Finding Father Christmas (14 page)

A light tapping on the guest-room door kicked my heartbeat up a notch or two. I didn’t respond. The knock repeated.

“Miranda?” It was Andrew’s voice, his Scottish brogue rolling the “r.”

“Yes?”

“Ah! Miranda, I’ve been sent to invite you to come downstairs and join the festivities.”

Without moving from the bed, I timidly called out, “Andrew?”

“Still here,” he replied from behind the closed door.

“Who else is here?”

“Katharine is downstairs, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Anyone else?”

“Ah! You’re wondering if my son has arrived yet. You can put yourself at ease. For the time being, the only MacGregors downstairs
would be Katharine and myself. Now, shall I tell Ellie you’ll be joining us, or are you looking for a little peace and quiet?”

“I’ll… I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

I looked up just in time to see an arrow hit the window and drop to the ground. Sliding off the bed I hurried across the room,
expecting to see Mark with a grimace on his face.

Instead, I looked down on Edward, who stood with the bow still in his hand. His surprise was evident. Mark appeared equally
stunned. By the way the two of them were positioned, they seemed to have aimed for the apple tree in the opposite direction
of the house. How did the arrow manage to flip back and hit the window?

I waved and offered a smile, trying to let them know that all was well. Except for a tiny crack that appeared in the beveled
glass, the window was still intact.

Julia, who had been standing to the side with her mittened hands over her mouth, waved at me, calling out something I couldn’t
hear.

Edward put down the bow and offered a sheepish shrug. The children then laughed along with their father, and I felt overcome
with a bittersweetness. This family was a cohesive unit. Each had his or her place. My intrusion worked as long as I was the
foreign stranger whom they had taken pity on and invited in for the holidays.

That’s what I wanted to remain to them. A stranger. Not the illegitimate daughter of Sir James, their beloved patriarch.

Slipping the teapot ornament out of the Christmas stocking, I tucked it into my shoulder bag and prepared to make a beeline
for the front door. Grace and peace did reside here. I refused to be the one to disrupt that blessing.

I
made it as far as the bottom of the stairs. Katharine met me there, saw my shoulder bag, and quietly began her “che-che-che”
sounds, as if I were a frightened bird and she could calm me.

“I need to go,” I told her in a low voice, trying to sound as firm as I could.

She didn’t move.

“It’s not fair to them, Katharine. I found what I came for, and that’s enough. They don’t need to know.”

Her expression was compassionate yet reluctant to agree with me.

“Katharine, I know that you know. I saw it in your eyes last night. I’m begging you, please, please, don’t say anything to
anyone, ever. I want to leave this place and this family just as they are. Will you promise me, Katharine? Promise me you
will never say anything?”

“I cannot promise you that, Miranda. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I felt panic rising in me. Katharine was the only obstacle in my path. Why couldn’t she see the urgency of and the
clear reasoning for keeping my secret? “Have you already told someone? Did you tell Andrew?”

“No, I haven’t said anything. I believe it’s your place to open this gift.”

“But it’s not a gift, Katharine. It’s a bomb. It’s a tangled mess. It’s—”

“It’s the truth, Miranda. That’s all it is. The truth.”

“Okay, it’s the truth. Don’t we all know that the truth can hurt others too much sometimes?”

She dipped her chin in acknowledgement of my statement, but she wouldn’t leave it there. “And sometimes after the hurt, the
truth heals.”

I knew the longer I stood there, the less likely I could slip out of the house unnoticed. Pressing in closer to Katharine
I begged her, “Do not tell. Please. This isn’t your secret to share with anyone. This is my life. Please. Keep this secret
for me. They don’t need to know, Katharine.”

Her lips remained pursed, but her eyes welled with tears. “I can’t promise you that.”

Anger flamed up inside me, turning my face red as I pushed past her and strode toward the front door. Her unreasonableness
was forcing my hand. Fine. I would tell Edward. But not face to face. He would have the truth in writing. The letter would
arrive after Christmas. After I had flown back to San Francisco. That would only be fair to him.

