The Greatest Gift (24 page)

Susan held a vinyl record in her hands. On the front, Bruce Springsteen wore a plaid shirt. She turned it over and touched the pictures on the back, one a bride dressed in her wedding dress, standing with a groom. She sighed.
I wonder if this will ever be me.

She held the album to her heart and rocked back and forth on her knees. She reached to grab scissors off the living room table and cut the wrapping paper neatly, measuring the length and width of the album. After folding the bright red and white paper with Snoopy dancing in a Christmas hat, she taped up the back. She held it up for a brief moment.
Perfect. I hope he likes it. If I ever get a chance to give it to him.

She placed it under the tree and kneeled before it for a few seconds. The colored lights blinked in no particular order while the angel that topped the highest branch leaned over. She stood and straightened it.

“Are you going to bed soon?” her mom asked as she walked down the stairs.

“What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep knowing you’re upset.” She held onto the railing and took her steps down at a slow pace. Susan sat by the tree, picking up her gift to Michael.

“You aren’t going to make me sit down there with you?”

“No, Mom.” Susan got up and helped her mother to the couch. “Can I get you some coffee or tea?”

“No, no. I’ll be up all night in the bathroom. One trip is the limit at my age.”

“You’re not that old.”

“It’s okay to tell me the truth, Susan. I know I’m old. I don’t have many good years left. I have no friends anymore.”

Susan frowned. “Do we have to talk about this tonight?” She lowered her head and sat beside her. “I have enough on my mind.”

“Why are you upset on Christmas Eve? It’s not that boy again, is it?”

“Mom,” Susan said. “He’s a man. I’m a woman. When are you going to treat me like a grown woman? I’m forty-four now. Not fifteen.”

Her mother’s fingers trembled as she struggled with her glasses. “I’m not perfect, Susan,” she said. “I’m sorry you don’t feel I treat you like a woman, whatever that means. Is this a feminist thing I should be up on?”

“No, Mom. It has nothing to do with that.”

“You will always be a little girl to me, the one making sandcastles at the beach during the summer or building a snowman in the winter.”

Susan sighed. “I remember those times. But those days are gone. I’m not that person anymore.”

“Oh, forget about that boy. I mean man. He was never going to stay around for you. And you have changed. You didn’t have to. Why did you stop being a little girl? Age shouldn’t determine what you enjoy.”

“Mom,” Susan said with an aggravated look. “Really? Sandcastles and snowmen?”

Her mom sat back and leaned her head against the back of the couch. “Were you happy the days you made those sandcastles and snowmen?”

“Of course. But life marches on. We become adults.”

“Yes we do. Time does move forward for everyone. I know that. I can tell you all about the aches and ills that go with it too.”

“We’re not going to talk about doctors and prescriptions, are we?” Susan asked.

“No.”

“Good. I know it’s no fun getting old.”

“True. But you don’t have to be miserable. You have many more wonderful years ahead of you. You wonder why I’m hard on whoever you are interested in at the time?”

“Let’s face it, Mom. No one is ever going to be good enough for your little girl.”

Her mom leaned over and grabbed her hand. “And I should feel that way. Your happiness is what matters to me most.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Susan said. “You always give Michael a hard time. Always. I love him, Mom. Just like you loved Dad.” She took a deep breath and hugged the record. “Now it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right. I am hard on him. I guess I never had a good feeling about him when he came over.”

Susan gave her an astonished look. “When did you ever have a good feeling about any guy I was interested in?”

Her mother didn’t answer.

“It doesn’t matter,” Susan said, getting up and placing the present back underneath the tree. “He’s not here, and he may never come back. People in this town have judged him. I doubt he would return to live here. Everyone thinks he has something to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance.”

“Does he?”

Susan returned to the couch and glared.

“I’m sorry. I needed to ask. I may have been hard on him, but I do understand that anyone who cares about my daughter must have a good heart.”

“He has a beautiful heart, one of the most beautiful hearts I’ve ever known. He has his faults. We all do.” Susan lifted her eyebrows.

“I get the message.”

“I saw the hurt in his eyes when he spoke about his daughter,” said Susan. “I felt his sorrow when we held each other. I felt the sadness in his kiss.”

“Kiss? Oh no.”

