Winter Shadows (33 page)

Dad was still thick with cold. He drank spiked coffee while we opened presents in the morning. As a token of our fledgling truce, I decided to give Jean the earrings I’d bought in Selkirk. She wore them all day. And no clichés flew. I’d left the pink Santa in my stuff at Blair’s.

Jean wore Daisy’s holly pin at dinner. Daisy was excited and out of control, of course, but we rode through it. I went to Martin’s afterwards to visit with his family. His brothers teased him about me all night. It was fun.

I waited to hear from Beatrice, but nothing happened. On Boxing Day morning, I was getting ready to go back to Blair’s when I tried touching the star brooch one more time. Still nothing.

Did Beatrice leave Old Maples suddenly? Did she marry Robert earlier than planned? What happened to Duncan? To
Beatrice’s father? To Ivy? To her grandmother? What happened that Christmas Day in 1856?

How could it all just end like this? I’d learned so much about Beatrice through her journal, but what had she ever learned about me? Had I made any difference in her life? Why did she stop writing?

The more I thought about it, the crazier it seemed.
How could two people who lived a hundred and fifty years apart connect?
If only we could have really talked – just once. I had so many questions; I know she did, too.

Martin and I spent a lot of time together. It was fun working on our English project, and we got an A. His parents were great, and I saw quite a lot of his aunt Betty. I got to know his grandmother too. But every time he dropped me off at Aunt Blair’s, I went right back to worrying about Beatrice, Duncan, and Robert.

I tried not to let my anxiety about the past get in the way of making things better with Jean. Dad was clearly happier now that she and I were trying to get along. She hardly ever slipped up and called me Cassandra anymore, and when she did, she’d laugh and say, “Oops! I’m in trouble!” I didn’t roll my eyes. Not in front of her, anyway.

If we were totally honest, we’d have to admit we didn’t really like or trust each other much, but we were trying. And if our feelings never went beyond a quiet truce, like Beatrice and Ivy’s, that would be okay.

Was I feeling Mom around me?
No. I tried talking into
the air sometimes, hoping she’d hear me, but it was harder than I realized bringing down the wall I’d put up between us. Maybe Blair just thought she felt Mom because she needed to feel her.

Daisy made new friends the first week back at school – two geeky girls, all grinning braces and spectacles, who hung out at Old Maples and played board games and Barbies and talked about boys for hours. But I had my own room to hang out in – at last.

Dad said he’d make changes in the house and he did. I suddenly got my room back when Jean had her small grand piano moved into the dining room. She’d have her music lessons there until they built an extension on the west side of the house that would also include a second-floor room for the baby.

One day, Jean called me at Blair’s. I took the phone carefully. “The renovators got going on your fireplace today. Should be done by the weekend. But no live fires, Cass. Those old fireplaces worry me.” I reluctantly agreed.

Aunt Blair gave me two old comfy chairs from her shop and an electric grate that glowed as if it were burning real coal. I could hardly wait to see what the fireplace looked like underneath its ugly painted wall box.

The following Friday, I went to Old Maples from school to find the renovator’s truck outside. Two workers were having coffee with Jean. I waved at her and ran upstairs.

I stood in the doorway. There it was: Beatrice and her grandmother’s fireplace, just as it appeared in my dream!
Made of limestone, its ancient slabs were dotted with tiny prehistoric water creatures. Around it was a set of narrow worn shelves. My heart sank. All the shelves were empty. No diary.

“So it’s really over,” I said to the quiet room, holding tight to the little star brooch. “You are really gone. And I’ll never know what happened.”

A small soft voice whispered, “Yes, my chick. She left us for a while. But she also remains here. Look to the small door below.”

Over my shoulder, I caught a flash of bright old eyes and a pale bonnet surrounding a crumpled dark face. And then it was gone. But I could feel her presence close to me, watching and waiting.

I studied the fireplace. All I saw was the small stone structure, five plain shelves on either side, and a smoke-discolored mantel.
What did she mean
, Look to the small door below? Each set of narrow shelves ended with a deep baseboard. I kneeled down and pushed, but each board remained firm.

I sat back on my heels. Beatrice’s grandmother had directed me here, so a cupboard or alcove had to be here somewhere. I examined one set of shelves close to the floor. Nothing. I looked at the other set and found a small hole in one board. I put my finger in and pulled. The board held fast. I braced my foot against the wall and pulled again.

The board came away with such force, it knocked me over. Rubbing my sore hand, I peered into the low rectangular space under it and pulled out a flat object.
Beneath a thick layer of dust was a leather-wrapped parcel with faded writing on it.

To Cass. Happy Christmas!

Shivers went from my knees straight up my body and into my arms. I opened the parcel carefully. Sitting on the floor, I began to read Beatrice’s last entry.

F
lustered by Duncan’s gifts, I fled the room, exclaiming over my shoulder that there was still much to get ready. Once in the kitchen, I searched for my pin, remembering suddenly that I’d worn it to church. Did it fall off there? I scoured the house for it. When the girls asked me what was wrong, I told them and they helped me search. It was nowhere to be found. Even Ivy helped. I wondered briefly if she had taken it, but, for once, became certain she was innocent. If it was lost forever, surely this was a warning
.

I continued doggedly with dinner preparations, hoping they would help me stop thinking about Duncan and the lost pin. Before I knew it, the food was almost ready and our guests had arrived, greeted by Papa and Ivy. The girls were watching the guests crowd into the hallway. I was a bundle of nerves, hiding in the kitchen. For I had made a momentous decision. Would I back out at the last moment? Did I have the strength to speak up? To muddle me even more, Duncan came into the room to offer help after building up the fires
.

