Ivy Secrets (22 page)

“Come in, come in,” said a tall, handsome woman standing at the door. Behind her, Marina could see the shapes of several others, a tangle of red and brown hair, blue and green eyes.

Charlie was hugged by each one of them, beginning with the woman at the door. “I’m Connie O’Brien, Charlie’s mother,” the woman said, turning to Marina. “Welcome …”

Marina smiled. “Call me Marina, please.”

Her eyes sparkling, Charlie’s mother ushered them into a small kitchen, which was pleasantly warm and smelled of cinnamon. “We’ve been baking cookies,” Connie O’Brien said.

Charlie inspected the racks of cooling cookies, in shapes of Christmas trees and wreaths and yellow stars.

“I get to frost them!” one of the young children squealed.

Charlie then introduced all the kids to Marina—the tallest first, down to the smallest, Sean Patrick.

Connie O’Brien smiled. “I’ll put some milk on the stove for hot chocolate.”

“Sounds great, Mom,” Charlie said as she ruffled Sean Patrick’s hair. “Where’s Daddy?”

“Right behind you,” came a male voice from the door. Charlie turned and jumped into the arms of her tall, barrel-chested father.

The hug was emotive, the laughter that followed infectious, and Marina felt the sting of tears in her eyes. As much as she cared for her parents, as much as she knew they cared for her, she’d never experienced such a visible outpouring of … love. It wasn’t something that was done within the palace walls.

“And this is your friend,” Charlie’s father said as he turned to Marina and extended his hand. “Jack O’Brien. It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to our palace.” His handshake was hearty and his words heartfelt. “Mother,” he said, turning to his wife, “did I hear something about hot chocolate?”

“Coming right up.” Connie squeezed around the younger children and opened the refrigerator for a gallon of milk.

Marina stepped back and watched and listened to the sights and the sounds of a family together—a real family, a free family.

    The day before Christmas they went shopping. Marina once again bundled her hair beneath a knit hat and put on her sunglasses. A promise, after all, was a promise.

“I wonder what Tess is doing right now,” Charlie said as they walked through the shopping district, looking in storefronts at dolls and games and red wagons.

“Probably not shopping for kids,” Marina responded.

“I hate that my brothers and sisters are growing up,” Charlie said. “Quick, let’s go in here. There’s a doll Sheila would love.”

Marina obediently followed her into a small toy shop.

The doll was sixteen dollars. Charlie had only a total of forty. Forty dollars, to shop for them all.

“I will buy it for her,” Marina said.

Charlie looked at her oddly. “No, thanks, Marina. We’ll find something cheaper. It will be fine.”

Marina was humbled.

When they went back into the street, the music of a brass band filled the air. Marina’s gaze followed the sounds to an opposite street corner where six men and women stood, playing trumpets and tubas. They were dressed in black uniforms of some kind, trimmed with red.

“The Salvation Army Band,” Charlie explained. “They raise money for the poor. Come on. Let’s cross.”

They went to the light and crossed the street where the band played, a little out of tune. Still, they smiled broadly at the girls. Charlie reached into her pocket, took out two dollar bills, and dropped them in the shiny red can.

“I did not think you had money to give away,” Marina said.

Charlie shrugged. “It’s the Salvation Army,” she said.

They started to walk again. Marina didn’t understand how Charlie, who had so little money, could give up so much. But then, there was a lot about Pittsburgh—and
families—that Marina didn’t understand. She only knew she was glad she had come.

They went to early mass that evening at a large old church that glowed with candlelight, basked in the brilliance of red poinsettias, and was filled to capacity with families swaddled in wool coats and what appeared to be hand-knit mittens. Marina thought of the palace vault, abundant with luxurious furs and soft muffs, with only three women to wear them. This Christmas, she reminded herself, there were only two. She closed her coat from the Army-Navy store around her and never felt so elegant—so full—in her life.

After church, they returned to the house for a savory Christmas Eve dinner of shepherd’s pie and Christmas cookies. Then Connie sat at the piano and, with two hesitant fingers, played Christmas carols, while everyone joined in the singing. It was the most beautiful music Marina had ever heard.

When the young children were finally in bed, Marina and Charlie wrapped presents: Charlie had managed to buy something for everyone with her meager savings, and Marina filled small bags with chocolates and oranges and nuts in Novokian tradition, one bag for each child. They set their gifts under the tree, which the children had decorated with strings of popcorn and cranberries and a rainbow of paper chains, and Jack O’Brien had carefully festooned with colorful lightbulbs, their tall liquid-filled glass tubes bubbling from the warmth of the lights.

It was a magical, wonderful night, yet, when Marina settled onto the tiny cot erected for her in the room that Charlie shared with Maureen and Sheila, she could not get to sleep. There had been no talk of Jack O’Brien’s unemployment, no self-pity or moping by anyone in the house. Marina realized it was because the O’Briens had much more than money or jobs could ever provide—they had tremendous love for one another, love that would overcome the obstacles. And though Marina knew that Charlie was disappointed about not returning to Smith, she also sensed that Charlie would make do, the way the children would make do in the morning with their small, inexpensive gifts from Santa.

Marina rolled onto her side and twisted the sapphire
and diamond ring on her hand.
I have so much
, she thought.
I have so much, yet they have so much more.

Quietly then, Marina slipped from the cot and crept downstairs. Into a small knit stocking that hung by the fireplace and was embroidered with Pop, Marina slipped her sapphire and diamond ring—a ring whose value was certain to pay off the mortgage of the row house, with something left over to add to their love.

    Jack O’Brien held up the ring in the morning light and said, “We cannot accept this.”

Marina looked around at the O’Briens, dressed in their bathrobes, hair askew, faces glowing from the excitement of Christmas morning. “If you do not,” Marina said, “I will have to leave.”

