Christmas Pie Page 26

  She made the confession in a bleak little voice and felt ashamed of its truth. But it was the truth. She’d managed to hide herself so effectively behind the facade of bread-earner and mother’s-helper these last six years that she counted Marcus O’Leary and Mother Francis Mary as her only true friends. Of the two, she could talk of personal things only to the Mother Superior.

  Even as she felt a rush of tenderness for the nun, she realized her friendless condition was a telling statement about herself. And she didn’t like what it told. Martyrdom made a cold companion indeed.

  “Well, my dear, you just sit still and compose yourself for a minute while I get us a nice cup of tea.” Mother Francis Mary patted Polly’s shoulder and departed the room.

  Polly looked around the office. It was a cheerful, cluttered room, with papers and religious icons nestled next to one another on the desk. Pictures of Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mary shared wall space with photographs and letters from orphans who had lived here over the years.

  One missive, sent ten years earlier, expressed gratitude for the Sisters of Benevolence’s kind offices during the letter-writer’s formative years, and credited the Sisters with his success. Polly stared in amazement at the signature, for it was that of Sien Luke Chang, her father’s old business associate. Uncle Chang. Imagine that!

  She didn’t hear the door open and started when she heard the nun’s creaky voice ask, “Are you feeling better now, dear?” Polly jumped up from her chair to help with the tea things.

  “Yes. Thank you.” Embarrassed, she added, “I’m sorry for my outburst, Mother. It’s just been such a—such an amazing morning. My nerves are skipping.”

  “Well, you just sit down and tell me all about it,” Mother Francis Mary said, pouring out a cup of tea and handing it to Polly. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “It is? But I’m not even Catholic.” Polly felt stupid when she heard herself.

  Her companion didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her rusty laugh gave Polly the impression the question had been expected.

  “Indeed it is, my dear. I’m here for all of God’s creatures. Even non-Catholic type-writers need a sympathetic shoulder to cry on every now and then.” With a queer little sideways look, she added, “Or so I’ve been led to understand.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  After a sustaining sip of tea, Polly plunged into her morning’s tale. She began at the beginning, since to do otherwise would lead a short path to chaos, given her unsettled nerves.

  The old nun breathed a pleased, “My goodness!” when Polly told her about J. P. Drayton’s letter and bank draft.

  “Yes. It’s a lot of money, Mother.”

  “Indeed, it is. I expect you won’t have to work your fingers to the bone typing for a living any longer, my dear.”

  Although she had been staring into her teacup, wondering how one went about reading tea leaves, Polly jerked her head up. “I—I don’t know. That’s what Mr. Drayton said, too.”

  “Did he now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah.”

  Polly didn’t know what to make of that “Ah,” any more than she knew what to make of her feelings about her job. For four years now, she had taken great pride in her ability to earn her mother’s keep and her own. Earning her living in a world notorious for its unkindness to women and being her mother’s nursemaid were all she knew how to do. It was how she defined herself. Now, at the stroke of J. P. Drayton’s pen, both occupations seemed to be slipping away from her.

  With a little shake of her head, Polly decided she would think about all that later.

  Mother Francis Mary’s eyes opened suitably wide as Polly told her about Lawrence Bullock’s perfidy. The nun’s disapprobation melted into pleasure at James Drayton’s timely arrival, and she laughed when apprised of his noble hound’s derring-do. “Might have known that lad would own an heroic canine,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Oh,” Polly cried—too quickly she later thought. “Do you know him?”

  “James Drayton’s dog?” Mother Francis Mary peered at Polly over her stack of papers. “No. Can’t say as I do, dear.”

  “No.” Polly cleared her throat and took another sip of tea. “No, I meant Mr. Drayton. Do you know him?”

  The nun’s thousand wrinkles crinkled into a smile that seemed to take up her whole face. “Oh, my goodness, yes, dear. I know James Drayton.”

  “I—I believe he and Mr. Sing, his new associate, are conducting an experiment here?”

  As a spy, Polly guessed she’d be a miserable failure if Mother Francis Mary’s sly twinkle was anything by which to judge.

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Drayton and his Chinese criminals. Indeed, I do know him, Polly.” The old nun’s wrinkles bent again, this time into a mock frown. “Such a serious young man he is, too, as he sets about to right the world’s wrongs.”

  “Or his father’s,” murmured Polly. Her heart gave an odd twist.

  The Mother Superior gave her another sparkling look. “Of course.”

