Angels in the Snow (11 page)

“They'll do fine together,” Marilyn said. “Josie is at that age—you know—precocious and yet still innocent.”

“She's an adorable child. All your children are delightful.”

“Why, thank you. So are your two.”

Judith pursed her lips ruefully as she headed for the pantry. “No, delightful is hardly the word for my two. They're smart and talented. And they can be funny and entertaining, and sometimes even charming. But not for long.” She swallowed past a lump that had formed in her throat. “They fight over everything—with each other and with us. I . . . I sometimes think Charles's business success has been unfortunate.”

They were quiet a moment as they gathered pots and utensils, bowls and mugs. Judith found several cans of soup while Marilyn put bread, cheese, and butter on a tray. From the open basement door they could hear Lucy and Jennifer exclaiming and laughing as they searched for the Christmas ornaments.

“It doesn't take much to keep kids happy,” Marilyn said. “It's important that they have a sense of accomplishment. They need to know that, despite a few failures now and again, there
are
things they can do. And of course, they need to always know they're loved.”

Judith busied herself with soup spoons and napkins. “I love my children. So does Charles. But . . .” She trailed off, uneasy with what she was revealing to this stranger. She had discussed her marriage and its shortcomings with friends, but never her mothering. She'd always considered herself a good mother. But how good was she when she could see the difference between her own “well-brought-up” children and this woman's—and see how badly her children came out in comparison?

“For all the things they have, I guess they're not that happy,” she finished in a whisper.

“We found them, Mom!” Jennifer's shout drifted up from below.

“She certainly sounds happy right now,” Marilyn offered with a generous smile.

Judith sighed. “This is all an adventure for her. New entertainment.”

Marilyn shrugged, then lifted her tray. “Life's always an adventure. You can find entertainment everywhere. New people, new places.” She laughed. “There's that gypsy side of me, I'm afraid. I forget that such a nomadic existence isn't for everyone.”

The girls came up the stairs amid much excited chatter. As they staggered into the kitchen carrying a large cardboard box decorated with wreaths and Santa faces, the women's topic of conversation was abandoned. But Judith replayed it in her mind. Marilyn professed to be a gypsy at heart, yet she seemed well grounded, sensible, and straightforward. Judith had always thought of herself as the sensible sort—uncomplicated and practical. But perhaps there was that buried part of her that wished for freedom. Why else was she so dissatisfied with the sort of life that was envied by the rest of the world?

She shook her head as she set her tray down on the coffee table near the hearth. She couldn't explain or understand it. She only knew that she was restless and unhappy.

Or perhaps she was unhappy and therefore restless.

The sudden realization had a profound effect. If she were happy, she'd feel settled again. That bit of self-knowledge was extremely comforting.

She looked over at Charles. He still sat on the couch with Josie in his lap, and his face still held that disconcerted expression.

“How big is your hotel?” the child was asking.

“Thirty-three floors.”

The girl looked doubtful. “Thirty-three! Why so big?”

“Well, lots of people travel to the city, and they need a place to stay while they're visiting.”

Josie frowned. “Do you have to cut down all the trees? In Edgard we don't let people cut down too many trees.”

Charles smiled and even patted her arm. “There are no trees in this place. Just a bunch of run-down old buildings.”

“Doesn't anybody live there?”

“Well, yes. But they'll move someplace else.”

Marilyn was checking the contents of the refrigerator. Jennifer and Lucy had opened the box of decorations, but Judith couldn't tear herself away from the conversation between Charles and little Josie. In his arms, she appeared like a golden-haired angel of a child. But child that she was, she was able to understand what Charles was saying, and it clearly troubled her.

“But . . . what if they don't want to move?”

Charles shifted her in his arms. “But they will want to. Their houses are all . . . all yucky,” he finished, obviously hoping his choice of words would convince her.

She considered for a moment. “My aunt Moonbeam's house is kind of yucky sometimes, but she still doesn't want to move. How do you
know
these people really want to move?”

Judith could tell that Charles's patience was wearing thin. “I just know,” he said curtly. “Why don't you go help the other girls look at all the Christmas ornaments?” He lifted her off his lap and set her on her feet.

