The Christmas Pearl (9 page)

I knew it was Christmas morning as the warm first light of day washed across the foot of my bed. Something was different; I mean beyond Pearl’s presence and all the accompanying drama. The normal sounds of early day were muffled. It was unusually quiet.

In my bare feet, admittedly somewhat unsteady at first, I made my way to a window that overlooked the backyard. I wiped away the frost on the pane with the heel of my hand. The fog had lifted. The temperature had dropped, and to my utter astonishment, everything was dusted with at least one inch of pure white snow. I rubbed my eyeglasses clean with the hem of my nightgown. I looked again. There was no mistake about it. It had snowed. The skies were overcast in all the splendor of thick Confederate-gray flannel. Most importantly, it was still flurrying. Every place my eye fell to rest looked like a drawing from Currier & Ives.

What do you think I spotted? One bright cardinal posed on a snow-covered branch of an old live oak. His beautiful red plumage stood out against all the white.
He seemed to perch there just for me to admire him. I tapped on the window to get his attention. He saw me, held his head to one side then the other, and flew away. A childish laugh of delight escaped my lips. We had a white Christmas! A red bird! It was simply spectacular.

My own fog started to lift as the previous night came back to me in living color. Christmas Eve had been an unmitigated disaster. I doubted my family would be able to pull off a merry anything…although Pearl had assured me over and again that she had a foolproof plan. She promised that everything was going to turn out all right. Talk was easy enough. I had yet to see any positive results. Oh! All the unnecessary pain they inflicted on one another! Why? I hoped and prayed with all my heart that Pearl was right.

To be honest, I had grave doubts. I realized it was time to align myself with Barbara. This family needed a matriarch immediately. I didn’t want to interfere too much, as it would undermine Barbara’s authority, ineffective as she had been till now. Pearl couldn’t be the matriarch—she was already dead and leaving soon anyway. It truly was beyond Barbara’s time to take the podium. I would help her. What could I do?

After some consideration, I decided it would be best to act as if nothing untoward had occurred on Christmas Eve. I would go down for breakfast, be pleasant
to them all, and assess the situation. That assessment would tell me what, if any, further actions were necessary. If Pearl’s plan failed, I would take my family aside with Barbara, one at a time. Together we would give them this old dame’s version of a walk behind the barn.

“Best to get this show on the road,” I said to no one other than the room itself.

I wondered what effect the snow would have on the course of the day. Now, in many places, one inch of snow is nothing, a mere trifling bother. However, in the Lowcountry, it’s enough of a catastrophe to quarantine Charleston, South Carolina, from the rest of the world, as though we already weren’t. I could only recall several snowfalls in my entire life. All of them were less than six inches. Nonetheless,
one
inch was enough to bring everything to a screeching halt.

Any
severe weather meant the highway authorities would close all the bridges and overpasses, especially during the high winds of a hurricane or a tornado watch. But one inch of snow? Oh, my goodness! You would have thought there was plague out there in the streets spreading like kudzu! The governor would declare a state of emergency. Any and all roads with the slightest slope would close until workers could scrape it aside and spread sand. The truth was that Lowcountry snowfalls usually melted by early afternoon. Everyone
had a jolly slushy holiday while the children built tiny snowmen from snowballs. As this was Christmas Day, almost every place of business was closed anyway.

I decided to talk about the weather when I got downstairs, as it was probably the only safe topic there was to broach.

I was dressed in a beautiful white wool dress and a matching jacket with gold-rimmed pearl buttons down the front. The buttons were symbolic, I thought. I decided on a pair of very low-heeled pumps with rubber bottoms so, should I decide to step outside, I wouldn’t slip. They were of a dull metallic color, classic yet still very practical. I arranged my hair in my customary chignon and decided the day called for perfume. I had not worn perfume or cologne in months, if not years. So with a spray of something that smelled like jasmine, I began to descend the stairs to the kitchen, thinking I looked pretty sharp for a lady of my age.

It was almost eight o’clock. Surprisingly, the house was still, except for the smells from the kitchen, evidence that Pearl was already on the job.

