Finding Father Christmas Page 6

  Edward repeated his line with an eyebrow partly raised in anticipation of victory at the parlor game. “Anyone? Anyone at all? Even a guess?”

  I felt fairly certain it wasn’t polite to one-up a host. Ellie didn’t seem to think the same way.

  “She knows it,” Ellie said, pointing at me. “Go ahead, Miranda.”

  All eyes turned toward me.

  I froze and then realized the best way to get all eyes off me was to say the answer. “The Tempest.”

  Edward looked impressed, or maybe the better way to describe his reaction was “intrigued.” He bowed and made a sweep of his hand to show that the floor was mine. I had forgotten about that part of the game. It was my turn to stump the experts. I didn’t want to be in the center of this group.

  “That’s okay.” I raised my hand and stepped back, closer to the fireplace. “You can go again. I don’t have any ideas. Just, please, go again.”

  “But it’s your turn,” Ellie said.

  “Really, I can’t… I don’t have… ”

  My expression must have reflected my discomfort because Ellie, the perfect pink hostess, stepped forward. “Miranda gave her turn to me. And I have a good one. Are you ready?”

  I appreciated Ellie more in that moment than she could ever know.

  To avoid further embarrassment, I backed up a few feet from the rest of the group and stood beside the leather chairs by the hearth.

  Ellie dove in with a line I didn’t recognize. Another woman knew the play, shouted the answer, and gleefully took the spotlight.

  I noticed Katharine across the room and remembered why I had been invited to this party in the first place. Glancing around for a clock to see what time it was, I wondered when I needed to leave for the train station. I spotted an antique clock tucked in among the decorations on the mantel. Taking two steps closer to the fire to see the correct time on the small face, my eye caught a lineup of family photos in an assortment of frames. In the first photo, a little girl stood beside an elaborately decorated Christmas tree. She wore a frilly dress with a wide sash around the middle and shiny black Mary Janes with white, cuffed ankle socks. She stood up straight, sporting a great big cheesy smile. Her arms were so closely pressed to her sides that her very full skirt was flat on either side while swooping out in the front and back like a canoe with a ruffly petticoat.

  Next to that sweet picture was a larger photo. This one was of a little boy wearing pajamas and a pair of brown felt reindeer antlers. His expression was pure eight-year-old glee as he peered inside the partially unwrapped Christmas gift on his lap.

  Moving on to the most ornate frame next to the clock, I drew closer, and my breath caught in the back of my throat.

  It was the picture. The photograph. Father Christmas and the wailing boy. The exact photo I was carrying in my purse, only the picture on the mantel was larger and less faded. And in an ornate frame, just as Katharine had said she remembered. The picture was here. In this home.

  I sank into the leather chair beside the fire and felt the room fold in on me.

  How can this he? Who are these people?

  The truth I had been seeking all these years was so close I could touch it. Only I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe.

  Chapter Eleven

  My thoughts scurried around, trying to form some sort of order.

  Who is the man in the photo? Who is the boy? What is the photo doing in this house? Why did my mother have a copy of that picture? Was Josh right? Did my mother know one of the people in the photo? Is one of them possibly… my father?

  The game was beginning to wind down. Ellie floated through the circle of guests, urging them to have more food. I leaned forward, hoping to catch her eye. My unspoken request worked, and she came toward me.

  “Would you like something to drink, Miranda?”

  “No, I… ”

  “Have you tried the sugarplum punch yet? It’s not spiked. At least I don’t think it is. Trouble is, I haven’t managed to keep my eye on Andrew all evening so I can’t guarantee he hasn’t instigated his usual shenanigans.

  Would you like something else to eat?”

  “No, I…

  ” I glanced at the mantel, feeling my heart pressing against my chest with firm thumps. “I… I wondered… is that… ”

  Ellie looked at the clock on the mantel. “Are you looking for the correct time? Because if you are, that clock is notoriously slow. You need to leave here in time to catch the train back to London, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, but… ” I instinctively glanced at my watch. Regardless of the actual time, the hands had moved another minute. They were now pointed straight up. Midnight. My journey through Christmas past and Christmas present had brought me here, to this “midnight moment.” The photo in my purse matched the photo on the mantel; the past, present, and future had intersected.

