It wasn’t until after I hung up that her phone call bothered me. Was Aaron trying to show me that if I didn’t act more obedient, he would move on to someone else? He probably knew Lila or someone else would call to tell me about his flirting with Sandra Roth, especially if he had made it that obvious. Would he go home and wait for my phone call, expecting me to be hurt? If so, he’d wait a long time.
What I had just told Lila was true. As my grandfather would say, my little romance had to take a backseat to what was going on here. Sometimes something was so unimportant in relation to everything else that he would emphasize it by saying, “Not only does that have to take a backseat, that has to go into the trunk for now.”
I returned to decorating the tree. I heard Dorian come down the stairs and go to the kitchen and then hurry by again and head back upstairs. She didn’t even look in on me. I hoped nothing more was happening. It was like walking on brittle glass around here now. I couldn’t help anticipating cries for help or someone shouting, “Get the doctor quickly!”
Myra returned to keep me company.
“Is everything all right upstairs?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Camden just wanted to get him a nice cup of tea with some honey.”
“Your influence, I’m sure,” I
said.
Myra even made fun of herself and the way the British turned to a cup of tea no matter what the problem. “Our main contribution to the civilized world,” she joked. She sat on the sofa watching me. While I worked, she told me more stories about her youth, how her family celebrated the holidays, how important a Christmas pudding was to her mother, who was proud of what she had made. Suddenly, she began talking about her older brother, who had died in the First World War. She rarely spoke of him. I always assumed they weren’t that close. I pretended to be concentrating on the tree decorations and barely listening, but the truth was, I was hanging on every word. From the way she described him now, it seemed he was more like a second father to her.
“He had a great sense of humor and was so easygoing that he rarely got angry at anyone. He would just give someone who annoyed him a pitiful look, shake his head, and walk away. I always had trouble imagining him on a World War One battlefield. I could see him trying to reason with the enemy pointing a gun at him. He taught me patience. ‘Myra,’ he would say when I was annoyed, ‘you take a breath, count to ten, and reconsider how important that is.’ I refused to accept that he had been killed and simply forced myself to believe he was still away. Until the war ended, that is. Others were coming home. I would stand outside our door and imagine him appearing on the street, limping along, maybe, but there in the flesh, proving the report of his death was just a mistake.”
All this time, I never really gave thought to the fact that she had lost her brother, too. Of course, she’d had him longer, and the circumstances were different, but it was still the loss of a sibling. Like me, she had to rely on memories. I wondered if they faded and then, when we were older, returned as vividly as she was relating hers now. She, too, must have been very lonely for a while.
“Didn’t you ever meet anyone and fall in love, Myra?” I asked her when she paused, sinking back into her reminiscing.
“Oh, I did,” she said. “I was engaged, you know.”
“I never knew that.” I turned to face her. “What happened?”
“Something called the Spanish flu,” she said. “Millions died from it after the war.”
“Yes, I know. We read about that in history class. What was his name?”
“Brenden,” she said. “Brenden Stormfield. He was tall, with light brown hair. He had a mustache that was more auburn, however. And eyes your color and your mother’s. His father was a barrister. He had a sister a year younger than me. She married a man in the import-export business and went off to live in India.” She smiled. “Pretty little thing.”
“Did she ever write to you or anything?”
“No. People are like that, you know. We pass each other like trains in the night. You see a face in a lit window as the train goes by, and you’ll never see it again. Oh, listen to me,” she said after a moment. “You have me in a chin wag.” She stood up. “I’ve got to see about that problem My Faith was having with the hot water in the kitchen. No one fixes anything right unless you’re hovering over him. You’re doing a lovely job on that tree. Your grandfather will be proud.”
She hurried off. I knew she was making up the chore. She was just embarrassed at how much personal information she had told me, but she had so much to tell. No matter how well we were taught history, nothing compared to hearing her express how it was to live through two wars, especially when she described the bombings in London during the Second World War. Lately, it seemed, she was more forthcoming about the details. I thought she had decided that I was finally old enough to appreciate and understand what it meant to battle for survival. Maybe she thought that was what I was doing now, what we were all doing, battling for survival, especially my grandfather and me.
How lucky I am to have her in my life, I thought, and turned back to the tree with more enthusiasm. About an hour later, Grandpa returned and, just as Myra had predicted, applauded how much I had gotten done.
“It’s coming along beautifully,” he said. “Better than ever.”
Before I could ask him anything about his visit with the police, Dorian stepped in and asked him how it had gone. I wondered if he would tell her anything in my presence. He glanced at me first and then began.
“They’re circulating the new information. A check was done on outstanding police bulletins, but there was nothing meeting William’s description or situation. I’m bringing my man back into it,” he added. He meant his private detective. I was surprised at how determined he was to find out what he could and perhaps, as a result, have Count Piro returned to his family after all.
“He’s doing a lot better,” Dorian said. “However, I think tonight I’ll bring his dinner up and sit with him. He’s still so fragile emotionally.”
“He’s lucky to have you, Dorian,” Grandpa told her. She smiled, and then, when she turned to leave, he followed her out, and they spoke in whispers in the hallway.
I didn’t have all that much left to hang on the tree. I went back at it, and while I worked, I had Willie’s electric trains run over the tracks and through the model village. When he and I had worked on the tree together, we were just as silent as I was now, both of us concentrating too hard on what we were doing. But it was in that silence that we tightened our love and dependence on each other. There was always joy in Christmas, but this year, the joy heightened the ache in my heart. It would be a battle to smile and laugh. On Christmas morning, there would be a gaping space under the tree where Willie’s presents normally would be. Did Grandpa think he could fill it with presents for Count Piro? I hoped not. Was that mean?
“Sorry I wasn’t here to help more,” Grandpa said when he returned and interrupted my musing. “Can’t believe how much you did and how perfect it looks.”
“Kept my mind off things. Holidays bring smiles and tears,” I said.
“Yes,” Grandpa said. “We’ll try for more smiles. Say,” he continued, looking around as if someone could be hiding behind the furniture, “where’s that young man of yours today? Why wasn’t he here to help?”