“We talked about that. I used to do the same thing when I was little, only I used pond water. It fascinated me. All these things were living in the water—like a secret world—and you couldn’t even
see
them without a microscope. It was just one of the many things we had in common, Ry and I.”
“I miss him.” India felt the sudden lump rise to swell her throat. “I’m almost dreading Christmas Day. It will be so quiet.”
“Don’t you have a big group on Christmas?”
“No. Thanksgiving is the day we all gather. Christmas is always just the immediate family.”
“India, what would you think of us spending Christmas together? I mean all of us, my mother and sisters and you and August and Corri?”
“I’d love it. I’ll have to ask Aunt August, but I’ll bet she’d be delighted.”
“We could go out to the Light for the bird count and then have dinner. Even Zoey said she was interested in going.”
“I hope she does. I like Zoey,” she told him as she stirred her coffee. “I hope she can make it.”
“She’ll be here. Mother will insist on it. Of course, last week she was thinking about handling show dogs that belong to one of my mother’s neighbors, but that’s subject to change. This week I think Zoey may just be working on being Zoey.”
“I would think she could do just about anything,” India told him. “She’s beautiful enough to be an actress or a model. She seems to have a bit of a dramatic streak. And I’d bet the camera just loves her face.”
“Modeling bored her. And she’s tried acting. It seems that our Zoey has a problem with memorized lines. She thinks the stage should be a little more spontaneous. I’m afraid she ad-libbed a few times too many. Mother keeps insisting that it’s all going to come together in the new year.”
“I’m with your mother.” India stood up and stretched. “I can’t remember when I’ve been this lazy. The last time I was still undressed at ten in the morning.”
“It’s good for you to relax.” He pushed back from the table and patted his thighs, motioning for her to sit on his lap. “Tell me what you’d like to do today.”
“I need to finish my Christmas shopping and help Aunt August finish the decorating. Christmas is in two days. How ’bout you?”
“Guess I’ll do a few more sketches, maybe see if Darla needs help making her deliveries.”
“That’s sweet, Nicky.” India tucked a curl behind her ear. “Do you think she could go with us to the Twelfth Night Ball? I’d hate to think about her home alone with nothing to think about except the great time she and Ry had there last year.”
“If she’d like to go, I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
“We could dress alike. Like my twin great-great-aunts. And we’ll do our hair alike, like we did when we were in high school.” She envisioned it in her mind, she and Darla befuddling the boys at the sophomore dance. “It used to drive people crazy. From the back no one could tell us apart.”
“I’ll remember to be very careful. I could end up embarrassing myself terribly.” To make his point, he patted her rear as she stood up. “Where are you going?”
“I thought I’d take a shower, if that’s okay.”
“It’s okay, if I get to supervise.”
“Nobody supervises when I shower. If you come in, I’ll put you to work.” She twirled the end of the robe’s sash.
“What exactly did you have in mind?”
“You’ll have to wash my back,” she told him, backing toward the hall. “Or something.”
“It’s that ‘something’ that gets my attention every time.” He sighed and followed her.
“Indy, Indy!” Corri’s little face, puffed from sleep and glowing with anticipation, hung over India’s own. “I think he was here!”
“Who was here, sweetie?” India yawned, reluctant to leave the dream she had been having before she’d felt little fingers shaking her shoulder.
“Santa! He was here! I peeked from the top of the steps and the lights are on the tree and it looks like lots of things are under it.”
“Hmm, well then”—India stretched and sat up—“Merry Christmas, sweetie.”
“Merry Christmas, India.”
“Merry Christmas, you two,” August called from the bedroom doorway. “Corri, I was just downstairs and it looks like there are a lot of presents under that tree with your name on them. I think you’d better get down there and see what’s what.”
“Yea!” She whooped and sped down the steps.
“Was I that anxious on Christmas morning?” India pushed the covers aside and stood up.
“Worse. You and your brother used to set an alarm clock for four A.M. and wake me and your father up to open presents. At least Corri let me sleep until six.”
