A Christmas to Remember (9 page)

“I could press that button till my finger falls off. Do you think they ever come?”

The nurses had already gotten wise to her, Emily knew.

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after her. You go along, Emily,” Reverend Ben said.

He turned back to Lillian as Emily left the room. “Have you been thinking about this a long time, Lillian? This gift to the church, I mean.”

She didn’t answer immediately, her mouth set in a thin tight line. “I’m not sure. That tumble down the attic stairs may have brought it to the surface, like shaking a snow globe.”

The image made Reverend Ben laugh. There was nothing wrong with Lillian Warwick’s wit. Even falling down a staircase couldn’t blunt it.

Ben had the urge to ask her more questions but instead waited for her to speak. He had long ago learned that listening was more important than speaking during these bedside visits.

“I’ve been thinking about the past. It’s seems more real to me lately than the present,” she admitted. “Sometimes I feel as if…as if I might get lost back there and never return.”

“Does that concern you, Lillian? It’s not uncommon at your age to reminisce.”

She sighed and fingered the edge of the blankets. “So I’ve heard. I don’t fancy turning into one of those mumbling seniors who think they’re living back in 1957.” Then, seeing his expression, she suddenly sat up straighter. “Don’t look so alarmed, Reverend. I’m not saying I think I’m going senile. It’s nothing like
that. Maybe it’s just feeling my own mortality approaching, the way you sense someone sneaking up behind you. It’s getting closer, you know. It’s not a good feeling.”

“I imagine that it’s not,” he said quietly.

Ben had rarely seen Lillian let down her defenses this way. That part was almost as surprising as her frank admission.

“Were you frightened by your fall?”

She nodded, her chin trembling a bit. “Of course I was.
Well, that’s it
, I said to myself.
They’ll find me down here, my head cracked open like a coconut. Quick. Efficient. Practically painless. Better than a long drawn-out drama in some nursing home.
”

“You really were very lucky, Lillian. It could have been far worse,” he said.

“‘
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
’” She looked straight at him. “A line of poetry, Reverend. Walt Whitman.”

Lillian looked away. “It makes you take stock, a fall like that, a near miss. They say we’ll all be judged, a full accounting, your good deeds and your bad. As if God is some big, cosmic bean counter. Do you believe that’s true?”

Ben wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “I don’t know, Lillian. I surely can’t say exactly what happens when we die. I believe that we have a soul that survives our physical body and goes on to join our Creator in some better place. I also believe that God wants us to follow the teachings of the Gospel and to do good in this world. He wants us to love one another. That’s what he asks first and foremost.”

Lillian took a deep breath and rested her head back on her pillows, shutting her eyes. Ben couldn’t tell if she was satisfied with that answer or had quickly dismissed it.

“No one would describe me as a loving person,” she said finally.
“No one. Not even my children. I may have been better at it when I was younger, but life changes you, hardens you. My life has.”

Ben felt both compassion and shock at the quiet confession. He sat back, glad she had her eyes closed and couldn’t see his reaction.

“Does that mean my soul will be condemned to hell, do you think?” Her tone was light, conversational.

“I’m not sure there is such a place,” he answered. “But I do believe that God knows your heart, Lillian. He knows that we’re all flawed, all imperfect. Maybe all that we can be judged upon is our will to do good, our effort to be kinder and more loving. It looks as if you have time to work on that. If you want to.”

She opened her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know, Reverend. I consider these essential questions and yet, I don’t believe I can change. Not at my age. This is who I am. If that’s what’s required, I’m not sure if there’s much hope for me.”

Ben leaned closer and touched Lillian’s hand. “There’s always hope, Lillian. Ask for God’s help and see what happens.”

She didn’t answer, only stared down at the blanket again. He wondered if he had overstepped some boundary or if she had simply retreated behind her usual defenses.

“Thank you for the visit, Reverend. I need to rest now.”

“Yes, of course.” He stood up and took his coat from the chair. “I’d like to visit when you get home.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Reverend. I know how busy you are. I will call the church if I need you.”

