The Steward (51 page)

Dad looked up from his laptop, wary at first when he saw the papers. I’m sure he
remembered
the stunned look on the developer
s’
faces when I handed them
back
the
purchase offer for
the Weald with “Go to Hell!” written in large print in my favorite pink lipstick. The message was more profane tha
n
I was typically comfortable with, but it seemed appropriate at the time.
I did put a ‘smiley face’ at the end, though.
They got the message and left, stunned.

Dad slowly read the first letter of intent. “Greetings from Razorback Country
,
” he
read aloud. T
he words caught in his throat
,
forcing him to continue in silence. He flipped through the others, quickly, smiling. My heart was racing. He was genuinely happy.

“Florida, Auburn, Texas, Georgia, LSU, Florida State—well, your dream has come...”
h
e
began,
looking up at me before it registered
with him
that I
wore
a cardinal-red Razorback shirt. He studied the shirt and his mouth went slack.

“Dad, those letters are arranged in the order of my interest. Really, there is only one school I want to swim for.”

He dropped all of them, except the one in his right hand
,
and walked out of the room—he almost looked angry. I heard the door to the passage between the library and the bedroom cottage open and close. It wasn’t the reaction I expected
,
and I turned to Mom. She
stared
at me.

“Is he
mad? H
e looked mad
.
Mom? Should I go after him?”

“Honey, do you know which letter he took with him?”

I walked over and looked through the pile.

“It was the letter from Arkansas.”

“
Honey
, your father doesn’t like to show emotion
—l
ike someone else I know.”

“But he was mad.”

“No, he wasn’t. He was happy ... shocked, actually. I would recognize that look anywhere—he had it when I agreed to marry him—he had it when he found out I was expecting you, and your brother, but I haven’t seen it since Mitch was born.”

“Happy? Why did he run
out
of the room.”

“If I know your dad, he went to be alone.”

“Why?”

She smiled and shook her head, looking at me like I should have figured it out already.

“
Oh, Piñata
, you aren’t the only one who hates to cry in front of people. Wearing that shirt, picking Arkansas over those other schools—especially Florida State—since the day you were born, it’s been his dream for you or your brother to be a Razorback. He used to talk about it all the time. People from Arkansas are ... well ... a little crazy that way. He’s probably in the bathroom crying.” She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “But for the love of god, don’t tell him that I told you that.”

Maggie one—Dad nothing.

I took the other letters to the trash can and threw them away.

“Well, it’s settled. Sorry
M
om, it looks like I won’t be a Seminole after all.”

“Oh, honey, that’s okay—nobody’s perfect,” she said doing the FSU hatchet cheer with her hand. She turned back to the sink supressing a smile.

“Wooo Sooie ... or whatever they say.”

“Umm, not that I want you to mention this to
anyone
I know back in Florida,” she said without turning around. “But it’s
Wooo Pig Sooie
, honey. You really need to work on that, especially if you want to stay ...
alive
in this state.”

* * *

Dad had regained his composure when he came back out for breakfast that morning. He
smiled
a little more than he had, but he also continued searching the internet for homes in Boca.
I love
you
,
Dad,
but I
’m
seriously
thinking about
knocking
you
in the head.

Sara told me that he
began
to have second thoughts about moving, at least that’s what she gleaned from the images in his head and
the
emotions attached to them
. But
he wasn’t there yet. So I put the second phase of my three phase plan in motion.
Yes, I’m scheming. I’m a schemer,
and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

The second phase of my plan happened Saturday when I surprised the family with tickets to the Arkansas-South Carolina Football game.
Again, thank you Danny Johns.
Dad was speechless when, at the game, and after taking
M
om’s advice, I stood up and did the
H
awg
C
all
with everyone else. With each
Wooo Pig Sooie,
Dad’s stone facade chipped away a little more.
Maggie two—Dad nothing.
Time for phase three
.