India went into the bathroom to splash water on her face and to slip into an Irish knit sweater the color of clotted cream and a pair of soft olive corduroy jeans. She dug a pair of big black and white tweedy socks out of her dresser and pulled them on over chilly toes. From the stereo in the
sitting room the
Messiah
was just beginning. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon met her halfway down the stairs. Christmas in the Devlin house on Darien Road always smelled exactly the same. At the thought of Aunt August’s sinfully good cinnamon raisin buns, India’s mouth began to water and she quickened her step, following her nose into the kitchen. As quietly as possible, she opened the oven door to peek in.
“India Devlin, get your nose out of that oven,” August scolded from the front of the house, and India laughed out loud. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she went into the sitting room, where billows of discarded wrapping paper spread across the old oriental carpet like bubbles blown from a magical pipe.
“Indy, wait till you see what I got.” Corri rushed to her. “Look, look! She’s real!”
“Why, yes, I believe she is.” India’s eyes sparkled as Corri gingerly held out the tiny orange tabby kitten.
“I can name her anything I want, Aunt August said so. She’s my very own kitty. My very own pet.”
“Well, you know that having your very own pet is a very big responsibility.” India smoothed back the child’s hair, recalling a Christmas long ago when a similar kitten had waited under the tree for her.
“I will take wonderful, excellent good care of her, I promise.”
“I know that you will, sweetie.”
“Want to hold her?”
“I would love to hold her.” India sat on the floor and looked into the deep blue eyes of the kitten. “I used to have a kitty that looked just like her. Remember, Aunt August?”
“Oh, I do indeed.”
“What was her name?”
“Mary Francis.”
“You named your kitty ‘Mary Francis’?” Corri eyed her strangely, clearly wondering whatever would possess one to do so.
“Yes.” India laughed. “It is an odd name for a kitty, I agree, and for the life of me I can’t remember why I chose that name.”
“Is that what you called her?” Corri tried to picture India
standing at the back door and calling “Here, Mary Francis!” but could not.
“No, I called her ‘Francie.’ She used to sleep on my bed and bring me mice that she caught in the attic.”
“Real live mice?” Corri’s little nose wrinkled up.
“Well, they were real enough, though not so live by the time Francie was finished with them.” August shook her head. “She had the most endearing habit of leaving their little mouse bodies in my shoes. It got so that I had to close my shoes into the closet at night so she couldn’t leave those furry little gifts for me.”
“She was so proud of herself,” India mused.
“Oh, that she was. Francie was an excellent little mouser.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died when I was in high school,” India told her. “Ry said it was because she knew I’d miss her too much when I left for college, but it was just old age. She was fourteen that year, and that’s a pretty good age for a kitty.”
“What did you do with her?”
“We buried her out back, all the way at the end of the yard, where the dune comes in. Where she could hear the birds and smell the sea and rest in the warm sun.” India’s voice caught, remembering.
“I will take very good care of my kitty, India. And if she ever dies, I will bury her with Francie, and they can be together.” Corri, sensing India’s sudden sadness, assured her that Francie wouldn’t always rest alone.
“Well, I hope we have … whatever you decide to call her … for a long time. She’s a dear little thing.”
“I’m going to call her ‘Amber,’” Corri announced a while later, “’cause that’s what Ry used to call me sometimes and I like that name. He said when I grew up my hair would be the color of amber.”
“Well then, ‘Amber’ it is,” August said softly, taking her own memories of past Christmases with her into the kitchen.
India had just settled down by the fire to read a line or two from one of the books August had given her when the sound of car doors caught her attention. Rising to look out the window, she laughed out loud. Who but Delia Enright
would arrive in Devlin’s Light for Christmas dinner in a Mercedes sedan, her driver at the wheel? India sought shoes amidst the wrappings and boxes and slipped into them.
“Merry Christmas!” she called from the doorway, and Delia waved heartily.
“Come give me a hand,” Delia called back, and India bounced off the porch and down the sidewalk.
“Nicky is driving his four-wheel and Zoey is with him, but I have most of the gifts here.” Delia paused to kiss India’s cheek at just about the same time she gestured to her driver to take some of the packages from the long white car.
“Delia, for heaven’s sake!” India gasped at the number of brightly colored shopping bags lined up, waiting to be carried into the house. “Who are all these presents for?”