As I carefully descended the stairs, I passed through the hall, straightening pictures as I arrived at one, then another. Everything was still cockeyed from the monster of last night’s craziness. I took heart. It was a new day. By golly, I was going to do my level best to see that it was one filled with hope.

The dining room looked beautiful. The table was set with green-banded plates glazed with crackle finish over large hand-painted magnolias. The glasses were dark green crystal. Where had Pearl found them? They had been my wedding dishes. Pearl, the treasure hunter, had probably decided to use them to remind me of Fred and happier days. I ran my hand around the rim of one of the plates. I thought of how Fred had loved these dishes—so irrefutably Southern in their design. Fred loved history, all things Southern, and me. I missed him then so much that I was certain I could feel him next to my shoulder. When I turned to try to catch a glimpse of him, he was not there.

My eyes shifted back to the table. In the center was my mother’s Victorian silver epergne, another piece of our family’s formerly elegant life that I had not seen in decades. Its high center bowl was piled with spotless red apples, polished to a glossy sheen, and green grapes, which draped over the sides. The three side dishes overflowed with nuts of all kinds, all of them nestled in beds of Spanish moss. The table looked absolutely perfect. It hailed a return to stylishness and gentility, courtesy of Pearl’s thoughtful creativity.

I swung open the kitchen door. There she stood. I had no intention of letting on that I thought she was leading us straight to a family apocalypse.

“Merry Christmas!” I said. “Did you see the snow?”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Ms. Theodora! Merry Christmas! I saw it but I can’t take credit for it!”

“Don’t tell me you…”

“No’m, the white stuff was a gift from a saintly friend of mine in the weather department,” she said, with a grin. “How about some tea?”

Pearl was baking a breakfast casserole made from layers of egg-soaked bread, cooked, crumbled pork sausage, topped with grated sharp Cheddar cheese. I had not enjoyed one in ages. I couldn’t wait to taste it. No doubt it would be fantastic. A cookie sheet of biscuits was ready to go into the oven, a pot of grits was simmering on the stove, a bowl of fresh fruit salad was on the counter, and a pot of strong coffee was brewing. The air was so aromatic that I couldn’t understand how anyone could sleep through it!

“Hot tea would be lovely. With cream. Thank you. You are too much, Pearl! Everything looks so…I don’t know, like it used to in the old days! Thank you so much.”

“I miss the old days, too, ’eah? It’s a pleasure to recreate them.”

“Yes.” I paused and sighed, wondering if any of the beauty of it all was rubbing off on my family. “Is anyone up yet?”

“Not that I know of, but Santa came.” She raised the gas under the teapot to bring it to a boil.

“How about that? Of course he did. Heavenly days, I am so ancient, I forgot to even look! I’ll be right back!”

I turned around and hurried along to the living room. When I was a youngster, Gordie and I would race to see our loot at the crack of dawn! We would knock each other out of the way, grabbing our stockings from the fireplace, dumping their contents onto the floor…that was a thousand years ago. The memory of that excitement faded fast when I reached the living room.

There stood Barbara, frumpy and forlorn in her quilted bathrobe, adding a few things to the Christmas stockings that hung over the fireplace. My heart sank. There was no bicycle under the tree for Andrew. Had Camille forgotten or was it hidden somewhere else? If one didn’t appear by supper time, I’d draw him a picture of one. We would go shopping together tomorrow. I would gladly be his extra Santa.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” I said to my daughter, and gave her a light kiss on her cheek. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Well? Pretty glum, to be honest. Merry Christmas, Mother,” she said. Her eyes were puffy and rimmed in red. She must have cried all through the night. “I am still struggling with what exactly happened at dinner. Honesty is one thing, but there was cruelty, just appalling cruelty, coming from my husband, the children, my
brother…I just don’t know what to do about it. I have never felt so inept! Even my little granddaughter was just awful to poor Andrew…what should I do?”

“We have to talk to them about forgiveness and about kindness. Oh, my darling girl! I can see that you have suffered so much and I blame myself for a lot of it.”

“Why? You’re a wonderful mother!”

“No, sweetheart. I’ve been a lazy thing. There were so many times I could have reached out to try and help you and I didn’t. Ever since Fred…”

“I know. Things have never been the same.”