“Good night, Lillian. I’ll pray for your speedy recovery…and that you find some answers to your questions.”

“Thank you, Reverend. It’s nice to know at least one person is praying for me. Good-bye now.”

That was a dismissal he could not ignore. Ben smiled and left the room.

He wasn’t surprised by Lillian’s polite refusal to have him visit her at home. She had revealed her fears and doubts to him—her secret weakness—and now felt embarrassed. He could have predicted as much. He wouldn’t give up that easily, though, and he suspected she knew that, too.

Newburyport, August 1955

“Y
OU TWO ARE GOING TO CHURCH THIS MORNING
,
AREN
’
T
you?” Charlotte’s mother called from the bottom of the staircase.

Still dressed in her cotton robe, Lillian’s cousin ran out into the hallway to answer her. “Yes, Mother. We’re getting dressed.”

“Well, don’t take all day. It’s not a fashion show. The service starts at eleven and we have to walk. Your father’s gone golfing and taken the car.”

“Oh, rats. We’d better hurry.” Charlotte ran back into the room. “Have you seen my stockings? I thought I left them on the dresser top. That’s my last good pair—”

“They fell on the floor. I’ll get them for you.” Lillian loved Charlotte, but sharing a bedroom for a week was a challenge.

She picked up the stockings and handed them over. Charlotte smoothed the hose up her legs, fastened her garters, then pulled on a full slip.

Bright sunlight streamed through the voile curtains. An electric fan on the night table slowly turned back and forth, circulating the warm air. Lillian could tell it was already hot outside. It was going to be a long, hot walk to town.

Standing in front of the big mirror that hung over her dresser, Charlotte began working on her makeup. Lillian sat on the bed and fanned herself with a magazine.

“I hate wearing stockings in this heat, but my mother will have a fit if we aren’t dressed
properly.
” Charlotte mimicked her mother’s voice, making Lillian laugh.

Lillian already felt herself melting in her own outfit, but her Aunt Rebecca was right. A proper appearance was important, especially at church. The gray cotton suit was warmer than she would like, but it was all she had brought for Sunday. It had a long straight skirt and a short, fitted jacket with white piping on the lapels. She wore a pale pink silk blouse under the jacket and already had her hat and crocheted white gloves on.

“Maybe my father will take us for a sail later, when he gets back from golf. Or we could go for a drive.” Charlotte brushed out a chunk of her golden hair and twisted the ends around her fingertip to make it curl. “Unless you’d like to go to the beach again?”

“I could skip the beach for a day, I think.” Lillian forced a smile. She tried not to think about her near-drowning the day before. Or about Oliver Warwick.

“I still can’t figure out how Oliver found us out there,” Charlotte said, patting on face powder. “He must have looked for you all over town. But it was lucky after all, wasn’t it?”

“I guess so.” Lillian opened her neat clutch purse and stared in
side. She already knew she had what she needed: lipstick, compact, handkerchief, wallet. But she didn’t like talking about Oliver. It unnerved her.

They both heard the phone ring. Charlotte looked at Lillian, a gold tube of lipstick dangling from one hand. “It’s him,” she said breathlessly. “I just know it.”

Lillian snapped her purse closed. She wished Charlotte wouldn’t be so…dramatic. It only made things worse.

“Your mother knows what to say; she’ll get rid of him,” Lillian said curtly. She stood up and smoothed down her skirt, then checked the seams of her stockings.

“That was Oliver Warwick again,” Charlotte’s mother called out from the bottom of the stairs. “I told him you were both out, and I didn’t know when you’d be back. I hope he gets the hint.”

Aunt Rebecca sounded annoyed. Oliver had called several times yesterday and last night. He was nothing if not persistent; Lillian had to grant him that.

Charlotte glanced at Lillian and giggled. “He’s got a terrible crush on you, Lily. I bet he sends you flowers today.”

“Aren’t you girls ready yet?” her mother called again. “I’m starting out without you. I’ll see you at the service.” Lillian heard the front door close.

Charlotte was at the closet now, pulling out dresses and skirts and tossing them on the bed. “Our church is like a steam bath in the summer. A woman fainted last week, and the deacons had to carry her out like a corpse. I would hate to have that happen to me.”

