Christmas Pie Page 15

  Polly seemed to accept James’s conversational detour. She smiled when she said, “Mother’s sister Grace, my Cousin George, and our friend Mrs. Plimsole were all going to join us for dinner today, but every single one of them seems to have taken to bed with a cold.” She looked delightfully self-conscious when she confessed, “Mother and I decided not to waste the price of a turkey on just the two of us.”

  “Well, Miss MacNamara, now you will have the pleasure of wasting a goose on the three of us.” James bowed the ladies into the parlor.

  # # #

  Polly, to whose lot it fell to cook their Thanksgiving goose, felt as though she were treading on clouds for the rest of the day. Mrs. Ragsdale had made a mince pie the day before, and Polly barely noticed peeling potatoes, preparing the stuffing, putting the goose in the oven to roast, and snapping the green beans.

  Her fingers kept straying to her medals, hidden beneath her shirtwaist and apron. Each time they did, she smiled. Of course, there was no such thing as magic. She knew that.

  She hummed “Three Little Maids from School” for a moment or two as she sliced carrots, then giggled.

  It was fun to pretend, anyway. And she had wished they could spend more time together, just the three of them.

  She tried to recall if they’d received messages about their would-be guests’ various illnesses before or after she’d made her wish. Then she giggled again.

  Not, of course, that she’d ever wish Aunt Grace or Cousin George or Mrs. Plimsole to become ill. But the fact they had all done so was certainly interesting.

  The brazen thought that James Drayton might ask her to walk out with him after dinner flitted into her mind and was thrust aside. She told herself not to be ridiculous. He was only dining with them because he had no family.

  Poor thing.

  Polly had never thought she’d be the type of wicked person to take pleasure in the misfortunes of another, but she found herself grateful to James Drayton’s family for being dead.

  When James appeared at the MacNamara ladies’ door for the second time on Thanksgiving Day, 1899, he was dogless. He also carried a bottle of champagne under one arm, a box of chocolates under another, and clutched a pretty bouquet of fall flowers in the hand not holding his hat. His Benz Landaulet-Coupé rested at the edge of the sidewalk. Harboring a slim hope that the very proper Polly MacNamara might agree to drive out with him after dinner, James had decided to bring his horseless carriage this evening.

  A flushed and glowing Polly opened the door almost before he’d finished knocking. It was refreshing to meet a young woman who was not conversant with the arts and airs of flirtation. The other ladies of his acquaintance would have made him wait at least five minutes, if only to promote the flimsy illusion they did not crave his wealth and status.

  “Please come in, Mr. Drayton.” A dimple peeked at the corner of Polly’s mouth. “I see you decided to leave the good admiral at home this evening.”

  “Indeed, Miss MacNamara. I thought even so formidable a personage as yourself might find two encounters in one day with my rarely seen Philippine Tapir Hound daunting.”

  Taking his hat and coat, Polly hung them in the entry closet. Then she seemed adorably confused when she spied the bounty James had brought with him.

  “Oh, Mr. Drayton, you shouldn’t have bothered. Such beautiful flowers.” She took the bottle, then murmured, “Oh, my goodness. Champagne,” and blushed rosily.

  The woman simply couldn’t be coy. James, used to the company of people who posed and simpered with every word they uttered, felt as though he’d been bewitched. He wanted to kiss her. He wished he’d brought two bottles.

  “It was the least I could do, Miss MacNamara. After all, it was my idiotic dog who roused you out of bed so early on a holiday morning.” The thought that he envied his dog, that he would like to rouse Polly in the morning, flashed through his mind. He told his mind to behave.

  “But if he hadn’t done it, Mother and I would be eating chicken,” Polly reminded him, tilting him a look that ate away at his resolve to behave. “Alone,” she added.

  James fingers tightened so solidly around the box of chocolates, they made five little indentations in the stiff, gilt cardboard. He noticed the dents when he lifted the box and presented it to Polly.

  “After we’ve supped on the goose, perhaps you would do me the honor of partaking of a chocolate.”

  “Oh, Mr. Drayton, you’re entirely too generous.”

  “Nonsense.”

  The idea of ripping the box open and asking Polly to take a chocolate from his fingers popped into his head. He could almost feel her slick, velvety lips close over his fingertips as she nibbled the sweet. His reaction to the thought was indelicate and predictable. He gave himself a little shake to cool his ardor.

  “Do you have a chill, Mr. Drayton?” Polly asked innocently. “It’s quite brisk outside.”

  With a grin, the wickedness of which he knew she’d never comprehend, James said, “Not at all, Miss MacNamara. I drove here in my fancy new motorcar and hardly felt a nip of cold air.”

