Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20A | 20B | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25-26 | 27 | 28-29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35-36 | 37 | 38A | 38B | 38C | 38D | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42-43 | 44-45 | 46 | 47 | 48-49A | 49B | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56 | 57A | 57B | 58-59| 60 | 61 | 62 | 63 | 64 | 65 | 66 | 67 | 68-69 | 70A | 70B | 71A | 71B | 72 | 73 | 74A | 74B | 75 | 76-77A | 77B | 78 | 79 | 80 | 81 | 82 | 83

---

PART III
GLADYS

---

84

ON CHRISTMAS DAY, Marina awoke in her lovely bed, feeling no lighter or heavier than she had since she’d arrived. She had had an odd dream which made her feel funny and ashamed. A knock on her door surprised her.

“Miss Marina?”

“Come in.”

A maid bustled in with a silver tray upon which sat a teapot, tea cup, and a small plate of delicacies. She set it down on the table beside Marina and said, “This is a Christmas Day tradition, Miss. The children enjoy it.”

Marina watched as she poured hot cocoa into her cup and sprinkled a little—

“Is that cinnamon?” she asked, fascinated.

“Yes, Miss. Miss Susanna says it’s from the Aztecs, to put cinnamon in the cocoa. She likes it that way. She thought you might also.”

“Ooooh,” Marina breathed, shocking the maid.

“You’re feeling better today, Miss Marina?”

“I’m … ” Marina scowled. “I don’t know what I am, to tell you the truth.”

“The cinnamon warmed you up,” the maid quipped.

Marina smiled. “I see what you did there.”

The maid snickered and left, saying, “Presents open at eleven, Miss. Don’t want to be late.”

Marina didn’t expect or want anything. She had not thought to buy anyone any presents because she had not grown up exchanging gifts. The Scarritts’ only Christmas decorations were at the church, which was decked out as wonderfully as downtown Kansas City. The presents under the massive church tree were for the poor and needy children in the congregation, although now she knew Father had had nothing to do with that except to hand them out with solemn benevolence. Christmas dinner was also at the church for those who had nowhere to go or families who could not afford Christmas dinner. Of course, Father and Mother got the credit for that too.

They would sit at the head and foot of the long table presiding solemnly, collecting gratitude with regal nods of heads, while worship and praise went on around fellowship hall. Marina … well, Marina would be in the kitchen, snitching bites between peeling potatoes and refilling pitchers and tending the spiced cider and washing dishes. She didn’t cook and she didn’t serve, but she ate with the women and girls who really provided the dinner.

She had never resented that, although she had been a bit hurt she wasn’t allowed to cook, but that was a small thing. Hungry people were getting fed. Their Christmases were nicer than they would have been otherwise. Marina felt good in helping to do that, the same way she felt good when someone praised Mother’s wardrobe.

Father and Mother only wanted their egos fed without spending a penny to get the credit.

Does it matter why?

Ye—

Perhaps? The people in the congregation had been fed well and gifted. No motive was so evil that it would take that away from them. Likewise, families to whom Boss Tom gave to make sure they didn’t go hungry or freeze through the winter got fed and clothed and warmed. They were loyal and voted the way Boss Tom told them to. But Boss Tom took from some as much as he gave to others, as had Father.

Does it matter why?

Marina took a sip of her cocoa before it went cold and was absolutely delighted with the addition of cinnamon. She plucked a marshmallow off the tray and popped it in her mouth. The Dunhams certainly did like their candies, filling every crystal dish or jar around the mansion. Candy had not been allowed in the parsonage so to Marina, its prominence here felt sinful.

It was nine o’clock, two hours before presents. Normally, Grand­mother Susanna would have her up and about going here or there or somewhere else, busy, always busy, doing things that important, rich society women did. It was enjoyable but, to Marina, mostly pointless unless one wanted to be able to discuss high culture at cocktail parties to display one’s sophistication.

Grandmother Susanna did that well, but— It’s a game, my dear. Very few people discuss things they love, the things they are passionate about, because it’s too revealing. We pretend to like some things and dislike other things and everyone likes and dislikes the same things, and we all play the game, then go home and indulge our passions in private.

What’s your passion?

I … that’s … private.

I won’t laugh.

Well. All right. Elliott and I go to the vaudeville shows.

Everyone does that.

Not … as performers. We have a juggling and comedy routine. Don’t breathe a word of that!

Instead of being scandalized, as Grandmother Susanna had thought she would be, Marina was charmed.

Every day was a fun adventure with Grandmother Susanna, whose boundless energy rivaled Dot’s. But today was Christmas and Marina had the freedom to take a nap.

“Don’t dress, my dear,” came Grandmother Susanna’s voice only a few minutes later as she swept into the room. “Nobody does. Night­clothes all day. That’s the rule.”

Marina looked at the clock. It was almost eleven.

Grandmother Susanna plopped herself on Marina’s bed and smoothed Marina’s hair. “I knocked, but you didn’t hear me, you poor thing. Am I wearing you out?”