“Yes, but my mourning is behind me now, Barbara. It really is and I want you to be assured that I will stand up for you whenever you want me to. Camille needs help. Lynette needs your support. We have to talk to them and help them lay down some new guidelines for their children’s behavior, especially Teddie. And George? I’ll be glad to give him…well, I’ll give him
hell
if you want me to. I will, you know!”

With a wail that could wake the dead, like they ever slept anyway, Barbara hugged me and hugged me with all her might until I thought she might crack one of my ribs. As she sniffed loudly, I flailed around in the confines of this massive bear hug in search of a tissue, found one, and handed it to her. Finally, she stood back, blew her nose, and smiled.

“What about Cleland? Could you give him hell, too?”

“We are about halfway home, on this,” I said.

“If you say so,” she said. Obviously she had no earthly idea what I meant.

“You’ve got a secret weapon and you don’t even know it.”

“What?”

“Well, there’s my will, you know. But it really isn’t a
what
it’s a
who
!”

Barbara lit the lights on the Christmas tree. It started blinking like it had gone mad. We both stood there, looked at the crazy thing, and then with the tip of my shoe, I pulled the plug right out of the wall.

“Awful, isn’t it?” Barbara said.

“Worse than awful,” I said. “Come with me. It’s time to talk to Pearl.”

Reluctantly, Barbara followed me to the kitchen, pulling her belt tight around her waist, shuffling in her slippers.

“I sure could use some coffee, I guess,” she said.

It was strange that Barbara was not dressed for the day. It was unusual in our home to come downstairs in your pajamas unless you had the flu or some ailment. But she was understandably depressed and probably letting decorum go for one morning. But, like the young people say, Barbara needed to get her act together.
Tout de suite!

We were about to make that happen.

We pushed open the door to the kitchen.

Pearl said, “Merry Christmas, Ms. Barbara! Why, don’t you look nice!”

I looked back to see my daughter dressed in a gorgeous white knit skirt and cashmere sweater. Her hair was beautifully blown out, her makeup appeared to be professionally applied. She looked more stunningly beautiful than I could ever remember. Even on her wedding day!

I burst out in a laugh and said to Pearl, “You’re going to kill us all from shock if you don’t stop it, you know.”

Pearl clapped her hands and slapped her thighs as she buckled over in a riotous fit.

“Merry Christmas, Ms. Barbara! I thought you needed something new and snazzy to wear!”

“Merry Christmas, Pearl…what?” Barbara looked down at her clothes and shoes. Her face was incredulous. She was completely stunned. “How could this…I mean, what in the world?”

“We need a little chat,” Pearl said. “Time’s a-wasting! You need reinforcements!”

As Pearl and I told Barbara the truth about everything, she listened carefully, asking us to repeat many things. She was positively as dumbfounded as I had been to learn Pearl’s identity and her capabilities, and
she was more than willing to cooperate with us to pull her family together.

“Did you say…”

“Yes, I did,” Pearl would say. “Here’s what you have to do…”

Right before nine, Cleland appeared at the door freshly shaven but wearing an old sweater and rumpled trousers—a most uncelebratory ensemble, given the occasion.

Barbara smiled, handed him a cup of coffee, exactly as he liked it prepared, and said, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart! Now go dress in a sport coat and tie. We’re going to church. Gosh! You smell good! Get the others up, too. Tell them no Santa until after church, to dress nicely, and come for breakfast right away! Okay?” She smiled at him as sweetly as she could, stood up on her tiptoes, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart!”

Cleland, not knowing what to say, wished her a Happy Christmas and kissed her cheek in return.

“You sure look, um, different!”

“Thanks! The kids?”

“Uh, sure thing,” he said, and turned to leave. “Um, don’t you think they’re going to raise the devil? Church? Late Santa?”

“Let them! Blame me! This is
my
house!” Barbara said.

Cleland looked at her in surprise. The tiniest of all
smiles crept across his face. “Good for you!” he said as he disappeared behind the door.

“R-e-s-p-e-c-t! One down and just a few more to go,” Pearl said, licked her forefinger, and swiped the air with a single stroke on an imaginary scoreboard.