But her serious expression never changed, and her wide-eyed stare didn't waver from his face. “I hope you never build a hotel in Edgard,” she said in her solemn little voice.

Though only five years old, she seemed infinitely wise. How astounding the clear logic of a child was, unencumbered by the rationalizations that came with maturity. Josie had cut to the heart of the real estate dilemma, and to Judith's amazement she was making Charles Montgomery squirm.

Charles cleared his throat. “Edgard is too small a town for one of my hotels.”

“Good. I love my house and my room and my yard and my treehouse. I don't want a great big giant building to come and crash it all to pieces.”

Jennifer looked up from spreading ornaments out on the floor. “My dad's buildings are real nice, Josie. I bet you'd like them if you saw them.”

“Hotels aren't as important as houses,” Lucy threw in. “My dad says if more people owned their own homes, then there wouldn't be so many slums.”

“Why did he say that?” Judith asked.

Lucy shrugged. “He says most people take good care of what belongs to them. If everybody owned their own houses, then I guess they would all take care of them—you know, pick up the litter and mow the grass and stuff like that. Then the cities would be nice places to live.”

“Not every place has grass to grow,” Charles said testily. “Cities are very different from small towns.”

“Yes, they certainly are,” Marilyn interjected. She crossed over to Josie and picked her up. With her arms around her young child, a gentle smile on her face, and her long hair coming loose from its braid, Marilyn Walker looked the perfect picture of maternal love.

Judith recognized it at once, and it brought a pang of wistfulness to her heart.

Charles saw it, too, and it stilled his next words. Norman Rockwell would have loved them, he thought ruefully. For despite their non-mainstream lifestyle, they epitomized everything that was considered truly American. He couldn't understand it, until Marilyn planted a kiss in Josie's curly hair. Then he knew.

The Walkers were a perfect example of family love and togetherness. Though they were itinerant artists, they were the basic unit of American life: a happy, wholesome family.

And he and his family . . . were not.

He blinked hard and swallowed, then forced himself to look away. Judith was staring at him with a strange expression on her face. The two other girls were busy with the ornaments, but as the silence continued Lucy looked up, and then so did Jennifer.

Charles cleared his throat nervously, then forced a chuckle. “We should be talking more about building up the fire instead of building hotels.” He walked over to the pile of wood and picked up three good-sized logs. Once he thrust them in the fireplace and had them placed just so, he dusted off his hands and looked at Judith. “How's lunch coming?”

Judith started. “Um. It's almost ready. Right, Marilyn?”

Marilyn studied Judith as she ran her hand absently through Josie's curls. “You know what? I need to take Josie to the bathroom.” Her gaze shifted to Charles. “Could you help Judith finish lunch?”

It was cooler by the dining table, for it was across the room from the fireplace. But overall, the big living room was warming up. Charles spread out the tablecloth Judith gave him, then began to set out plates and glasses while she put soup to heat in a pot hanging above the fire.

“Just put the mayonnaise, mustard, and other condiments out so everyone can make their sandwiches the way they want, then spread out the bread, meat, cheese, and lettuce on those two platters,” she said as she folded napkins and placed the utensils out. Then she disappeared into the curtained-off kitchen to get milk.

Charles straightened a plate and pulled two bowls nearer their respective glasses. He was oppressed by his terrible realization, though his rational self knew he shouldn't be. After all, he'd planned this trip for the very purpose of addressing his family's problems.

But somehow, seeing a family like the Walkers—so out of step with the rest of the world economically, yet so solid emotionally—struck him to the heart. They were salt in his wounds, and though it was childish, he hated them for it.

No, he decided as he glanced over at Jennifer and Lucy. It wasn't hate. The emotion that gripped him was envy—and it lodged like a hard knot in the very center of his chest.

“Oh! Give me that one!” Jennifer exclaimed, drawing her father's attention. As he watched, she snatched a heart-shaped ornament from Lucy's hands and held it up to admire.

“That one's mine, Jenny. Give it back,” Lucy said.

