The Gift of Christmas Present (16 page)

“I have my reasons,” Esther said in a sharp voice. “I only asked you to bring me the phone and my phonebook, Felicity. I didn't expect you to put me through the Spanish Inquisition.”

“I just wondered,” Felicity said. “Hang on, Mom, I'll go get the cordless for you.”

Christine continued unloading the groceries from the bags, taking time to sort things a bit and putting the cold things in the refrigerator.

“Is that it?” Felicity asked when she came back into the kitchen.

Christine nodded. “That was everything in your trunk.”

“Did you get that box from the backseat too?”

Christine wondered if Felicity thought she was her personal slave. “No, I didn't know there was any—”

“It's the napkins and plates and things,” Felicity said. She glanced over her shoulder to the dining room. “Can you get them right now, please?”

So Christine returned to the garage to retrieve the box. She suspected that Felicity wanted to get rid of her for a minute or two, and when she returned she noticed Felicity standing motionless next to the swinging doors that led to the living room, where Grandmother was talking on the phone, presumably to her attorney. It seemed that Felicity was listening. So Christine dropped the cardboard box on the counter with a loud thud that made Felicity jump.

Christine smiled at her aunt. “Anything else?”

Felicity seemed momentarily stumped, but she quickly recovered. “Yes. We need the walks shoveled. There's nearly three inches of snow out there.”

This time Christine actually did salute. “Aye-aye, ma'am,” she said in what she hoped would be taken as good humor.

Then she headed to the closet for her parka and to search out a snow shovel. She actually felt relieved to escape the house and Felicity's never-ending list of demands. Outside
the air was fresh and brisk, and Christine felt that nothing was more invigorating than shoveling snow on a crisp, sunny day. She took her time to carefully clear all the walks and the sidewalk and driveway before she finally went back into the house. She was just hanging her parka back in the hall closet when she heard voices coming from the guest room where Aunt Hattie was staying.

“I just don't get it, Aunt Hattie,” said Felicity in an urgent tone.

“What's that, dear?” Aunt Hattie asked in her usual cheerful voice.

“Why Mom suddenly wants to change her will.”

“Most likely it's because she knows she has a granddaughter now.”

“But why just two days before Christmas?”

“I don't really know, dear. Perhaps she's worried about her health.”

“But we don't even know that Christine is really related. I mean, she hasn't done a blood test or anything.”

“Oh, Felicity.” Aunt Hattie's voice was an odd mix of frustration layered with patience. “We can all see that Christine is Lenore's daughter. I realize that you never knew Lenore, dear, but believe me, we can all see it plain as day. It's right there in Christine's eyes . . . and in her spirit. Oh, the two of them may not look that much alike, but she is definitely Lenore's flesh and blood. I have absolutely no doubt of that.”

“Even so,” Felicity persisted, “it just doesn't seem fair.”

“What's that, dear?”

“That Mom should suddenly change the will. I mean, everything she has, this house and, well, whatever . . .
didn't it all come from Jimmy's dad in the first place? The way I understood it was that the Daniels side had all the money.”

“All the money . . .” Aunt Hattie sighed.

Christine suddenly felt guilty for listening in. Why, she'd just gotten irritated after catching Felicity doing the same thing with Grandmother's phone conversation. And here she was doing it herself. Just the same, she couldn't seem to make herself leave.

“I know, I know,” Felicity continued. “And I know I probably sound petty and greedy to you. But does it seem fair to you that a perfect stranger should walk in and claim to be a relative and then Mom goes off changing her will?”

“Oh, Felicity,” Aunt Hattie said.

Suddenly Christine couldn't take it anymore. Not only did she know that it was wrong to eavesdrop, but she realized it was painful too. She turned and walked toward the living room.

“There you are,” Esther said as she hobbled toward her.

“Grandmother,” Christine said in surprise, hoping that her face didn't look too guilty.

“You look flushed, Christine. Are you all right?”

She forced a smile. “I've been outside shoveling snow.”

“Good for you.” Her grandmother struggled to balance on her crutches as she fished around in her sweater pocket for something. Then she held out a closed fist as if she had a surprise in her hand. “Something for you.”

Christine held out her open hand and waited as her grandmother dropped a small brass key. “What's this?”

Her grandmother glanced up the staircase. “It's the key to Lenore's room. Second door on the left.”

Christine nodded.

“I never changed a single thing after she left. I guess I always thought she'd come back someday, and I wanted it to look just the same as before she left. As if I'd been expecting her to come home. I even had a deadbolt lock installed years ago. Just to make sure no one could go in and disturb anything.” She shook her head sadly. “I'd go up there with you now if I could just handle those stairs—”

“Oh, no, you don't need to do that.”

“Yes. It's probably better that I don't.” She sighed. “Anyway, I thought you might want to see her room and her things, you know, perhaps get a better idea of who she was. I suppose we should eventually clear those old things out. It's not as if I want it to become some sort of shrine or anything. I just wanted it to be there for her . . .”

Christine sensed her grandmother's pain. “Maybe I could help box her things up for you, Grandmother.”

“Yes, that would be good.”

“Maybe I could do it after Christmas. I know our church is always looking for clothing items for our homeless shelter.”

“Good.” Her grandmother nodded. “I figured you might have some ideas. And then, Christine, once it's all cleared out . . . Well, I thought maybe you'd like to use it for yourself. I mean, it's really a lovely room, with its own bath and a balcony that overlooks the backyard and pool.” She smiled in a sad way. “Of course, I don't expect you to live here. Goodness only knows why anyone would want to stay with a decrepit old woman like me. But I want you
to know that you're welcome to use that room anytime you like.”

