Wintergreen

Chapter 11

“I have no intention of leaving you with this mess,” Freda said stoutly.

Lorna held up her friend’s coat. “Don’t be silly. It looks lots worse than it is, and the two of us have all day.” She hugged Freda and then little Brian, and the Noonans scooted out the door, destined to be at least a few minutes late for their family Christmas gathering.

Lorna’s smile had been bright for Freda, and it remained bright as she turned back to Johnny…and the disaster zone of the living room. The sea of wrapping paper and ribbons and discarded boxes was at high tide. Something to do, she insisted to herself, and in the meantime she would determinedly pull herself together and stop feeling these ridiculous waves of aching loneliness.

“The thing is,” Johnny said, “to get it all located in one place.”

“Exactly.” Her eyebrows rose at the unexpected comment. Housekeeping had never been Johnny’s métier. “It won’t take us long, kiddo. Then maybe we can take ourselves outside for a good long walk in the snow and a look at the Christmas lights.”

As she bent over to gather up some bows, she felt something light and solid hit her backside. Pivoting, she saw a flash of color hit her in the stomach. “Johnny!”

He was bunching up wads of wrapping paper into balls and pelting her with them. Another three missiles hit her while her jaw was still gaping. “I’m just getting it all in one place, Mom. Stand still. At the same time that we get the room fixed up again, I can get my aim down just right.”

“Why, you little-”

She tossed one back; that made him giggle. It had landed five feet from him in the Christmas tree. Obviously, she had to try another.

“At least try to hit me!”

“I am!”

When the doorbell rang, Lorna was laughing. Amid a bombardment of colored-paper balls and streaming ribbons, she made her way, protesting, to the door. Hurriedly, she tried to brush a cellophane ribbon out of her hair as she opened the door. Freezing air suddenly rushed into her lungs, and the brilliance of sun on snow momentarily blinded her. Not for long. She didn’t need to see Matthew to know his laughter, to recognize the touch of his hand. He plucked the ribbon from her hair and leaned forward to tease her lips ever so lightly with the frosty smoothness of his own. “Merry Christmas, Misha.”

For just an instant, her heart stilled. Only for a moment. The sadness haunting her eyes abruptly shimmered tremulously, trying to escape all at once in two huge tears as she threw her arms around him. “You didn’t call, damn you!” she whispered. “Matthew, I…”

His eyes glinted past her, even as his arms were drawing her close. “Merry Christmas, Johnny! I found a package under my tree this morning with your name on it…” Lorna would have at least drawn back slightly, suddenly aware of her son standing so still, but Matthew wouldn’t let her. He cradled her close with one arm, and extended the shiny scarlet package with the other.

“Thank you,” Johnny said uncertainly. But he didn’t take it. “Matthew, I didn’t know I was supposed to buy you a present.”

“Because you weren’t. This isn’t even new, Johnny, I just thought you might like it.”

Johnny took another look at the long, powerful arm around his mother, but resentment was clearly doing battle with simple curiosity. Slowly, he came forward and took Matthew’s gift. “Can I open it?”

“I can’t imagine why not.”

While Johnny was very carefully removing the wrappings, Matthew took off his coat. “I missed you,” he mouthed silently. His hand reached up to touch her cheek, his thumb moving slowly back and forth on her soft skin. She leaned her cheek into the cradle of his palm. As if a huge bubble had suddenly filled her soul, she felt lighthearted, champagne-high. Matthew had understood her the other night. He would not have come back if he didn’t believe her. She could see the love in his eyes.

“Mom…”

Lorna pivoted back to Johnny, who was frowning worriedly at her. “I don’t think I’m supposed to take something like this,” he whispered anxiously.

The scarlet paper had covered a long, rectangular wooden box, exquisitely carved. Johnny opened it, to reveal a chess set with ebony and alabaster figures. Real ebony. Real alabaster. Her son’s surprise and delight were an easy read in those big dark eyes of his, but Lorna had engrained in him not to covet things that could not possibly belong to him.

