The Christmas Box (3 page)

"There was enough room in the attic? I was afraid it might be a little cramped."

"Plenty," I assured her. "We don't own much furniture." I lifted another spoonful from my plate then added, "You really have some beautiful things up there."

She smiled. "Yes. That's mostly my David's doing. David loved to collect things. As a businessman, he traveled all around the world. He always brought something back from each journey. In his spare time he became very knowledgeable about furniture and antiques. A few years before he died he had started collecting Bibles."

I bobbed my head in interest.

"See this Bible over here?" sh
e s aid. She motioned to a large, leather-

bound book sitting alone on a blac
k l acquer papier-mache table inlaid wit h m other-of-pearl. "That Bible is ove r t wo hundred and fifty years old. It wa s o ne of David's favorite finds," sh e s hared joyously. "He brought it bac k f rom Britain. Collectors call it the 'wicked' Bible. In the first printing th e p rinter made an error, and in Exodu s t hey omitted the word `not' from th e s eventh commandment. It reads `Thou shalt commit adultery.'

"That's deplorable," Keri chuckled.

Mary laughed out loud. "It's true,"
she said. "After supper you're welcome to look it up. The British crow n f ined the printer three hundre d p ounds for the mistake."

"That was a costly mistake," I said.

"It was a very popular version," sh
e s aid, smiling mischievously. "In the front parlor is a French Bible with what they call fore-edge painting. If you fan the pages back there is a watercolor of the Nativity. It was a unique art form of the period. Upstairs in the attic is a Bible box that David bought for it, but I think the book is so beautiful that I leave it out."

"The Christmas Box," I said.

She looked surprised at my familiarity with the box.

"Yes, there is a Nativity scene etched in the wood--of the Madonna and the Baby Jesus."

"I saw it up there. It's very beautiful."

"It's not from France, though," sh
e e xplained. "I believe it was from Sweden. Fine box-making was an art i n t he Scandinavian countries. When David passed away I received no t a few requests to purchase the Bibles. Except for the Bible I donate d t o the church, and the three that I stil l h ave, I sold the rest. I just couldn'
t p art with these three. David took suc h j oy in them. They were his favorit e t reasures."

"Where is the third Bible?" I asked.

"I keep it in the den, for my personal reading. I'm sure there ar e s ome collectors that would have m y h ead for doing so, but it has specia l s ignificance to me." She looked dow n a t Jenna.

"But enough of these old things, tel
l m e about your sweet little three-year-

old," she said kindly.

Jenna had been sitting quietly, cautiously sampling her food, largel y i gnored by all of us. She looked u p s hyly.

"Jenna is going to be four in January," Keri said.

"I'm going to be this many," Jenna said proudly, extending a hand with one digit inverted.

"That is a wonderful age!" Mary exclaimed. "Do you like your new home?"

"I like my bed," she said matter-of-factly.

"She's glad to get out of her crib," Keri explained. "We didn't have room in our last apartment for a bed. She was devastated when she found out that she was the only one in her dance class who slept in a crib."

Mary smiled sympathetically.

"Oh, speaking of dance," Keri remembered, turning to me, "Jenna's Christmas dance recital is this Saturday. Can you make it?"

I frowned. "I'm afraid not. Saturday is going to be a busy day at the shop with all the December weddings and Christmas formals."

It must be a very busy time of th
e y ear for your type of business," Mar y o ffered.

It is.' I replied, "but it drops off in January."

She nodded politely then tuned to
Kati. Well, I, for one, am glad that Jenna likes it here. And, if you're wanting for company, I would love to take Richards place at that dance recital'

'You are more than welcome to joi
n u s," Kari said. Jenne smiled.

'Then its a date. And," she said
, looking at Jenna, "for the little dancer , I made some chocolate Christma s p udding. Would you like some?"

Jenna smiled hungrily.

I hope you don't mind: Mary said
, turning to us. She hasn't finished he r s upper.

