Filters 24
Advent I
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The brothers stand by the lake.
Michael, laughing, puts a hand on Andrew’s shoulder.
He taps twice and walks off.
O Sapientia! O Adonai!
They take their exams, term ends. They pack bags and suitcases and fly to Atlanta, then Springfield.
Andrew sees the gray figures, scattered just as Gainesville.
His parents traveled the Sunday before, they wait at the airport. He sees his father at the back of a Hilux, the farm truck, its tailgate lowered. He sees his mother at the windows on Arrivals. Her hands are clasped, she presses one fingernail against another. He sees how her hands shake just slightly as she sees him.
She cries as she hugs him and she cries again but then laughs as she hugs Emilia, having now seen the ring.
His father drives them through the small city. Another forested place, another with no skyline as it spreads out rather than up. Its largest buildings are hospitals and schools and still few exceed the heights of its many great trees, all appropriate for this land that keeps well-hidden its half a million people. This is somewhere quiet to be left alone, somewhere for families and education and modest business. The state’s largest public school district underwriting its four colleges, its greater notability in outdoorsmanship, automotive parts and frozen custard. Andrew once wondered if its identity was having none but even as he had the thought he knew it was no disparagement. This land exerts no pressure, it lays no specific expectations and aligns to no particular future beyond the continuation of life. So it is land on which to build, and build out rather than up. It gives him sense of his father. My father is of this land that is the state that could be the last place on Earth. I must also be of Missouri, where nothing ever happens, so you have got to show me.
They drive past construction sites all along the city’s western edge. To the beginning of uninterrupted miles of houses, some churches. Past the oldest part of town and the four colleges, a short enough walk from any to any other. Past what feels like a bank at every intersection, matched by fast food and, somehow, car washes. To the city’s eastern edge. Past a Costco and new retail and restaurants, all so normal, so busy. Past new subdivisions and new courts of small mansions, past farms and trees into forest until an elegant wall rises and soon iron gates his father opens with a remote. The drive is a sharp black against snowcovered pastures, Emilia sighs at a pair of horses in the snow, at the plaid blanket-like cloaks they wear.
Long before his uncle owned this land it was a tree plantation with a homestead. The trees remain, once-perfect rows of black walnuts and white oaks and dogwoods, all since left to naturalize. There is a small apple orchard, grapevines they harvest from and a heated greenhouse used in all seasons. After their horses they also keep Jersey cows and Sussex chickens, the renovated barn and the new coop near the century-old farmhouse. The farmhouse has also been renovated, its wiring and plumbing redone and with new appliances and an added bathroom, but the aesthetic has otherwise been preserved as it used in their hosting of weddings. Selectively, rarely, always in late April, always on the clear and gentle hill with their most prized giant dogwood. Andrew has seen pictures of the tree in full bloom, of a hundred feet of white blossoms above the happy couple.
There is the manor house. In a grove of its own of rings of trees, first dogwoods, then eastern redbuds, then Japanese maples and arrowwood shrubs, these last surrounding the manor’s short walls of dark brick and there past the house in the bailey. The house is a single story with three wings and three courtyards. It is built of that same dark brick and it is accented inside and out in black walnut. The windows, the floors, the great doors at the carriage porch flanked by two stone horses. To the right the statue looks off, a hoof raised, to the left the statue bends down, as if to graze. Donald stands between.
Donald hugs Michael, now his height, and he shakes hands with Andrew as he’s introduced to Emilia, they also hug. Donald leads them through the entryway and the foyer with its centerpiece Christmas tree and far wall of french doors on the first courtyard. To a hall of windows on that courtyard, through the salon with a second Christmas tree and a grand piano Emilia perks at, through the gallery and to at last the heart, the expansive kitchen. The family is there.
The kitchen floor is the pale orange of sandstone flags. The kitchen walls are white but mostly covered by pale green cabinetry with pewter fittings in complement of the steel countertops. Along the wall to their left as they enter is a counter with an espresso machine and burr grinder, a sink with a painting of a barn above it, and an electric kettle and drip coffee maker. At the end of their coffee counter is the pantry door and the opening for the short hall to the mudroom. To their right is the counter spanning most of the length of the kitchen, centered by a stove with that same steel finish. The stove has two ovens, six burners and an integrated griddle. One burner has an iron skillet, another has a red teapot. A butcher block and egg skelter are beside the stove. Taking the center of the kitchen is the largest counter, a clean workspace with a Belfast sink and a pale green stand mixer. Behind this counter and on the wall of windows looking on the patio and the covered pool is the nook table with seating enough for the entire family. On the right side of the kitchen, beside the mirrored short hall to the dining room, there is a sitting area. A lit gas fireplace with a television above it, two prone but alert Border Collies sharing one bed, and a very long couch and four oversized armchairs.