“I warned you it wasn’t new,” Matthew said easily. He crouched down next to the boy. “I had it when I was a kid. So did my grandfather. I guarantee it’s a good set to learn chess with. And I just thought maybe you might have some interest in the game…”

Johnny did. Immediately. Lorna watched, like a statue, the two of them together. Matthew forced no closeness, and perhaps that was why Johnny gradually forgot that moment of resentment when Matthew had first walked in. Lorna could almost hear the little wheels in her son’s head turning. So Matthew was not always mean. Johnny had smarted over that incident with the neighbor. He was not going to commit any rash action again that he didn’t think out very, very clearly…but he wasn’t used to anyone really coming down on him hard when he misbehaved, any more than he was used to a man spending time with him.

Johnny glowed, eventually. And Lorna turned her attention back to Matthew. The gift to her son said it all. An heirloom that was passed down in the family… Matthew was wearing dark slacks and a cranberry wool pullover, a Christmassy shade that enhanced his dark coloring. His eyes never flickered to hers, but she knew he was aware of her. He reached for the coffee cup before she’d even set it down, tugged just for an instant at her wrist to ask her to stay next to him.

She did, with her white wool skirt tucked under her. At least she tried to keep it that way. She listened to Matthew explaining why the pawns were the most special pieces on the board, even though most of them would have to die. The queen’s incredible powers; the knight’s subtle ability to protect a piece. She listened to him talk about the queen and the knight and wondered vaguely how everything suddenly had a sexual connotation. She had to pull herself together, yet when she tried to get up to restore order to the drastically chaotic living room, Matthew tugged her skirt unobtrusively, and she settled back down again. She wanted to hear about queens and knights anyway. And in the meantime, she was within touching distance. Within at least smelling distance.

Matthew wrinkled his nose.

“Johnny gave me perfume for Christmas,” she informed him.

“It took my whole allowance,” Johnny admitted expansively.

“Johnny,” Matthew said gravely, as he moved forward a pawn, “you’re due an increase in allowance. You’re nearly ten, aren’t you?”

“In just a couple months.”

“Six months.” She smiled. So he liked L’air du Temps, and not Lily of the Valley. Unfortunately, she still had to spray on more before they all got up to leave. Matthew’s mouth twitched, but Johnny knew too well she always sprayed on perfume before going anywhere.

She wasn’t even sure where they were going. For a drive. Matthew vaguely promised Johnny something about seeing an electric train that took up an entire basement, but she hadn’t really listened. It didn’t matter. What mattered was being with him. Hearing his laughter blended with Johnny’s. He held her hand as they walked to the car, ignoring her son’s sudden silence, ignoring again the short spell of sullenness when Lorna took the front seat next to Matthew and motioned Johnny into the back of the sedan. The mutual laughter happened again as Matthew described the pitfalls he had encountered as a child trying to put together a train while hampered by a toddler brother in diapers.

Johnny described the pitfalls of putting together a Zoid, hampered by a very pretty woman in a white skirt and a Christmas-green blouse.

Lorna leaned back and relaxed as they drove. Almost as soon as she’d been aware of Johnny’s possessiveness, Matthew had handled it. It would go away, she believed, as Johnny got to know Matthew better, as he grew to like him. They both were more than halfway there. Meanwhile, Matthew drove over snow-mounded roads and past Christmas lights, decorated trees in picture windows, and people dressed for the holiday, laughing in expectation of seeing their families. The university was closed, lonely. She felt inclined to pick up the small dog she saw wandering as if lost in the road. She had an urge to soothe a small child she saw crying over a broken toy through a living room window. She felt exhilarated and high; she felt she could take on anything and win.

Matthew turned down a road that seemed vaguely familiar, though Lorna couldn’t quite place it. She sat up, though, giving him a curious look, wondering about his mysterious destination. She had put the tiny turkey back in the refrigerator; they didn’t have to be back at any set time, but this was turning into a rather long drive. She hadn’t traveled these roads in a very long time. Since…

He turned again, and she frowned. “Matthew?”

He reached over to cover her hand, but he didn’t look at her. Lorna stared at his profile, suddenly set in very determined lines. When he glanced back to answer a question from Johnny, he managed to throw a soft look in her direction, full of love.

He turned toward the road again. Her palm, nestled in his, suddenly turned damp, and she tried to pull it away. He wouldn’t let it happen, imprisoning hers that much more firmly. His fingers did the holding; his thumb tattooed a lazy, soothing caress on the inside of her wrist.

