Paradise Falls (18 page)

Oh, Da. How I wish I could hear, just once more, the sound of your voice, with that wonderful music of Ireland in every word. And to feel again your arms, so strong and warm, around me.

When she’d composed herself she took a sip, The wine was sweet and glided down her throat like liquid honey.

“To us.” Broderick shot her a smile. “And to those we wish were here with us.”

Again that quick tug, and she found herself hoping that her mother was sitting warm and snug, sipping wine with family, and feeling safe and loved.

Safe and loved.
It was what Fiona wished, more than anything, for her mother.

Keep her safe, Da. Safe and treasured by those who are with her now.

While Broderick proposed yet another toast, Rose slipped away to the kitchen and returned carrying a huge silver platter on which rested the biggest goose Fiona had ever seen.

“Flem. Gray.” Rose pointed with the carving knife. “You may fetch the rest of the food.”

“What about me, Mrs. Haydn?”

“You help Broderick to the table.”

The old man winked at her as she set aside her glass and helped him to his feet. In the time that it took to get him seated, the table was groaning under the weight of more food than Fiona could imagine. Mashed potatoes and buttery gravy. Golden egg noodles. Cabbage and glazed beets and tiny carrots and two kinds of beans. Rolls and so many slices of bread, some dark brown, and others dotted with bits of fruit and nuts.

As they took their places, Flem walked around the table, topping off their glasses with more elderberry wine.

After passing the platters and filling their plates, they bowed their heads as Broderick said curtly, “We ask a blessing on this feast.”

“Oh, Mrs. Haydn.” Fiona couldn’t help exclaiming over each bite she took.

Rose made her usual protest. “It’s just simple food.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, they all burst into gales of laughter. In fact, they laughed throughout the entire meal. By the time they had polished off slices of rum-soaked pound cake and tiny fruit tarts, the Haydn family had laughed and talked more than Fiona had heard in all the time she’d shared their home.

Broderick sat back and lifted a napkin to his mouth. “I believe this is the finest Christmas Eve supper yet, Rose.”

“Thank you, Brod...” The words suddenly died in his wife’s throat.

Everyone turned to look at her, but she was staring at her husband as though seeing a ghost.

“What’s wrong, Ma?” Flem got to his feet.

Rose pointed and made a strangled sound. “Your... hand. Broderick, you’re holding your own napkin.”

The old man merely smiled. “So I am. I wondered when someone would notice. I’ve been working on it for some time now.”

Fiona realized that he hadn’t once spilled any of his lager throughout the day, but until this moment, she hadn’t given it a thought.

Rose shook her head in disbelief. “Doctor Eberhardt said there was nothing to be done about a stroke.”

Broderick shrugged. “Somebody should have told me sooner. I’ve been walking every day, and every day going a bit farther than the day before.”

That, Fiona realized, would explain his tumble in the fields that frightful day. He’d been pushing himself to the limits, in order to retrieve the strength he’d once had.

“Now,” he added with a lopsided smile, “if I only I could get my face to work again.”

Rose stared at him. And though her expression never changed, there was a softness to her voice that hadn’t been there before. “Your face looks fine to me, Broderick.”

In the silence that followed, Fiona glanced from one to the other, feeling as though she were violating their privacy. The look that passed between them was almost too sweet to bear.

Flem got to his feet and circled the table, filling their glasses yet again. “I believe it’s time to celebrate.”

Without waiting for them to respond he crossed the room and Flem removed the fringed scarf that covered the piano. The others picked up their glasses and gathered around as he played familiar carols. At first they gave voice haltingly, but as the music grew more lively, so did their singing, until even Broderick and Rose joined in.

When they ran out of Christmas carols, Rose said, “Play that song you’ve been talking about, Fleming. The one that you said Mr. Sousa wrote.”

Without missing a beat Flem launched into a rousing John Philip Sousa march that had them stomping their feet.

When he was finished, Fiona clapped her hands in delight. “That was wonderful. Oh, Flem, I had no idea you could play like that.”

“I have all kinds of hidden talents.” With a wicked grin he shoved away from the piano and picked up a sprig of mistletoe.

Holding it over his mother’s head, he kissed her soundly.