Marina smiled a little. “Well, to be truthful, yes.”

“I forget you’re pregnant, you clever dresser, you. I’ll not make you go out before noon.”

“Thank you.”

“Except when we go to New York. I refuse to waste one second in New York sleeping, for God’s sake.”

With Grandmother Susanna, a trip to New York could be tomorrow or six months from now, but nobody knew until she decided to go … that day and she didn’t come home until she began to miss Grandfather Elliott, which only took a few days.

Marina wondered what that was like, to love someone so much one missed them after so short a time. After all, Marina had been away from her man for weeks and still didn’t miss him.

She probably never would.

“Up up up! Christmas morning. Children can only wait so long, which includes my husband. They’ve been dying to see what Santa brought.”

“Santa?” Marina asked slowly. “I thought … I didn’t think you’d … I mean, I didn’t think— No, I mean!” she huffed. “Why do you pretend Santa’s real?”

Grandmother Susanna’s eyebrow rose with amusement. “Santa,” she said, leaning down to kiss Marina’s forehead, “is hope.”

“Santa doesn’t come for everyone.”

Grandmother Susanna sighed. “It’s Christmas, Marina,” she said with a hint of irritation. “Play along.”

“I’m sorry,” Marina whispered, ashamed.

The old woman (who did not seem much older than twenty) flushed a little. “No, dear. Forgive me. You’re such a sweet girl I forget where you came from.”

“I—” She stopped, frustrated. “Grandmother, do you— Oh! I am so stupid!”

“Stop that. You are not. I can wait for your words.”

Marina took a deep breath, rearranged the pictures in her head, tried to put them into words, and began again. “Do you think it matters why people do things?”

“Oh, it depends on the circumstances,” she said airily. “Father O’Malley is rather more optimistic than the rest of us, which this parish needs, trust me.” Then she laughed and bounced off the bed, her nightgown and robe swirling around her slippered feet, her silver hair in a messy plait down to the small of her back swinging wildly with her every enthusiastic step. “I hear my grandchildren calling for me. Hurry, hurry!”

“Don’t delay the presents for me, Grandmother,” Marina called. “I … ”

But she was gone.

Marina expected that by the time she got to the library, all the presents would have been torn through, but no. There appeared to be a ritual. Grandfather Elliott, dressed as Santa, was handing them out. The children were far more well behaved than usual, but they were kneeling, sitting, and standing, quivering with delighted anticipation, tense as well-trained puppies waiting for Santa to sift through the presents, mutter to himself, misread names, put presents back, and generally torture them in the best of ways. She looked over at the hearth when some of the children did, to see fat embellished stockings hanging off the mantel, each with a name. She blinked and looked closer.

There was one with her name on it!

“Grandmother,” she whispered to the relaxing woman who was sipping at her cocoa, then was interrupted by a maid serving her her own cup of chocolate. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“Pssssht,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We didn’t get you anything, either. Santa did.”

Marina flushed, embarrassed, amused, and touched. She sipped at her cocoa, expecting cinnamon again, but got mint. “Oh!” she squeaked, delighted.

The ritual of the presents would have taken longer, but after forty-five minutes, the fun had worn off, so the children were let loose to dig in the pile and find their own while the adults sat back, drank their cocoa, coffee, tea, wine, or wassail, watched, relaxed, and chatted.

“Oh, Aunt Marina!”

Marina started, seeing a small boy try and fail to unhook the stocking with her name on it from the mantel hook. A larger boy—she couldn’t keep track of all these children—unhooked it and ran to deliver it, leaving the smaller boy behind and crying because his good deed was interrupted. At first, this sort of behavior had appalled Marina—not only the children’s, but the adults’ failure to pay attention or reprimand the offender. Sister Albright didn’t put up with public displays of bad behavior, although she was too busy and distracted to referee a bunch of shamelessly rowdy boys all day every day. This visit had given Marina a chance to watch child politics up close without overhanging worries to understand. The little one did his part to poke and prod at the others. The adults paid no attention because he probably deserved it for things he’d done that hadn’t been observed.

He still looked utterly pathetic and heartbroken. “Come here,” she said softly, gesturing to him. “You can help me see what’s in it.”

“Hey!” said the bigger boy.

The smaller one blew him a razzberry.

Goodness. Mother would have— Well, Marina didn’t know what Mother would have done had she behaved this way as a child. He was on his way to her lap when dinner was announced, and he was out the door in a flash. So was everyone else.

Except Santa, who dropped himself on the sofa beside her and his arm across her shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Marina,” he said warmly.

“And you,” she said shyly and caressed her velvet stocking. “Thank you.”

“Santa,” Grandmother Susanna said pointedly. “There’s still one present to be delivered.”

He started and looked at the tree. “Why! My stars, so there is.”

Marina looked, but saw nothing in the tree except one white envelope, which was likely a cash-filled card for one of the adults to be retrieved later. But Grandfather Elliott—Santa—went around to the back to a big lump Marina had thought was furniture set aside to make room for the tree.