The spiked wrought-iron gates opened when Matthew flicked a button on the console of his car.

“Wow!” Johnny breathed. “Whose house is this?”

The drive cut through five acres of snow-covered lawn. At the end of it was a three-story gray stone house, tall and imposing in the wintery landscape. Lorna felt a tight and painful lump lodge in her throat. She wrenched her hand free from Matthew’s and clamped it to her side.

“It’s my father’s house,” Matthew told Johnny easily, darting a sharp glance toward Lorna. “The house where I grew up. We’ve got the electric train set up in the basement, and I think you’ll find my father is the perfect one to teach you to play chess.”

“Okay.” Johnny vaulted out of the car, full of enthusiasm and energy. Making him sit still for an hour was like trying to leash atomic energy.

Johnny closed the car door, leaving them in privacy. Lorna turned to Matthew with despairing eyes. “How could you do this to me?”

Those obsidian eyes of his were so soft, yet so full of steel. “Misha, I told you a long time ago that I didn’t give a damn what happened between Richard and you. That happened to two other people, a century ago. The only reason I didn’t call was because I knew damn well you didn’t want me to until you were convinced I was sure. I am sure. I love you. I believe in you, and I don’t want any more questions of that kind between us. What better time to show you than on Christmas Day-what better way to convince you than by bringing you here.”

She shook her head wildly, tears stinging her eyes. “Matthew, I can’t go in there. I don’t want to see your father. Do you know what he called me the last time I saw him? And to bring Johnny into it! You’re cruel,” she hissed, her temper rising. “Worse than cruel, Matthew. He doesn’t know-”

“And it’s not going to be easy for you,” Matthew agreed. He leaned over to brush the lone tear from her cheek and smooth back a strand of her hair that really didn’t need smoothing. “My father knows you and Johnny are coming. I told him the way it is, Misha. He doesn’t like any of it, but Misha…” His voice softened, though his eyes continued to have that no-give look to them. “You’re still back there, worrying a long time ago. You’ve got to get past it. I think this really is what you want, or what you need-to bury old ghosts. To give your son and my father at least a chance to have a relationship.”

She thought idly that the tone of ultimatum was familiar, even so gently delivered. She’d used it herself, when she’d told him they simply had no future if he wouldn’t trust her, believe in her. He wanted the same affirmation of faith, proof that her own feelings for him weren’t colored by the past. He’d tried to convey the symbolism by waiting until Christmas Day, by bringing her-and her son-here…

And it was true that for years she’d felt saddened by Johnny’s having a grandfather he could never know. She desperately wanted Richard’s son acknowledged if only for his own security, in the event something should happen to her. “But not today, Matthew,” she said desperately. “Not now. I need time…”

He shook his head, his eyes suddenly cold. “You’ve had nine years. You were innocent, Misha. That’s what you told me and what I believe. I trust you. But, there’s a lonely old man rattling around in that house who thinks he has no grandson, when he does, and has a right to get to know the boy-has deprived himself of that right for all this time.”

He put a fingertip on her lips when she tried to say something. “I know,” he said roughly. “I know exactly how my father feels. But you’re going to try. Because that’s what it’s going to take to put the past behind you.”

Johnny thumped a gloved fist on the window, his face peering in impatiently at them. “What are you two guys doing still sitting in the car? Come on!”

As they walked up to the house, Lorna shoved her gloveless hands in her pockets and stared straight ahead, her face pale. Johnny raced ahead of them, carrying the box that held his chess set, stomping his feet in front of the two huge oak doors.

Dread was pounding so hard in her temples that she couldn’t think. She stared up at the doors. No one could know what going back into this house again would cost her.

“Misha?”

She glanced at Matthew, her face as stiff and fragile as an alabaster statue.

“No one’s going to hurt you,” he whispered. “No one, Misha.”

The long dining table could have seated thirty. The serving dishes were sterling; the hand-painted china had been handed down through generations of Whitakers; the crystal was so expensive that Johnny seemed terrified to risk taking a sip of water. A lush poinsettia perched in the center of the table, flanked by tall, flickering white candles. Carved duckling and prime rib were served and then left on the table in case anyone should want second helpings.

