A Magical Christmas (8 page)

He started suddenly, realizing that he recognized the man in the Union army brigadier general’s uniform.

The man was an old friend.

They’d gone to school together.

His name was Peter Tracey, and he hailed from a
township not far away. They’d ridden together, hunted together, drunk brandy together…

Shared dinner together. At this very house. And more. They’d entered into a special association together, the brotherhood of Freemasons.

Freemasonry was an ancient brotherhood. George Washington had been a member, but the founding of the Masonic organization went back further than the founding of the country; many historians theorized that the rites went back as far as the days of the ancient pyramids and Egyptians. Then, perhaps, it had stood for the work-related industries of man. Now, of course, it was far more a gentlemen’s club, but one dedicated to the good of its members and the world around them. Being a Mason demanded certain secrecies of its members, and called upon them to help one another in times of need.

The brigadier general—whose rank equaled that of George Armstrong Custer, who had ordered the hangings—was staring at the captain. The captain could hear him demanding to know what was going on that Rebel prisoners should be executed on Christmas Eve. Young Yank Lieutenant Jenkins was explaining the situation.

And watching the brigadier general’s eyes, the captain saw dismay. He would have little right to gainsay Custer’s orders.
The captain was grateful that his hands were not bound, for his friend was staring at him now with horrified eyes. Rebs and Yanks lost friends frequently in battle. Brother had been called upon to fight brother; sons and fathers had taken different positions in this wretched war.

Yet to see a man, a friend, hanged for no greater crime than fighting for his own convictions was a hard sight.

A bitter one. The captain suddenly found himself praying. He wanted to live. He wanted to breathe the cool, fresh air, touch the icy smoothness of the snow.

He wanted to cherish the gift of love he had known, and forgotten to value.…

The captain offered the brigadier general a signal.

The ancient Masonic signal that he was in distress.

Any Freemason would have been obliged to help.

The brigadier general watched the captain.

The captain barely dared breathe.

He waited.…

W
hen she stepped into the living room the following morning, Julie was relieved to see that her husband had awakened early.

The sofa was clear of both pillow and blanket. Jon was already dressed for work, brewing coffee, popping toast, and on the phone in the kitchen when she emerged from the bedroom. He was in a suit and tie, his customary outfit, but this morning she was somewhat startled to realize how nice he looked in it. Jon was a nice height, and the shoulders of the suit emphasized the fact that he’d kept himself in good shape the last twenty years. He was brisk, businesslike, and competent on the phone, all appealing qualities. His auburn hair was freshly washed, smoothed back, his green eyes were sharp and aggressive as he spoke, and he moved about the kitchen with a strange domestic grace as he
dictated a memo to the secretary who was apparently on the other end of the line.

He was good. When he chose to be. When he opted to give the family his time, he could do it with impressive agility. Not only was he managing, he was managing well. His focus and energy were high. What he didn’t understand was that it was easy to be at a high level one morning every three weeks. When she was solely responsible for mornings every single day, day after day, was when it got tough. He was great at stepping in once in a while—then wondering why she complained when he was so damned perfect at the same tasks.

Was she just incompetent? Or was she simply worn out?

Or was she still simply so angry that nothing he could ever do would be right?

He was definitely on this morning. Not only was breakfast going, lunches had been made. And he was already in business mode, showered, dressed, immaculate, and disturbingly attractive.

Julie was, in contrast, in her threadbare corduroy bathrobe. She hadn’t hopped into the shower yet; she’d been too concerned about waking him up before the kids could rise and find him on the sofa. Her hair was everywhere. Jon looked like a million bucks. She in turn looked as if she should be shot and put out of her misery.
Sometimes
, a voice taunted her,
it might be easy to understand why your husband had had an affair
.

