Angels in the Snow (17 page)

“That makes sense.” Judith squeezed Jennifer's shoulder. “A rabbit isn't like a dog or a cat. You'd probably have to keep it in a cage all the time. What kind of life would that be for the poor animal?”

Jennifer finally agreed, as did the other children. But as they slowly dispersed back to their various activities, Charles felt doubly devastated. Could he do
nothing
right? Once again he had somehow screwed up. All he'd wanted was to make them happy. Was offering to buy them a pet rabbit so awful?

Yet Charles knew the rabbit wasn't the problem. Judith, Marilyn, and Joe provided a comfort to their children that he was unable to. They offered solace; he offered to buy something.

He turned and made his way blindly to the chair he'd occupied before. But though he picked up the book again, he didn't read. Instead, his eyes followed Judith.

Was that what he did to her, too? Offered her the things money could buy, but not what her heart truly craved? He wanted to cry out in frustration. What was it she wanted? If he knew, he would get it for her. He would do it for her. But he didn't know what it was. He didn't have a clue.

He watched as she removed the turkey from its wrapping and set it in a large pan. He stared as she washed her hands in a bucket of water kept lukewarm by its proximity to the fire. And all the while his emotions veered from desolation to fury, from helpless love to something very close to hatred. She had no right to abandon him. She had no right to undermine him this way. He deserved better than that.

Judith laughed softly at something Marilyn said, then murmured a reply. When she glanced up and met Charles's gaze, however, her smile faded. She looked away and Charles knew he must have been scowling. Even glaring. But he couldn't help it. Dammit, what did she expect from him?

“We need to bury her.” Lucy stood before her father with Jennifer next to her. “We need to say prayers over her to make sure she gets to heaven.”

“We'll have to wait for better weather,” Joe said. “It's way too nasty outside now, honey. Besides, the ground is probably frozen.”

Lucy looked at Jennifer for ideas.

“We could at least have a memorial service. You know, so her soul can go up to heaven even if her body's still down here,” Jennifer said. “I think it would make Josie feel better,” she added in a hushed tone.

Joe smiled then, and even Charles couldn't help but thaw out inside. Jennifer wasn't usually so concerned with other people's feelings, and he wondered what kind of big sister she might have made. That automatically made him think of Judith, and he stole another glance at her.

Jennifer would never be a big sister. The way things were going, she might very well end up being one of those Saturday children—with her father just one day a week, and her mother the rest of the time.

Or perhaps the other way around, he thought bitterly. Why should he give up his children just because Judith was being irrational?

Yet even as he watched, Jennifer ran over to her mother. The two blond heads bent together as the girl whispered in Judith's ear, and Charles knew that he could never fight Judith for custody of their children. He could never be so cruel to her.

Why was it so easy for her to be cruel to him?

“PLEASE TAKE FLUFFY UP
to heaven,” Josie began the ceremony. Her hands were clasped together and she looked like a little angel. If God was listening, Charles decided, He would be hard-pressed to deny so sweet a plea.

“Let her legs be okay, so she can run again,” Lucy offered.

“And let her find all her friends and family,” Jennifer added.

Alex and Robbie solemnly spread a blue towel over the top of the box where the rabbit lay. Then both of them looked up expectantly. There was a moment of silence before Josie piped up in a more cheerful tone.

“God bless us, everyone.”

Lucy grimaced and gave her sister a patient look. “That's from a movie. Tiny Tim says it.”

“So? I like it. God bless us, everyone,” the child repeated.

As if her words let down a barrier, everyone seemed to relax.

“Yeah, God bless us, everyone,” Alex echoed, grinning at Josie. “Did you ever think how cool it is that some dude wrote that hundreds of years ago and we still say it?”

“The power of words,” Marilyn said as Joe picked up the small box and brought it into the kitchen. “That's what they mean by ‘the pen is mightier than the sword.' ”

“That's what I want to do,” Alex admitted, sinking cross-legged onto the rug and picking up the guitar. “I want to write words—you know, to songs—that people will remember even after I'm not around.”