Lorna kept watching her son out of the corner of her eye. In part, that was easier than risking eye contact with Matthew, who had lazily and easily included her in the conversation whether she wanted that or not. Eye contact with Matthew confused her. She resented him more in those moments than she had ever resented anyone in her life. Simultaneously she also loved him more than she had ever conceived of loving anyone. Eye contact with Richard Whitaker, Sr., was out of the question. She had known exactly where she stood with him the moment she shook his hand. That left Johnny.

Her son had been struck dumb the moment they’d walked into the gracious and elegant house, a situation so rare that Lorna normally would have been amused. More than that, she was ridiculously proud of him. No, he wasn’t certain which of three forks to choose, but the manners that counted were there. She felt a little like a lioness, as she casually lifted her fork to her mouth; she was prepared to protect her cub fiercely three seconds before anything could possibly threaten him.

No one had threatened him. She hadn’t walked in and said, “Mr. Whitaker, this is your grandson.” Mr. Whitaker hadn’t countered that by saying, “He isn’t, you adulteress.” Richard, Sr., had directed four polite questions to Johnny, which Johnny had answered while the rest of them sipped sparkling rosé wine before being ushered in to dinner. Matthew was so good at controlling the conversation that no one really had a chance to say anything awkward.

For now, the two men were analyzing the latest crisis in the Middle East, Johnny was busy not fidgeting and Lorna took the chance to study the man at the head of the table. Richard Whitaker was a strikingly handsome man with a head of silvery white hair and deep-set dark eyes. Nearing seventy, he looked a young fifty; his retirement had been by choice. Her former father-in-law had honest charm and a devastating, rattlesnake tongue, both of which he could turn on and off at will. His actions sprang from an integrity that was deep-seated, unassailable and fierce. Richard Whitaker, Sr., judged everyone by a set of rigid standards. He either loved or hated.

Lorna took a sip of the dark red wine in the crystal goblet. She remembered well how her husband’s father had loved her at first, taking her in like a beloved daughter, lavishing affection and presents and compliments on her. She remembered, just as well, how in desperation she had gone to her father-in-law when Richard had first accused her of infidelity. She had been so certain that he cared for her, so certain he would listen… He had listened-for five minutes. Then he had turned on her with all the venom of a hanging judge in the courtroom. He had spoken only a few concise, searing sentences about her morals and character, about how fast he wanted his son rid of her…

“Misha…”

She set down her fork and met Matthew’s dark eyes across the table. Those eyes were like a lifeline: Please, her own eyes begged him.

You have never looked lovelier, Misha, his eyes told her. Your chin’s up, and your eyes are full of courage. Put the past behind you. For our sake.

“While you and Dad savor an after-dinner brandy, I’ll take Johnny downstairs and show him the train.”

Lorna’s shoulders squared as she stood up with the others. Johnny was chattering a mile a minute as Matthew laid a hand on his shoulder and ushered him to a door that led downstairs and out of sight. Her eyes trailed after them for a moment before she glanced at Mr. Whitaker.

“Would you like a brandy?” he inquired pleasantly.

“Yes. Thank you.”

She knew the way through the front hall and past the living room into the sunken rectangular porch that had been converted long ago into a second living room, less formal than the first, where Mr. Whitaker always took his after-dinner drink. She descended the three steps and seated herself in a navy corduroy chair near the window. The room was all navy and gold, with tall arched windows and valuable oil paintings on the walls. The carpet was so thick it was difficult to resist taking off one’s shoes. Lorna had been there many times.

Mr. Whitaker handed her a snifter of brandy and seated himself in the chair across from her. The amber liquid had already been heated, and Lorna studied the golden hue in her glass.

“The train’s been a hobby of the Whitaker men for generations,” he commented. “Each generation adds to it.”

“I remember.”

Mr. Whitaker took a sip of brandy and set down the glass. He was assessing Lorna from head to toe. She could feel it. He took in the silk-soft hair and nervous gray eyes, the Christmassy green blouse and trim-fitting white skirt. “You haven’t changed, Lorna,” he said, as if relinquishing any effort at small talk.