Andrew introduces Emilia to his grandparents, David and Rose, to his aunt Cait and his three redheaded cousins, Derval, Eileen, and Lily. Emilia hugs each, Andrew hugs his grandmother and his aunt and then his cousins, young Lily last, who looks at him longest as he sees her struggle to return his smile. There is talk of the engagement and baseball and Andrew notices when Lily excuses herself to her mother and leaves for her bedroom. Cait sees Andrew notice. She catches his eye and mouths Winter blues.
His aunt leads them back through the gallery, to the second wing and their guestroom where she leaves them at the door. Emilia opens it and laughs.
They enter at the middle of the guestroom. The opposite wall is covered in gold curtains, these below clerestory windows. To their left is a hearth of dark brick, the fireplace lit, and above the mantle are black walnut panels concealing a television. A settee sofa and two wingback chairs are positioned around the fireplace, all have exposed black walnut frames and side tables and all are upholstered in tan fabric of visibly different textures. Two rugs divide the space of the hardwood, one in a very dark red below the sofa, one in navy below the platform bed to their right. The frame of the bed is again in black walnut, up to its tall headboard, the comforter is ivory, as are its four large pillows and the shades of the lamps on its nightstands. On the wall to the right of the bed is the sliding door to the closet, on the wall to the left is the sliding door to the ensuite. Both are closed, almost flush with the wall.
He opens their luggage as she examines the bed linens. He’s lifting hangers when he hears her laugh from the ensuite. He hangs their clothing as she draws back the curtains. They cover a line of french doors, these on the second courtyard.
Emilia holds her neck. She says “After a week here I won’t want to leave.”
“Yeah.”
“Your aunt is beautiful, and your cousins are all cute. I saw Lily run off.”
Andrew says “I think, ah–she doesn’t like the snow.”
Emilia hums.
Lunch calls them back to the kitchen. They eat and stay, Emilia at the nook table in conversation, Andrew in an armchair, football muted as Donald and Michael still talk baseball. He hears laughter from the table and turns to see Emilia’s smile, he hears his uncle clap and turns to the television unmuted with the call “—MAHOMES!” and the roaring crowd at Arrowhead. His father stands and stretches and leaves the kitchen. Andrew follows.
To his parents’ guestroom, where his father puts on a coat and slides the curtains enough to open one pair of doors to the courtyard. A roofed porch frames it, a just-raised deck with no railing. Walking stones show above the snow, there are chairs and a brazier covered in waxed canvas and two dormant arrowwood shrubs in corners opposite one another.
His father walks out into the snow, to the chairs, lifting covers one by one to fold them. He grins and laughs, “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, dad,” Andrew also laughs. “I told her just before I gave her the ring. I guess I split the difference.”
His father nods. “I’m glad you could tell her.”
He handles each cover with care more appropriate for a flag. His movements are slow and precise, each folded cover left on its seat before he moves to the next. When he finishes, he stacks the covers and carries them to a cabinet on one side of the courtyard, carrying back firewood he places in the brazier.
He then rubs a thumb on his forehead, pulls at the tip of his nose, and scratches at one eyebrow. “You stopped it in four minutes.”
“I know.”
“You were a thousand miles away.”
“I know.”
“Andrew—”
Andrew stops him, “I know, dad. There wasn’t time. Not there. I knew how fast I needed to be and right then I remembered us talking space. About the forces I ignore, and then I realized I didn’t go crashing through my walls the first night I flew. So this knows, everything, and it compensates for all of it. And I thought, if it’s already moving me at some incredible speed, I’ll use it myself.”
“‘Incredible,’” his father laughs but there’s a pointedness. “Five miles a second and you just stopped. Stopped without a sound when you should have struck like a bomb. Those forces you ignore to do that,” he laughs again. “If for some unfathomable reason they were not afraid, they are now.”
Andrew says nothing.
“Are the rumors true? Was there a second?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see them? Actually see them?”
“I spoke with him. He called me by name and when he took off his mask I knew his. It’s Canton.”
His father’s shock changes to appreciable frustration. “I should have guessed. No wonder he recognized you.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“God above. One of the most effectually powerful men on Earth is one of the most truly powerful. Why did he reveal himself?”
Andrew grins. “He wants to work with me.”
“How could it have been anything else?” says his father. “For space? And he must know, whether Control works in space.”
“It does, completely. What I did reaching New York is nothing compared to what I did after.”
The point returns to his father’s voice. “How far did you go?”
“Far enough to see it all, the whole blue marble. He said he’s been to the moon.”
His father sits down. He runs his hands over his knees, back up and over his chest, to his head and through his hair. He says something, too quiet for Andrew to hear. It could be a prayer. If I beheld the sun when it shined, or the moon walking in brightness—
“You trust him. Was that sight why?”
