She’d dressed for dinner in an elegant eggplant-colored dress and had powdered her face. Her hair had been fixed into an elaborate mound on top of her head. “How many times have I told you to keep your sticky hands off my globes?”

  “Sorry, Mother.”

  I fully expected a punishment, but she walked over to the window instead, looking out as if she expected someone.

  My sister began to play “Silent Night.”

  I went to stand in front of the fire. Knitted stockings hung from nails over the fireplace. Tomorrow they would be filled with candies, an orange, and one other gift.

  Mother turned from the window. “The snow’s stopped.”

  I nodded, as if she’d asked a question.

  Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she crossed over to the box of decorations Dax had brought down from storage. “It’s almost eight. I don’t know where your father wandered off to, but we might as well begin to decorate the tree.” She tapped the top of the piano with her nails. “Lillian, you may stop playing now.”

  Lillian looked up from the sheet music as she played the last notes of “Silent Night.” “Thank you, Mother.”

  “Yes, fine. Who would like to put the first decoration on the tree?”

  Lillian stood up from the piano seat. “I’d like to, please.”

  Mother settled on the couch. “Wesley, put the box on the table in front of me. I’ll unwrap them, and you two can hang them for us.”

  With care, I lifted the wooden box and set it on the coffee table in front of Mother.

  She reached inside and pulled out the first ornament, wrapped in tissue paper. “The angel,” she said. “My mother gave me this one for my sixteenth birthday.” Made from glass, the ornament was about the size of my mother’s small hand. “Here, Wesley, put it near the top.”

  Ruth, Mother’s maid, came in with a tray of drinks—champagne for Mother and Father and juice for us. Ruth had worked for Mother for ten years and was the only one who seemed to know what she needed or wanted at all times. She was the only one who never fell out of favor.

  “Thank you, Ruth.” Mother gestured toward the liquor cabinet. “Set it there. You may retire for the evening and join the rest of the staff downstairs. I’ve left gifts for you all with Mollie, and Mrs. Walker’s made a wonderful supper.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Merry Christmas to you all.” Ruth gave us all a warm smile and scuttled out of the room.

  “Would you like me to get your glass of champagne?” I asked.

  “Yes, please. Thank you.” Mother unwrapped another ornament and handed the glass ball to Lillian.

  The corner of my eye twitched at the sound of my father’s loud footsteps coming down the hall. When he entered the room, I noticed he’d taken off his formal jacket. Wearing only a vest over his shirt, he looked wrong next to Mother’s formal gown. I couldn’t be certain, but his hair seemed mussed as well. He smelled of cigar smoke.

  “Where have you been?” Mother asked.

  “I was outside on the back porch. Smoking.”

  “We didn’t wait for you,” Mother said.

  “Decorating the tree is for women,” Pa said, winking at me. “Men don’t need such foolishness.”

  I politely nodded but avoided eye contact. As much as I would have loved to contradict him, I knew it would turn him ugly. No one needed his temper to flare tonight.

  We worked in silence for a few minutes. Mother unwrapped the ornaments, and I carried them over to Lillian, who placed them wherever Mother directed.

  Father had poured another drink, ignoring the glass of champagne, and prowled around the room. Something had agitated him. Who knew what? We never did.

  “Matthew, sit down. You’re making me nervous.” Mother’s back had straightened, and her eyes glittered.

  “I’ll do as I please in my own home.” Father gave Mother a half smile that did nothing to warm his eyes. He stomped over to stand in front of the fire. Atlas woke and raised his head, then lumbered to his feet. His nails clicked on the floor as he headed toward Lillian to sit on his haunches next to her. I was between the couch and the tree and suddenly felt as if I were stranded on an island.

  “Here and everywhere else, it seems,” Mother said quietly while unwrapping another ornament. “Do as you please, that is.”

  Please, I thought. Don’t provoke him. Not on Christmas Eve. Not with Lillian unwell.

