"All right."
"What else? You said two things you want from Nina."
"Beau gave me his school ring last night, Nina," I said, showing it to her. "He's pledged his love for me and I've pledged mine to him. Can you burn a candle for us?"
"You need brimstone, not a candle, especially if the love was pledged in this house," she added with wide eyes. "You bring Monsieur Beau to Nina's room later and Nina do it for the two of you while you hold hands."
"I'll tell him, Nina," I said, smiling to myself and wondering what Beau would say when I proposed we do it. "Thank you."
I hurried back upstairs in time to find Gisselle tearing into Martha Woods unmercifully for choosing the wrong clothing and the wrong shoes.
"The woman has no sense of taste. Look! She wanted me to wear this blouse with this skirt and shoes."
"1 just thought she'd want to wear Christmas colors today and . . ."
"It's all right, Martha. I'll help her."
"Oh. Okay," she said with relief. "I do have other duties this morning." She hurried out.
"What's that?"
"Nina's cure. You have to drink it in one gulp. If you don't, it won't work," I said.
She eyed it suspiciously. "Did you ever drink it?"
"I drank something like it for an upset stomach," I replied.
She grimaced. "I'll do anythi
ng. I might even cut off my head," she cried and took the glass from me. She sucked in her breath and then brought it to her lips. Her eyes bulged as the elixir rolled over her tongue and taste buds.
"Don't stop," I ordered when it looked like she would stop drinking. I had to admit I enjoyed her discomfort. She drank it all down and then gasped, pressing her hand to her heart.
"Ugh. That was awful. It was probably poison. What was in it?"
"A raw egg, I know. Some herbs. Some powder that might be rattlesnake bone--"
"Oh no. Don't tell me anymore," she cried with her hands up. She swallowed hard. "I think I'm going to vomit." She lunged out of her chair to the bathroom, but she didn't throw up. A few minutes later she emerged, the color restored to her face.
"I think it's actually working," she declared happily. "Pick out your clothes. They're waiting for us in the living room. Bruce is wearing a Santa Claus costume and beard."
"Oh, how peachy," she said.
When we went down, we found Daphne, dressed in her red Chinese robe and slippers with her hair neatly brushed and pinned and her face made up as if she had gotten up and prepared herself hours ago. She was sitting in a high-backed French Provencal chair, sipping coffee from a silver cup. Bruce was standing by the tree in his Santa outfit, beaming.
"Well, it's about time you prima donnas came down. When I was a little girl I couldn't wait to open my gifts."
"We're not little girls, Mother," Gisselle said.
"When it comes to getting presents, a woman is always a little girl," Daphne replied, and she winked at Bruce, who laughed, holding in his false stomach. "It's time, Santa," she said
"Ho, ho, ho," he cried, scooping up some gifts to bring to us. I sat on the settee to open mine and Gisselle opened hers in her wheelchair as Bruce made frequent trips back to the tree. We got more clothes, expensive designer sweaters and blouses, as well as skirts. We both received new leather half coats with matching boots and fur hats we would probably never wear. Bruce gave us charm bracelets, and there were gift packages of bath oils, talcum powders, and perfumes. As soon as Gisselle ripped one thing open and gazed at it, she was ripping at another.
"This is so much," I said. I was still baffled by Daphne's new generosity.
"There is a gift here I thought you'd like to bring to your uncle Jean," she said, holding up a package. "It's half a dozen of the silk shirts he always loved."
"You'll let me go to the hospital?" I asked, amazed.