The Christmas Sisters (33 page)

“Good for his career?”

“You know Parker. He loves things same old, same old. Everything exactly as it should be. This little fiasco forces him to take some action, put himself on the line, and try something new.”
Petie
wiggled in her seat. “Shake things up a little.”

“
You talking
at work or in your marriage?” Nic muttered to keep Willa from hearing.

“I'm ignoring that remark, little sister.”
Petie
broke her piece of cornbread straight in two. “I do wonder if I should hightail it down to
Dewi's
after a bit to look for Parker. Not that I don't trust him, you understand, but I do wonder where he's gotten to.”

“Someplace bad.”
Willa raised her chin and batted her eyelashes like a person with all the answers.
“So bad Mommy had to spell it out.
H...o...p...g...g...”

“Willa, your Uncle Park has not gone anyplace bad. Isn't that cute?” Collier stood abruptly and lifted her bowl up. “More beans anyone?”

“I'll take a dab more,” Nic said a bit too quickly.

“I'm done.” Willa patted her stomach.

“Then why don't you go play in the living room?” Nic pulled her child's chair out. “You can even see if there is a Christmas special on TV if you want.”

“Can I take the
piggies
?” She held up the salt and pepper shakers.

“Yes, just run along now.” She urged Willa to hurry with a light pat on the behind.

Willa
scowled,
her eyes stormy behind her little glasses. Then she tipped her nose up, gathered the pigs in both hands, and marched off.

“Have I ever told you that you're doing a fine job with her, Nic?”

“I don't think you've ever said it to me.” Nic sat back.
“At least not as a compliment in and of itself.
If you do say it, it's usually a prelude to some helpful hint or piece of sage wisdom you think I need to hear.”

“You're doing a good job,
but
...
“ Collier
murmured. “There's always that long pause, long enough to make you think that might be all there is to it, just a simple offering of encouragement and praise. Then
comes
the big
but
. No one in this family seems capable of making a sincere remark without that big
ol
'
but
lurking around the corner like a bear ready to grab you and strangle all the joy out of the moment.”

“Is she saying our family is a bunch of bear buts?”
Petie
put on an act of taking it all quite seriously. “Because that's what I heard.”

“Me, too.
Bare behinds!”
Nic played right along. “Collier, are you accusing us of running around without our pants on?”

“All right, all right.”
Collier lifted her hands in surrender. “No serious discussion allowed. I get it.”

“Actually only one serious discussion at a time.”
Petie
held up one finger, which she then aimed at Nic. “And right now we're telling Nic what a fine job she's done with our Willa, no buts or bears about it.”

“It's true, Nic. And your deciding to stay here in Persuasion and let Sam take part in raising her is just perfect.” Collier sat down again and smiled at Nic.

“Oh, for heaven's sake!”
Nic slammed her open palms down on the tabletop. “Someone just get it over with and say it, will you?”

“Say what?” Somehow
Petie
got the question out between her eerily taut
smile
.

“
But
.
The big but that lurks behind every piece of praise anyone in this family doles out. I know it is there. I can feel it breathing down my neck.” She put her hand under the thick waves of hair tumbling down her back, surprised to find a thin film of sweat at the nape of her neck. “I've done a good job, blah, blah, blah, allowing Sam to be involved with Willa, blah, blah, staying in Persuasion...
but
... but what?”

“But...” Collier glanced at
Petie
who gave a very big sisterly you-got-yourself-into-this-so-don't-expect-me-to-save-your-hide-now shake of her head. Collier drew her shoulders up. “You never said anything about marrying him.”

“Marriage?
Marriage is a huge commitment.” Nic made big sweeping gestures with her hands as if that would help to explain it better.

“And parenthood isn't?”

“The parenthood thing is already there.
Already a done deal.
Sort of.”
She twisted a strand of hair around her finger.
“But marriage?
I cannot get Sam involved in that final all-encompassing step with so much still...unresolved.”

“His church.”
Petie
nodded.

Since she had said it and not asked it, Nic declined to give any reply. Yes, Sam's position with the church was a factor, but not the only factor in her reluctance to make a decision. Her stomach tightened, and she pushed away the bowl in front of her. “If you don't have anything else to add, I think I'll go watch TV with Willa.”

Neither Collier nor
Petie
spoke.

Nic got up. “Call me when you're done and I'll wash the dishes.”

Silence answered her again. She tossed her napkin down on the table and walked to the doorway.

“Don't let them ruin your life again, Nic.”

She paused and raised her head. “I'm not,
Petie
.”

“They want you to be so stuck in your pas that you can't move on.”
Petie's
voice rang with compassion and clarity.

“I remember what it was like before, Nic.” Collier hardly spoke above a whisper. “That's the only thing that will satisfy people like that. The only way they seem to think anyone who has as public a fall as you did can show remorse is by dwelling on that fall for the rest of her life. We won’t let you do that.”

Nic looked over her shoulder. Tears stung her eyes and tightness clawed at her throat. “Thank you. I love you two so much.”

Kitchen chairs screeched back over the dingy floor, and in a flash the three of them fell into an embrace from which Nic could draw boundless hope and strength. With her sisters helping her, she would get through this. Comforting as she found that, she could not stop thinking beyond this small circle to Willa, to Sam, even to the church members and the town and their expectations. She knew she would need all the strength she could gather these next few days.

Why don't the snowbirds come to eat the crumbs at our house?” Willa leaned on both elbows and gazed out the front window of the Dorsey house.