Of course not: Keri said. Tha
t w as very thoughtful of you"

Mary excused herself from the tabl
e a nd returned carrying a tray of crysta l b owls filled with steaming pudding.

She served Jenna first.

"This is very good: I said, plungin
g a spoonful into my mouth.

Everything is delicious: Kari said.

'Thank you?

The conversation lulled while w
e e njoyed the dessert. Jenna was th e f irst to break the silence.

"I know why flies come in the hous
e s he announced unexpectedly.

We looked at her curiously.

"You do?" Mary asked.

Jenna looked at us seriously. 'The
y c ome in to find their friends .

We all stifled a laugh, as the littl
e g irl was in earnest.

.... and then we kill them'

Keri and I looked at each other an
d b urst out laughing.

"My, you are a little thinker," Mar
y s aid. She chuckled, then leaned ove r a nd gave Jenna a hug.

"I'd like to propose a toast," Mar
y s aid. She raised a crystal glass o f w ine. Following Mary's lead we poure d o ur glasses half full of the rose liqui d a nd held them in the air.

"To a new friendship and a wonderful Christmas."

"Hear, hear," I said emphatically.

"A wonderful Christmas," Keri repeated.

The rest of the evening was spen
t i n pleasant conversation, punctuate d w ith laughter. When we had finishe d e ating, we lavishly praised Mary for a w onderful meal and transported th e d ishes to the kitchen. Mary firml y i nsisted on cleaning up the dishe s h erself, so reluctantly we left her t o t he chore and returned upstairs t o o ur wing.

"I feel like I've known her all my life,"

Keri said.

"Like a grandmother," I observed.

Jenna smiled and raced up th
e s tairs ahead of us.

The ritual of cohabitation took on
a n atural and casual openness welcomed by all. It soon became clear to Keri and me that Mary had solicited a f amily to move in with her more for th e s ake of "family" than real physica l n eed. She could easily have hire d s ervants, as there obviously ha d b een in the past, and she seemed t o t rouble herself immensely to mak e o ur stay amiable, to the extent of hiring out any chore that Keri or I migh t f ind overly tedious or time-consuming, except when said chore woul d i nvoke a vicarious act of a familia l n ature. Bringing home the Christma s t ree was such an occasion. Mary , upon finding the largest, most perfectly shaped tree in the lot, offered t o p urchase a second pine for our quarters. She was absolutely delighte d w hen Keri suggested that we migh t a ll enjoy sharing the same tre e t ogether. We brought the tree hom e a nd after much fussing, the fres h s cent of evergreen permeated th e d en. Not surprisingly, the room became a favorite place for us to congregate after supper. We enjoye d Mary's company as much as sh e d esired ours, and Jenna accepte d h er readily as a surrogate grandmother.

Some people were born to work fo
r o thers. Not in a mindless, servil e w ay--rather, they simply work bette r i n a set regimen of daily tasks an d f unctions. Others were born of th e e ntrepreneurial spirit and enjoy th e d emands of self-determination an d t he roll of the dice. Much to my detriment, I was born of the latter spirit.

Frankly, that spirit was just as potent a d raw to return to my hometown as th e q uaint streets and white-cappe d m ountains I had grown up loving. As I said before, Keri and I had left Southern California for the opportunit y t o operate a formal-wear business.

Though formal-wear rental is quit
e c ommon now, at the time it was ne w a nd untested and therefore exciting.

The opportunity came by way of
a f riend who found himself in a smal l t own just north of Salt Lake City , called Bountiful, for a wedding. That i s w hen he met my future partner, a n e nterprising tailor who had begu n l easing elaborate bridal gowns, an d s oon discovered a greater need fo r s uitable accoutrements for the bride'
s a nd bridesmaids' counterparts.

