~ by M. C. Pehrson
Early Christmas morning, Emma jumped out of bed and rushed to her window. Though she had prayed for a miraculous snowfall, she found fog instead. The old uneasiness began to creep over her like cold, clutching fingers. Turning toward her dresser, she looked at her picture of Mama and Papa. In Emma’s mind, she was five again, with the fog slowing their drives to the medical center in downtown Los Angeles.
With a shiver, Emma forced herself back into the present. Someone was singing. “…Silver bells…” From down the hallway, Papa’s voice rang out. “Silver bells…it’s Christmastime in the city…”
It had been years since Emma heard him burst into song. Throwing on her bathrobe, she went into the hall. From the bathroom came a tapping sound and the scent of barbershop lather. Papa was shaving, and she hurried to the open door, to wish him Merry Christmas.
Breakfast would have to wait until after Mass, but Emma found Aunt Daisy in the kitchen, eating toast and drinking coffee. As usual, Daisy was already dressed nicely, with every gray hair perfectly styled.
“Merry Christmas!” Emma said, oblivious to her own rumpled pajamas and mussed-up braids.
Though Aunt Daisy smiled, her eyes did not seem very happy. “Merry Christmas, child. Are you going to church with Robert?”
Emma found it strange that Daisy would ask such a question. Not go to Mass on Christmas Day? The day Jesus was born? Impulsively she said, “Won’t you come, too?”
Daisy looked down at her coffee and gave it a stir. “No, dear. I don’t belong to your faith.”
Catholic or not, it did not seem at all right for Aunt Daisy to sit at home by herself while everyone else went to church. Bravely Emma walked up to Aunt Daisy and took hold of her fragile old hand. Their eyes met. “But you don’t have to belong to my Church, except for Communion, and there are always people who stay in the pews. Please won’t you come with us? It’s Christmas.”
A moment later, Emma was joyously running down the hallway. “Papa, she’s coming with us! She’s coming with us! Aunt Daisy’s coming with us to church!”
In half an hour, everyone was ready, snug in their winter coats, hats on their heads.
Papa reached for his keys and said, “We’ll take the car.”
“Nonsense,” bristled Daisy. “You always walk, don’t you? Well, I can certainly walk, too. It’s just down the street.”
But until now, Daisy had only visited in the summer. She did not know how much the fog frightened Emma, and that Papa always drove them to church when it was thick. But Emma did not want Daisy thinking she was babyish or spoiled, so she quickly said, “Yes, Papa, let’s walk to church.”
Out they went into the swirling mist. Reaching the sidewalk, Papa offered them each an arm. Emma hung on for dear life, and it was comforting to think that Papa knew what it cost her. Entering the church, Papa took off his hat, and Emma quickly forgot her fears. The main altar was radiant with embroidered linen and candles and Christmas flowers. Off to one side of the sanctuary, there was a beautiful Nativity scene surrounded by pine branches. The Kesters were already seated in a pew near the front, and by scooting close together, there was enough room for all of them. Emma’s heart was full as she and Papa knelt to pray. Then the choir sang, accompanied by the big pipe organ, and Christmas Mass began.
The rest of the day passed in a happy blur. While for many people Christmas ended at bedtime, those following the ancient Church calendar celebrated the holy season for several Sundays. And for the Winberrys and the Kesters, there would soon be another reason to celebrate.
***
The day of the wedding dawned. Deep in thought, Emma put on her scratchy bouffant slip. Yesterday her dresser had been carted off to the farmhouse, and now her bedroom seemed strange and empty. Her eyes went to the old photo sitting atop a packing box. Overnight a light breeze had carried the fog away, and sunlight was streaming through a window, right onto Mama and Papa. Was it a sign?
Tearing her eyes away, Emma shrugged into the flowered dress purchased, especially for the occasion. Susan’s dress was exactly the same shades of pink and blue. Today Susan would become Emma’s sister and Tommy would become her brother. From this day forward, they would all live in the big farmhouse together. But suddenly Emma felt uneasy.
Wandering down the hallway, she tapped at Papa’s door.
“Come in,” he said.
Emma entered her parents’ bedroom and closed the door. Papa sat in a chair, lacing up his gleaming black shoes. He looked handsome in his crisp white shirt and navy-blue slacks.
“Can you button me up?” Emma’s voice trembled. It was only an excuse to have this private moment with her father.
“You look pretty,” he said.
Emma turned toward Papa’s dresser mirror. As usual, she had slept with braids, and when she combed out her hair, it had tumbled into dark waves that did look rather nice. She kept her eyes on herself as Papa stepped behind her and began to fasten her dress. Now was the time to speak up — now, before it was too late.
“Papa…” She drew a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Papa…I can’t help thinking about Mama.”
Silently he finished the last button and put her hair back into place.
Two hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she turned around and looked up at him. “I just keep wondering…how Mama would feel. I mean, about you and Mrs. Kester.”
Now that the words were out, Emma felt ashamed, as if she were accusing Papa of something quite terrible. But he did not seem angry, only concerned.
Touching her trembling chin, he said, “You never mentioned this before.”
She did not know what to say. Until this morning, the idea of a wedding had seemed so romantic.
Papa put an arm around her shoulders and sat her beside him on the rumpled bed. “Listen to me.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “Long before the end, your Mama knew she was going to leave us. We… talked about a good many things. She didn’t want us to be alone after she was gone. And she made this very clear, Honeybee: she did not want you growing up without a mother.”
Emma let out a sigh of relief. It was good to know that Mama had thought of all those things, that right now she was gazing down from Heaven…and she was pleased.
Papa gave her shoulder a squeeze before getting up to put on his tie. It was a full-length tie, with nice diagonal stripes colored to complement Mrs. Kester’s rose-colored dress. As he stood before his mirror, working the tie into a knot, the dark reflection of his eyes found Emma.
He said, “In a few minutes, Christina will be your new mother. Are you going to keep on calling her Mrs. Kester?”
Emma felt a tightening around her heart.
Papa continued, “She won’t be Mrs. Kester anymore. She’ll be Mrs. Winberry.” An eyebrow arched, and he smiled. “Will you call her that?”
Emma thought it over while he put the finishing touches on his tie. “I really do love her, Papa…but not like I loved Mama. Is that wrong?”
He turned around and gave her a warm, understanding look. “No, Honeybee. It’s not wrong. No one can ever be the same to you as Virginia. We love each and every person in a different way, but it’s still love, isn’t it?”
Papa’s words made perfect sense. Then and there, Emma made her decision. “I’ll call her ‘Mom,’ like Susan and Tommy. Do you think she’ll like that?”
“I think she’ll like it just fine.”
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