It wasn’t an affair. No matter how angry she could get with him or herself, it couldn’t actually be termed an affair. It had been a one-night stand. And if Jon’s accounting of it was true, it had been a rather pathetic evening at that. Maybe what had hurt the worst was that he’d been with a woman who had claimed to be one of her best friends. And maybe what had hurt even worse than that was the fact that she’d only found out about it a few months ago because Jon had accidentally told her. The incident had occurred nearly seven years ago, when they’d separated for a few months. Jon couldn’t begin to understand how she could be so angry with him now for what had happened then. She couldn’t begin to make him understand that it all had to do with trust. Her trust in him had been shattered. She’d never know again when he was telling the truth. She’d never know if he had told her all the truth. And that wasn’t their only problem, of course.
Life
was their problem. Yes, he made good money, but it didn’t mean that she shouldn’t have the right to pursue a career as well. They’d separated the first time because it seemed that they couldn’t get out of debt, with him working in the D.A.’s office. But his work still kept Julie from managing to get to her own job—in a
dental office, back then—with enough frequency to maintain employment. Jordan had been sick with a virus that had caused all kinds of complications; she had spent her time running ragged between the hospital, home, work, and school, and trying to keep things halfway normal for Christie while she was at it.

She’d lost her job, and she’d asked Jon to leave the house. Just until she could pull herself together. And she’d pulled herself together; he’d taken on his new high-paying job as a defense attorney, and she’d gone to real estate school.

Ashley had been born, possibly a result of the very first night that Jon had come home. They’d laughed a lot; they’d drunk champagne and made all kinds of promises for the future. He’d failed to mention that Jennie Scott, one of her best friends from way back when they’d all gone to school together—
who’d been trying to convince her that Jon was awful and the only way out was a divorce
—had, in the meantime, been consoling Jon for his wife’s neglect.

Jon, still talking, the receiver wedged between his shoulder and ear, was buttering toast at the same time. Julie felt his eyes on her. There was no warmth in his green gaze this morning.

She wondered if she’d managed to destroy last night what was left of their marriage, and she wondered
if she cared. But if she didn’t care, she wondered why she felt a stirring of jealousy watching her husband. He was a handsome man. A successful man, an attorney. And this morning, he looked like Mr. Mom.

If only the help had come a little more often.

If only he hadn’t slept with Jennie.

She didn’t know where the real problem lay, but she suddenly decided she didn’t like the way she looked in her ragtag robe.

She didn’t say a word. She quickly escaped the kitchen to shower.

When she emerged and reentered the kitchen, dressed for the day herself, makeup and hair in place, the morning was no longer moving along quite so gracefully. All three of their children were in the kitchen, giving Jon a hard time.

Even Ashley was protesting.

“No T.V., Daddy? No videotapes, no stereo, no movies to go to, no Chuck E. Cheese’s?”

“It’s an adventure, Pumpkin,” Jon was trying to tell Ashley. “We can bring some books, we can color—”

“She can color right here at home,” Christie said.

“We can’t go away for Christmas. I was going to spend the day with Trevor and Mike; we’re all three getting new in-line skates,” Jordan protested.

“Let Jordan and me stay home,” Christie pleaded.
“I’m nearly eighteen, I’m an adult, I can watch out for myself and my brother—”

“Oh, right!” Jon snapped angrily. “You and Jamie Rodriguez—looking out for Jordan, is that it? Should I leave you my car as well?”

“Yeah, Dad, that would be nice,” Christie snapped back angrily.

“Christie, we’re going away for a
family
vacation.”

“Count me out.”

“Christie, you’re coming.”

“Why on earth are we going?” Jordan demanded. “You and Mom hate each other—”

“We don’t hate each other,” Jon and Julie protested simultaneously.

Yeah, sure
.

Jordan didn’t say it out loud; Julie could tell he was thinking the words. He didn’t miss a beat, though, he just continued with, “Christie only tolerates any of us when she has Jamie around, and I can only stand Christie when Jamie has her locked up in the bedroom.”

“Thanks, you little toad head!” Christie snapped at Jordan. Julie didn’t think that Christie meant to do it, but she had been eating her low-fat cereal while talking to her brother, and her spoon was suddenly flying across the room.

Jordan ducked.

The spoon hit Ashley squarely on the nose.
Ashley was dead silent for a second, then with a shriek, she began to cry.

