Winter Shadows (21 page)

I murmured something about putting the plate back and stood at the tea table eating three more shortbread, despite the shadows gathering in on me from all corners of the room. Why did nothing ever change? Why couldn’t I have found the
strength to snub Robert Dalhousie? This was a man who thought I was a half-breed, not a complete human being. Did I look like a madwoman gobbling down my own biscuits to keep Mrs. Gaskell from having any? An image of Dainty, our mother pig, rose before me, and I almost burst into giggles
.

The group around Kilgour was making such a disturbance with hoots and clapping that Mrs. Gaskell had to bang the dinner gong repeatedly to get everyone’s attention. Robert Dalhousie officially wished the bishop and his wife a fond farewell, and the bishop offered, in return, a long and pompous speech, while the last dregs of tea grew cold. At the end of his oration, everyone bundled up for the short ride home
.

Duncan moved away from the group around Henrietta, his eyes searching the room. When they caught mine, time seemed to stand still. He moved through the crowd and looked down at me. “I think your papa has grown fatigued, Beatrice. We should get him home.”

I nodded, feeling something drop inside me. What had I expected him to say? He reached up and, with his thumb, wiped crumbs from the side of my mouth. For a moment, the room vanished and the sounds of talking dimmed. He turned and walked toward Papa. The rush of cold air from the door as people said good night swirled around me
.

I was speechless. He’d ignored me all evening and then had the impudence to address me by my first name! And he’d touched me in a way that would make anyone who was watching think we were intimate. I turned away, put on my cape and bonnet, and signaled to Minty, who was in the kitchen
.

I didn’t say good night to the bishop and his wife. Not that they noticed. But I embraced Miss Cameron and thanked Mr. Dalhousie for his hospitality, hoping he had not seen Kilgour’s gesture to me
.

To my surprise, he took me aside. “I was hoping to talk to you in a more private setting, Miss Alexander. But I have been so riddled with shame for my unthinking words that evening at your house, I felt I must speak before this evening was done. I fear that you think me a prejudiced dolt.”

I held up a hand to protest
.

He continued, “No, no. Please allow me to offer my most abject apologies and to tell you that, in my heart, I do not have the narrow-minded and bigoted thoughts I was accused of by Mr. Kilgour. I blush with shame to think that you might have misunderstood me. Please say you forgive me, Miss Alexander.”

His apology was so gracious that I said, “Of course, I forgive you. Apology accepted.”

“Then we are friends again?”

“Indeed we are, Reverend Dalhousie. Think no more about it.”

He bowed. “I do not deserve such kindness. But I wonder if I might call on you tomorrow, Miss Alexander? I didn’t have a chance to go over the Christmas service one last time with you, and I have something I wish to consult you about.”

Duncan Kilgour pushed me in the small of my back to hurry me along. I stood fast and agreed to a late-morning visit with Robert Dalhousie just as Ivy and Papa interrupted with their own thanks. I rushed outside to climb aboard the sledge ahead of everyone else and sat
right behind Minty. As I hoped, Papa sat next to me
.

People called good night from all directions. Runnered carrioles, sleighs, and sledges left the vicarage one by one, horses puffing clouds of vapor, bells and harnesses ringing. The ride home was invigorating, the night air frigid and still. When we arrived, Kilgour helped Papa down, which gave me an opportunity to rush past him with a curt good night
.

When I crept into my room, I was relieved to find the three girls and Grandmother asleep. I undressed quickly, climbed into the cold bed, and lay awake for a long time, my fingertips pressed against the side of my mouth
.

Now, as the sun readies itself to lift the curtain of night, I will finish this entry and dress without disturbing nôhkom or the girls. I have slept very little. Only two good things came out of last evening. Robert Dalhousie and I are friends again. Perhaps “friends” is too strong a word, as we really know so little about each other. But it takes depth of character to apologize as nicely as he did. I noticed, when he touched my arm, his hand had been trembling slightly. Of course, I mustn’t read too much into that. But at least he behaved like a gentleman should, unlike Duncan Kilgour, who has no sense of good manners. I can only hope no one noticed his behavior to me before we left. Ridiculous man!

The second good thing is that Papa enjoyed the time with his friends and looked better than I have seen him since my return
.

Note to myself: For both those things, you must be content. Try not to care a fig for Duncan Kilgour’s rash behavior!

A
s we drove along River Road, I was in the middle of telling Martin about how we could sneak out of the party early, when I saw something. “Stop!” I cried.

“What?”

“Just stop … STOP.”

As soon as he pulled over, I jumped out and floundered through deep snow toward the river. “I saw her! With another person. Over there! By those trees!”

He caught up to me. “Saw who?”

I looked around. “Her. Beatrice Alexander. Walking. There! A man was with her. I know it was her.” I bent over to catch my breath.

Martin stood quietly beside me.

“Okay. I’m nuts. She’s not here. Let’s go.”

“You must have seen something, Cass. Your face lost all its blood. Hey! Look!” I looked. “Santa Claus. Heading toward your house. On skis!” A cross-country skier in a red hat was pumping his way down the middle of the river.

I picked up a handful of snow and threw it in Martin’s face. He lunged at me and we fell together, half-buried in a snowbank.

“I hate you,” I laughed, mashing snow into his collar.

