. Her family did, however, settle a large sum upon her provided that the twosome forsake the British Isles and live elsewhere.”

Cassie's eyes sparkled as she laughed, “And they picked the earthly paradise of Lanierville.”

“Absolutely, Cassandra my dear! They lived happily there for decades in peaceful anonymity. When the dear lady died unexpectedly one of her less than upright royal nephews appeared on the scene. He threatened to kill you and my lovely Anna and your mother if the Admiral did not return all of the money. When he refused, the evil nephew forced the old man to make him the benefactor of an unbreakable will. He then poisoned the Admiral, took the money, and ran off to Bora Bora.”

“And that's all, folks.”

“Right you are, Paisley, my love.”

“I love it! Thanks for sharing, Horatio.”

“My pleasure.”

Mother refilled our glasses. We raised them on high in a toast to the endlessly creative imagination of the rumor mill and the schmucks who ran it, and to our Royal Family overseas, of course.

The next morning when we got up we found our perfect Christmas tree leaning up against the back door. The red ribbon had been tied in a bow on the top.

I made a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table as I watched the red ribbon fluttering gaily in the greyness of the dawn's early light. Cassie came bouncing in shortly after my second cup of tea. Mother came in right behind her.

“Oh, Cassie! You're right. That is a gorgeous tree. Congratulations, Paisley! Your father and grandfather would be proud, although, it may be a little tall for the living room ceiling.”

How she could tell that from inside the kitchen, I will never know, but she was right as always. Cassie steadfastly refused to let us cut off even an inch of cedar. We had to put it in the front hall right in the curve of the staircase where the ceiling was two stories high. It would not fit anywhere else.

Cassie went to get the boxes of decorations and lights from the dining room table where we had them organized. I took the opportunity to whisper to Mother.

“It was just there, just sitting there, this morning before dawn,” I hissed. “Aren't you a little bit curious as to how it got there? Don't you think it's just a tiny bit peculiar?”

“Nonsense, Paisley, that dear boy, uhh, what's-his-name, just got up early and went and cut it down.”

“But Mother, this tree is heavy. It took the three of us to bring it inside. How could that scrawny little fifteen year-old kid bring this tree all the way in from the field, in the dark, yet?”

“He has friends, maybe a brother, I don't know, dear. But I really don't think there's anything supernatural about it. And it is a lovely tree.” She smiled up at the spreading branches. “Doesn't it smell delicious?”

Cassie came back with the first load of decorations and Aggie pulling on the trailing belt of her housecoat. Mother shushed me quiet. I tried to get her to call “what's-his-name's” house later on in the day but she was always too busy doing something or other, so I gave up.

It was a beautiful tree, even though we could not put any decorations on the bottom-most branches because a certain furry beastie might pull them off and eat them. It made the whole house glow with the spirit of the holiday season.

On the night before the night before Christmas, Mother and I sat on the sofas in front of the fireplace in the living room. We were stringing cranberries and popcorn to put on a tree for the birds outside in the yard. Mother had poured a delicious medium to dry sherry for us—another product of the largesse of Horatio's European friends. We were sipping and listening to Johnny Mathis's wonderful Christmas album—my all time favorite.

Cassie was out on a date with the good-looking young deputy from Lanierville. Aggie lay mournfully by the front door like a small fuzzy white rug waiting for her to return.

“Damn! Mother, you have to get Billy, or somebody, to fix this broken spring. It pinched my butt again.”

“Don't use the “butt” word, dear. It sounds so uncouth.” She sighed, “There are a lot of problems that need fixing in this old house, I'm afraid. I found some water stains on the floor of the attic when Cassie and I got out the Christmas decorations. I guess that means a new roof this spring.”

I stuck the needle in my finger as I jabbed for a cranberry.

“Damn! Sorry, Mother. Well, I just hope Ernest and Sue Dibber have a very merry holiday with William and Abigail's money and great-grandmother's table.”

“That's right! I forgot about my sweet little table.”

“Oh, I'm sorry I mentioned it. Forgive me, Mother. More sherry?”

“That's right. Get your old mother potted, so she'll forget her sorrows.”

“Okay then, I'll have some more sherry. I have plenty of sorrows to forget.”

I refilled my glass and grabbed two of Mother's crisp, buttery, cheese straws.

“Do you think about him very often, dear?”

“Not so much anymore,” I lied, “except maybe at Christmas.”

I took a sip and munched. “Rafe always loved this time of year, especially after Cassie was born. He loved playing Santa, or Nino Jesus. And.…”

Suddenly, my throat tightened and hot tears spilled unbidden down my cheeks.

Mother was instantly contrite. “Oh, darling, I'm so stupid. I should never have brought up that subject.”

“Never mind, you didn't have to bring it up. I've really have been thinking a lot about Rafe these last few weeks. I wish he could see how beautiful his little Cassandra has become. He would be so proud. If only I could have shared her life with him—the tooth fairy, her first prom, her SAT scores, and all the little things in between.”

Mother handed me one of the dainty linen hankies she always has miraculously at hand. I wiped away the tears and blew into it furiously.

“And I get so damned mad at him! How could he just vanish into thin air? It would have been better if he'd had a heart attack and keeled over right in front of me. If I could have buried him, thrown a clod of dirt in on his coffin, I would have known where he was for the last fifteen years. This way, I'll never be sure. I'll never, ever, know what happened.”

“I've never asked, Paisley, but is that why you haven't shown any interest in dating again? Do you think Rafe is still alive somewhere?”

I got up and stood in front of the fire. Crying always made me cold.

“Oh, he'd better be dead all right, or I'll kill him!” I laughed bitterly. Then I hastened to add, “Don't ever tell Cassie I said that.”

I blew my nose again. “I'll wash this.” I tucked the handkerchief into my jeans pocket and continued, “As far as other men are concerned, I've just never met anyone else that could make me forget, even for a little while. I think you understand that.”

She gazed into the fire. “Yes,” she answered softly, “yes, I do.”

“We got really lucky the first time around, Mother. Your marriage just lasted longer than mine, that's all.”

I poured us some more sherry. “Too bad we can't be like Velvet and enjoy them by the half-dozen.”

We both laughed, eager to get over our melancholy. My sister, Velvet, was on her fourth honeymoon. She'd called to wish us merry Christmas from her new in-law's house in Nova Scotia earlier in the evening.

“Maybe we're just jealous, Mother. And besides, it's all Velvet's fault. She stirred all this crap up with her re-newly-wed euphoria.”

She smiled, “There you go, blaming it all on your little sister.”

“There's something else bothering me. Now that we've finished with that.”

“What, dear?”

“I haven't heard a word from Pam. She didn't even send me a Christmas card. I tried her phone number yesterday and just got some silly voice-mail with a recording of her singing “Deck the halls.” She's avoiding me.”