“No. It was talking to him. It wasn’t anything he said, which were all the things you’ve said and yes I know exactly why I wouldn’t have trusted him. It was something else, because I know it had nothing to do with his words or with Control. It was like reality itself was telling me I can trust him.”
“Are you saying you met God up there?”
Andrew laughs. “Felt God, maybe, but no, and not an angel. He’s like a force of nature, like a tangible thought, like some virtue given flesh. I don’t know, dad! All I have is this lingering awe. He is terrifying, but we’re on the same side.”
His father is not quick to respond. He looks over the courtyard in his thinking as his hand covers his mouth and he rubs his beard. “Whatever I might wonder, whatever I might question, that this is how you describe him, it must–it must be good enough. What’s next?”
“Next is I meet his old cutman. He’ll be here in town a few days before Christmas, I picked a spot. After that, finish at Florida, have the wedding. Then Em and I move to St. Louis,” Andrew smiles. “He said he’ll pay me better.”
His father smiles too but it’s slight. “He’s got to.”
Emilia meets Andrew in one doorway of the kitchen, he takes her hand, walking her to the other hall of windows on the first courtyard and through the pair of doors to the manor library.
Emilia’s mouth drops. It is small, but it is a full library. Bright hardwood, barely a space to see the walls for the tall and packed shelves ending just below the raised ceiling with three skylights. More shelves fill the floor, each aisle ending in a bench that’s as good as a couch built-in below tall and wide windows, curtains opened and the light off the snow brilliant. There is a spot with two couches facing and a dark fireplace to their side. Another with armchairs and beanbag chairs, another with a table with a fine wooden chess set with a clock and two queens beside the board. At the center of the room is the traditional library table, long and with many chairs, complete with green glass-shaded reading lamps. Andrew touches a panel on the wall and every lamp turns on. Emilia laughs.
She asks “Why do they have this?”
“Don had sketched out a library in the plans, but, Cait wanted it bigger.”
“She got it. How did they meet?”
“They met here. Well, they met in Branson.”
“Branson?”
“It’s a town south of here. It’s a big spot for tourism, and it has this amusement park called Silver Dollar City.”
“I like that name.”
“It fits. It’s so different from the other parks I’ve seen. It’s themed as an old heyday mining town, but the way the rides are, you could almost describe it as steampunk, like Ozarks steampunk. They built it in a forest and with the hills, so you’re almost always walking uphill or downhill, and it’s like a maze because of how many trees they kept. There are a lot of giant trees, too. You’ll be walking and go around a thicket, and there’s a ride that was somehow perfectly hidden, or some craftsman show, or a shop, like the candy shop, where you can watch them make what they sell. The smells, too, all the wood and the trees, all the cooking, it’s not just everything fried, they do these skillets in giant pans. Even when it rains, the smell of the rain, how the park looks. I really like it. Anyway, Don and Cait met there, at the park.”
“You’ve made me want to go.”
“Then we’ll find the time.”
He leans against the table, watching as she moves slowly through the shelves. She examines certain books but selects none at first, he knows she’s just started one. She eventually takes a coffee table sort of book on Frank Lloyd Wright, opening it under one of the green lamps. Andrew sits across from her as she reads the long descriptions matched to page-size full-color photographs of houses. For some she turns the book to show him, more than one she says she’s seen, describing the neighborhood her family walked through when they once visited Chicago. Andrew says he only knows one, from a detour to Fallingwater on a road trip to New York.
Cait eventually finds them. She says, “Oh, you’re here.”
Emilia tries to speak but only laughs in her sudden loss for words, “This, I mean, this!”
“Isn’t it something? I’m glad you like it,” says Cait. “What have you got?” and she sits beside Emilia, who shows her the cover. “Yes, Donald won’t ever say this, but he is quite read in architecture.”
“Andrew mentioned you designed the house,” says Emilia. “Or, you know.”
Cait says, “We did, it was his drawings that became the concept, and I loved it,” she crinkles her nose, “I only needed to make a few changes.”
“The statues were also her idea,” says Andrew.
“I really like them,” says Emilia.
Cait says “Thank you. But,” and she claps her hands together, “I’ve been looking for you, as we’re about to have tea, if you’d like to join us.”
Emilia quickly says “I would!” and she looks at Andrew.
Cait does the same, then says to Emilia, “Oh, I’m sorry, no boys.”
Emilia laughs, Andrew grins and gestures for the book, putting it back as they leave.
Afternoon tea follows with Emilia finding Andrew to say she’s going out with the women and the girls for some last Christmas shopping and dinner in the town. All well at the manor, where wings are delivered and brought to the family room in the basement with the idea of eating while watching football, but the television stays muted and ignored as the men talk about everything but the game.
He’s reading on the bed when she returns. He closes his book and turns over as she lies beside him. She puts her hand on his cheek. They stay that way, looking at one another, as she tugs lightly on the hairs of his short beard.
