The bus was barrelling along the 401 at a great rate, the open fields and small farm houses whizzed by. With signs of recent snow falls here, then Lindsay would be completely white.
She proceeded to speculate about the man with Devon. Was he someone special in her life? She sincerely hoped not. She could see he would be the type capable of attracting her. She was so very different. The avant-garde, the unexpected, that would be her beat. Odd how she had said nothing about New Year's. And how she regretted leaving without saying goodbye. The omission burned a hole in her heart, yet she could not make it up. Eventually her brain, worn out from going round in ever decreasing circles, dropped her off into a fitful sleep. When the bus stopped to let someone off at the highway #15 turn off, lack of motion jolted her awake. Not much further now.
Turning her thoughts to the impending meeting with her mother, she believed it would go well. She'd bought her an expensive, cashmere sweater in a soft, delicate shade of blue, almost robin's egg, with an elaborate applique of an orchid, in silver and bronze. She knew her mother would fall in love and although it had cost too much, she wanted to see that light of pleasure on her face. For her dad, another coin for his collection would score with him. Here she was, the prodigal, bearing gifts.
The bus pulled into the terminal and there he was, peering about myopically, as skinny as ever, despite the thick, bulky parka with its fur lined hood. In winter he had a hard time with his glasses steaming up. He was alone.
Alexander deferred to his wife in all things domestic. His autonomy lay in his work and the car. He was a senior technician at Union Carbide and there he really came into his own. His foreignness had made life difficult for him at first, but as his English improved, so did his work prospects. Now his occupation defined him, gave him substance. He would gladly put in overtime; go in weekends. At home he retreated to his den where he liked to sort and catalogue rare coins, developing quite a collection over the years. It had started when he'd arrived from Malta as a young man, bringing with him an assortment of European currency which he had acquired by chance. He'd hung onto it, then received some early Canadian and American money, which had developed his interest. Doris had no time for it, but tolerated the hobby as a harmless pastime. At least he was home and not off, up to no good.
Fresh snowdrifts lay banked against the outbuildings, but the snowplough had cleared a driveway for the coaches, leaving everyone to negotiate over the thick, clumpy border it had created. Tenille remembered how, when she was little, she had enjoyed jumping into the middle of the drift, not following the footsteps as she aught.
âHi, Pumpkin,' her dad's voice resonated, as soon as she stepped down. âWhich one is yours?' surveying the array of cases and bags being unloaded.
âThat one.'
Alexander gave his daughter a quick hug before hefting up the holdall and striding off to the station wagon. âThis is very nice,' he remarked looking down: âIs it new?'
âVery. A Christmas gift from Uncle Roger and Auntie Carmel. Weren't they the observant chipmunks to figure this one out?' she replied delightedly. It felt good to be back with her dad, struggling to keep up with him.
âHow's Mom? Is everything okay at home?' She was apprehensive over her absence.
âOh yes, no problem. She's just working on last minute things. You know how she likes it all to be just right.'
Not her then.
The drive home restored her confidence and by the time they reached Maple Avenue they were both laughing and chatting, reliving old experiences as they passed familiar landmarks.
âWe're home.' Alexander called out, as he let them in and they stripped off their various layers. Tenille's old slippers were ready and waiting. Doris came forward from the kitchen, arms outstretched to embrace her daughter.
âDarling, how was your journey?' Not waiting for a reply she ordered: âAlex, take Tennie's bag to her room. Come to the kitchen and I'll make us a cup of tea.' She turned away, expecting her daughter to follow.
âI'll go up with dad, Mom. I just have a few things to do, then I'll be right down.'
A look of displeasure crossed Doris's face, but she said nothing. Tenille followed Alexander up to her old room, then he left her. She looked around as memories flooded back. The same pictures on the wall from her school and student days: the same duvet on the bed and drapes at the window. How quickly she could slip back to those younger years. Her mom had put a wreath of holly and fir cones across the top of the duchess mirror. Yes, that took her back. She couldn't dawdle, she would be getting impatient. She unpacked the gifts from Carmel and Roger and her own for her parents and went down to the kitchen.
