to do. You understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, as we descended the last hill, recrossed the creek, and headed for home.
Christmas was spent with Grandmother at Quilly Hall. Marion had wanted our first Christmas as a new family to be celebrated in town in front of the fireplace, in our own living room. But my mother and he knew better.
“Maybe next year, here,” my mother explained, as she bundled me for the ride to the farm. “Santa has left your surprises at Mama Edmonds’ house. You’ll see when we get there.”
Sure enough, there in the hallway, under the boughs of a prickly, tinseled, and lighted cedar tree, lay a stack of brightly wrapped gifts for all of us: my mother, grandmother, Marion, Uncle Everett, Pearl, Earl, and me. I rushed to the base of the tree, almost tipping Quelle off her pedestal. “Oh, my gracious!” my grandmother held her breath. “Careful, careful. Oh, dear God. There’s plenty of time.”
The one gift that caught my eye more so than any other was a Red Ryder BB gun. “Oh, boy!” I shouted. Packs of bee bees in little red tubes lay wrapped about the tree.
More gifts remained to be opened in the living room. To my surprise, there sat Earl and Aunt Rachel. Her face appeared tired and sallow, her gaze unfocused and hair disheveled. “Give me a kiss,” she ordered with slurred speech, as I burst into the room.
“Oh, Rachel!” was all my mother said.
Marion had special ordered a pair of gold earrings for my mother and a huge green lampshade with long silver tassels for my grandmother’s favorite lamp, upstairs. He presented Earl with a Hamilton watch, and several bolts of cloth to Pearl. And for all the women, a new sewing machine—each. My grandmother’s face expressed only minimal elation. Her mind was somewhere else, preoccupied no doubt with Aunt Rachel’s presence.
Toward noon, Uncle Everett, Uncle Jim, and Aunt Viola arrived in his truck. The Christmas meal consisted of ham, corn pudding, pole beans, biscuits, and red gravy. For dessert, my grandmother served slices of spice cake and cups of egg custard, the latter smothered with whipped cream, flavored with brandy.
A joyless silence seemed to engulf us. Very few words were exchanged. Aunt Rachel wanted more whipped cream. “Just bring the damn brandy!’ she ordered Pearl.
“Please, Rachel!” Uncle Everett confronted her. “Who invited you, anyway?”
“Everett!” my mother recoiled in protest. “No one’s perfect!”
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