Page 157 of Season of Gifts

He’d seen nothing of Father in those days.It seemed Father had returned home well after Henry’s bedtime and left again for the hospital before he woke.Then the bare report that Mother would be released in the morning.

They say she has healed enough, but that is surely a jest.No healing can begin in these antiseptic wards with their acrid smells and the healthy cries of other infants being taken to and from rooms with mothers eager to lay them at their breast.Our grief is offensive in this hall of merriment and rejoicing.Helen pretends to sleep; when she does not, she is racked with sobs that strain her stitches.She apologizes again and again.We will be well rid of this place in the morning.

The turning page rasped under his thumb.

Helen is listless and tells me not to fuss, that she wants nothing, though she nearly collapsed upon our arrival home.The doctor advised bedrest, as women are fragile and prone to overemotional hysteria at the end of their childbearing years.I did not deck him, but I do believe I shall strongly suggest to the head of the hospital at the next fundraiser that I am displeased with his obstetrics department.

Robert, good lad, is stoic in the face of this latest loss.He will comport himself with dignity and give his mother peace and time to heal.I have no words for Henry.I slapped him, though I promised myself years ago I would not be a father like my own, quick to correct with force rather than reason.But how does one reason with a six-year-old whose questions are endless?Certainly not in the manner I did so today.I must find ways to redirect his energy toward more appropriate subjects for a little boy.Helen will need Lina’s assistance in her convalescence, and I would not have Henry’s questions become a thousand tiny cuts when she must rest.Perhaps his maternal grandfather could be called upon.The boys will be his heirs someday; he may have wisdom he wishes to impart.

Henry tugged the ribbon loose and laid it across the page, smoothing as he went.The lines blurred, unfocused.A queasiness taunted him.

Father had never apologized for striking him.He’d harbored his regrets silently, sharing them only with these pages and not the son who’d needed to hear them.But the common refrain—if only we’d had more time—carried no weight here.More time would not have brought them to this conversation; Father’s aversion to discussing emotions would have assured continued silence.

Alice had the right of it.Nausea could be purged by forcing the poisonous thoughts from the body.The image of the man he’d believed his father to be had poisoned their interactions for years afterward.Only in these journals could Henry truly come to know the man.

Reading entries from the subsequent months would be edifying, providing perspective if not healing.But he would not read them here, sitting alone on the floor in dim light.He plucked two more books from the row and added them to his stack, then closed up the glass and relocked the shelves.The deliberate motions steadied his hands and slowed his pulse.

Seeking out his family proved simple; their voices carried from the music room.

“—simply can’t help myself.”Mother, effusive, sighed with an exaggerated hum.“I do so love seeing these stones returned to daily wear.My mother treasured them all her life.She died far too young, barely into her fifties.My father was never quite the same, though he doted on me and the boys.”

Journals tucked against his chest, Henry stepped into the room.

Alice proffered a gentle smile; her lifted brow inquired whether he was well.Her day collar gleamed at her throat, the pendant hanging from the shortest chain, the emerald vivid against the pale expanse of skin revealed by her scoop-neck top.

Mother, holding Jay’s hands as though they were children playing London Bridge, nodded toward the books Henry carried.“You’ve found them helpful, then, darling?I dearly hoped you would.”

“I have.”Though the claiming bracelets on Jay’s wrists might be more so for elevating his mood.His husband had pushed up his shirtsleeves, leaving his forearms bare as Mother admired the new jewelry.“I thought I might read a few more entries out here in the sunshine before we leave for your appointments.I find Father’s study doesn’t suit me; I miss all of your delightful company too much to bury myself in gloom.”

Alice strode toward him, her gaze unwavering.“Then you should come hang with us.Jay is the antidote to gloom, I’m pretty sure.”She slung her arm through his, linking their elbows, and steered him to a seat by the window.“Maybe some tea?”

“An excellent idea!”Mother clasped her hands and breathed deeply.“Tea is the magical answer to every trouble.Jay, would you care to help me put together a tea tray?Something small, I think.I thought I might ask Lina to stop by later, after we return from my appointments, so we may begin planning for the move.”

Yes, and today he ought to speak with the nurse who’d interviewed for the position, if possible.Ideally, she would begin Monday.Could he locate and hire movers for the weekend between Christmas and New Year’s?Could Lina, Brooke, and the girls be packed up in four days?A great deal of work would need to be—

Alice threaded her fingers through his hair and sat in his lap without warning.“Probably gonna want more than a borrowed beat-up van for this move, huh?”

Jay laced his hands together and flexed his arms forward as though he intended to claim a seat at the piano.“I’m good at carrying boxes.I can provide references right in this room.”

Their first meeting had been a note that grew into a symphony, the soundtrack of his life.Mother was on the verge of crafting a new soundtrack for her own life—no, of restoring notes that had gotten lost in recent years, notes that had once belonged in his symphony as well.

“Mother, if Lina and her family have no plans for the evening, shall we ask Brooke and the girls to join us for dinner as well?We’ve a truly extravagant amount of holiday leftovers, and Jay and Alice could assist me in supplementing those with an excursion to the store while you are attending physical therapy.”He splayed his hand across Alice’s back, the sun heating them both through the window, her utter comfort reflected in her casual sway into his hold.“And, of course, we’ve much to discuss regarding plans for the move and how we might delegate responsibility for all of the moving parts.”

Alice and Jay both graced him with winning smiles.Yes, he’d learned a thing or two this month about not insisting on keeping control of every element.

“That’s a lovely idea, Henry.”Mother’s grin was subtler, but she did tip her head fondly, and her eyes glowed as though he’d said something clever.“I’ll speak to Lina.You’ll be comfortable dropping me off at the cardiac center?”

His stomach twisted.Rather than attempt to master the fear, he silently thanked his body for the warning.“Not entirely comfortable, no, but I know you are capable of managing the visit without my hovering.”

Though he’d wait with her until she was taken back for the appointment and return immediately if she called.

“Thank you, darling.”Confidence rested on her shoulders.She’d regained something too, these last few days.“It feels wonderful to be in control of one’s own life again.”

“Yes it does.”He, for one, was done being led around by ghosts.Raising the journal he’d been reading, he let it fall open to the bookmarked entry.

Alice shifted in his lap.“Should I…” She nodded after Jay and Mother as they left for the kitchen, chattering about tea.“If you want some space?”

He wrapped his arm more firmly around her.“I should like company, actually.As it happens, dealing with strong emotions entirely alone can be unfathomably unhealthy.”

---