He showered my face with more snow and tried to stand up, but I knocked him over. Just as he lunged again, I rolled over and tried to crawl away, but he grabbed my foot and pulled me back. I yanked my hat down over my ears to keep the snow out. He hauled me to my feet. I was debating whether to give him another shove when I turned and there was Beatrice. She was making a snow angel not far from us, swishing her arms, her moccasined feet moving back and forth. She stopped when she saw me, pure shock on her face.

“You’re here!” I cried. “I didn’t imagine you!”

A man, his back toward me, moved across my line of vision. When he turned to see what she was looking at, they both vanished.

Martin spoke in my ear. “Do you see her? Is she really there?”

I pointed, and he looked down. There was a perfect angel cut deep into the snow.

We were still talking about it when we drove up to the house. We agreed there were no footprints leading to or from the angel. It just appeared. He’d finally become a believer.

There was no parking space left in front of the house, so Martin pulled in by the barn and we walked across the road holding hands – it was nice. But
nice
ended at our gate.

The low bushes beside the house were covered in nets of twinkling lights, and a lit garland framed the door. I guess Jean got Dad to put them up.
Why didn’t he wait for me?
We always put up decorations together. Always. We walked around the side of the house to find a lighted Santa grinning at us. It wasn’t one of ours.

Inside, a person I didn’t know, in a white apron and black dress, was working at a counter in the kitchen. We took our jackets and boots off. Our jeans were wet with snow. The place smelled of food, mulled wine, and coffee. Voices sounded in the main part of the house. Christmas music floated through the air.

“Are you Cassandra?” the woman asked. She looked me up and down. “I was told to tell you to go upstairs and change if and when you got home.”

“Who are you?” I asked.
Change into what? Cinderella? An elf?

“I’m Minna Stannard. Caterer and all-round helper.”

“You don’t need to help me with anything, thanks,” I said, ignoring my wet knees.

She shrugged. “Just the messenger. Can you carry out some food?”

I took two plates. “Come on,” I said to Martin. “May as well get this over with.”

As soon as I said it, the door swung open. “Here you are,” Dad said. “Got lots of schoolwork done, did you?”

Before I could answer, he rubbed his hands together and continued, “Good, good. Glad you’re home. Everyone else has arrived. Jean thought of calling you, but didn’t think you’d mind either way.”

“Mind what? Missing out on decorating the house or just missing out?”

Dad’s smile morphed into the stiff toothy one he puts on when he’s uneasy. I handed him the plates of food and walked to the living room. It was crowded. Martin’s aunt Betty waved from a distant corner. She looked nice all in gray, with a blue scarf around her neck. I could see Walter, beer in hand, talking to another old guy. The fire crackled and a CD choir sang “Do you see what I see?”

Yeah, I saw something all right – my aunt Blair in silky black slacks, high heels, and a white blouse with a high collar. She was also wearing Mom’s black crystal earrings and choker. Her hair was piled on her head. She wiggled her fingers at me. I guess she didn’t like the look on my face because she turned to Betty.

What the heck was she doing here?
I headed toward her, only to stop halfway across the room. In front of the middle window stood a fake white Christmas tree, its branches decorated with blue-and-white bobbles and matching lights.

Daisy came over to me. “You guys put up a fake tree?” I asked.

She smiled at me, but when I didn’t smile back, she looked at Jean, who was chatting to a small group of people. Jean wore a wine-red velvet skirt and matching
silk blouse. Her hair was pulled back with a glittery barrette. She looked like the nerdy teenager who never knows what’s in fashion.

“Oh, there you are, Cassandra!” she cried. “We thought you’d left home! You missed out on the tree hoisting and decorating. Couldn’t wait all day, could we?” She laughed and described how she and Daisy had struggled to put all the fake white branches into the metal trunk. A few people tittered, but most of Mom and Dad’s old friends looked uncomfortable.

“You didn’t tell me you were putting a tree up today,” I said stiffly.

“Well, it
is
a Christmas party, after all. But, as I say, you weren’t here.”

“We always put up a
real
tree together.” My voice sounded strangled. Someone moved beside me. I smelled my aunt’s perfume, but I didn’t look at her. I was too busy looking at a young woman floating across the front of a different tree – a dark green one beside the white monstrosity. It was Beatrice and she was looking right at me.

My heart lurched. I lifted my hand in greeting. I knew I was being watched by some of the guests, but I didn’t care. I was sure I could smell real pine needles, along with that cold snow odor that sweats off icy branches in warm air.

Beatrice whispered, “What is upsetting you? Is it me?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s her.”

Beatrice’s eyes followed mine. I saw Jean’s white face and a lot of others behind her.

Suddenly Dad said loudly to the room, “I wasn’t home when the tree went up. Out getting more wine and mixer. No big deal.”

That broke the spell. Beatrice disappeared. People started talking again, avoiding me. Aunt Blair took my arm in a gentle grip.

“It’s okay, honey. Let it go.”

I shrugged her off and said to Dad, “Yeah, no big deal … who cares, right? You, Mom, and me always put the lights up together. And the tree. With our special decorations. But Mom doesn’t count anymore, does she? So … therefore … neither do I.”

“Cass, Jean and Daisy did it as a surprise,” Dad said quietly.

“No, no, you don’t understand, Cassandra,” Jean called out. “Your dad and I are going to make a big announcement tonight, and I want everything to be perfect, so –”