“You haven’t either,” she said honestly.

“I keep fit. Golf, hunting and just walking.” He paused. “Matthew tells me you work as a translator, and the boy-”

“Don’t,” she interrupted quietly, “say anything that will hurt my son. Not now. Not ever. I don’t care what you consider to be the truth.”

The gauntlet was down. Surprise flickered in his eyes first, then anger, but Lorna didn’t avert her eyes from the level stare that was clearly intended to be intimidating.

“Don’t you think that was a little unfair?” he suggested coldly.

“It may have been,” she agreed evenly. “Where my son is concerned, I really don’t care about that.” For the first time since she had walked in the door, she relaxed. She’d known how he felt that first instant their eyes met, but she didn’t realize how very much she had changed over the years. She’d felt guilty simply because of being condemned a long time ago; that guilt was gone, and so was most of the animosity she’d harbored toward Richard’s father. “I didn’t want to disturb your holiday,” she said gently. “It wasn’t the day to do or say anything…upsetting to anyone. I don’t know what Matthew told you-”

“That he’s in love with you.” Mr. Whitaker took another sip of brandy, leaned back and crossed his legs, regarding her from behind hooded eyes. “Matthew did not, of course, ask my opinion of the matter.”

It shocked her to feel a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Matthew’s forte really wasn’t asking anyone’s opinion of anything. Mr. Whitaker evidently shared the same momentary thought, because Lorna could have sworn a glance of understanding passed between them.

“You’re not happy,” she said, quietly.

He hesitated, staring absently at the landscape of mountain and stream over the couch. “I never had any intention of being anything other than cordial toward you. Or your son.” He held the brandy glass in his hands as if they needed warming. “Matthew will go his own way no matter what I say. He always has.” He met her eyes and held them. “We’re not close. I think you know that, Lorna. He’s never agreed with certain things I’ve done over the years… I can’t really define why the closeness isn’t there, but nevertheless, he’s all I have. You think I never saw the feeling he had for you a long time ago? He didn’t even know he had it. To fight you now, Lorna-no. And I won’t fight Matthew on anything, because I’ll do nothing that would risk losing him. I’ll be seventy in a month, as you probably know.” He added bitterly, “I find it thoroughly offensive for you to suggest that I would do anything to hurt your child.”

Lorna looked away from him. “You turned on me, once.”

“I turned on you to protect my younger son against what I felt you did to him, were doing to him.” Mr. Whitaker’s tone was rigid, uncompromising. “Don’t tell me you don’t understand that, Lorna. I can see the way you are with your own son.”

“Yes.” It was just a whisper. Her head suddenly ached miserably. It would be so much easier if she could see Mr. Whitaker as an enemy, but unfortunately she could understand exactly how he had felt when he had so brusquely rejected her a long time ago. She herself had so mindlessly and instantly defended Johnny on the small matter of a broken window-a minor issue next to what Mr. Whitaker had faced nearly a decade ago. “You don’t want to think that Richard made a mistake,” she said quietly. “I understand that, Mr. Whitaker. I know how a parent can feel…fiercely protective of a child.” She hesitated, then added passionately, “But you must try to believe me, because it matters so much. Johnny is your grandson.”

He stood abruptly and set down his brandy glass. “You’ve grown from a girl into a woman, haven’t you, Lorna? If you want a compliment, I would even say a fine, strong woman.”

Her eyes met his.

“I can respect that. And if Matthew had fallen in love with a stranger, a woman who had a child by a previous marriage, I would have been prepared to welcome them both into this house. In the same way, you are welcome here.” He stared at her, his jaw rigid, those dark eyes boring into hers. “Just be very sure,” he said in a low voice, “that you do nothing to hurt my son.”

She realized that he was honestly prepared to go much further than she had ever dreamed of. If no trust, at least there was no animosity. He only wanted to pretend they were strangers, that was all…but it wasn’t enough. She rose, not quite understanding why she felt all choked up and desperate. “Excuse me, would you please?” she said, but Mr. Whitaker was no longer looking at her. He was staring out the window at a crisp, snowy day. Christmas Day-a day of reconciliation. But there was no real reconciliation-no forgiveness of sins, actual or imagined-here.