  “You would have no trouble catching the 10:42 to London, if you left here in about ten minutes,” Ellie said. “Or fifteen, if you like. I would be happy to give you a ride to the station. How does that sound to you?”

  I couldn’t leave yet. Not until I knew…

  “Ellie, I… I… The photo on the mantel. Who are those people?”

  “Our children. They were downstairs at the beginning of the party, but they have both gone off to bed. Perhaps you didn’t see them. That’s our daughter, Julia. She’s five now. And our son, Mark, is twelve.”

  “And the other photo? The one by the clock?”

  “Isn’t that the best? I love that picture! Everyone loves that photo. Everyone but my husband. I had to fight with Edward to put it out this year. His mother always had the picture there on the mantel at Christmas. You would think after more than thirty-five years my husband would give in to displaying it every year. Doesn’t it capture a four-year-old’s tantrum perfectly?”

  “So that’s Edward? The boy in the photo is your husband?”

  Ellie nodded, smiling fondly at the photo.

  I estimated Edward and Ellie to be in their late thirties or early forties. Edward wasn’t old enough to be my father. That meant…

  “The man in the photo?” I ventured, rising to my feet and standing next to Ellie for a closer look.

  Ellie looked surprised that I didn’t know. “That’s James, of course.”

  My ears seemed to have opened to hear what Doralee and I had missed all those years ago. “Jay Ames,” I repeated.

  “That’s right, Sir James. Edward’s father.”

  I felt my legs wobble and lowered myself back into the leather chair.

  “Sir James played the perfect Father Christmas for years. I remember sitting on his lap when I was five and having my picture taken. He gave me two lollies for being such a good girl that year. I really thought he was the Father Christmas.”

  “Sir James Whitcombe,” I repeated, feeling the weight of his name on my tongue. Sweeping the room with my gaze I asked, “Is he here?”

  Ellie looked at me oddly. “Do you mean, is he still alive?”

  I nodded only once, not sure I could bear the answer either way.

  “No. He passed away a year ago September. Perhaps the news wasn’t as publicized in the US. I can tell you this: he was a wonderful man, regardless of what you may have read in the rags. He deserved to be knighted as he was. The lies that were said about him over the years were terrible. Just terrible. Sir James had so much dignity, so much integrity, that he never fought against the slander. He let people have their say and never went up against them to prove them wrong. I remember one time after Edward and I were first married when… ”

  Another wellspring of long-suppressed tears bubbled over my lower lids.

  “Oh, you poor dear. You must be exhausted, and here I am, blathering on.” Ellie perched on the side of the chair and patted my arm. “Katharine said you only arrived today. I’ll get your coat, and we can be on our way to the station now, if you like.”

  With another pat on my arm, she added, “You know, it’
s such a pity you’re not staying on in Carlton Heath. We do have a guest room, if I could at all persuade you to stay. We would be delighted to have you join us for Christmas dinner.”

  Before I could process the idea of staying, Andrew strode into the center of our conversation. “You’ve done it then, Miranda, haven’t you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “The snow.”

  “Snow?” Ellie repeated.

  “Have you not looked out the window since we arrived?” With a nod toward me Andrew said, “I asked if you had brought the snowflakes with you, did I not? What I should have asked was how much snow you planned to be leaving with us.”

  A number of the guests gathered by the front window, peering out into the twinkle-lit darkness. Several already were leaving the party, and the headlights of their cars spotlighted the slanting flurry of snowflakes.

  Two of the older guests stepped up to Ellie, saying they had decided to be on their way before the roads became disagree able. She hurried off to gather their coats and mine, promising to be right back.

  I tried to think. It had all come at me so quickly.