Connie O’Brien was crying. Charlie was sitting, her mouth agape. Danny was pacing the braided rug on the living room floor.

“You do not have a job, Mr. O’Brien,” Marina said carefully. “I am not trying to offend you. I am trying to help you. You have given me the gift of your home; I am giving you the only gift I have in return. Believe me, it is not as valuable as yours to me.” There was silence in the room. “Besides,” she added with a smile, “call it selfish. I want Charlie to come back to Smith. She is my friend.”

Jack O’Brien wiped his eyes. He rose from his overstuffed chair and went to Marina. He bent down and kissed her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Your Highness,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” Marina answered, through her own tears.

After the holidays, Charlie returned to Smith. She could hardly believe Marina’s generosity to her family; she hoped that someday she would find a way to pay her back. She stood in line at the college bookstore now, waiting to buy the book for the classes she’d thought she wouldn’t be here to take, promising herself she would make the most of her education, and make her family proud of her.

She idly gazed around the crowded store and suddenly spotted Tess wandering through the bookshelves.

“Tess!” Charlie called out.

Tess turned. She hesitated a moment, then walked toward Charlie.

“I’m back, Tess,” Charlie exclaimed as she reached out to her friend. “Can you believe it?”

Charlie felt Tess stiffen in her hug.
Something
, she thought,
is wrong.
The previous night after Charlie arrived from the bus station, she was sure she’d heard Tess in her room; but when she knocked on Tess’s door, there had been no response.

Tess pulled away and said with a tight smile, “So what happened? Did your father get a job?”

Charlie quickly glanced around to see if anyone had overheard. As much as she liked Tess, sometimes her blunt-ness was embarrassing. “We worked things out,” she said quietly. They had agreed not to make Marina’s gift to the O’Briens public knowledge; still, Charlie felt awkward not sharing with Tess the joy Marina had given. If only she could tell her, Charlie thought, Tess might like the princess better.

“Well,” Tess continued without animation, “I’m sure Peter is pleased.”

Charlie shifted her book bag on her shoulder. Before Christmas she had been on only three dates with Peter Hobart, and as much as she’d like to see him again, she wasn’t sure she should. Peter, after all, was rich. The problem was, he did not know that Charlie was not. “Peter doesn’t know Pm back,” she said to Tess. “Do you think I should call him?”

Tess shrugged with apparent disinterest. “You like him, don’t you?”

Charlie sensed the words were laced with sarcasm. She watched Tess’s eyes move distractedly around the room and wondered what had happened to her over the holidays. “I like Peter, yes,” she said, then changed the subject. “I’ve got an idea. How about if we get pizza tonight? You, Marina, and me? Like the old days.”

Tess shook her head. “I made plans to see Dell tonight. But you guys go ahead without me.” She shook her straight hair from her face. She had, Charlie thought, looked so much prettier when she wore makeup and curled her hair. “I’m going to come back and get my books when the line’s not so asinine,” Tess said. Before Charlie could say anything further, Tess waved and left the bookstore.

    When Charlie returned to Morris House she thought about calling Peter. It wasn’t as though she had lied to him. He’d driven Tess and her to Morris House the first day they met, so he knew she didn’t live in the Quad. But, Charlie admitted to herself as she brushed her long hair, she hadn’t exactly been honest either.

The night before she and Marina left for Pittsburgh, she’d told Peter she might not return to Smith.

“My father isn’t well,” she’d … well, she’d lied, though at the time Charlie had convinced herself that Jack O’Brien’s unemployment was the equivalent of being unwell—not physically, perhaps, but surely he was emotionally distressed. And that was sort of the same thing, wasn’t it?

She had not, however, gone on to explain that she was expected to work to help save the family home. Instead, it
had seemed safer simply to say that her mother needed her there and let it go at that.

She studied her face in the mirror now and wondered if Peter would still want to see her once he knew the truth. Then she remembered the tears in her father’s eyes when he had seen Marina’s gift, and the tears in Marina’s when she had refused to let him return it. And Charlie knew then that Marina had taught her a hard lesson in humility, about what was really important in life, about the value of love, and the courage to be yourself. She glanced down at last year’s sweater and the faded jeans she wore, and knew it was time to accept reality. She clenched her fists to strengthen her resolve, then stood up and went down the hall to place the call to Amherst College.

    It was Tuesday night, and Packard’s Restaurant was uncharacteristically empty; many girls apparently hadn’t yet returned for the new semester. Charlie picked at the french fries beside the burger on her plate and watched Peter sip his draft beer. She wasn’t surprised he had been happy to hear from her; she wasn’t surprised he’d suggested they go out tonight. She would, however, be surprised if he wanted to see her after this. She examined his upper-class reserve now and wondered how he would have enjoyed Christmas Eve dinner of shepherd’s pie and cookies. Somehow, she couldn’t quite picture him in their cramped kitchen, eating off Corelle dinnerware on a vinyl tablecloth.

“Peter,” she said, “there’s something I want to tell you.”

He looked at her with a half smile that said he was apprehensive about what she might say next.

Charlie sat up straight in her chair and clutched her glass of ginger ale. “I think I may have given you the wrong impression about me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

She moved her hand around the glass, its icy wetness chilling her palm. “I’m only at Smith because I have a scholarship.”

He took another sip of beer. “Are you trying to tell me you’re smarter than I am?” he asked with another smile, one that made him look like a vulnerable little boy.

“I’m trying to tell you my family isn’t rich.”

He took a bite of his club sandwich. He didn’t say a word.

“My father works—worked—in a steel mill,” she said quickly, in order to get the words out before she changed her mind. She laughed nervously. “He doesn’t even do that anymore. Now he collects unemployment.”