Judith sat down across from her son with a curious look on her face. “I never knew that, Alex. Have you written anything yet?”

He ducked his head. “Not yet. I mean, I've written stuff. But nothing that's very good.”

“My favorite words are from a poem,” Marilyn said, joining the group near the hearth. “Do you know ‘Maud Muller'? This part is near the end. ‘For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: “It might have been.” ' ” She shot Judith a wry look. “I told you I had a gypsy's soul. I guess I don't want to ever wonder what might have been. I want to have done it.”

“Except for mountain climbing,” Robbie quipped.

“Ha, ha,” Marilyn retorted. “What about you, smart aleck? What words do you remember that you can never forget?”

“ ‘Robbie, leave your sisters alone.' ” He mimicked her voice, to the vast amusement of everyone but his mother. “ ‘Robbie, do your chores,' ” he added in a deeper tone as his dad came into the room.

“My favorite words from a book were in
Charlotte's Web,
” Jennifer said. “In the part when Charlotte first weaves the words over the pig. ‘Some pig' she weaves to save Wilbur. It shows how good a friend she was. I always liked that.”

“I remember that part!” Lucy cried. “It was so cool to think that animals and even insects could think and had feelings and everything.”

“What words do you remember?” Jennifer prodded her friend. “Maybe it's something I read, too.”

Lucy bit her lip as she thought. Then she laughed in embarrassment. “Do you play baseball? Or softball?” When Jennifer shook her head, Lucy sent her an apologetic look. “I know this doesn't seem like it means very much, but I like it. ‘Mighty Casey has struck out.' ”

Robbie hooted with laughter.

“It's not just about baseball, doofus! It's about real life,” Lucy said, defending her choice. “Even if someone is a real hotshot and thinks he can't lose, he still can.”

“That's a rather cynical outlook for a little girl.”

Everyone looked over at Charles.

“What's
cynical
mean?” Lucy asked him, her gaze direct.

There was no reason for him to have said that, Charles berated himself. Now he had to get himself out of it gracefully. He shifted in his seat. “
Cynical
is the opposite of
optimistic
. People who are optimistic see the good in everyone and everything. They think everything is going to work out for the best. A cynical person usually expects the worst. An optimist would expect Casey to hit a home run. A cynic expects him to strike out.”

Lucy digested that a moment. “Okay, I think I get it. Which one are you?”

That stopped Charles cold. He glanced uneasily at Judith. “I . . . I would have to say that I'm an optimist. But not a cockeyed optimist,” he hastened to add. “I wouldn't have succeeded in real estate development these past years if I wasn't realistic, too.”

Once more he sought out Judith. She was watching him with an expressionless look. Did she think the optimistic side of him was overriding the realist in expecting their marriage to recover?

Lucy nodded. “I think that's what I am, too,” she decided. “I always hope for the best, but sometimes I know it's not going to turn out that way.”

“What written words have you always remembered?” Joe asked Charles.

His jaw tightened. What was this, grill Charles Montgomery night?

“Nothing comes to mind at the moment. How about you, Judith?” He turned toward her, knowing the sarcastic edge in his voice was misdirected. “What words do you remember?”

Judith averted her head, staring down at her hands as she twisted one of her rings back and forth. For a moment Charles feared she would quote some frighteningly revealing words, like a message saying good-bye. His pulse quickened in the silence. Then she raised her face and smiled ruefully.

“I doubt if any of you have ever heard these words. They're from a story that was written in
The Whole Earth Catalog
.”

“I remember that. My mother had an old copy of it,” Marilyn said.

“Well, there was a story in one issue, ‘Divine Right's Trip,' and a line from it has always stayed with me. A bit of graffiti. ‘There are times when the wolves are silent and the moon is howling.' ” She paused and shrugged. “Not a particularly well-known line, as I said.”

“That's cool,” Alex said thoughtfully. He nodded slowly. “Actually, that could be part of a really cool song. You know, the starting point for the lyrics.”