  Polly looked at the nun hard. “You—do you know about James and his father’s estrangement?”

  “I know what he’s told me, my dear.” The old nun sighed. “He truly understands his father to be some kind of evil being, I believe. And I’m sure he has his reasons.”

  Her amused smile didn’t seem to go with her words, and Polly felt confused, as though she wasn’t in on a secret everybody else knew. “I’m sure he does.”

  “And what else has happened to upset your composure, my dear?”

  “Well, when we got the letter from J. P. Drayton this morning, it was the first indication we’d ever been given that James is his son. I—” She licked her lips. “I guess I felt betrayed.”

  It sounded silly when said aloud in Mother Francis Mary’s messy office. Polly felt her cheeks burn and, since the Mother Superior did not make an immediate comment, she rushed to explain.

  “I mean, I don’t suppose he owed us any explanations, but when he brought us the goose for Thanksgiving and Mother invited him to dine, he said he had no family.” She was staring intently into her teacup and feeling like a fool when she said in a small voice, “I thought he’d lied to us.”

  Polly peeked at the nun to find her taking a delicate sip of tea. When she put the cup back in the saucer and looked at Polly, her eyes glittered like polished obsidian. Her smile turned the wrinkles in her old cheeks into a map of mysteries Polly couldn’t even begin to fathom.

  “I see you refer to him as James,” Mother Francis Mary observed mildly.

  Striving to maintain the nun’s steady gaze, Polly said, “He—he asked me to, yes.”

  “Ah.” The old woman seemed to be finding her amusement difficult to contain. “And did he make this odd request at work, dear?”

  “Oh, no! Heavens, no. It was right before he kissed me.”

  Realizing what she’d said, Polly’s mouth dropped open in horror. She pressed a hand to her burning cheek, removing it from her teacup so suddenly she almost upset the cup in her lap.

  With a pleased chuckle, Mother Francis Mary said, “I see. Then, perhaps you had reason to feel a bit upset that he didn’t confide his parentage to you, my dear.”

  “Oh, dear. It’s not like it sounds, Mother. Truly, it isn’t.”

  “No?”

  “No. At least—well—I don’t know.” Polly looked up and cried, “I don’t know! I don’t know, Mother. That’s the problem.”

  “Ah, I see. I figured it was something of this nature. So now you’re unsure of your young man’s affections and are worried that he may be trifling with you. He is, after, a man of substance in the community and you, while perfectly respectable, are quite poor.”

  The glance the nun gave Polly from under her eyelashes made her look like a wise little gnome. “At least you were quite poor. Unless James Drayton is right about his father and old J. P. is a certifiable scoundrel, you are no longer poor at all.”

  “I guess not,” Polly said,
for the first time almost believing it.

  “Tut, tut; a quandary, to be sure. Has he given you any other indications of his regard, my dear?”

  Hundreds, Polly thought. And none. “Well, when we got news that the wreckage of Stephen’s ship had been discovered, Mr. Drayton was—quite kind to me.”

  The nun sat up straighter in her chair. “I’m sorry to hear that, my dear. I didn’t know.”

  “No. No. I haven’t been here since then. But he was kind to me. And—and he is looking into that situation, too.”

  “My, my. A virtual paragon,” Mother Francis Mary murmured.

  “And when he heard you’d sent me an invitation to the Charity Ball, he asked me to accompany him.”

  Another smile rearranged the wrinkles on the old woman’s face. “What a splendid idea, to be sure.”

  “Yes, but now I don’t know if I should go with him or not, Mother. I don’t know.” Polly lifted her cup to drink more tea, realized it was empty and replaced it on its saucer with a clink. “Oh, I don’t know what to do,” she said unhappily.

  “Did you accept his offer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I believe it would be impolite to withdraw your acceptance now, dear,” Mother Francis Mary said in her school teacher’s voice.

  “You do?”

  “Indeed. Most impolite.”

  She shook her wimpled head, and Polly wondered if she was making fun of her. Too rattled to voice her suspicion, she went on to her next problem. “And then there’s Mother.”

  “Oh, my goodness. Is something wrong with your mother, my dear?”

  “No. That is, not really. I mean—she’s walking.”

  “Why, how wonderful!”

  “Yes. Yes, I guess it is.”

  Mother Francis Mary shot her a keen look, and Polly said hurriedly, “I mean, yes. Yes, it is wonderful. It’s just—” But she didn’t know how to say it. When she gave her thoughts voice, they sounded mean and petty.