“Hmmm? Oh, mostly for Corri.” Delia’s eyes sparkled. “I was in New York last week, and I passed F.A.O. Schwarz and I thought, why not? It’s been so many years since I had a little one to buy for. I hope you don’t mind, India, I just couldn’t help myself.”
India laughed, recalling Nick’s descriptions of his mother’s generosity.
“I don’t mind, Delia, and I’m sure that Corri will be overwhelmed.”
“Wonderful!” Delia smiled happily as she removed several more bags from the car and piled them into India’s arms. “Every child should be overwhelmed on Christmas morning at least once in their life.”
The driver, having delivered the packages to the porch, opened the trunk and began taking out more packages. India raised an eyebrow, but before she could say anything, Delia waved a hand and told her, “Those are a few things for Georgia. Randall here is on his way to Baltimore to pick her up and bring her back. I’m afraid she took a bad turn on her ankle this week and is off it for a few days.”
“Wasn’t she performing in the
Nutcracker
this week?”
“Was.
And while I’m sick over her being hurt and disappointed, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want her here with us for the day, India.”
Nick’s Pathfinder pulled into the driveway, Zoey popping out of the passenger-side door before the vehicle had completely stopped.
“Merry Christmas!” Zoey danced across the lawn to hug India. “This is so wonderful of you to share your Christmas with us, India. It’ll be such fun. What time does the bird count start? I’m all ready.”
“You had me fooled.” India laughed, pointing to the fine, soft woolen dress and butter-soft leather boots that Zoey wore.
“Not to worry, I brought stuff to change into.”
“Merry Christmas, India.” Nick, loaded down with packages from his car, bent to catch her lips in passing.
There were holiday hugs all around in the hallway, and the happy chatter seemed to expand on its own to fill every corner of the house. Corri, eager to show off Amber, gave Delia patient instructions on the proper way to hold a kitten and permitted Delia to do so while she opened this newest round of gifts. As the mantel clock chimed two o’clock, India suggested that it was time to leave for the Light for the bird count.
“I want to go.” Corri shot up and ran for her jacket.
“So do I.” Zoey yawned. “All this comfort and joy is doing me in. I need fresh air. I need to get moving.”
“Go change, duchess,” Nick told her. “You have exactly five minutes.”
“I’ll be down in less,” Zoey told him, and India watched, amused, as brother and sister synchronized their watches and counted seconds.
“Go,” Nick told her, and Zoey took off up the stairs while India gave her directions to her room.
“Oh! I almost forgot!” India ducked under the tree and retrieved a present wrapped in gold-foil paper. “This is probably the best time to give this to you.”
She handed the box to Nick and tugged on his sleeve, indicating for him to sit beside her on the sofa.
With a happy grin he accepted the gift and proceeded to tear the wrappings off with all the flair earlier exhibited by Corri.
“India, these are perfect! Wonderful! Thank you, sweetheart.” Clearly pleased with her choice, Nick lifted the new Minolta field glasses to his eyes and adjusted the lenses. He rose and walked to the window, focusing on something in a tree across the street. “These are fabulous, so much better
than the old ones I have at the cabin. They don’t have nearly the range nor the clarity that these have.” He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.
“Four minutes, forty-seven seconds!” Zoey panted as she plopped on the bottom step to tie her sneakers.
“You’re not done, you’re still tying,” Nick observed.
Zoey stuck her tongue out and grabbed her down jacket from a chair in the front hall.
“Do you think we should wait for Georgia? Do you think she would want to go with us?”
“The closest Georgia’s ever gotten to the great outdoors is the L. L. Bean catalog.” Zoey laughed. “I don’t think we have to worry about not waiting for Georgia.”
“Are you dressed warmly enough, sugar?” India asked Corri. “Where’s your scarf? And your gloves?”
“You sound amazingly like your aunt.” Nick chuckled, taking India’s hand as they walked to the Pathfinder.
“I admit I do hear a touch of her every now and then.”
The foursome loaded into Nick’s car and headed out to the cabin, where they would take his rowboat across the bay to the Light.
“We’re lucky it’s not really too cold today,” India told them as they piled into the small boat, she and Nick on the one seat, Zoey and Corri on the other. “One year my dad and Ry and I had to row back in a snowstorm.”