  What should I do? Should I show Ellie and Edward the photo? Then what would I tell them? That I have reason to believe Sir James might be—no, could be—my father?

  “I can’t do that,” I mumbled.

  “Can’t do what? Stay on for the night? Of course you can.” Andrew was still standing close by with a glass in his large hand. “I heard the invitation with my own ears. If you stay on, there’s a good chance I can introduce you to my son.”

  Finding an easy smile for the endearing man in the midst of all my pulsing thoughts, I realized what an idyllic setting this was. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, toss a grenade into the middle of this lovely family on Christmas Eve. I needed to leave. I didn’t belong here. I needed time to think.

  “Andrew,” I said plainly, “I need to go back to London. I know Ellie offered to give me a ride to the train station, but do you think I might be able to ride with you and Katharine instead? I need to leave right away.”

  “Are you sure you want to be leaving?”

  “Yes. If you don’t mind.”

  Andrew tilted his head and slowly began to wag a finger. “You know what it is? It’s the eyes. That’s what it is.”

  He looked at the photo of Sir James on the mantel and back at me.

  “Aye, that’s what it is. It’s the eyes. Like a mountain stream in the highlands, that’s what they are. You have the clearest blue eyes I’ve seen since Sir James, rest his soul.”

  I swallowed and looked away.

  “Now, he was a man of honor, he was. Why, we wouldn’t be having the Dickens performances if it weren’t for Sir James and his generosity to the town and to the preservation of the theater. He was a man of great benevolence. I like to think he would have enjoyed our humble show this year.”

  With a nod, he turned to his wife, who had joined us in the middle of his speech. I didn’t look directly at Katharine. I didn’t know how much of Andrew’s oration she was taking in, and I also didn’t know how strong her powers of deduction were. She was the only person to whom I had shown the photo. And she was standing only a few feet from the mantel. It would be too easy for Katharine to connect the dots.

  “Miranda is in need of a ride. To the train station. I offered our services, Katharine. Are you ready to be on our way?”

  Katharine hesitated before asking in her firm, gentle voice, “Did you find what you were looking for when you came here, Miranda?”

  I paused before answering carefully with one word. “Possibly.”

  Katharine stood with her hands folded in front of her elegant red evening gown, and I knew that she knew. I can’t explain how I knew, but I did.

  I ventured a glance in her direction. Katharine was looking at me with the sort of smile that is shared between two women when one is holding the other woman’s secret as carefully as a bird’s egg that has fallen from its nest. It was easy to believe she wouldn’t drop the precious bundle. At least not here. Not on Christmas Eve.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ellie strode across the drawing room toward us with my coat over her arm. Pink sparkles danced in her wake.

  “I’m so sorry, Miranda. I got sidetracked. We should be on our way, don’t you think?”

  Before I could answer, Andrew said, “We’ll be cartin’ her off, so you won’t have to drive in the snow.” He stepped closer to Ellie and gave her a good look up and down, as if he had just noticed her outfit.

  Turning to Katharine, he said, “You may need to drive, my love.”

  “Why is that, Andrew?”

  “I avoided overdoing it on the punch, and yet I do believe I’m beginning to see pink Ellie-funts.”

  His pun took only a moment to sink in. As soon as it did, a chorus of groans followed.

  “I will remember that one, Andrew MacGregor.” Ellie held out my coat.

  Andrew intercepted and held the coat for me so I might slip my arms in more easily.

  “Ian will be disappointed.” Andrew’s boldness took over. “He would’ve wanted to meet you, Miranda. And what a pity you won’t be staying through Christmas.”

  “Miranda, you are welcome to stay here with us, if you like,” Ellie said. “Our guest room is ready. As I said before, we would be honored to have you for as long as you like. Truly.”

  Before I could slide my other arm into the coat, Andrew lowered it nearly to the floor. I turned to see what had happened, and he said, “You won’t be needing this in the guest room, now, will you?”

  A string of objections rolled off my tongue. I had already paid for a hotel room in London and my suitcase was sitting in that room, unopened, with everything I needed for an overnight stay.