She held a sun dress up to her chest. It had a halter neck and pink polka dots on white fabric. “What do you think?”

“A little revealing for church, Charlotte. Unless you wear a sweater over it?”

“Are you mad?” Charlotte turned back to the closet. “He’s af
ter you. It’s so exciting. I’ve heard he’s irresistible once he gets going. He’s a womanizer though,” she said over her shoulder. “They say that’s why his wife divorced him.”

Lillian felt a jolt. For all his disclosures the day before, Oliver had never mentioned his marriage. Now, though, Lillian wished he had; she was curious about his version of the story. Then again, what did it matter? She wasn’t going to see him again, no matter what he said.

“That dark blue dress is nice,” Lillian suggested.

“I can’t wear that. I’m not going to a funeral.” Charlotte sighed and tossed it on the pile. “I don’t think we should tell my parents you had lunch with him yesterday. They don’t approve of him. Your parents wouldn’t either. But isn’t it fun to have a man like Oliver Warwick after you? I think it’s thrilling.”

“Charlotte, he’s not after me. He’s just very spoiled and used to having his way. It must be a novelty to have someone say no to him. He’ll get tired of it soon.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. He’s head over heels for you, Lillian. You can’t deny it. I don’t see why you won’t go out with him—for dinner and dancing and all that. I bet he would take you someplace swell. And he’s such a good dancer.”

“What’s the sense of dating him, even once? I have no interest in encouraging a relationship with him. Not after everything you’ve told me.”

“You do like him, is that what you’re saying?”

Lillian shook her head. “Not the way you mean.” Charlotte gave her a look. “Oh, well…yes, of course, he’s good-looking…and charming. He has nice manners and can carry on a decent conversation….”

Charlotte laughed. “You’re not fooling me, Lily. I know what you’re thinking. I bet when he kisses you, your toes curl. That’s a sure sign.”

A sure sign of what?
Lillian wasn’t prone to blushing, but her cheeks went flaming red. She had told Charlotte about Oliver’s advances. Clearly,
that
had been a mistake. But she had to tell somebody.

The truth was, she was attracted to him. Wildy attracted, despite all the reasons she knew she shouldn’t be. She didn’t find it thrilling or exciting or any of the inane adjectives Charlotte was prone to. She found her attraction mainly…frightening. She felt something inside of her that she knew could veer out of control. And she didn’t like that, not at all.

Charlotte finally found a dress she wanted to wear, a yellow shirt waist with a flair skirt, cap sleeves, and a neckline trimmed with a white collar and a bow. She stepped into it and turned so that Lillian could pull the zipper up the back.

“Charlotte, I hope you aren’t sharing my secrets with all your friends. I told you about Oliver in the strictest confidence.”

“I haven’t told a soul.” Charlotte smoothed her dress. “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy it? Oliver can be your summer fling. It will do you good, help you get over George.”

“I never think about George,” Lillian huffed.

Charlotte laughed. “I’m sure of that. I doubt you thought about George very much when you were planning on marrying him.”

Lillian couldn’t help smiling. It was true. She had felt more sparks fly with Oliver Warwick in the last three days than she had with her ex-fiancé in three years.

“What I mean is”—Charlotte hesitated—“it’s hard for a girl to get dumped like that, right before the wedding. Oliver can help you feel…attractive again.”

Lillian knew this was true. Even though she hardly believed a word of it, Oliver’s outrageous flattery had already boosted her confidence.

But just having a fling…that would be using him. Lillian didn’t like playing romantic games and knew she was bad at them. Besides, Oliver wasn’t the type you toyed with. At least, she wouldn’t chance it.

“No, that’s not for me, Charlotte. I don’t need an ego boost or a fling.”

“How do you know, Lily? Don’t knock it till you try it.”

She winked and scooped her gloves, hat, and purse from the dresser top and stepped into her heels.

“Are you going to walk to church in those shoes? You’ll never make it,” Lillian predicted.

