Finding Home (15 page)

But where would I go?

I couldn’t face returning to the lodge if I
couldn’t own it and get rid of the hunters. I couldn’t go to the
Wembles. I knew they’d take me in, but the price would be too
great. They’d want me to go to church, christen the baby, take it
to Sunday school. No. I couldn’t live with them. I was eternally
grateful for all they’d done for me as a teenager, but I wouldn’t
inflict myself on them again.

For a few minutes I considered running to Jay
in Vermont. In my heart I knew he would take me in, probably even
with open arms. But there was no way around the fact of Becky.

I felt profound sorrow then. Why wasn’t I
carrying Jay’s baby, living with him, planning the camp with him?
Why couldn’t it have worked out? Just why the hell not? I started
to cry, and soon the sadness became sleepiness, as thick and
persistent and heavy as the snow still falling outside, covering me
silently.

When I awoke it was late afternoon and the
snow had stopped. The setting sun cast a rosy glow across the sky.
I felt peaceful and docile, as if I really had slept beneath the
snow and somehow been transformed, been purified by it. It was
quite clear then that all I could do was continue as if I knew
nothing. Kiera was right. What she’d told me didn’t really change
anything. I didn’t need to go anywhere. What I needed was to plod
along with my blinkers on. I must produce the baby, collect my
money, and then go live by myself at the lodge.

When I wandered downstairs the living room
looked magical. Groups of red and green candles were lit on the
mantle and in the windows. The Christmas tree, now fully decorated,
stood boldly in the center, white lights glimmering. Obviously
Kiera had continued her work while I slept. From the graceful
branches hung cornucopias stuffed with candy and nuts, and the
paper birds and fans we’d made. Dainty crocheted snowflakes were
scattered overall, as if they had fallen naturally.

Kiera was sitting before the tree on a
needlepoint footstool, her feet tucked up under her, her arms
hugging her knees, her face full of childish joy. When she noticed
me, her expression quickly became meek and humble.

“It would be hard to be angry at someone who
created such a wonderful Christmas tree,” I said.

She smiled. Hopeful, tentative.

I stepped closer to the tree, wanting to
touch it, breath in the fresh fir scent. The top was crowned with
an angel sewn from white satin. At first glance she looked pure,
her gown trimmed with silver and gold, her quilted wings studded
with pearls. But as the lights flickered, her sweet embroidered
face seemed to change slightly. There was something not entirely
holy. “Did you make her?” I asked Kiera.

“Yes.”

“I thought so.”

“Well? What about Nick?” She sounded
terrified. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry. I won’t say
anything.”

“Oh thank you, thank you!” she cried, leaping
up and flinging her arms around me. “Oh, how can I ever thank
you?”

“With money, lady,” I said. “With fifty
thousand bucks.”

On Christmas Eve Nick arrived by airport
limo, laden with gifts. Phoebe and Angus had gone to relatives in
Cape Breton for Christmas, so and Kiera and I were alone at
Malagash.

“Oh look, Luce,” Kiera said when Nick burst
in, “it’s the mad Yuppie Santa!”

Nick marched straight to the living room with
his armloads of packages, which were store gift-wrapped in shiny
foil with big bows. “No beard, no belly, just a pinstriped suit and
credit cards,” he joked. “A modern St. Nick.” He heaped his gifts
under the twinkling Christmas tree, then hurried back to the door
to take the next load from the driver, who went back out for Nick’s
luggage.

When everything was inside Nick took off his
black wool overcoat and greeted us, his white silk scarf still
slung around his neck. He made a kissing motion in the air
somewhere above Kiera’s left ear. “Merry Christmas,” he said, “nice
tree.” Then he turned to me. “God, Lucienne, you’re really starting
to look pregnant! I can’t believe it. We’re actually going to have
a baby!” He gathered me into a firm embrace, murmuring into my ear,
“Just think, by next Christmas …” He smelled of some kind of musky
after-shave and his breath tingled on my skin.

Over his shoulder I caught Kiera’s raised
eyebrows in a look that meant: see, he’s after you. But she didn’t
seem pleased as she said to Nick, “Lucienne’s told me all about
celebrating réveillon on Christmas Eve at the lodge where she
worked in Quebec, and we thought it might be a good idea for
tonight. Since we don’t have any little kids
yet
, we can
stay up as late as we want. Then we can all sleep in tomorrow
morning.”