“No. I want it. When I hang this heart it will be a symbol of my love for Brett Franklin. It'll stop Sara Smythe from getting him while I'm gone.”

“I had it first,” Lucy insisted, reaching for the fragile ornament.

“Too bad,” Jennifer snapped, jerking her hand back. The ornament slipped from her grasp and, with a tiny crash, it shattered on the coffee table. Jennifer gasped. “Look what you made me do!”

“
I
didn't make you drop it. You did that by yourself.”

“If you hadn't tried to grab it—”

“You grabbed it from
me
!” Lucy shouted back, her patience clearly at an end. She stood up, scowling. “You're just one of those gimme-gimme girls. Selfish and mean. Always wanting things their way, and always blaming other people for everything.”

Jennifer stared up at the younger girl who, until now, had been quiet and calm. She glanced at her father, then stood up, too. But as she did so, she put one hand on the table. At once she howled in pain.

“Oh! I'm cut. I'm cut!” She held her left hand up, then started to cry in earnest. “Daddy! I'm bleeding!”

Precisely at that moment, everyone else returned. Marilyn came down the stairs with Josie. Judith hurried in from the kitchen, and Joe and the boys entered on a blast of icy air.

“Look at this beauty,” Alex's excited voice carried over the sudden bedlam.

“I'm bleeding!” Jennifer howled.

“What in heaven's name?” Judith exclaimed.

“What happened?” Marilyn hurried to Jennifer's side.

“It's all Lucy's fault!” Jennifer accused. With tears streaming down her face and pricks of blood on her hand, she looked every part the wounded victim.

Lucy was no less adamant. Her straight dark hair seemed almost to crackle with indignation as she faced her accuser. “
She
grabbed the ornament from me.
She
dropped it. Then
she
put her own hand down on the broken glass.”

“That sounds like our Jennifer,” Alex quipped. “Greedy
and
stupid.”

“Mama,” Jennifer wailed, turning into her mother's waiting arms.

Marilyn and Judith stared at the sobbing girl. So did Robbie and young Josie. But Joe Walker was looking straight at Charles.

Once more, Charles felt a grating anger. But he also felt an uncomfortable sense of guilt. It had happened just as Lucy had said. Jennifer had caused the entire mess, but she didn't want to take the blame. It was a pattern that he suddenly recognized well.

“I'll handle this,” he said. There was a certain security to be had in taking charge of the situation, even if it was your child—and your family—who came off the poorer.

“Jenn, you shouldn't have grabbed the ornament from Lucy. And those cuts don't look very bad.”

“They're only scratches,” Judith confirmed, locking eyes with her husband.

“Good. Why don't you go wash up, Jenny, while your mother cleans up the glass.”

Jennifer stared at him with damp eyes. When it was clear that no sympathy would be forthcoming from him, she turned back to her mother.

But Judith forestalled any further outburst from Jennifer with a stern look. “The hand washing can wait until after
you
clean up the glass,” she stated. “Don't argue with me, Jennifer. Just hurry up and do it. And be thorough. Now”—she turned toward Marilyn—“I'm sure everyone must be starving.”

WHY DID HE ALWAYS
MANAGE
to say the wrong thing with Judith? Charles brooded a short time later as he bit into a ham-and-Swiss sandwich. Conversation was quiet and desultory, but he felt a depression that wouldn't go away. His daughter had made him feel like an inadequate parent. Then Judith had made him feel even worse by overriding his instructions, even though it made sense. Jennifer
should
clean up her own mess. But Judith had made it seem as though he were an insensitive husband, always pushing the dirty work off on his wife. Everyone who knew him knew he treated her like a queen. She had a housekeeper and a maid. Plus the groundskeeper. Yet she still managed to make him feel like a failure as a husband.

He swallowed with difficulty and looked across the table at Alex. In contrast to Jennifer, who was sulking, and Judith, who was concentrating on her meal, Alex was more animated than Charles could ever recall. He and Robbie were laughing and joking like old friends, and even though Joe only nodded or laughed occasionally, it was clear he was a part of Alex's good spirits.