I could see his mind spinning with conflicting desires. Was this it? Would he give up reading the diary in my attic? Or reading it at all? Is that what I wanted, what I hoped to hear? Was it unfair of me to tease him with the promise that it would be different once we left the attic?
“Right,” he said. He stepped back, looking insulted, taking on Christopher’s posture again. “What kind of a brother do you think I am? You sound like you believe what the grandmother from hell believes about us.”
I started to laugh. He was so convincing, but then I decided to get right into it and be just as convincing. “Sorry. Oh,” I moaned as dramatically as I could, “I’m so sorry for doubting you, Christopher.”
“Right. You should be sorry. We Dollangangers, Foxworths, whatever we are, need to stick together.”
“Desperately,” I said. I was expecting him to laugh, but he didn’t.
He nodded instead and returned to his chair, looking even more determined.
“I guess we’ll have to wait to see what kind of a brother you really are. Won’t we?” I teased, but that didn’t bring a smile, either. He picked up the diary, glared at me defiantly, snapped his arms out firmly, and began to read again.
Christmas Eve now loomed on our horizon, but not like Christmas Eves before. This threatened to be dark and horrible, a pending electric storm of broken promises and memories dangling like broken tree ornaments. When Cathy muttered one night that it would soon be Christmas and reminded me that we had been here just about five months, I felt panic rise through me. Five months! One look at the twins, who were still so fragile and so subdued since their stubborn colds, and I knew I had to come up with something that would stave off any more sadness and disappointment.
“We’ll make them gifts,” I declared. It seemed to distract her, which was my purpose, and then one night, I came up with the idea that we should even make our grandmother a Christmas present.
“Why would we do that?” Cathy asked.
“To win her over. She’s still our grandmother,” I told her, even though the words nearly choked me.
She stared at me. Was she going to scream or laugh? I saw her giving it serious thought. Then she smiled, realizing I was suggesting we do something to manipulate her for a change. “You really think that might work?”
I shrugged. “Why not try? Daddy used to say, ‘You can get more with honey than vinegar.’?”
Maybe that was underhanded, quoting Daddy for this, but I knew it would move Cathy to cooperate, and cooperate she did. She decided that whatever we made, it had to be perfect. “We’ll show her,” she said, and I smiled to myself. My plan, at least for now, was working.
She came up with the idea to bond tan linen to a stretcher frame and glue on a variety of colored stones with gold and brown cording. She worked on it more intensely than she had ever worked on anything, telling me our grandmother was obviously a perfectionist and would only appreciate this if it was perfect. Whatever, I thought. At least it was keeping her occupied and not thinking about the rest of it.
And then Momma justified the faith I had in her. One afternoon, she came with a live Christmas tree in a small wooden tub. She helped us trim the tree and hang miniature ornaments. For a while, it was as though we were back home again, being the family we were. She gave us four hanging stockings and promised that next year at this time, we would be living in our own home. Cathy was still skeptical, especially since Thanksgiving, but amazingly, we woke up on Christmas morning and found the stockings stuffed and gifts under the tree. After we unwrapped our gifts, Cathy looked at me with eyes drowning in tears. I knew why. She was sorry she had ever doubted Momma.
“It’s all right,” I told her, and kissed her forehead. “The main thing is, she cares as much about us as ever.”
Later, our grandmother arrived with a picnic basket. She said nothing, not “Merry Christmas” or anything, but I nodded at Cathy, and she approached her and handed her our gift. I held my breath. Would this be a wonderful Christmas after all? Would everything finally change?
Grandmother Olivia looked at us and at the gift, then handed it back to Cathy without a word and left. I was stunned by her insensitivity, but Cathy went wild. She stomped on the gift, smashing it and screaming about how horrid our grandmother was and how angry she was at Momma for leaving us in this place at the mercy of that monster. Her rage brought tears. I had to calm her down, embrace her, and rock her like a child, assuring her that we had done the right thing. Our grandmother was the one in the wrong.
“And you can’t blame Momma, Cathy. It’s not Momma’s fault that she has a mother like that. Now we can understand why she was so eager to leave with Daddy and give up inheriting a fortune,” I told her.
That seemed to make sense to her. Cathy saw how the twins were taking her outburst and my trying to calm her. She nodded. “You’re right,” she whispered, then flicked away her tears and went to them. I watched her calm them and cheer them up again, just the way a mother would do.
It wasn’t a perfect Christmas; it was a Christmas, however, and Christmas always made you hopeful.
Miraculously, just at the right time, Momma returned with more gifts, one being a large dollhouse that she said had been hers. It was done in amazing detail, with furniture and little servants. The twins were fascinated, as was I. I was sure Momma was right. It was a very expensive toy. Cathy was still very down, though, and when Momma asked why, I told her about the way our grandmother had reacted to our gift.
“Oh, you have to ignore her,” she told me. “She’s always been hard to please. She’s not a happy woman. She’ll never be a happy woman, even with all the wealth. She doesn’t know how to use it to bring happiness, but believe me, I do, and I will. In fact—”
Suddenly, she burst into a new smile, hurried out, and then returned with a small television set. She told us that for now, it would be our w
indow on the world. But even this didn’t please Cathy. Finally, Momma embraced both of us, gave us each a hug, and announced that the end was near.
“This is my real Christmas gift,” she said. “My plan is working. My father has called for a lawyer to put me back in his will. Step one,” she declared with happy tears, “has been accomplished, and you’re all just as responsible for my success as I am.”
I couldn’t help it. I almost burst into tears of happiness myself.
I looked at Cathy. When she was little, she didn’t want me to always be right, but this time, she looked grateful, maybe more than grateful. I think she was looking at me and thinking I was really quite brilliant.
And she was happier than ever that I was her brother. I couldn’t hope to replace the father we had lost, but I was so grateful that I was able to get as close to that as possible.