As necessity is the mother of profit
, he began renting a line of men's dinner jackets with great success. It wa s a t this time that my friend, whil e d ressed in one of those suits, had , unbeknownst to me, engaged th e p roprietor in a lengthy discussion o n t he state and future of his business.

Having been impressed with expectations of my marketing prowess, th e o wner called me directly and afte r m any long-distance phone conversations offered to sell me a portion o f t he new company in exchange for m y e xpertise and a small cash outlay , which Keri and I managed to scrap e t ogether. The opportunity was all w e c ould have hoped for, and the business showed signs of great promise.

Under my direction, we increase
d o ur market by producing picture catalogs of our suits and sending them t o d ressmakers and wedding halls outside of the metropolitan area. The y b ecame the retailers of our suits , which they rented to their clientele , and received no small commission i n t he transaction. The paperwork of thi s n ew venture was enormous and complex, but the success of my idea s c onsumed me and I found mysel f g radually drawn away from the comparatively relaxed environment o f h ome. In modern business vernacular, there is a popular term: "opportunity costs." The term is based on th e a ssumption that since all resources , mainly time and money, are limited , the successful businessman weigh s a ll ventures based on what opportunities are to be lost in the transaction.

Perhaps if I had seen my daughter'
s l onging eyes staring back at me fro m t he gold-plated scales, I would hav e r ethought my priorities. I adroitl y r ationalized my absence from hom e o n necessity and told myself that m y f amily would someday welcome th e s acrifice by feasting, with me, on th e f ruits of my labors. In retrospect, I should have tasted those fruits for bitterness a little more often.

Chapter
IV

THE DREAM,
THE ANGEL, AND THE LETTER

I don't recall th
e e xact night when the dreams began.

The angel dreams. It should be state
d t hat I am a believer in angels, thoug h n ot the picture-book kind with wing s a nd harps. Such angelic accoutrements seem as nonsensical to me a s d evils sporting horns and carryin g p itchforks. To me, angel wings ar e m erely symbolic of their role as divin e m essengers. Notwithstanding m y r ather dogmatic opinions on the matter, the fact that the angel in m y d ream descended from the sky wit h o utspread wings did not bother me. I n f act, the only thing I found disturbin g a t all about the dream was its frequent recurrence and the dream'
s s trange conclusion. In the dream I find myself alone in a large open field.

The air is filled with soft, beautifu l s trains of music flowing as sweet an d m elodic as a mountain brook. I loo k u p and see an angel with wings outspread descending gradually fro m h eaven. Then, when we are not a n a rm's length removed, I look into it s c herubic face, its eyes turn up towar d h eaven, and the angel turns to stone.

Though I have vague recollections o
f t he dream haunting my sleep mor e t han once after we moved into the Parkin home, it seemed to have grow n c learer and more distinct with eac h p assing slumber. This night it was alive , rich in color and sound and detail , occupying my every thought with it s s urrealism. I awoke suddenly, expecting all traces of the nocturnal vision t o v anish with my consciousness, but i t d idn't. This night the music remained. A soft, silvery tune plucked sweetly as a l ullaby. A lullaby of unknown origin.

Except tonight the music had a
n o rigin.

I sat up in bed, listening intentl
y w hile my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I found the flashlight kept in th e p ine nightstand next to our bed, pulle d o n a terry-cloth robe, and walked quietly from the room, following th e m usic. I felt my way down the hall pas t t he nursery where I stopped an d l ooked in at Jenna. She lay fast asleep , undisturbed by the tones. I followe d t he music to the end of the hall, pausing where the melody seemed to hav e o riginated, from behind the attic door. I grasped the handle and opened th e d oor slowly. The flashlight illuminate d t he room, creating long, creepin g s hadows. Apprehensively, I climbe d t he stairs toward the music. The roo m w as still and, except for the music, lifeless. As I panned the room with th e l ight, my heart quickened. The cradl e w as uncovered. The dusty, drape d s heet that had concealed it now la y c rumpled at its base on the attic floor.