“Oh, you.” With a pretty blush, Rose gave him a shove. “Don’t waste your kisses on me when there’s someone your own age to enjoy.”

That was all the coaxing he needed to walk to Fiona and hold the mistletoe over her head while he brushed her lips with his. She knew her face was as red as the berries, which only made her face flame more. And though his parents merely laughed, she could see a steely look come into Gray’s eyes.

She pushed quickly away and fluttered her hand like a fan. “I believe I need to sit down.”

“We all need to sit,” Rose said.

Before his mother could sink into a chair Flem grabbed her and began waltzing her around the room, all the while singing at the top of his voice. Though Rose pretended to push away, it was obvious that she was having the time of her life.

Fiona marveled at the change in Rose. She was like a schoolgirl, blushing and laughing as though flirting with a lover.

Finally Rose managed to push free of her son’s arms. “Enough. I need to catch my breath. Dance with our teacher.”

“No, Flem.” But though Fiona protested, he had no intention of letting her be. Instead he dragged her to her feet and whirled her around and around until her head was spinning. When at last he stopped, she sank gratefully onto the sofa beside Broderick.

“You two make a handsome couple. I’ve always thought the girls in this town were too silly for Fleming. He deserves someone with a good mind as well as a pretty face.” Rose turned to her husband. “Don’t you agree?”

Across the room Fiona saw Gray standing perfectly still. When he caught her looking his way he busied himself lifting his glass and taking a long drink before setting it on a side table.

Flem filled his father’s glass and his own before saying, “Who would like to be first to open my gifts?”

Without waiting for a reply he handed his mother a small box. She opened it to reveal a pretty enameled brooch in the shape of a rose.

“It’s for your Sunday dress.”

“Oh, Fleming. It’s beautiful.”

He grinned. “I knew you’d like it. A rose for a Rose.” He handed his father a pint of dark beer. “For tomorrow.”

Broderick studied it. “Did you buy this in Little Bavaria?”

Flem nodded. “I was over there the other day and remembered that you once said they make the best beer in America.”

“The most expensive, too.”

Before Broderick could say more Flem handed a package wrapped in brown paper to his brother.

Gray opened it and held up a leather belt.

“Hand-tooled,” Flem said proudly. “There’s a farmer in Little Bavaria who makes the finest leather goods.” With a grin he added, “I think you’ll like it better than that length of rope you’ve been using.”

Gray laughed and offered his hand. “You’re right. I thank you.”

“I saved the best for last.” Flem handed a tiny package to Fiona.

When she opened it, she gave a gasp of pleasure. “Oh, Flem. A comb for my hair.”

He took it from her hand and set it in a tangle of curls. “Hair this pretty ought to be adorned.”

“Thank you.” She got to her feet. “If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll bring out my gifts.”

She hurried away to her room and returned with several parcels: “These are from my mum. She wanted to thank you for making me welcome in your home.”

Rose opened some tissue and held up a pale pink handkerchief edged with delicate lace, “Oh, this is far too fine to ever use.” She examined the lace. “I’ve never seen anything so fancy.”

Fiona dimpled. “Mum will be so pleased. Though her hands aren’t as steady as they used to be, she still makes the finest lace.” She turned to the others. “These are also from Mum.”

The three men opened their packages to find identical knitted gloves and made a great show of trying them on and praising the quality of the work.

“These are from me.” Fiona handed Rose a lovely pink shawl, edged with darker pink roses and pale green leaves. “I’ve been knitting it for weeks.”

Rose couldn’t hide her pleasure, even while protesting that it was far too fine to ever use.

For the men Fiona had knitted scarves. “Yours is black, Mr. Haydn. I made yours, Gray, to match your name.” She shyly handed him a soft, dove gray one before turning to Flem. “And yours matches your personality. Flamboyant red,” she added, to the laughter of everyone.

All three of the men quickly wrapped them around their necks to show them off.

“They’re perfect,” Rose proclaimed. “And just the right colors for each of you.”

“I made one for myself in bright yellow,” Fiona said, “to cheer me on these dark winter days.” Feeling festive, she draped the yellow scarf around her neck.

“I believe that just leaves our presents.” Broderick turned to his oldest son. “Where have you hidden them?” Proudly wearing his scarf, Gray walked upstairs and returned carrying several parcels.