  “How nice.”

  James chuckled. “Yes. I well recall how fascinating you find motorcars, Miss MacNamara.”

  There went that dimple again. James controlled himself and only smiled at her.

  “I guess I like horses because one can pet them, Mr. Drayton.”

  “Miss MacNamara, you may pet my motorcar any time you desire.” And me, too, a baser part of his anatomy cried. James told it to be still.

  Polly laughed. “Please come into the parlor. Mother is there. Perhaps you and she would like to chat in front of the fireplace while I set dinner out.”

  “Do you need any help?” asked James, who had never helped set out a dinner in his life.

  “Of course not.” Polly was obviously shocked that he’d even asked.

  A ribbon of disappointment fluttered through James when her artless comment reminded him of their relationship. Polly MacNamara remembered their disparate stations in life, even if he didn’t. She couldn’t possibly know that he didn’t give a fig about a person’s social standing. He’d gone to such pains to present himself as a snob, how could she?

  Although James and Lillian praised her meal, Polly was ever afterwards unable to remember how anything tasted. She felt as though she were living a happy dream.

  After dinner, they took coffee and chocolates in the parlor, and Polly felt more relaxed and comfortable than she could remember feeling for years, if ever. Of course, the fact that she’d tasted her very first glass of champagne with dinner might account for some of her fuzzy good humor. Polly suspected, however, that the company had more to do with her attitude than the wine.

  James proved to be an amusing and solicitous guest. He treated her mother with a light-hearted respect that made Polly’s heart sing. People often didn’t understand how trying it could be for an invalid to be constantly pitied and fussed over. James didn’t fuss, and he exhibited no pity. If it seemed appropriate, he offered his assistance, and he didn’t hover.

  With each passing second, Polly discovered more to like about him. And, even though she knew herself to be in peril of foolishly throwing her heart away, she couldn’t seem to help it.

  “These chocolates are delicious, Mr. Drayton,” Lillian said as she reached for a second piece. “I don’t usually make such a pig of myself, but these are truly special.”

  “A fellow in town makes them, Mrs. MacNamara. I believe in supporting local businessmen, and I guess others feel the same way because his business is booming.”

  “They really are wonderful,” Polly murmured.

  She peeked at James just before she bit into a dark, glossy, delightfully lumpy chocolate mystery and found him staring avidly at her lips. His gaze seemed awfully warm. At least it heated Polly. By the time she finally tasted her chocolate, she was sure her cheeks were pink.

  James cleared his throat and looked away. “The chocolates are a mere trifle, Miss MacNamara.
Your dinner was superb. I had no idea your skills included a flair in the kitchen.”

  Unsettled both by his expression and his words of praise, Polly couldn’t look at him when she said, “Well, we have a cook, Mrs. Ragsdale. But, of course, she isn’t with us on holidays. She did make the pie.”

  The information about the pie was added hastily, as a disclaimer, because Polly didn’t want to take credit for anything she hadn’t done.

  Suddenly James looked at Polly’s mother. “Mrs. MacNamara, may I have your permission to walk out-of-doors with your daughter for a moment or two? If you don’t mind?”

  He looked quickly at Polly. “If, of course, you care to take the air with me, Miss MacNamara.”

  To Polly’s utter amazement, he appeared to be nervous. She’d never considered even the possibility that the suave, sophisticated James Drayton might ever be nervous. Especially around her, of all people.

  “Why certainly, Mr. Drayton. I believe a little walk would be nice.”

  Lillian smiled at them. “I think that would be fine, Mr. Drayton. The exercise undoubtedly will do the both of you good after such a large meal.”

  “Would you like to go with us, Mother?”

  Polly asked the question out of form and realized she hoped her mother would decline the invitation. Although her nerves had begun to jangle at the thought of being alone with James, she wanted to be. Oh, mercy, how she wanted to be.

  “Good heavens, no, Polly. Why, I’m sure two bright young people don’t want anybody’s old mother tagging along. It’s a crisp, beautiful autumn day and perfect for a nice walk.”

  James rose and extended his hand to Polly. “In that case, let’s take a stroll. Perhaps you can advise me about your neighbor’s picket fence, Miss MacNamara. I looked at it again before I left this morning, and decided it might be more appropriate to replace the whole thing.”

  “I’d be happy to.” Joy and trepidation sent Polly’s emotions flapping around as wildly as this morning’s frightened geese.

  James helped her on with her coat, something no gentleman had ever done for her before. Then she donned her one good hat, pulled her nice new gloves over her fingers, and said, “All ready, Mr. Drayton.”

  When he opened the door for her and stood aside as she walked through it, Polly felt like a princess. Then he took her hand and placed it, just so, on his arm, and she wished the day would never end.

