Shortest Day (33 page)

Madame, I have rings and jewels
,

Madame, I have house and land
.

Madame, I've a world of treasure
,

If you'll be at my command
.

What care I for your world of jewels?

What care I for your house and land?

What care I for your world of treasure?

All I want is a handsome man
.

Saint George and the Dragon

CHAPTER 43

O then bespoke the baby Within his mother's womb— “ Bow down then the tallest tree For my mother to have some .” Then bowed down the highest tree , Unto his mother's hand Then she cried, “See, Joseph , I have cherries at command .” O eat your cherries, Mary , O eat your cherries now , O eat your cherries, Mary , That grow upon the bough! “The Cherry Tree Carol”

S
arah Bailey had suffered terrible things. She had loved her husband and feared him, he had tried to kill her and then had killed himself instead, and her baby was frozen inside her. But Sarah carried on as usual in a trance of coolness and calmness. Under her guidance the Revels went on and on, one perfect performance after another.

There were six between Christmas and the New Year. The Morris men danced; Saint George fell dead and was revived again in the person of Walt, the Old Master. The children skipped and chirped, the cherry tree bowed down to Mary, the chorus sang and danced, the dragon raked the air with his claws, Homer Kelly was sometimes Father Christmas and sometimes the fierce giant, and the Abbots Bromley horn dancers paced in and out, weaving their mysterious patterns on the darkened stage.

Sanders Theatre was as packed as ever. Enraptured people filled all the benches, basking in the glow from the stage, and at intermission they trailed after the performers into the high corridor and danced in a giant spiral, singing about the lord of the dance. Some danced in rhythm and some fell over their own feet, but they all bobbed up and down, working their way into the middle of the spiral and out again, until the music stopped and they found their way back to their seats.

Sarah didn't dance. She was stiff and cold in head and body. Her child too was stiff and cold, rigidly asleep in some sort of fetal coma—dead perhaps, most probably dead. When the Revels were all over she would see the doctor again, but she knew what he would tell her. He would listen for the baby's heartbeat and then say solemnly, “I'm sorry, Mrs. Bailey.”

But when Arlo Field came back to the Revels to take the part of Saint George in the last performance of the season, Sarah felt warmth flush her cheeks and spread along her arms and legs. She sat in the front row and watched the sword dancers cut him down, and the Fool revive him with a sprig of holly. She beamed at Arlo as he sprang up and pronounced himself cured—

Good morning, gentlemen
,

a-sleeping I have been
.

I've had such a sleep

as the like was never seen
.

He looked gravely down at Sarah as he sang, and the ardor of his look flooded through her, turning keys and loosening locks all over her body. When it was time for intermission and Arlo danced off the stage and took her hand, leading the procession into the hall, he murmured, “It's already three minutes longer.”

“What is?” said Sarah, smiling at him, although she didn't care, it didn't matter what he meant. She was hardly aware of her dancing feet. The people surging past her were a grinning blur. She saw only Arlo's face, looking at her so kindly.

“The sunlight, it lasts three minutes longer than on the shortest day. The sun has started to come back.”

“Oh, yes, I'm glad.” And then the warmth sank deep into Sarah, and she felt something move inside her. Her child was awake, it was alive. Her baby too was dancing.

CHAPTER 44

Then afterwards baptized I was
,

The Holy Ghost on me did glance
.

My Father's voice heard from above
,

To call my true love to the dance
.

Carol, “My Dancing Day”

“W
ell how about it, Homer? Aren't you going to tell me I was right?”

“Right? What about?”

“Right about Morgan Bailey. Right about the goose when Henry Shady was killed. Right about Morgan's obsessional jealousy.”

Homer had to admit it. He apologized handsomely for having disbelieved in the goose, and for not having recognized the menace of Morgan Bailey. He was abject and humble. “It's true,” he said sheepishly, “I was a rotten observer. I didn't understand what was happening. You tried to tell me, and I wouldn't listen.”

Mary laughed. She felt justified at last. The seesaw of her marriage, out of balance for so long, with Homer at the heavy end and Mary herself dangling sky-high, was dead-level once again.

In triumph she exacted an act of atonement. “I'm going to the baptism,” she said, “and you're going with me.”

“Baptism! Whose baptism?”

“Gretchen Milligan's baby's.”

“Oh, Lord, have I got to?”

“Yes, Homer, you've got to.”

Of course it turned out to be a highly sentimental occasion. Everybody from Harvard Towers was there, sitting in the white pews in the Unitarian church in Harvard Square. Also present were the counselors and pregnant girls from Bright Day in Somerville, and the loyal kids from Phillips Brooks House and the staff people from the shelter at First Church Congregational and all the First Church women who had done such a lot of cooking on a large scale. Palmer Nifto was there too, making his last public appearance.

Gretchen had chosen a name from the British royal family. She beamed as the minister baptized her baby with water from the baptismal bowl.

“That bowl is famous,” whispered Mary to Homer. “It's really old. They have to bring it over from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts whenever there's a christening.”