Sam had come by first thing this Christmas Eve morning to sneak in the presents Parker had bought for his wife and children. Feeling so proud of his choices and the way they had kept
Petie
from finding where they'd been, Parker had not wanted to spoil it by walking in with the packages they had wrapped at the mall. So Sam volunteered to smuggle Parker's gifts in with the presents Sam had brought for the family. He had slipped all of them under the tree, all but one special token for Nic he wanted to keep on him, when Willa ran into the room making a beeline for the window.

“Why don't they come? Why?” She turned to him as he crouched beside her, concern in her sincere eyes. “You said you saw them.”

“Yes, I did.” At least he thought he did. He had not seen the tiny flock again since that day. He had seen other birds around the community tree and all around town, where his eye seemed drawn to anything that fluttered or flew lately. Once again he wondered, though, if his timely sighting of those snowbirds had been nothing more than wishful thinking. Perhaps he had simply seen sparrows and wanted so badly for them to be snowbirds that he—

He searched the low branches of the Christmas tree until he found the ornament carved by Big Hyde twirled on its golden cord. Plucking it gently off the limb, he held it up to Willa. “They looked just like this.
Dark-eyed juncos.
I looked it up in a book.”

“You did?”

“After you told me about them.
I got curious.” He held the bird up between them. “I wondered how often they came to Alabama and what kinds of food they ate.”

“Could you show me that book?”

“It doesn't have a lot of pictures.”

“I can read some words,” she said solemnly.

At eight, he knew she should be able to read many of the words in the field guide he had found in the church library. But Nic had explained to him that often work on the outward mannerisms and behaviors, Willa's grasp of cause and effect, and her frustration at not being able to do what seemed simple to others got in the way of academics. She had hoped that in this new environment with so many people to support her that would change soon. “Would you like me to help you learn to read, honey?”

“Could you teach me from the book about snowbirds?”

“It's not about snowbirds, it's...” Sam curled his fingers around the delicate ornament in his hand. “I'd love to teach you from the book with the snowbirds in it.”

She smiled. Such a small smile, and yet it held
all the
world and half the heavens by Sam's estimation. How could he have not known this kind of love existed? How could he have thought he understood something about the way God loved his children when he had so vastly underestimated the depths of emotion a father feels for his child? Without even trying, Willa had opened his eyes to so many things.

Suddenly wanting both hands free, he tucked the snowbird inside his jacket pocket for safekeeping then took Willa in his arms in a tentative hug. “We'll start the reading lessons right after Christmas. We won't even wait to make it one of our New Year's resolutions, okay?”

“Okay!” She gave him a peck on the cheek.

His heart soared and he pulled her in to give her another gentle squeeze before letting go.

She stepped away from him and immediately began to look around the room with short, jerky movements of her head.

“You want to look and see what packages have your name on them?” He knew he'd promised to start the reading lesson after Christmas, but how could he pass up this opportunity to help her distinguish her name from others?

“Not right now,” she said as if it were the silliest proposition on earth.

“No? But I saw you looking around—”

“I want to know where Jesus is.” Her eyebrows slanted down over her near scolding gaze. She put her hands on her hips.

“Where Jesus is?” Dozens of ideas and explanations clicked through his head in answer to that broad and curious question, but which one applied? “You mean where
is Jesus
, like where are the snowbirds? Are you expecting him to come to the house?”

“No, you big silly.”

“Ah.”

“He's already in the house.”

Sam couldn't argue with that, but still he tried to clarify, “Of course he's in the house. He's in you and in me and in your mother and her—”

“Kitchen drawer.”

“What?”

“Maybe He's in the kitchen drawer.”

“Jesus? Is in your mother's kitchen drawer?”

“I gave the baby Jesus to Mommy. Do you think she put Him in the drawer?”

“Oh, the baby Jesus!”
He took her hand and walked with her over to the nativity set atop the coffee table. Scanning the figurines assembled to worship the baby born in the manger, he saw that it now included two fat, happy ceramic pigs, a plastic dinosaur, a small stuffed smiling tomato, a snowman made from marshmallows and toothpicks with a gumdrop hat, and assorted animal cookies propped up here and there. But no baby Jesus lay in the tiny manger where Mary knelt and Joseph kept watch.

He bent at the knees to put himself at eye level with Willa. “Looks like a fine turnout for the big birthday tomorrow.”

“But no birthday boy,” she said, solemn as a judge.

“No birthday boy.” He shook his head. “Now tell me again what the tradition is? Your mother hides the baby Jesus on Christmas Eve and everyone—”

“Everybody has to look for the baby Jesus, and we can't open any presents until we find him.”

He brushed his thumb down her cheek light enough to tickle her into a smile. When voices from the kitchen caught his attention, he leaned toward Willa as though striking up a conspiracy. “That's your mother now. Bet if we ask her she'll remember exactly where she put the baby Jesus, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Nic?
Could you come in here a minute?”

She appeared at the door smiling and drying her hands on a dish towel. For a split second it was like something out of an old TV show, the perfect family at the holidays.
Mom in the kitchen preparing a heavenly smelling delight.
Father and daughter whispering in excited anticipation by the tree. Of course, in this case, Mom was actually giving Aunt Bert a permanent, which stank so badly no one else would go near. Father was not married to mother—yet—and the daughter... the daughter was the only perfect thing about the scene, he decided, looking at Willa.