“Thank you.” Christine was trying to think of adequate words to describe how she would be perfectly happy, thrilled even, to live in this lovely house with her grandmother, but before she could speak her grandmother turned away.

“Now I've got some business to attend to.” She started moving down the hall again. “I'll be in James's study if anyone needs me.”

Christine wondered why her grandmother still called that room “James's study.” Perhaps it was simply out of respect for her deceased husband. Christine had peeked in to admire the dark-paneled room with its floor-to-ceiling bookcases one day. She'd always thought it would be so lovely to have a library like that. Yet the room had such a rigid formality to it, so much so that she hadn't felt quite welcome in there. She'd also noticed that her grandmother seldom used the room and kept her own desk in a corner of the living room. Perhaps she didn't feel quite welcome in there either.

Christine began to climb the stairs, careful not to disturb the evergreen garland she'd so painstakingly draped there the other day. She'd been upstairs a few times before. Just to vacuum and dust, and once to look for an old book her grandmother had thought was in one of the bedrooms up there. She'd noticed that closed door with the deadbolt lock and wondered. But she hadn't asked. Even so, she'd figured it had something to do with Lenore.

She slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Feeling like an intruder, she went inside. She stood by the door, looking around and simply taking it all in. It's not that she believed in ghosts or anything like that, but it was as if she could feel a presence or an aura or something almost tangible. She actually held her breath for a moment as she listened to the silence and tried to imagine an eighteen-year-old Lenore moving through this pretty room.

The spacious room had daintily flowered wallpaper in pastel shades of peach and green that ran up the walls
above the wainscoting. Old-fashioned framed prints of fairies playing among flowers and pretty girls in gardens adorned the walls. Very feminine and very sweet. The furnishings all matched and were painted a creamy white that had been made to look old. The bed was covered in a patchwork quilt that reminded Christine of a spring garden just beginning to bloom.

She slowly walked over to the large bureau with a mirror on top. This was the only part of the room that seemed to show any clutter or actual use. Here she found all sorts of high school memorabilia—all covered in a thick layer of dust. A pair of red and gold pom-poms, a yearbook, several awards, graduation announcements, photos of friends, a gold graduation tassel . . . all the bits and pieces of an eighteen-year-old life. But suddenly Christine's eyes stopped when she came across a brochure. For some reason it seemed completely out of place. The words
unwanted pregnancy
seemed to glare at her in bold black and white. Christine picked up the brochure, shook off about two decades worth of accumulated dust, and read a few lines. It seemed to be a clinical explanation of how an abortion was a “safe and efficient way to terminate an unwanted pregnancy.” Christine set the brochure back down, placing it exactly where it had been before, the outline clearly visible in the layers of dust. She knew she was the reason the brochure was on the bureau.

So her birth mother had actually considered an abortion. Christine's hand went up to her throat and her chest tightened as the word
unwanted
seemed to echo through her entire being. Suddenly she realized that she had
been and still was a great inconvenience to this family. She considered Felicity's words just moments ago; her attitude toward Christine had seemed to reflect this same attitude. And now as Christine stood there—in her dead birth mother's room, in her grandmother's house, among people who were virtually strangers to her—it seemed quite obvious. Everything about this was all wrong. Why had she even come here in the first place? What was her motive? And why had she forced her way into a world where she clearly did not fit in? A world where she hadn't even been wanted. Not then. Not now.

She started for the door, ready to run, escape from this place. But then she paused. She took a deep breath and attempted to calm and steady herself. Perhaps she was overreacting. And, certainly, she'd been through a lot during the past few weeks. Why not give herself some time to sort this all out? And even if Lenore had been considering an abortion, there obviously had been something that influenced her to change her mind. Christine was here, after all. That proved something.

Christine knew that
something
had caused Lenore to run away from her family home and then to carry her “unwanted” baby to full term. But perhaps that was also what had caused her death in the end. Perhaps if she'd stayed home with her family and gotten the abortion described in that brochure, perhaps Lenore would still be alive today. Not that Christine believed that abortions were right. She pressed her fingers against her forehead and tried to think. But it seemed too much to consider, too hard to understand, too painful, too confusing . . .

“Christine?”

Christine whirled around to see Aunt Hattie standing in the doorway.

Aunt Hattie smiled. “May I come in?”

Christine swallowed and nodded. “Of course.”

Aunt Hattie looked around. “It looks just the same in here. Such a pretty room. Lenore picked out everything in here herself, you know. It was while James and Esther were honeymooning in the Bahamas. I stayed here at the house with Lenore while the newlyweds were gone. Lenore was only fifteen at the time, but James had given her permission to decorate the room however she liked. ‘Spare no expense,' he'd told her right before the two of them took off.” Aunt Hattie sighed happily.

Christine nodded, trying to catch some of the old woman's enthusiasm. “That must've been fun for her.”

Aunt Hattie frowned. “I suppose. But it wasn't long before Lenore discovered that money isn't everything.”

Christine nodded but said nothing.

“Mind if I sit down?” Aunt Hattie nodded to a white wooden rocking chair next to the bed.

“Sure. But you might want to dust it off first.”

But before she sat down Aunt Hattie closed the bedroom door. Then she went over and sat down on the chair without bothering about the dust. Her expression had become troubled, but she didn't say anything. Instead she sat there for what seemed like several minutes, just looking at Christine as if she was studying her. Or perhaps trying to figure her out. Christine felt uncomfortable and wondered again why she had tried to force her way into this family. Why didn't she just leave?