“Ashley, Ashley, I’m sorry!” Christie said, but by that time, Julie was on her way into the kitchen, scooping up her youngest child and giving her eldest a narrow-eyed look of fury. “I didn’t mean to hit her, Mom. Jerk face ducked—but I didn’t even mean to hit him, the spoon just flew. I didn’t mean it, honestly—”

“You hit her in the head, Christie!” Jordan bellowed.

“Right, yeah, like you’re so good to her!” Christie yelled back.

“Christie, can’t you just run away from home, elope or something, and live on love and food stamps?” Jordan demanded.

“Jordan!” Jon barked.

“She’s a witch when she’s on the rag, Dad.”

“Jordan!” Julie snapped. “That sounds just horrible! I won’t have you saying things like that!”

“At least there’s an excuse for my personality,” Christie jumped in. “Jordan’s just a jerk-faced dick head and—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Jon jumped in angrily.

The doorbell started to ring.

Christie let out a shriek. “It’s Jamie; I’m going.”

“I told you, Christie—” Jon began angrily, standing,
staring furiously at his daughter, then striding out to answer the bell.

“Dad, please!”

Christie stared at Julie, alarm in her wide blue eyes, then went tearing out after her father. Ashley was holding her nose and sobbing in big gasps.

Jordan had quit with the argument. Head down, he was diligently finishing his cereal.

Julie, with Ashley attached to her skirt, hobbled her way out to the living room. Jamie Rodriguez was in the foyer. He was a tall, lanky, attractive boy. His hair was very dark, his eyes deep-set and also dark brown. Julie was sure he set many a young female heart to fluttering. But there was a serious side to the boy, and despite her deep reservations about Christie getting so serious so young, if pushed, Julie would have to admit that she liked him. But her daughter’s relationship with him was scary. Jamie spent time with his divorced mother, and with his little sister and brother. And there had been a shooting just down the street from his home a few weeks ago in which people had been killed and a child had been injured. He came from a very bad part of town where drug deals were a daily occurrence.

He and Jon were talking. It was a surprisingly civilized conversation. Jon was laying down the driving law. Jamie was listening politely.
“Daddy, Jamie is the best driver I know,” Christie insisted. “You don’t need to harangue him—”

“It’s okay, Julie,” Jamie said.

“Home straight after school,” her father said.

“No Coke, no fries, do not pass go, do not pause to collect your books!” Christie muttered.

“Christina—” Jon began.

Julie stepped forward at last—Ashley still attached to her, still whimpering. “You’d better get going before you’re late,” she advised. “Jamie, drive carefully; I know you will.”

“Bye, Mom.” Christie gave her a kiss on the cheek. She waved in her father’s general direction. She practically prodded Jamie out of the house.

The door closed to a moment of silence. “You let her do whatever she wants to do,” Jon said.

“What was she doing that was so wrong?”

“That kid is scary.”

“Jon, if you tell her she can’t see him, she’ll want to see him all the more. And he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“People were shot by his place. Do you want that for Christie?” he demanded angrily.

Oddly enough, Jordan chose that moment to pipe up for his sister. “Bad things can happen anywhere, Dad.”

“Bad things happen more frequently in certain places.”

“Jamie would never let anything happen to Christie. Can we go? It’s not that I’ve been late every day to school, but I do just make it.”

Jon nodded, still watching his wife. The look he was giving her made Julie more uncomfortable than when he was angry. She didn’t know what he was seeing. She had the feeling he was ceasing to care what he saw.

“Yeah, let’s go, Jordan. Ashley.”

“I want Mommy to take me,” Ashley said.

“Well, Mommy doesn’t want to take you,” Jon said irritably.

“Jon!” She looked quickly to Ashley. “I just need to be a little earlier once in a while,” she explained. But some kind of damage had been done, she thought. She looked at the way Ashley was staring at her. Six. It was such a delicate age. Precious, because kids were still so darned cute. Fun, because they spoke well and had all kinds of things to say. Difficult, because they weren’t babies at all anymore, and they weren’t really grown-up enough to understand that love and anger could reside side by side.

She flashed her husband a glance, hating him. And maybe hating herself just a little because what he had said was true. She didn’t
want
to drive the kids. The drive was a hassle.
She didn’t have to feel guilty about that! she told herself. Things that were a hassle should be shared.