Judith laughed. “Go for it, then.”

“It's sort of like ‘still waters run deep,' ” Joe remarked. “I'll have to dig out
The Whole Earth Catalog
and read the story.”

Maybe I should, too,
Charles worried as he stared at his wife. The fact that they could be so out of step was terrifying. And then there was the quote itself. Why had it stayed with her? What did it signify?

But he knew: discontent.

“Okay, it's your turn, Alex.” Jennifer grinned at her brother. “Have you got any words? Probably lyrics, knowing him,” she said to the rest of them.

“Yeah, probably,” Alex agreed. “Trouble is, there's so much to choose from.” He frowned as he searched his memory. “Okay, there's this song. It goes, ‘Imperfection makes for a perfect world.' ” Alex hesitated and he ducked his head. “I know it sounds weird, but it's true if you think about it. Everyone has their own ideas about the way things should be. You know, how to make everything just perfect. And we all think everybody else's ideas are wrong—
imperfect
. But it's all those so-called imperfections that make this world so interesting. You know, different strokes for different folks.” He shrugged and gave a self-conscious smile. “It's a pretty good song. The guitar work is way cool, too.”

“And it was written by a heavy-metal group?” Joe asked Alex. His gaze, however, rested on Charles.

“Yeah. It's a new group called Noodlehead.” Alex's eyes followed the direction of Joe's, and Charles automatically turned to meet his son's gaze.

If Joe's watchfulness had aggravated him, Alex's wariness unnerved him. Part cautious, part belligerent, Alex's expression seemed to challenge his father, and Charles felt a deep pang of regret. He'd never meant for Alex to feel defensive around him. When they'd disagreed in the past, he'd never wanted Alex to feel that the disapproval was directed at him personally. It was the trappings Charles had disliked. The hair. The music. The pierced ear.

Yet Alex's caution made it clear he'd taken the criticisms to heart. How could Charles make him understand that he loved him? That none of the rest really mattered at all?

He swallowed hard against the sudden pounding of his heart. “Are the words to most of your music that thought provoking?”

Alex held his father's gaze, seeming to search his face as he considered his answer. “Not usually,” he finally conceded. “I mean, they almost always have a lot of emotion. You know, anger or frustration. Love. But the words are usually secondary to the music itself.”

Charles nodded. “It's always pretty loud.”

Alex actually chuckled. “It has to be. That's part of the emotions.”

“Getting a headache from the noise is a part of it,” Robbie threw in. “If your head hurts, then you'll be angrier and more frustrated.”

“Dork.” Alex grinned and shoved Robbie. “We all know what kind of music you like. ‘Grandma got run over by a reindeer.' ” He mimicked Robbie's higher-pitched singing voice.

“Yeah, and you're just a sentimental kind of guy. Playing ‘Silent Night' and all.”

Charles broke into Robbie's teasing. “He did a great job of it.”

Alex studied his father as if he couldn't quite understand his sudden defense—and approval. “It's an emotional song. That's what I like in music. Expressing emotions in words and on the guitar.”

“ ‘Imperfection makes for a perfect world.' ” Judith repeated the lyrics Alex had offered. “That's worth remembering for times when we can only see things our own way, and dismiss everybody else as being foolish.”

“Come on, Mom. When have you ever called anyone a fool?” Jennifer scoffed. “You're the one who always makes peace between everyone.”

Judith's eyes flitted to Charles, then settled back on their daughter. “Well, let's say I try. But, hey, Robbie and Joe. Neither of you have told us your favorite line from the written word. Who's first?”

Charles didn't listen to Robbie's answer. He didn't laugh when everyone else did. And he only vaguely heard Joe's comments about a book called
Ecotopia
and its impact on him. He was too wrapped up in his own dark thoughts.

Up to now Judith
had
always been the peacemaker, the one to see merit in both sides of every situation. She'd been the one who saw beyond people's imperfections, while he'd been the one who always demanded perfection. But it was only
his
vision of what would be perfect, with no allowances for anyone else's.