“No, no, I am fine!” I said, my voice high and off-center as I struggled to lift the iron bar full of venison off the fire with Papa’s old leather mitts
.

He leaned over and, with towels around both hands, grabbed it from me. “I’ll tend to this. You do something else.”

I didn’t argue. He carefully slid the slabs of venison onto a massive wooden board while I mashed the turnips. Then he carved the venison, the goose, the large whitefish, and the pickled buffalo tongue he’d also brought earlier. The room steamed with mouthwatering odors
.

I tried to stay as far away from Duncan as I could, but I seemed to find him near me every time I turned around. We often touched without seeming to. He’d heard about my lost pin. “We will find it,” he kept saying
.

I was breathless with apprehension about seeing Robert and so upset about the pin that I begged Duncan not to talk of it again
.

When I lined the dishes up on the table, the girls carried them out to the dining room. I tried to pull myself together. I had to carry out my final decision. Now. As Duncan and the girls headed out the door, loaded down with the final platters, I ordered Dilly to ask Reverend Dalhousie to come to the kitchen. Duncan’s platter banged against the doorjamb, and I caught a glimpse of his startled look as the girls ushered him through
.

I took off my apron. A few moments later, Robert, looking fresh in a new collar of untainted white – a present from his sister or a concerned woman of the parish? – edged through the door
.

“Your little maid said you wished to speak to me. I’m sorry you have to spend so much time in the kitchen, but the table is groaning with your appetizing dishes.”

I coughed lightly. “Yes. I do have something I wish to speak to you about, Reverend … Robert. A painful and difficult thing.”

He nodded solemnly. “You’ve made a decision, and you have not chosen me.”

I put my hand to my throat, feeling for the missing pin. “Whatever do you mean? Not chosen you? Who else would I –?”

He bowed slightly. “Forgive me for interrupting. Kilgour woke up my entire household this morning, banging on my door. He insisted on talking to me. He told me that I would destroy you if I married you, that he was not going to see you waste your life with someone who didn’t love you with all his heart.” He smiled a tight smile that did not reach his eyes
.

“He didn’t!”

“Do not be too hard on him. You were about to decline my proposal anyway, were you not? I wish only your happiness, Miss Alexander. Let it end here. “

“You mean, you are not even a little bit upset?”

“As you have said, there is no love on either side. Nothing has been announced yet, so no one need know I asked. I wish you well, Beatrice. However, in retrospect, I think your decision is the right one. For I fear you may not have the … um … temperament for the arduous and selfless work of a minister’s helpmate.”

Not the temperament to be his helpmate? Not his
wife,
but his helper? Duncan Kilgour spent the morning manipulating my life, and now I was being chastised by this pompous preacher
.

I cried, “Come! Let us eat our festive meal, Reverend. For it appears you have something to celebrate. Not having me as a wife!”

I marched out of the kitchen. I touched cheeks with Henrietta and Miss Cameron and welcomed their guest pupils. Duncan was already seated beside nôhkom at the long table. I commanded everyone to sit down in my best teacher’s voice. And they quickly sat
.

Duncan glanced at me, his face wary. Nôhkom smiled sweetly. Papa, always the genial host, was cheerfully chatting with Henrietta, who seemed quite animated, her dog’s squashed little face peering over the tabletop with gluttonous eyes. Even Ivy didn’t complain that I was acting as hostess. She smiled coyly at Papa from the other end of the table. I held my head high. Soon the food was passed around, for I insisted everyone in the house should be seated, including Dilly, who was bright cheeked and happy, wearing one of my old dresses
.

Papa’s apple cider was poured by Duncan. As he poured some into my glass, he leaned over me, as if about to say something, but I talked loudly to Papa and ignored him. I wanted this meal over with, so I could plead a headache when the afterdinner guests arrived. I was desperate to go to my room to vent my utter fury and mortification at Robert Dalhousie’s and Duncan Kilgour’s cruel behavior and to cry for my lost pin
.

Duncan Kilgour kept trying to catch my eye. He looked worried. As well he should – bullying loudmouth that he was, slinking off to threaten Robert and turning him against me. Robert was talking to Miss Cameron, their heads together
.

Perhaps I should change my mind. Robert was a decent, kind man, after all. And what happiness could I hope to find by remaining here? However, one could not turn down a marriage proposal only to ask for it back. Besides, he didn’t want me! A wisp of shadow fluttered around my head
.

It was a jolly dinner for everyone else, it seemed. Miss Cameron and Robert were conversing amiably, while the young people, shy at first, were soon chatting and laughing
.

Papa talked to me about my new book of poems, admitting he’d read it before wrapping it for me. I smiled, but my smile felt frozen in place. As the girls cleared the table, Papa patted his stomach and Ivy giggled with delight
.

The world had surely spun upside down
.

When Dilly and the Three Graces entered the room with the pudding, sauce, and other sweets, Papa demanded the pudding be lit. Over its blue light of alcohol, Duncan gave me a bleak smile. I stared back, ice in my veins
.

After the pudding and sweets were eaten, the tables were pushed back for music and dancing. Soon the other guests arrived – Mrs. McBride, her husband, James, and her three sons, carrying their violins; and a neighbor, Jacob MacFadden, and his family, who were also great friends of Papa’s. Soon fiddles were tuning and people were dipping into the warm wassail bowl by the fire. Everyone demanded that Duncan and Minty bring out their fiddles as well
.

Duncan laughed and said he’d fetch them from the kitchen. But he moved to stand beside me. “What is wrong? You look –”

“Go away!”

He took my arm and I shook him off. “What is it, Beatrice? Has Dalhousie said something?”

Papa and Ivy were staring at us
.