âI wanted to get these out for you.' Doris's face brightened.
âOh, lovely. Here, Tennie, drink this.' She placed a steaming cup before her and a plate of hot mince pies she'd just taken out of the oven. Her dad was already at the table.
âWe've waited for you before trimming the tree. I thought we could do it tonight, while we listen to the service of Nine Lessons and Carols from Kings College.' She didn't examine the parcels.
âGreat, Mom. It'll be fun getting out the old decs.'
âYes, just like old times.' Doris kept her hands busy at the sink. Alexander only nodded his head in agreement.
âNow Tennie,' Doris's voice took on a more serious tone. âI've got some errands to do this afternoon and I'd like you to come with me. There are some ladies from the church I have to deliver a Christmas hamper to and I know they'd be thrilled to see you again.
âOh Mom. I don't even know these people,' she protested, âI â¦'
âNow Tenille, don't be difficult.'
She saw that stern look and knew this could be the start of a battle. No, she wouldn't let it happen.
âPerhaps she has other plans,' Alex put forward, placatingly.
âOf course she hasn't other plans,' Doris asserted briskly: âShe only just got here â¦' then she turned towards her: âHave you?'
âNo, Mom,' she replied in a quiet voice.
âThere you are,' she declared to her husband, triumphantly. This demonstration of her superior awareness put a look of satisfied smugness on her face. âYou know I like to do my bit at Christmastime for those less fortunate and it's good training for Tenille to be a part of charitable work.' She pursed her lips as though she had delivered the homily of the day. Alexander looked across at his daughter to see how she was taking it. In her stride, it seemed.
He inserted a change of topic. âHow's life in the big city?' smiling warmly across at her. Dear man.
Although launched happily into Toronto anecdotes, a sixth sense stilled Tenille's tongue regarding Devon. How could she explain her?
Doris finished up her chores and finally came to sit with them. âTell me, Tennie,' everything was good between them again. âIs there a new man in your life?' She was so happy to have her home.
Tenille frowned. âNo, Mom.' This could get boggy.
âNo. Why not?' looking indignant. âA well brought up girl like you. You should be surrounded by nice, eligible, young men. What is Carmel thinking of?'
âIt has nothing to do with Carmel. My life is too busy just now.' Could she provide someone for her mother to think about? Darren would do. She wanted to know how they had met, but she was reluctant to bring up the party. Perhaps this would paint it in a more absolving light. It did the trick; she was all ears. Then she had her own story to tell.
âI bumped into Jerred last month.' Tenille turned to her mother, surprised but not alarmed. Now what was coming?
âYes. He asked after you.' She said nothing. âHe told me he misses you. I got the feeling he regrets the divorce.' Doris stopped and looked searchingly at her daughter. âYou know, if you'd only wake up to what a good catch Jerred is, he would have you back. It's sure he still has feelings for you.'
Tenille's cheeks flushed red and her eyes blazed. Putting down her cup she clasped her hands, the pressure of her fingers whitening the knuckles. âMom. How can you say these things to me? He would have
me
back. I don't want
him
back. He didn't make me happy. Don't you want me to be happy?' Her stare was hard, challenging; the lips set tight.
âOf course I do darling. You're twisting my words. You know all I've only ever wanted is your happiness.' Doris's eyes were becoming red rimmed and she looked close to tears. Alexander felt sorry for her.
âDoris, don't distress yourself. It does no good for either of you to bring up the past.' He looked at his daughter reproachfully. âCome along, get your things together and we'll distribute the hampers you've prepared. Tennie will come with us.'
Both women rose from the table in silence. Tenille felt very upset. She had wanted so much to avoid flare-ups. Why did encounters with her mother so often finish with tension?
It was Christmas, wasn't it? A happy time?
With space to herself, Tenille was able to go out to the back porch where Betsy lived. She was a large, unruly Mastiff, too big for Doris and only allowed into the house on sufferance. Tenille had picked her out from the pound soon after she'd married. After the break she had brought Betsy home. That was okay, she had looked after her. The problem arose when she moved to Toronto. Now her dad was responsible, but Doris was not reconciled. One day she would be in a position to take Betsy back. Meanwhile â¦
Betsy was overjoyed to see her mistress again. She couldn't jump high enough or often enough to express her pleasure. Tenille was clambered over; licked to within an inch of her life. Eventually she was able to get her own hugs in, accompanied by lavish compliments.