  They walked for a moment in silence. Polly breathed deeply of the crisp autumn air and felt happiness bubble up in her. It had been a long time since she’d been happy. Long before Stephen’s disappearance, a stifling sense of disappointment had begun to claim her waking hours. She didn’t know why, but she had a feeling the emotion stemmed from her self-imposed isolation. She didn’t feel isolated today, though. Today she felt as though she belonged to life; that life belonged to her.

  “It’s a perfect day, isn’t it?” James’s question seeped into Polly’s thoughts smoothly, as though his voice belonged there.

  “Oh, my, yes.”

  Another moment or two of silence followed, broken by the pleasant crunching sound of autumn leaves under their feet.

  Then James said, “It must be difficult for your mother to get around, Miss MacNamara. How do you manage the steep steps to your front door?”

  “There’s a ramp at the back door. Mother didn’t want one in front.” She grinned. “There’s a ramp next door, too, for old man Fleischer’s beer kegs.”

  “Beer kegs!”

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Fleischer is from Germany, you see, and he’s most particular about his beer. He has a keg delivered every two weeks. The delivery man rolls a new one in and rolls the old one out.”

  “Good heavens.”

  Polly laughed. “He’s really a very nice man. And I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him so much as tipsy.”

  “I’m glad you have nice neighbors, Miss MacNamara.” James considered her thoughtfully. “Your mother is a lovely lady.”

  “Yes, she certainly is.”

  “I can see where you come by your beauty and manners.”

  Never having been complimented by a gentleman before, Polly didn’t know what to do or say. She stammered, “Oh, but—well—thank you.”

  James smiled, charmed by her discomposure. “It’s nothing but the truth, Miss MacNamara. But it must be difficult for you, keeping house for the two of you. Do you get out much?”

  “Get out?” Polly peered up at him, wondering what he meant, her heart still bumping crazily from his compliment.

  “Get out,” he repeated. “You know, with friends. Go to the theater or to musical offerings in the park. Attend lectures. Visit museums.”

  “Oh.” All at once Polly’s joy took a tumble and she felt very small and naive. A bumpkin, disconnected and alone.

  Of course. Regular people did all of the things James mentioned. Regular people had friends and laughed, ate taffy on the wharf, listened to the band in the park on Sunday afternoons, went to see the amazing new coin-operated juke box in the Hotel Royale, picnicked in Golden Gate Park, and took the steamer to Marin County to visit Mount Tamalpais. Polly knew about those things from listening to the happy chatter of Constance, Juliana and Rose in the office.

  Polly herself had never once seen or done any of them. Instead, she hid in her mother’s house, caring for a woman who would prefer it, Polly realized in a flash of dismal clarity, if she’d behave more like a lively young woman than a caretaker.

  “Well?”

  James continued to smile at her and Polly couldn’t hold his gaze. She dropped her head and said softly, “No. I—I don’t get out much, Mr. Drayton.”

  “Does your mother require so much of your attention, Miss MacNamara?” James inquired in a very gentle voice.

  Polly heard his solicitude and was shamed by it. Motives that had once seemed noble now felt empty, warped by intentions gone awry, twisted by a young girl’s longings into a young woman’s loneliness. It was true what everyone said: The truth hurt.

  Taking a deep breath, she answered him honestly. “Actually, no, Mr. Drayton, she does not. I suspect I have fallen into the way of caring for my mother to the exclusion of other activities. My mother believes me to be too anxious about her, and I’m afraid she may be right.” She paused for a sustaining breath and admitted, “Why just the other day she tried to walk by herself and I scolded her for it.”

  “I see.”

  “I believe Mother is right about my clinging to her now that she needs me. Stephen and I—well, Stephen and I were alone together a good deal when our parents were away. I think I’ve got into the habit of staying with Mother because I longed to have her with us when we were little.”

  She peeked up at him, hoping her candid confession wouldn’t produce a display of maudlin sympathy. She wanted him to understand her, not feel sorry for her, although she wasn’t sure why.

  To her unutterable relief, James was not looking at her. He stared into the distance, seeming not to notice the neighborhood, lost in his own thoughts. Polly glanced around, too.

  Still pleasant, the homes here were well tended, with flower gardens and neat, albeit tiny, yards. Polly was sure, because she’d seen illustrations in newspapers, that James’s own neighborhood was opulent by comparison. Still, hers was tidy, and she was not ashamed of it.

  They walked on in silence, the holiday afternoon fading into dusk. The street was deserted, everyone having taken to the warmth of their homes where they were, Polly was sure, sharing festivities with family and friends. Like her. The thought brought the lost smile back to her lips.