“Yes, Mom,” said Susan, waving her arms in the air. “Your daughter has kissed a man. And to make your worst nightmare come true, I enjoyed it.”

Her mom twitched and looked away. “Did you also … ?”

Susan hesitated. “No.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“But I wanted to.”

There were a few seconds of silence between them. “You know what, Mom, you and Michael have something in common.”

“Michael and me? Oh, please.”

“Yes, you do. The look you had the night you told me Daddy had died was the same type of look Michael had when he told me his daughter was missing.”

She wrapped her arms around Susan, startling her. “I know it hurts. I know the feeling of seeing the hurt in someone’s eyes you love. I’ve seen it in your eyes too.”

Susan pulled back. “When?”

“Just now.”

They hugged each other tight. “Boy, we haven’t done this very often,” Susan said.

“We need to do it more. We are all we have tonight.”

“Mom, tonight it’s enough.” They held each other for a few more seconds. “You’re going to love what I got for you too.”

“Susan, you being here is the best gift I could have gotten. But I would like one more gift.”

“And what would that be?”

“Let’s take a trip to the beach and build a sandcastle.”

Susan stood and put her hands on her hips. “Whoa, I’m not building a sandcastle in this freezing cold weather. Why do we need to do this now?”

Her mom hesitated. “I think it’s time we both make a moment. For too many years, I watched them pass me by. I was always too busy chatting with my friends to create a moment with you. I’d like to do that now. It would be nice if you joined me. No pressure.”

“But plenty of guilt,” said Susan.

“Okay, some guilt.”

Susan nodded and extended her hand. “Let’s go. Let’s make this a memorable Christmas.”

Augustus watched his crew row with weary arms while another set of men pitched buckets of water back into the sea. “Land is nearby,” Augustus told Michael. “I can smell the fires burning in the distance.”

Michael wasn’t sure whether he believed him.
He could be saying this to keep me calm. But he is a man who has taken many journeys. He is a better judge of time and distance on the sea than I will ever be.

He paced back and forth, end to end along the top deck several times, looking for any clues where Elizabeth might be.
What if Alexander is lying and will take whatever money I can find? What happens if I cannot come up with enough silver to free her if he really has her? Do I give whatever I can without any proof that she is safe?
He shook his head, growled and kicked at some long carts at the far end of the boat, away from Augustus and the rowing men.

Thump.
What was that?
He kicked at a pile of long carts with his feet again and then pushed the top one. He shook the second and swatted the bottom one again, this time three times with each foot. He heard a muffled noise. Thump. Thump. Thump. He dropped to his knees and took a quick glance behind him.
 
“Is anyone in there?”

Thump. He heard muffled noises again. He placed his ear to the cart. “If this is Elizabeth, knock twice.”

Thump. Thump.

“Dear Jesus.” He stood and tried to budge the top two carts off the bottom one.
 
He pushed at the sides and noticed holes about two inches in diameter on the carts. He fell to his knees again and whispered in the hole. “Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

Thump.

He peeked in the hole and saw her mouth, tied with a cloth. He stood again and shoved the top cart with his shoulder.

“Sir, what are you doing?” asked one of the workers.

“Oh, I am just putting these carts back. They must have slid off each other during the journey.”

“Let me help you,” he said, as he pushed the top one. The worker stopped and wiped his hands. “They are wet.” He turned to Michael. “Help me.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Michael said.

They both shoved the box back on top. “There, we did it,” he said with a smile.

“Yes, we did,” Michael replied. He waved to the worker. Once gone, he slammed the top cart with his fist. He dropped to his knees, bent over and spoke into the hole. “Stay calm, Elizabeth. At least I know where you are. I need some time to think of a way to get you out of there without anybody noticing.”

He left the carts and approached Augustus. “How long before we reach Caesarea?”

“Not much longer. Look,” Augustus said. He pointed to the horizon where some light had emerged at the lower portion of the sky.

“Your eyes are better than mine,” Michael said. “I am having a hard time seeing that far.”

“You must be old,” he said, laughing.

Michael paused a moment. “Blurry eyes. Another name for it.” He leaned closer to Augustus as they stood by the railing. “I have a problem and I – ”

“What might the problem be?” asked Alexander.