Nick loosened his hold on me but stayed
close. “Does that mean we get to open presents right now?” He gave
me another warm squeeze before stepping away to pour himself some
scotch from the minibar Kiera had arranged on the sideboard. He
gulped most of it back, then sank down in one of the wing chairs.
“Presents, presents, presents,” he chanted, like a little kid.

“No,” I told him, “first we eat. You’re
supposed to serve the tourtière at midnight, after mass, but I’m
starving right now.”

“Yes, let’s eat now,” Kiera said, “then I can
still make it to the midnight carol service. Dottie’s picking me up
at quarter of.”

“Sure,” Nick said, “ I’m famished. But can we
eat in here? I’m so tired I don’t think I can move.”

“Fine with us,” Kiera said. “Worn out from
all that shopping?”

Nick laughed. “Hell no, that was fun! It’s
just that I’ve been putting in a lot of extra time. In fact I have
to go back on the twenty-seventh. Got to get my billable hours up
before the end of the year.”

So Nick was only staying three days. Less
even.

We’d been expecting him to stay through New
Year’s, and I felt both disappointed and relieved, in that order.
Yes, I wanted him. And no, I wasn’t about to allow myself to give
in. The less time Nick spent here the easier it would be to resist
him. I had to mind my impulses. I had to stay in control.

I hurried to serve the tourtière, which was
warming in the oven. We’d made one with meat, one vegetarian. While
I brought the plates, Kiera lit the fire and Nick poured them some
wine. I drank apple cider. We all dug in as if we’d never seen food
before.

“God, this tastes good,” Nick said. “I
haven’t had a home cooked meal in weeks.”

“Odette’s recipe.” I told him. “She makes
tons of it, year round, for the dining room at Auberge Ciel.” Thank
god he wasn’t staying, or I’d lose sight of my dream. This time
next year I had to be back at the lodge where I belonged.

And where would my baby be?

“Okay, I’m recharged, let’s open presents,”
Nick said the minute he finished eating. He rushed to the tree and
started gathering up gifts. I was sitting on the floor with my back
against the settee and my plate on an old pine blanket box. Nick
made trip after trip, piling gifts on the oriental carpet at my
feet.

“Wait a minute, these can’t all be for me,” I
said. “This is embarrassing.”

Nick just smiled. “Well not exactly for you,
but you should be the one to open them.”

I looked over at Kiera, who was finishing off
the wine. Even when she was dressed casually, as she was then in
jeans and a red cashmere sweater, she still looked elegant, with
her smooth hair and perfect makeup. “Don’t worry Luce,” she said,
“Nick and I stopped giving each other presents years ago. I had
enough jewelry, and he had enough watches. We don’t usually open
anything at all.”

Nick searched around under the tree. “Hey,
but here’s one for you anyway, Kiera. And one for me too.”

What he and Kiera found to open were the
books I’d ended up buying in Airdrie Bay after my failed attempt to
go shopping in Halifax. For Kiera I’d chosen a book on quilting
which I knew she didn’t have, and for Nick a book on Canada’s
National Parks. I didn’t think it suited him, it suited someone
like Jay. But I liked it, and what else could I give Nick?

To the Rivards and the Wembles I’d sent
festive Nova Scotia fir wreaths. To Jay and Becky nothing. Not even
a card.

“Well come on, start opening,” Nick urged
me.

I began working on a small square package,
trying to save the paper as Vera Wemble always did. Inside was a
blue Birks box holding a sterling silver cup and spoon. “We’ll have
them engraved later, when we’ve picked a name,” Nick said. The next
box, from William Ashley China, held a complete set of Bunnykins
dishes. “Only the best,” Nick said, “is good enough for my
kid.”

And then suddenly I didn’t feel embarrassed
anymore. Why shouldn’t my baby have these things? I remembered so
many Christmas mornings I’d spent at the group home, opening the
predictable hat and scarf and crayons every crown ward got from the
Children’s Agency. Or, if I’d been placed with a foster family,
watching their natural children get figure skates and jewelry and
dolls, while I was given plain white socks and underwear, or
perhaps a hairbrush.