Too flustered to even say good-bye to Katharine, I reached for the handle and flung open the door. Then I realized I wasn’t
sure how to get to the train station. If I could reach the church we went to this morning, I could probably get there. But
even if I remembered the way to the church, I couldn’t walk that far in the slushy snow.

To add to my humiliation, I wasn’t sure how to place a call on a British phone to arrange cab service. Did “411” work on the
other side of the pond?

I needed help.

Closing the heavy front door with a thud, I slowly turned around, knowing that Katharine would still be there.

I spoke firmly without looking at her. “Would you please tell me how to call for a taxi?”

Ellie popped into the entry hall, wiping her hands on an apron that covered the front of her outfit. “I thought I heard the
door. Has someone else arrived?”

“No,” Katharine said.

“If the children come in through the front, would you two make sure they leave their wet things by the radiator?”

Before bopping back into the kitchen, Ellie looked at the two of us standing in our tense positions and cautiously asked,
“Is everything all right?”

“I need to use your phone, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Would you like to use the one in the study?”

“Yes, thank you.”

I was about to slide past Katharine when she said, “It would be better if you stayed, Miranda. It really would.”

Before I could respond, the latch jiggled on the front door. Two people entered. First came a round, rosy woman with fair
skin, white hair, and wire-rimmed glasses. She was dressed in a long coat with a matching fur-lined hat, and she carried a
Har-rods shopping bag in her leather-gloved hand.

The other person was a uniformed chauffeur who was carrying two small pieces of luggage.

“Hello, hello!” the cheery woman greeted us. She motioned for the driver to put the luggage in the corner and then pulled
her gloves off finger by finger.

Katharine and Ellie went to the woman and greeted her warmly. I hung back, stunned.

Could this be Margaret?

I had expected the wife of Sir James to be tall and elegant and to fill the room with the fragrance of Chanel perfume upon
her entrance. This woman who chuckled merrily and exuded the essence of cinnamon rolls didn’t seem like the wife of a famous
actor. If this was Margaret, then she had turned out to be everything my mother was not.

“You must meet Miranda.” Ellie stepped back so the woman could have a look at me. “She’s our special guest all the way from
America. Miranda, this is Margaret, my mother-in-law. Margaret Whitcombe.”

Propelled by the few manners I had left in me, I stepped toward her, keeping my gaze diverted. I didn’t want Margaret to look
into my eyes.

“Lovely to meet you,” she said. “Welcome and happy Christmas.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas to you, too. You have a beautiful home.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

I could feel Katharine’s gaze on me, but I couldn’t say anything else. I didn’t know what to say. I was thinking about the
driver, who was standing only a few feet away. He had a car waiting out front. More than likely he would be willing to drive
me wherever I wanted to go for the right price. All I had to do was open my mouth and say something.

Yet I remained silent, caught off guard in the unexpectedness of the moment.

As soon as Margaret had removed her coat and hat, she settled her account with the driver. I knew this was my chance to arrange
a ride, but as I looked at him, nothing came out of my mouth. The driver left, and I stood there as a victim of my own sabotage.
Either that or I was being compelled by something larger than myself.

I somehow found it easy to believe it was the latter.

“Your timing is perfect,” Ellie said to her mother-in-law, taking her coat from her. “We’re just about ready to eat. The children
are in the back with Edward and Andrew. You won’t believe this, but Andrew arrived at the house this morning dressed as Father
Christmas. He had the Bromleys’ old horse decked out in bells. The children were enchanted.”

“It must have been lovely,” Margaret said. “Did the children recognize Andrew?”

“Julia believed Andrew was the real Father Christmas. I’m not sure about Mark. The whole thing was quite touching for Edward.
He told me he remembered all the years his father had that role and how grand it was of Andrew to pick up the tradition now
with our children. Really, Katharine, it was exceptionally good of Andrew to surprise us all that way.”

“You must know,” Katharine added, “that Andrew was much more excited about it than the children or even Edward could have
been.”