Whatever it was, it was covered with a length of dark green velvet and it was heavy. Santa bellowed for one of his strapping grandsons to help him carry it across the room and plant it in front of Marina.

“Merry Christmas, Marina,” Grandmother Susanna said softly from her right.

Marina gulped and scooched to the edge of the sofa when she felt the woman’s hand on her back. She leaned forward and grabbed a handful of the rich velvet and pulled it off, half afraid of whatever it was.

“Oh, my goodness,” she whispered, staring at the brand-new electric sewing machine, the very latest model she had coveted once upon a time in a house far away, but now she had nowhere to sew even if she had the energy to think. Once she left the Dunham mansion and went into dressmaking for a living, it would be just the ticket.

“Oh my goodness gracious. I … ” She looked up at the Grand­parents, almost panicking. “I don’t deserve this.”

Grandmother Susanna pooh-poohed that. “I see you sneering at the clothes in Bloomie’s and Nieman’s, your mind working, thinking you could do better.”

Marina flushed a little. She thought she’d hidden that well.

“So, here’s your chance, and when one wants to best the best, one must have the right tools for the job.”

Marina bit her lip. “I love it,” she whispered, caressing the fine wooden case. Marina didn’t cry much, but this was a close call. She was no longer within her comfortable detachment. She hadn’t been since last night’s Mass, after which she’d had that disturbing dream.

“We’ll go shopping for fabric instead of clothes. How’s that?”

How was that? For the first time since she’d arrived, Marina felt something more than quiet enjoyment. “Thank you so much. I— I didn’t even think to get you anything. It’s not— I’m not used to— I’ve never—”

“We don’t need anything!” she returned with amused indignance. “Having you here has been a treat and I can’t wait till the baby comes! That’s your gift to us, a new baby we can spoil and then give back to you when he gets fussy, stinky, or hungry!”

Marina smiled and blushed.

“Ah,” Grandfather Elliott began hesitantly, “Trey sent something. I wasn’t sure if you wanted it.”

Her smile faded. Trey hadn’t been far from her thoughts the entire time she’d been here, but they were vague impressions, a blurry moving picture show. He was almost simply a name to her now, someone from her past she’d left behind. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to remember; it was that she couldn’t without some effort, which she hadn’t had the energy to expend.

“Oh,” she said finally. “Um. Yes, thank you.”

He went to the tree and plucked the big white envelope out of it. It had a green Christmas tree printed on it.

Her brow wrinkled. She was struck again by how awful his handwriting was, barely legible in fact. No matter how long someone looked at his bookkeeping, they’d never be able to read it. Marina could, only because she had had Trey to decipher it for her, and her interest in solving the mystery of Trey’s Remus deliveries had sharpened her skill.

She blinked and looked up in thought, then sighed.

At times like these, she felt close to him, truly believed his claim that she was smart enough to go to law school.

She returned to the moment and found there to be no one else in the room. They had all gone into the dining room for the ham- and goose-dominated Christmas dinner buffet, which was a leisurely affair and not at all what most people did for Christmas dinner. The children would scatter and play, returning to the dining room whenever they got a little peckish. The adults would relax, nap, chat, returning to the dining room to snack.

Does it matter why?

It occurred to her that she could choose to open Trey’s envelope or not. If she opened it, she would be reacting because it wasn’t polite to toss a nice gesture in the trash. If she didn’t open it, she would be reacting that Trey had broken his promise. What would make this decision an act, and not a reaction?

What do you want to do?

What did she want to do? She should—

No, wait. Should had no place here. Want was the opposite of should.

She should feel guilty for allowing Trey to beat Mother, but she didn’t. She felt guilty because she didn’t want to suppress her less-than-virtuous character traits anymore. Virtue had gotten her nothing.

She looked down at the envelope in her hand and opened it slowly. It was a Christmas card. A beautiful one. She smiled slightly. Trey had an eye for beautiful things.

She opened the card, dreading what she’d find, but only a small piece of paper fell out.

It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done;
it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.

It mattered.

It mattered, how Marina had gotten here, pregnant, married, on Christmas Day in a mansion in St. Louis being showered with presents.

It mattered, that all the bad things began when she met Trey, but he had tried to make her happy.

It mattered, who had drugged her, and in controlling Marina, had also controlled Trey.

It mattered, that Boss Tom was so vindictive to a loyal underboss.

It mattered, why her real mother had suddenly given up hope.

It mattered, that her real father was a heartless, soulless, awful man.

It mattered, how Trey had trusted her so easily with all his secrets.

It mattered, that Trey was so confused and panicked and wanted their baby and didn’t seem to know how to be married, that he wanted her but didn’t know quite what to do with her.

It mattered, why she missed her hand-carved sleigh bed and her Tin Lizzie and her little reading nook and her book of snippets that she’d deliberately left behind.

It mattered, that the things he thought were interesting-looking, she thought were beautiful.

And that … That was what mattered most of all.

84

---

If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.

Speakeasy staff.

Donations can be made here, if you so desire.