  Ellie quickly made mincemeat of all my objections and indicated with her expression that the decision had been made. I had the feeling that if I made another peep, I would be viewed as an annoyance and the invitation would soon be regretted.

  My adrenaline must have been running low by that point because I took the path of least resistance and decided I would stay the night. I could collect my thoughts in the solitude of a guest room or a hotel room. The guest room was closer.

  “All right. I will stay, if you’re sure it’s okay.” I was, in a way, asking the question of Katharine as much as I was asking it of Ellie. My glance went to Katharine first.

  She closed her eyes only a moment and gave her head a slight nod. It seemed as if she was granting me approval.

  Ellie was much more effusive. “Of course it’s okay. The more the merrier! Katharine already knows this about me, but I don’t know if you do, Andrew. When I was a university student, I had the romantic notion of spending a semester in Portugal. I was alone in Lisbon over the holidays, and it was the worst Christmas of my life. The thought of you going to London but not meeting up with family or friends once you get there, well, I’m not one to tell you what to do. I can only say that, when I spent a Christmas by myself, it was desperately depressing. So you see, I have my own reasons for wanting you to stay.”

  I knew this group of kind-hearted people would be stunned to know that most of my Christmases had been spent alone. Ellie’s invitation was offered from her heart, and from a frightened yet awed corner of my heart, I accepted.

  “Now that we have that settled, we’ll be on our way, then.” Andrew said. But he and Katharine chatted a few more minutes with Ellie about joining the Whitcombes for Christmas dinner after the morning church service. All the plans were set, and the two of them made their way to the front door, along with most of the other guests.

  I followed, not sure what else to do. At the door, Katharine turned and gave me a look that I interpreted to be reassurance that I had made the right decision and everything was going to be okay. I raised my hand in a good-bye wave as she followed her kilted Christmas Present out into the drifts of snow.

  “The guest room is upstairs, third door on the right.” Ellie explained
that she would gather a few overnight items for me and leave them on the bed. She also said she and Edward would be up for a while longer because she had a few more gifts to wrap.

  “Christmas services are at ten thirty. Christmas dinner will be at two o’clock.”

  The awkwardness that should have been present when trying to fit a stranger into a family’s holiday schedule was absent around Ellie. That grace was due, I think, to her easygoing manner. She seemed content to let the rest of the night and the holiday roll along at its own pace.

  “Is there anything I can do to help clean up?” I asked.

  All but two of the guests had gone, and one of them was clearing the serving table and carrying the dishes into another room. The other guest was leaning against the mantel, deep in conversation with Edward, who looked respectfully concerned about what the older man was saying.

  “Whatever would make you feel the most comfortable, Miranda. That’s what you should do. And just for your reference, the kitchen can be reached through the hall and to the far right.”

  Ellie took my coat from me once again and flitted off. I stood in the almost empty drawing room and didn’t know what to do. Edward was still occupied with the man wearing a tweed jacket and a red woolen vest underneath. I should have been ready to head to the isolation of the guest room but, in that moment, helping to clean up seemed the right thing to do.

  The other woman, a white-haired worker bee, gave brusque directions to me, as if I were her servant girl. I didn’t mind. She seemed to have a system going. She also seemed to be the sort who lived to serve and loved to be commended for her service.

  I cleared all the plates that had been left in the drawing room on end tables, chair arms, and bookshelves. The bee woman had a tray ready for me to stack all the plates and carry them to the kitchen. I followed the directions Ellie had given, out into the large entry hall, then to the far right.

  The kitchen was well lit and surprisingly modern compared to everything else I had seen of the house so far. A large center island was at the hub of the kitchen. The island and all the counters were black marble. Gleaming copper pots hung above the stove. A painted clay pot in the window held a long-stemmed orchid that exploded with three exotic purple blooms. Beside the tropical flower was a nativity scene carved in wood and painted in primary colors that had faded since the set’s debut.