One year an indignant foster mother had
actually dragged me back to the group home right on Christmas
day.

“I really tried to make them want me,” I told
the emergency worker. “I even helped with the dishes when the other
girls didn’t have to.”

“You can not steal, Lucienne,” she’d said,
accentuating each syllable as if to a very stupid person.

“But it was for Christmas presents! For all
the family. They wouldn’t give me any money, and I needed some, and
they’ve got heaps and heaps, the girls have their own bank
accounts, and I only wanted them to like me, so they’d keep me
...”

I opened Nick’s packages faster and faster
then, greedy, forgetting about not tearing the expensive paper.
There was an electric train set, a remote control car, a chemistry
set, a microscope, a telescope, a Steiff teddy bear, a Mickey Mouse
Piggy bank, a complete set of Beatrix Potter books, a baseball bat,
a football, a hockey stick, and enough Lego to build a miniature
Malagash. I felt somehow vindicated, knowing my child would always
have anything it needed and everything it wanted.

“I don’t believe it Nick,” Kiera cried. “You
must have spent a fortune.”

Nick was already setting up the train under
the Christmas tree. “Well, why not?” he said, his blue eyes
shining. “I never got any Christmas presents as a kid, and I’m
excited about this baby.”

“Me too,” Kiera said, “but I thought it might
be bad luck to buy anything. It’s kind of premature.” She cleared
some of the boxes and wrapping out of the way and examined the book
I’d given her. “Oh, this is wonderful, I’ve been wanting this,” she
said, “thank you so much. Now open yours from me, Luce. Dottie will
be here any minute and I still have to go change.”

Nick opened his book too. He flipped through
it politely, then dumped it on the floor. I couldn’t help thinking
how Jay would have settled right in with it. Then I wondered what
Jay was doing for Christmas and my heart broke all over again. The
last few years I’d spent the holidays with him in Vermont. We’d
gone cross-country skiing, which I’d enjoyed more than I should
have since Becky couldn’t go with us.

I started opening Kiera’s gifts, which were
wrapped in bits of quilting fabric with pinked edges and tied with
narrow satin ribbon. I actually blushed with embarrassment. First
she’d given me a lush white terrycloth robe. Then she’d splurged on
toiletries, everything imaginable: perfume, soap, shampoo, bath
bombs, body lotion. The scents were all herbal or floral, all
natural and handmade by women in a Nova Scotia cottage industry. I
sprayed some jasmine and orange blossom cologne on my wrist and
almost swooned. “Kiera I just love it!” I sprayed my other wrist
and all around my neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything so
nice. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

After Kiera left, the living room was quiet
except for Christmas music playing softly on the stereo. I
recognized the same caressing harps and flutes I’d heard the day
I’d found Kiera and Angus together. I looked at Nick, who was now
lying on the floor assembling train tracks and drinking brandy. I
was tempted to lie down beside him and see what happened. I was
also tempted to tell him everything, even though I’d promised Kiera
I wouldn’t.

To stop myself I said, “You really shouldn’t
have bought all that stuff.” Nick didn’t argue, just beamed up at
me with pride. “But I’m absolutely thrilled you did,” I told him.
“I’m overwhelmed. It was terrific, opening everything. I’ve never
had so much fun at Christmas.”

“Me neither,” he said. “Though as you know,
it wouldn’t take much to outdo what I had.”

The tree lights glimmered and the fire
glowed. I was acutely aware that we were alone together in that
golden room. “Well, I’m exhausted,” I said, standing. “I usually go
to bed much earlier. Thanks again. Good night. Merry
Christmas.”

I took my stash of stuff from Kiera upstairs
and ran a deep lavender bath. Afterwards, I slathered on lavender
and rose petal body lotion. The fragrance filled my room. I
couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of Nick.

He always slept in the guest bedroom at the
back of the house. When I first came to Malagash, Kiera told me
that was because Nick was such a workaholic and she was a light
sleeper. But now I knew different. And I knew he’d have to pass my
door on his way to bed. Would he maybe stop to visit?

I waited and waited. After a long while I
heard Kiera arriving home from church. Much later I finally heard
Nick’s footsteps in the hall outside my door. I held my breath. His
steps slowed. lay very still, suddenly scared at the sound of his
light knock.