Michael turned and saw him emerge from the stairway, holding his spear.

“How can we help you?” Alexander asked, taking a few more steps forward.

“I was getting ready to ask Augustus how long before we reach land.”

Augustus gave him a confused look. “Soon. I said this.”

“You have your answer, my friend,” Alexander said. “You should get some rest below. You have a long journey home.”

“He is not going home. He is going back to Rome to find his daughter,” Augustus said. “Did you not know his daughter went with the prisoner on the safety boat?”

“No. I did not know that,” Alexander said, lying. “How fortunate it was for her to be on that boat. Or was it with that storm approaching?”

Augustus glared. “You need not remind a father about the hazards of our journey. You should do your best to help him.”

“You are right,” said Alexander. “I will do my best.”

Augustus smiled and looked at Michael. “Let him help you.”

Michael pushed Alexander away, who lifted his spear to his chest. “Whatever help I get will be met with a grateful heart.”

Alexander laughed. “Let us hope there is more than that.” He withdrew and headed to the far end of the ship where the long carts lay. Michael faced the sea and watched from the corner of his eye as Alexander inspected the area. He looked away and began chatting with Augustus, very aware that Alexander was staring at him.

“What a journey, Augustus. Was this the worst one you have been on?”

Augustus’ face lit up. “Why no. Let me tell you about my first trip to Rome. You thought the last storm was terrible? The first one I was on makes this last one look like a small rainstorm.”

Michael saw his mouth move yet never heard the words. He was too busy watching Alexander move the carts around with two other Roman soldiers. “Augustus, what is in those long boxes?”

“Huh? Oh. At the end of the deck?”

“Yes, where Alexander is right now.”

Augustus lowered his head. “The bodies of three of my workers. They died from illness two sunsets ago.”

“Oh,” Michael said. “I am sorry.”

“They were good men.”

“What do they do with the boxes?”

“The Romans will take them and give the bodies to the leaders of the cities where they lived.”

“What cities are they being taken to?”

“Jerusalem. The three men were skilled fishermen. They had children.”

Augustus lifted his head and left the railing. Michael turned around and saw Alexander sitting on a small cart next to the coffins.

“Julius,” Michael said as he saw him pass.

“Yes,” he said, stopping. “Do you have enough food and drink? It will not be long before we reach land.”

“I have enough. I do not know how to tell you this,” Michael said with a concerned look. “Can we talk away from the guards?”

Julius guided him down the stairs to the lower deck. “What is wrong?”

Michael hesitated and took him a few more feet away from a soldier who was sleeping. “What I am about to say could risk my daughter and her safety.”

“We are fine here. The soldier cannot hear us. Tell me, why is your daughter in trouble? She left some time ago. You will be able to go back once we reach land. It may take a while.”

“No. Alexander has imprisoned my daughter.”

“How is that possible?”

“She is in one of those carts or boxes or coffins up on deck. Check them. Now!”

“What carts or boxes are you talking about?”

“At the far end of the boat upstairs. You have to believe me.”

“The coffins?”

Michael glared. “Yes.”

“Augustus said he lost three men,” Julius said. “There are three carts. You must be mistaken.”

Julius took a few steps toward the stairway and shook his head. “I saw your daughter get on the boat with the prisoner.”

“She did,” Michael said, grabbing his arm, “but while Titus was here trying to take me, Alexander had her returned.”

Julius removed Michael’s hand from his arm. “This is a hard story to believe.”

“Go and look inside those carts.”

“Coffins … ”

“Okay, coffins. Look in them!” Michael grew agitated.

Julius climbed a few more steps and looked back. “I cannot. Those coffins are resting places for men. Men with families and children.”

“Please,” Michael pleaded.

“The Roman soldiers are responsible for this journey and the dead. We would be violating Roman law. I am powerless over the rules.”

Michael moved forward. “Do you have a daughter?”

“I do,” said Julius, stopping on the stairs.

“What would you do if you knew your daughter was imprisoned?”

Julius kept his back to him. He waited several seconds before speaking. “I will try and look when we reach shore, if we are alone,” he said. “I cannot promise any more than this.”

“She is in one of those coffins. I saw her.”

“Let us hope you are right,” Julius said as he climbed back to the deck. “If not, we could both lose our lives.”