  Father rocked back on his heels, watching Mother, an amused lift to his mouth. He placed his drink on the mantel. “The ice queen. What a perfect holiday for you.”

  She lifted her gaze to him, eyes defiant. She’d changed over the last few days. It seemed she no longer cared whether he was pleased with her. Whatever it was he’d done, she’d hardened. What would happen when she was no longer afraid? The reason we’d all survived this long was that she knew the rules. As long as she did what he wanted, then all was well. I seemed to be the only one in this house who couldn’t bring myself to defer to him. There was still fight in me. But not tonight. This was supposed to be a peaceful occasion.

  I glanced at Lillian. She’d frozen by the tree with a glass reindeer in her hand. From downstairs came the sounds of laughter. What would it be like to have dinner and laugh?

  “How convenient for you, Matthew. To assign blame where there is none. Married to the ice queen. How sorry I am for you.”

  He spoke through gritted teeth. “Zelda, have more champagne. Perhaps it will warm you.”

  “I’m hot. Trust me, I’ve never been hotter.”

  “I don’t think so.” Father crossed the room to the piano and picked up one of the snow globes. “Let’s see what this does to you.” He hurled the globe against the far wall. It shattered into half a dozen pieces and fell to the floor.

  Mother didn’t move. Her face placid, she kept her gaze on the fire.

  “How about this one?” Father chose the church. Seconds later, it crashed against the wall and broke.

  She blinked once but stayed perfectly still with her back to him. Lillian was crying softly, her shoulders hunched forward. Atlas pressed against her legs but seemed to know that to make a move would only make it worse.

  One by one, Father pitched the globes into the wall until the only one remaining was the cottage. I held my breath. Would he spare this one?

  “Please, Father, stop,” Lillian said.

  For some reason I couldn’t fathom, her plea moved him. “Fine.”

  “Are you pleased with yourself?” Mother asked, voice flat.

  “I always am.” Father strode back to the mantel and grabbed his glass of whiskey, before strolling out of the room as if bashing glass globes against the wall was the most ordinary of Christmas activities.

  Lillian had stopped crying and sank onto the piano bench. Mother drank the rest of her champagne. “Wesley, would you bring me the other glass?”

  “Yes, Mother.” I carried the glass of champagne over to her. She took it from me and drank another sip before placing it on the table. “Let’s finish what we started.” She picked another ornament from the box and unwrapped the tissue paper to reveal a glass bird.

  “I’ll clean all this up,” I said as I headed toward the mess on the far wall.

  “Thank you, dear. I’d hate to interrupt the staff from their party.” Mother rose from the couch and walked over to the tree. “I’ll hang this one, Lillian. May we all be free as birds one day.”

  That night, after I finally fell asleep, I had a familiar dream. I was small and sitting on a woman’s lap. Someone I knew who smelled of lilacs. “Jonathan, time to go to sleep,” she said before singing to me in a soft voice.

  Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,

  Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.

  And if that mockingbird won’t sing,

  Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.

  I woke in the early morning and stared at the wall as the dream slowly faded from my mind. I’d dreamt it often over the years, and always the woman sang and called me Jonathon. When I woke, I had the sensation of having forgotten something important.

  Atlas was asleep on the end of my bed. I sat up slowly and brought my knees to my chest. I’d expected to wake thinking of the debacle from the night before, but instead it was the girl and baby who occupied my thoughts. Luci.

  It was Christmas Day. Would they have anything to eat? No one should be hungry today, of all days. What were the teachings of Jesus? Love thy neighbor.

  My thoughts drifted to my parents. We had so much, and yet they managed to make each other miserable.

  Atlas stirred, scooting closer and putting his head in my lap. “What do you think, boy? Should we do what’s right?”

  He let out a soft whine. Atlas was the sympathetic sort if ever there was one. “You’re right. We have to. Anyway, we promised.”

  I dressed quickly, then snuck down to the kitchen without a plan, other than to see what I could find. It was dark and chilly, and I could barely make out the two ovens or the wide sink. The large woodblock island where Mrs. Walker and June worked was scrubbed clean. Overhead, pans hung from a cast-iron rack.