“Don’t worry. I’m calling a taxi. But don’t tell my mother,” Charlotte added. “She thinks it’s too indulgent, especially for going to church.”

The taxi arrived quickly and drove them through the streets of Newburyport, past the fine old homes in Charlotte’s neighborhood and into the large village, set on a hill overlooking the harbor. The streets were narrow and many were paved with cobblestone, unchanged from the Colonial era when the town was founded.

The taxi pulled up in front of the church, and the young women paid the driver then hurried through the front doors and took seats in the back of the sanctuary.

The Newburyport church, which stood at the very top of the hill that crowned the town, was an elegant white building with a high slate-covered steeple. The stained-glass windows in the sanctuary diffused the strong sunlight into an amber glow.

Lillian had always enjoyed worshiping here with Charlotte’s family when she came to visit. It was just as a church ought to look, she thought, pristine and untouched by time. She settled back, prayer book in hand, and focused on the sermon.

The minister, Dr. Van Houten, had been there as long as she
could remember. Charlotte always rolled her eyes when she spoke about him, wishing the church would find a younger minister who didn’t ramble on. But Lillian enjoyed his sermons, which dealt with serious and complex topics.

This morning Dr. Van Houten was talking about God’s will for our lives. “Life must be lived forward but can only be understood backward,” he began. “That’s a curious irony and a grievous impediment. We set off for one point and soon find ourselves at some other. And yet, the art of life might be to accept the course that God charts for us, a course that is rarely the most direct route from point to point. But a zigzagging, even circuitous, path where we are confronted with many unexpected trials…and unexpected blessings. Where we learn, like the experienced sailor, to use the wind when we are able and to prevail through rough weather without giving up our hope and faith of arriving someday at our destination. But accepting the course God has set for us. Accepting that God may have a better destination in mind than we had ever hoped for…”

Lillian considered Dr. Van Houten’s premise. She believed in God, she knew that much. But did she believe he had a plan for her, one she would only see clearly in her old age, as she took a backward glance over her days?

Lillian balked at the idea. She believed she had control of her life. She made her own choices. Yet some part of his argument niggled at her. On Saturday, she had nearly drowned. She hadn’t had any inkling when she woke up that morning that she might not live to see the end of the day. Had God known what was going to happen to her?

Oliver had saved her. Just in the nick of time. Had that been part of God’s plan? What was she to make of it all?

Charlotte nudged her. “Lillian?” She held out her hymnal.
Everyone was up and singing while Lillian was lost in her troubling thoughts.

Lillian stood up and leaned toward her cousin, reading the song over her shoulder. “Are you all right?” Charlotte whispered.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just…thinking about the sermon,” she whispered back.

Charlotte looked surprised. “It got me thinking too…about a nap. It was so boring I could hardly keep my eyes open.”

Ten minutes later, the service ended. The two cousins were walking out of the church when Charlotte’s mother came up to them. “There you are. I didn’t see you come in. Aren’t you coming to the coffee hour, Charlotte?” Aunt Rebecca leaned closer so that only Lillian and Charlotte could hear. “Muriel Granger’s son is visiting for the weekend. He’s at Yale Law. I want you to meet him.”

Charlotte looked stricken. “Lillian and I are getting a ride to the beach. We have to go right away. Tell Mrs. Granger…another time.”

“But Charlotte, what will I say? I promised Muriel.”

“Say I have heat stroke or something. Sorry, Mother.”

Charlotte took Lillian’s arm and pulled her through the crowd before her mother could stop them.

“Charlotte, that wasn’t very nice. Why don’t you want to meet Muriel Granger’s son? Is something wrong with him?”

“I’m sure he’s a horrible bore, just like all the other nice young men my mother finds for me. I’ve told her a million times to stay out of my social life…. Oh, dear. Look who’s here.”

They had set off walking quickly down the street, arm in arm, while Charlotte chattered. So quickly that they were steps away from Oliver Warwick before Lillian even noticed him.

He stood leaning against his shiny car, wearing a navy blue
blazer and cream-colored trousers with an open-neck white shirt that contrasted with his dark hair and tanned skin.