  “It’s just that your whole life has revolved around your job and your invalid mother for the last several years, and you aren’t sure what you’ll do with yourself without either one of them,” the Mother Superior finished for her.

  Grateful, Polly could only nod.

  “Add to that a young man who seems one day to be paying you court and the next to be keeping dark secrets, and you’re about as confused as a pretty young girl can get.” Mother Francis Mary smiled warmly. “Oh, Polly, child, don’t feel so bad about feeling bad. Your emotions are perfectly understandable.”

  “They are?”

  “Of course, they are. Why, your whole life has just been turned cock-a-loop.” The nun shook her head. “You young people, though. You’re all so terribly serious about everything. James Drayton and his father; Polly MacNamara and her mother. Goodness gracious.”

  “Do you really think we’re too serious, Mother?”

  “Oh, Polly, I suspect I’m just too old to take the vagaries of life so seriously, my dear. When you get to be my age, you’re thankful to life’s absurdities as welcome relief from the trudging monotony of the endless days. But if it makes you feel better to be serious about things, you certainly have my permission.”

  She laughed her creaky laugh. “You will, anyway, with or without it.”

  Polly actually felt her mouth lifting of its own accord. Her heart felt lighter, too.

  “And you know, Polly, whether you work or not and whether your mother can walk or not, there are still things that need doing in this world. You need never feel useless.” Mother Francis Mary made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “Why, right here, we have a hundred children longing for attention. They already love you, dear. You’re certainly welcome to spend more time with them.”

  The nun’s simple words caught Polly off guard. All at once a whole new world opened up before her. Why, how narrow-minded she was being! Her heart lifting like magic, she exclaimed, “Thank you, Mother. Thank you for listening to me; for being my friend.”

  “Oh, my dear, it is my great pleasure. I’m so old now and the problems of youth are so far behind me that it’s a delight for me to hear about them every now and again, just to keep in touch with how real people live.”

  They walked arm-in-arm to the severe wrought-iron gate separating the denizens of the Sisters of Benevolence’s charitable institution from the world. Polly’s step felt much springier and her mind much less muddled than it had before she came here. She sighed when the big gate shut behind her.

  Then, just as she was about to walk back home, she made a quick about-turn and headed into Chinatown. As long as she was here, she might as well pay another visit to her shop and see what, if any, fey creatures resided within its walls today. Polly felt her medals through the thick fabric of her coat and knew she’d always be grateful to that old woman, whether this coin was magic or not.

  And after she visited the shop . . . Well, she’d think about that possibility later.

  She pushed the door open to the familiar jingle of the little bell and stepped inside. With a sigh, she saw neither the tiny old woman nor the jolly old man behind the counter. The beaded curtain hung unmoving between the shop and the secrets housed in back.

  Although the day outside was bright, inside the shop a twilight aura reigned. Polly smiled and decided it must be the delicate scent of sandalwood and the dimness of the lighting that were responsible for her fanciful impression. The subtle aura was certainly not unpleasant; rather, the soft atmosphere gave her a feeling of peace.

  I’ll just look around for awhile, and maybe somebody will show up.

  With that thought and a grin for the infinite possibilities the shop afforded, she commenced to prowl the small, cluttered room. Oh, my. There was such an abundance of beauty to please the eye in the confined space. Her smile widened when she saw Christmas decorations—a holly wreath above a small crèche—settled next to carved Chinese figurines of the Nine Wise Ancients, as though the disparate cultural artifacts all belonged together.

  Fingering the baby Jesus in the crèche and thinking about it, Polly murmured, “I guess they do.”

  “May I help you?”

  Polly’s heart nearly leapt out of her throat and she must have jumped a foot when she heard the soft voice at her elbow. Turning with a start, she beheld a beautiful young woman, about her age, standing very near her. She hadn’t heard the beads click. She put a hand to her thundering heart and felt her coin, glowing warm through her coat.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You startled me.”

  The woman gave her an enigmatic smile. Polly thought she was perhaps the loveliest female she’d ever beheld and harbored a sudden, unworthy thought to be glad James wasn’t with her today.

  Not, of course, that there was any reason he should be. Or that, if he were, it would matter whether or not he admired this woman. Or that Polly should care one way or the other.

  She cleared her throat. “I was sold some ivory hair combs in this shop a while ago by an elderly lady shopkeeper.”

  Her statement was greeted by another mysterious smile and a “Yes?”

  “Well, I wondered if she might be in today.”

  “You wish to speak to her about the combs?”