  I made my way over to the pantry, where I knew Mrs. Walker kept all the cooking supplies. An icebox in the back held perishables like cheese and milk. I grabbed a hunk of cheese, bread, and a half-gallon jar of milk. Just as I was leaving with my stolen goods tucked into a basket, Mrs. Walker arrived from the hallway.

  “Young Wesley, is there something I can do for you?”

  “No, Mrs. Walker.”

  “What do you have there?” Mrs. Walker pointed one pudgy finger toward the basket. Her white hair was stuffed into a cap this morning and made me think of a mushroom. “Are you and Atlas going on a picnic?” Atlas wagged his tail as if we were going on a picnic. My partner in crime was a natural. He knew we had more important things to do than flutter around the countryside.

  “I’m taking this to someone who needs it.” I said it more bravely than I felt at the moment.

  Her brow wrinkled. She placed her arms over her ample chest and peered at me with a distinct note of sympathy in her blue eyes. “I see. And who might that be?”

  “A girl no older than Lillian.” I knew Mrs. Walker had a soft spot for my sister. “And a tiny baby. Their mother died, and their father’s a drunk.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Mother doesn’t want me to go out there, but I can’t understand why.”

  A glint I couldn’t quite place flickered in her eyes. “Right. You told her of your plan?”

  “Yes, and she said we couldn’t feed the whole world or something like that, even though I know we throw away food.”

  She seemed to contemplate that for a moment as she gazed up at the ceiling. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. If I have anything left at the end of the day, I’ll leave it in here.” She beckoned me into the pantry and pointed to an empty shelf near the door. “We’ll keep this between the two of us, though. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “Me neither.” I gave her my best grin.

  “One more thing.” She reached up to an upper shelf and pulled down what looked like a white slug stuffed in a jar. “This is my sourdough starter. If you wait just a moment, I’ll put some in a separate jar for you. I can write down the recipe too. You won’t be able to take her food forever. This way, she’ll be able to make her own bread.”

  She took the starter to the wood block and transferred some into a pint jar. A foul smell like stinky feet filled my nostrils. “It smells awful.”

  “That’s the yeast, but trust me, she can’t go wrong with this.” She closed the jar and asked me to wait while she wrote out the recipe. A few minutes later, she tucked it and the jar into my basket. “Be careful. And get back in time for Christmas breakfast. We don’t want your father taking the strap to you again this week. Not on Christmas.”

  “I’ll be fast.”

  “Off with you, then.”

  Atlas and I walked as quickly as we could. He seemed to know the way, never hesitating as we retraced our steps from two days ago. I’d said I’d come yesterday, but I hadn’t. Already I’d let her down. At least they’d have food for Christmas. Mrs. Walker and I had worked out a plan. I smiled to myself. This was a bright spot in my rather dark life. To be of service to another. What could make my burden lighter than that?

  When we arrived, I scanned the yard, but the house and yard were quiet. I set the basket down and whispered, “Merry Christmas.” Then we headed home.

  6

  Luci

  * * *

  I’d already made my second trip to the creek for water when I saw the basket. The boy had managed it. Perhaps it had taken him a day to figure out his plan. I set the bucket near the front door and looked around. Was he still here? But no, only quiet met me. I ran to the basket and snatched off the white cloth that covered the top. Inside, I found a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a half-gallon jar of milk. In addition, there was a canning jar with a lid that contained something cream colored. I picked it up to inspect it. The label read, Sourdough Starter, feed daily with a scoop of flour. A recipe for sourdough bread was scrawled on a sheet of paper.

  Once inside, I cut a slab of bread and cheese and ate it standing up by the stove. Sadie had not yet stirred after her morning bottle. Given her patterns, I probably had an hour to figure out what to do next. Pa continued to snore from the other room. He hadn’t come home from Moonshine Mike’s until the early morning, waking both Sadie and me by crashing into the table.