âTenille, are you ready?' her mother's voice called out.
She gave Betsy a sorrowful look. âGotta go, Bets. I'll take you for a lovely long run when I get back, I promise.' The bitch followed her to the door to stand there, sad eyes revealing her dejection. Tenille's heart was torn but she had to go.
Betsy's second greeting of her mistress showed all was forgiven. Going off to the park and romping in the snow was just like old times. She loved the attention and would retrieve for hours if given the chance. Mistress and bitch were one, as if she'd never been away. Betsy, no longer young and suffering from lack of exercise, carried too much weight, but being back with Tenille, she was a puppy again; charging about, over shooting the mark, sending the snow flying in great arcs of glistening spray. At home, she flopped onto her quilt, worn out by all the excitement.
After dinner the Fenechs prepared for church. Their denomination was Pentecostal. It was a special carol service that evening. Doris wore a stylish, fox fur coat and brown felt hat with matching trim. Alexander had on his thick, winter coat and Tenille had to make do with her old one. She felt shabby in comparison, but wasn't happy that her mother had clothed her body in animal fur. She was about to make an observation to that effect, but at the last moment thought better of it.
The old church was filled to capacity. The intricately carved timbers of the pews showed the years of loving care they had received, the patina like satin in the candlelight. The singing transported her. This year the choir had an accomplished boy alto whose voice rose above them all, high into the rafters. His ringing notes seemed to float and hang suspended, as if from another world. In Dulcie Jubilo brought tears to her eyes. After the service they moved slowly down the aisle towards the main doors for the usual post service greetings. She could tell her mother was very pleased to have her with her. Outside it was a truly frosty night with big white flakes of gently falling snow to settle on them. Tapped lightly on the shoulder, she spun around to look directly into the pretty face of a woman a little older than she and several sizes larger since their last meeting.
âTenille. Is it really you?'
âKirsten. How lovely.'
They embraced warmly, then she made the introductions. âMy Mom and Dad. Kirsten Radcliff. She was nursing at the Ross Memorial when I was doing my interning.' She turned back to her. âAre you still there?'
âNo ⦠and it's Goen, now. In fact here's my husband and my daughter, Shania. Dietmar, this is Tenille and her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Fenech.'
Conversation continued, everyone full of the Christmas spirit. Shania got her share of attention, too. A captivating little three year old, bundled up in a brilliant red, padded one-piece, with matching green hat, scarf and mitts. Bright and bubbly, she wasn't the least bit shy, chatting to everyone. Eventually the gathering broke up.
âMerry Christmas' rang through the clear night air, as the worshippers set off on their separate ways. Kirsten grabbed a quick moment with Tenille, her voice almost conspiratorial. âCome for dinner, then we can have a cosy evening to ourselves.'
âAre you in the book?' Tenille asked. She nodded. âI'll have to call you. I don't know what mom's got planned for me, just now. Okay?'
âYes. Do see what you can do. Oh, it would be so wonderful.' Kirsten's face was flushed and excited. Tenille could see she really wanted this time together.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Doris would devote her energies to getting everything ready for the dinner. She didn't really enjoy cooking, but she was a great one for observing tradition. There would be five of them. Their close friends, the Zadors, Gyozo and Margit who were originally from Hungary. They had two boys, away on a skiing trip so Doris had thought it a good idea to join forces. Gyozo worked with Alexander at Union Carbide. Tenille didn't know these people, just of them.
Christmas day was a happy time. Her parents loved what she had chosen for them and she, in turn, was delighted with the beautiful winter coat they gave her. It was not fur, praise be, but of superfine, black wool; three-quarter length falling in a full swirl from the shoulders, under a short cape which gave extra warmth. To go with it was a pair of Borg-lined, black leather boots. They reached up to mid-calf and were Cuban heeled. Now she would be smart, like Devon.