* * *

At eight o’clock on Christmas eve
,
I
was in
my room
attempting to get
ready for
the family
dinner. School ended the previous week, and swim practice had wrapped up for the holidays. I finished the semester with another four-point, and
tried
to enjoy a break from my hectic routine for a few weeks. Though the time off meant I had less to distract me from thinking, or rather, worrying about telling Chalen my decision.

It was funny
—I
knew I had to tell the Council on the first of the year whether I was going to accept stewardship of the Weald.
Billy and Sara concluded I s
h
ould
also
tell them about my deception
at that time
, but I wasn’t concerned. The Council was the least of my worries
—Chalen
alone
dominated my thoughts
.
As Christmas drew closer
,
he was the evil sugar plum fairy that danced in my head.

I had focused so much on keeping my family
on
the Weald, done so much to make sure it would happen, I felt painted into a corner. I ha
d
n’t seen Chalen in
the
weeks since the Water trial, but I
knew
he was aware of everything that happened. He probably guessed what my answer would be, even though I waffled on it lately. My imagination ran wild when I considered what he would do, and
whether
the Unseelie ha
d
an Aetherfae
.
I shuddered.

I heard Dad talking to Mitch downstairs and let my worries drift away. My father was in the holiday spirit. He helped Mom decorate
…
everything. She always went nuts in Florida, but
she was
exponentially worse here. They hung more lights on the cottage, in the trees, and throughout the garden than I thought physically possible.

Dad strung the big old
-
fashioned lights, the one’s with painted bulbs, along the roof of the cottage. Only red and white,
M
om insisted. It made the cottage look a little like a gingerbread house with peppermint eaves. The tiny clear lights in the leafless shrubs came alive and twinkled when the wind blew. The centerpiece of the Christmas garden, though, was the White Spruce.
Picea glauca.
I chuckled to myself as I rattled off the botannical name in my head. It stood nearly thirty feet tall, and it was one of the few things that stayed green all year
long … until Dad worked it over, at least. He had completely covered it with lights
of all colors.
After t
urning my bedroom lamp off, I stared at it.
Breathtaking.
The Fae appeared to enjoy our seasonal spirit, too.
I sensed several of them
flittering about, just beyond the garden wall
,
in various physical forms.

I
really
wanted Aunt May to see this. It was so beautiful here. I wanted to tell her that she had been right last January when she told me that Christmas in the Weald was spectacular—she had been right about a lot of things. Experiencing four distinct seasons hooked me on Arkansas. I still loved Florida
,
and I missed Boca, but I already
looked
forward to
s
pring in the Ozarks
.
E
ven if
he can’t bring it
early this year
, it’ll still be him when it comes.

I pulled a deep breath through my nose. It smelled like Christmas was supposed to smell—there were so many aromas in the air. The scent of chocolate, spiced cider, and bread warmed the air, while peppermint and the Douglas Fir Christmas tree in the living room
gave it a clean and cool edge. We
used
the fireplaces again, so the smell of burning logs added even more depth.

Surrendering to hunger, I relinquished my solitude and joined them downstairs. The Christmas Eve stew was as good as I imagined, but we didn’t spend a lot of time sitting around the table enjoying it. As soon as we finished the first bowl, Mom ran us down to the basement. She had a “gift” for us and demanded we wait
there
until she
gave us the okay to
come back up. I could hear her walking about and guessed that she was in the dining room. While we waited, Mitch and Dad played pool. Mitch was still distant
with Dad, but t
heir relationship
had improved a little since Dad sold the car. His
behavior after
Aunt
May’s death had
really
hurt Mitch.

When Mom sounded the “all clear,” I followed them up the stairs. She led us to the dining room where there was something on the buffet, under a sheet. I suspected that she probably dug her ceramic Christmas village out and wanted to suprise us with it. She removed the sheet, quickly setting a few things back in place, a tiny tree here and a piece of miniture stone wall there. I couldn’t believe my eyes. She had created a tiny version of every structure in the Weald. The detail was amazing. I enjoyed looking at all of it until I noticed the caretaker’s cottage. Like the rest, it was in perfect detail, and done as though the cottage had been restored.