  I cut him a piece of bread and cheese and left it on the table. The rest I left in the basket, which I hid behind the woodpile. I couldn’t trust him not to eat it all at once. In addition, I didn’t want him to know about the boy. He was sure to cause trouble. I stacked my arms with a pile of wood and took it inside to the bin next to the stove.

  We would have fresh bread for Christmas dinner. There were beans left too. This was a happy Christmas after all. My spirits plummeted when I read the directions. The recipe said to stir flour and the starter together and set them in a cool location for ten or more hours. How strange. Biscuits took minutes but also needed lard, which I was quickly running out of. Never mind—we would have fresh bread for tomorrow. Today, I’d make biscuits instead. Still, we were all right for a few more days. A miracle had surely come our way on this Christmas morning.

  7

  Wesley

  * * *

  Both Atlas and I were hungry by the time we jumped over the gate to our yard. I was excited to tell Mrs. Walker that we’d managed to leave the basket and were now home. We tore in through the kitchen door. My mother was there with Mrs. Walker, who was in tears.

  I came to a halt, as did Atlas. My stomach clenched. I’d gotten Mrs. Walker in trouble.

  “Where have you been?” Mother asked.

  She already knew, or poor Mrs. Walker wouldn’t be crying. “It wasn’t Mrs. Walker’s fault. She didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Instead of marching you upstairs, she sent you off with a basket of our food,” Mother said. “That doesn’t sound terribly innocent.”

  “I didn’t give her any choice,” I said. “I ran out before she could stop me. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Walker?” I pleaded with my eyes for her to agree.

  Mrs. Walker shook her head as she wiped her eyes. “No, that’s not true. I didn’t see any harm in helping out a girl and a baby with food we weren’t going to eat.”

  “And you made that decision when it was not your place to do so?” Mother asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. Ford.” Mrs. Walker lifted her face. “And I’d do it again.”

  “You may go,” Mother said. “Mollie will pay you what we owe you.”

  “What? No.” Tears sprang to my eyes. “This isn’t her fault.”

  “Perhaps you’ll remember that next time you disobey me,” Mother said.

  “But, Mother, Mrs. Walker needs this job.”

  “She should have thought about that before she helped a criminal.”

  “It’s all right,” Mrs. Walker said to me. “I’ll be just fine.” She took off her apron and set it on the table. “You stay kind, young Wesley. Even when the world isn’t.”

  “I’ll try,” I said as tears spilled from my eyes.

  “Goodbye, then.” With that, she grabbed her bag and walked toward the door with her head held high. The door slammed behind her.

  “Mother, how could you? Mrs. Walker’s been with us for years and years.”

  Mother turned cold, furious eyes toward me. “Why must you always disobey me?”

  “I . . . I don’t.” This once I had, but it was too important. I had to do what was right. “She’s all alone with that baby. Don’t you see, Mother? I couldn’t let her starve.”

  “Did you know that girl’s mother was the town whore?”

  I flinched as if she’d smacked me. Whore? I was fairly certain I knew what that meant. A woman who sold her body for money. “How do you know that?” In hindsight, it wasn’t the best question, as it seemed to make her even more furious.

  She went perfectly still and looked at me with eyes that bored through my soul. “Your father and I were going to tell you this later today. We’re sending you and your sister to boarding school at the beginning of the new year.”

  The words themselves would not have necessarily been taken, all stacked up in order, as a punishment. But I knew it was. They wanted to send us away. Heat rushed through my body. I shrugged out of my coat and placed it on the table.

  “But why?” My throat was as dry as if I’d swallowed a mouthful of sand. “Do you not want us?”

  “It has nothing to do with what I want but rather what’s best for you. I’ve had enough of your traipsing around the woods like one of these local people. This town isn’t what either of you needs. Your sister needs to go to a school where she can learn to be a proper young lady and further study piano. You’ll need to meet other young men with whom you can conduct business when you’re grown. Families who have the right kind of women for you to marry. Not here in this godforsaken place.”