Rose opened hers to find a bolt of pretty fabric in a pale pink flowered design. “So you can make yourself a new dress,” her husband explained.

“It’s beautiful. And it will go perfectly with my new shawl and handkerchief.”

Gray handed his brother a parcel, and Flem tore off the brown paper to find sheet music.

For a moment he looked incredulous. Then with a grin he glanced over at his brother. “Scott Joplin?”

“He’s a new songwriter. I thought you’d like his music. I had to send away for it from a catalog.”

Flem hurried to the piano and studied the music before tentatively touching the keys. Within minutes he was pounding out a toe-tapping tune that had them all clapping their hands.

When he was finished he squeezed Gray’s shoulder. “Thanks. It’s the best gift ever.”

“It’s from Papa, too.”

Flem walked to his father and bent down to kiss his cheek.

Gray handed his father a small parcel. “I made this for you, Papa.”

Broderick unwrapped it and held it up. “A new pipe.”

“I carved it last week.”

His father examined the intricate carving. “It’s almost too grand to use.” He stuck it between his teeth. “But I’ll force myself.”

Everyone shared in the laughter as he said to Gray, “Now let’s give Miss Downey her gift.”

Gray set a big box in front of Fiona. She knelt on the floor and tore aside the brown paper before peering inside. “Slates?” She began lifting out several small, neatly framed slates. “How many are there?”

“An even dozen,” Broderick said proudly. “Gray framed each of them by band.”

“Oh, my. I can’t think of anything I would have loved more. However could you have known?” With a little laugh Fiona set them aside and hurried over to press a kiss to Broderick’s cheek. When she turned to Gray he flushed and quickly stuck out his hand, as though afraid she might kiss him, too.

She took his hand between both of hers, and then, unable to resist, she brushed her lips over his cheek. Just the slightest touch, but she felt a rush of heat all the way to her toes. “Thank you, Gray.”

“Well.” Rose sat fingering the lace of her handkerchief. “I believe we could all make do with another sip of elderberry wine.”

Flem was quick to pour, then he sat on the floor at his mother’s feet and drew up one knee, while Gray stood by the fire, staring into the flames.

Rose’s voice grew dreamy. “I remember when you boys were about four and six. You waited up until past midnight hoping for a glimpse of Father Christmas.”

Flem chuckled. “I was determined to stay awake the whole night. The next thing I knew, it was Christmas morning, and I was in my bed.”

Gray laughed, remembering. “We’d made a pact to keep each other awake. Every time you dozed off, I’d give you a nudge. But when I finally fell asleep, and felt a nudge, it wasn’t you trying to wake me, but Aunt Gerda, who’d spent the night. She was the one who carried you to your bed. And when I realized I’d have to face Father Christmas alone, I decided I’d rather be in my bed, too.”

“You? Afraid?” Flem shook his head in amazement. “That has to be the first and last time that has ever happened to the fierce Grayson Haydn.”

Gray merely grinned.

“What about you, Miss Downey?” Broderick sipped his wine. “What was Christmas like at your house?”

 “There was never a Christmas Eve as lively as this has been.” Fiona couldn’t help laughing as she allowed herself to go back in her mind. “My mum always made soda bread and a lovely beef roast with boiled potatoes and cabbage. We would exchange gifts and then Da would read to us.”

“What did he read?”

“The Sonnets of William Shakespeare were favorites of ours. We all shared a love of reading. But we were especially fond of the English poet, Robert Browning. Da loved reading his poems to us.”

“Do you recall any of them?” Rose prodded.

“I do. Yes.” She set aside her glass and thought a moment. Then in a soft voice she began. “The year’s at the spring, and day’s at the mom; morning’s at seven; the hillside’s dew-pearled. The lark’s on the wing; the snail’s on the thorn; God’s in His heaven—all’s right with the world.”

She paused, fighting for composure. The pain, sharp and swift, had come over her with no warning, and now she felt tears prickling her lids.

“I’m afraid I must beg your forgiveness, but it’s been a long and wonderful day, and now I must say goodnight.” She got to her feet, praying she could hold back the tears until she was safely out of sight. “I wish you all a very happy Christmas.”

She heard their voices echoing that wish as she picked up her lantern and hurried from the room.