“I’m sorry now that I missed all the happenings around here,” Margaret said. “It sounds as if you had a lovely Christmas morning.”

“The best,” Ellie said. “And what about you? How is everything with Marion and Gordon and the rest of them? Are you tired
from the drive?”

“I’m not at all weary, thank you. Is there anything I can do to help with the dinner?”

“No, not a thing for you to do. The turkey is nearly ready, but you know how particular I am about presentation. We should
be able to sit down in about twenty minutes. Will that work for you?”

“Yes, of course. Do keep in mind that I am available for assistance if you need me. I’ll take my luggage to my room. Marion
and the others all send their love, by the way.”

“Oh Miranda, would you mind helping her lift those?” Ellie asked.

“They aren’t heavy,” Margaret protested.

“Nevertheless, you shouldn’t be lifting them,” Ellie said. “And Katharine, I wonder if you might be willing to go to the dining
room for me, light all the candles, and then help arrange the nibbles before the children come dashing inside.”

Katharine sent a final comforting glance my direction before going to fulfill her duty in the dining room. I returned an appreciative
expression.
Grace and peace,
I kept saying to myself.
Grace and peace.

My shoulder bag was still over my arm, positioned and ready for my exit. Instead of heading for the door, I reached for Margaret’s
small suitcases and found them light and easy to carry.

“How awfully kind of you.” Margaret headed to the left, toward the study. “My room is just this way. It’s not far.”

I followed close behind, knowing only one thing for certain. Ever since I had arrived in Carlton Heath, nothing had gone the
way I had expected—not that I had any ideas about what should happen. But it seemed that every time I made a small
effort to move forward, the next step would come rushing to meet me. So at this point, I figured I should keep making my
small efforts and see what happened next.

A distinct impression continued to rest on me: I was not alone.

M
argaret led me down the hall past the study on the left and the dining room on the right. We walked by what appeared to be
another bedroom on the left. To the right was a series of small rectangular windows positioned at eye level. A small pink
rosebud was painted in the center of each window. I could guess who the artist was.

Pausing, Margaret looked out one of the windows. The view opened to the garden where the children were throwing snowballs
at each other with the remnants of the quickly melting snow. I noticed that Andrew was now the one with the bow and arrow.
He was wearing slacks and a thick sweater instead of his kilt. Edward stood close, appearing to be intently giving instructions
to Andrew, who looked quite confident without Edward’s assistance.

“Someone received a new toy,” Margaret said with a grin.

“The bow and arrow were Mark’s gift from Father Christmas,” I said.

“Oh, I’m sure they were.” I noted a twinkle in Margaret’s eye. She caught my eye for a moment. I looked away.

We continued down the long hall, heading for the room at the far end. Next to the room was a door that opened to the
back garden. As we passed that door, it swung open and in came Julia, squealing.

A poorly aimed snowball followed Julia through the door and hit the wrong target.

“Grandmother!” Julia cried. “Mark, you hit Grandmother!”

I dropped the suitcases and rushed to Margaret’s side. The airy snowball already had begun to melt off her surprised face.
She straightened her glasses and brushed off her cheek.

Julia stood in front of her grandmother, both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Sorry, Grandmother! Sorry!”

“It’s all right, Julia dear. Quite all right. Nothing broken. That in itself is a small accomplishment at my age.”

I noticed then that Margaret was bleeding from the side of her mouth. Julia noticed as well.

“Blood! Markie, you made Grandmother bleed!”

“You must have bitten your lip.” I reached into my shoulder bag and found the travel packet of tissues I had fumbled around
for last night at the theater. Pulling out a tissue, I handed it to Margaret.

She looked at me as she dabbed the corner of her mouth. I should have looked away. I planned all along to look away, as I
had done earlier with her. But when Margaret’s eyes met mine, I returned the gaze.

“Mark, come here and apologize to your grandmother at once,” Edward’s stern voice called as he joined us by the open door.
A chilly December breeze raced past us and went frolicking down the hallway.

Mark came forward and politely said, “I’m awfully sorry, Grandmother.”