Andrew asks “What do you think?”
“It’s a bit long,” answers Emilia.
“Do you want me to shave?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
She follows him into the bathroom he also laughed at his first visit. The floor is white limestone, identical with the wide counter on the his-and-her sinks. The cabinetry is the honey-gold of bamboo, the walls slate blue, that same blue for the mats, one long at the sinks, one short at the bath. To their left is the frosted glass door to the water closet, to their right a charcoal pot with orange moth orchids, beside it a white chaise, and beside the chaise, tall bamboo cabinets with towels and bath products. A bamboo divider is at the end of the sinks, partially hiding the claw-footed soaking tub, a skylight above it, and then the shower that fills the far wall. A glass door and enough space for two, with a bamboo bench and rainfall head and shower wand, the limestone continued with its floor and its wall tiling where recesses hold soap and shampoo. Emilia reclines on the chaise as he opens his shaving kit. He rinses his face and prepares the lather.
“How was your night?” she asks.
“Good. Don ordered wings, we just ate and talked. How was yours, where did you go?”
“It was nice. We went to the mall, and Sears. There were so many people.”
“Well, yeah.”
“The Sears is so big.”
“Apparently it’s the biggest in the state.”
“This city is . . . different,” she says.
“Right?” Andrew pauses with his razor for his smile, “Did you only go to the mall?”
“After that we went to Target.”
“Of course.”
“And we had dinner at Culver’s.”
“Culver’s! I haven’t been to the one in Gainesville, the last time I went was here, last year.”
“Yeah, that was my first time. Your cousins all wanted cheese curds, that’s why we went.”
“They’re good.”
“They were really good.”
He finishes with his first pass, examining himself in the mirror. He lathers again and asks “What do you think of my cousins?”
“Derval’s just like Cait,” she says.
“She really is.”
“I kept seeing these little mirror moments. Earlier at tea, how they were stirring, and then they held their cups the same way. Then at dinner, they sit the same way, they hold their hands the same way, they have the same laugh.”
Andrew nods. She says “And Eileen’s a firecracker.” He watches her in the mirror, her eyes narrow and she smiles, tongue between her teeth as she adds “Pícara canelita.”
Andrew laughs, “Esa es la verdad. I always thought she got all of Don’s competitiveness. She’s so good at chess.”
“Really? Oh, is that why they have such a nice set?”
“Yeah, or maybe, I know dad and Don love playing. Don taught all the girls chess, and she took to it the most. They spend a month usually in the summer in St. Louis, and that’s like the world capital of chess.”
“St. Louis is?”
He says “Some other billionaire from St. Louis loves chess, he moved the world chess museum there, it’s across the street from the St. Louis Chess Club, and with his money he made it the chess club, and Eily’s played there a lot. We went once, got to watch her crush some old guy.”
“‘Eily?’” repeats Emilia, smiling.
He smiles, “Yeah, ‘Eily.’ When Lily was like three it was easier for her to say than Eileen. I’m the only one she lets call her Eily, though, and she gets to call me Andy.”
“That’s cute.”
He taps his razor in the sink, waiting before he continues on his chin.
He asks “What about Lily?”
Emilia shakes her head. “She was quiet. I remember you saying she’s not, usually, but,”
“She’s not.”
“The most she talked was when I asked her about the horses.”
“That was a good idea.”
“She brightened a little, she told me her horse’s name is Clementine, but then she said she doesn’t get to ride her right now, and that made her go quiet again.”
Andrew says “She also plays the piano, so, maybe that?”
“I’ll try that,” she says.
He finishes shaving and rinses his face, checking himself in the mirror, then he turns around. He watches as she puts each foot on the floor, as her hands push against the chaise as she stands and then takes slow steps to him. She rubs his cheeks, nodding with a smile, but as he puts his arms around her she taps one finger lightly on his lips and says “Let me take a shower, first.”
“Okay.”
He lies in the bed, she checks something in her clutch then leaves it open as she walks around to the closet. He hears her open a drawer and then the flutters of her undressing. She walks out in a white bathrobe, playfully shaking her head as she doesn’t look at him. She continues her teasing by keeping the bathroom door open. He hears her start the shower, soon she’s singing. It’s nice.
He looks at her nightstand. The bracelet she doesn’t wear but now keeps with her hangs over the clasp of her clutch. Twenty-four white beads in a line, then one violet, two gold, and a pearl. A silver charm is between two white beads, just past the pearl.
The shower stops. He hears her start the hair dryer.
She leaves the bathroom, his eyes widen at her, at her sheer nightie, white with yellow flowers. She looks at him, then at her clutch. She lifts the bracelet, just barely shaking it at him.
O radix Jesse!
Emilia sleeps against him. He feels the movements of her chest, hearing her breaths as his sight is on the manor. He looks on the collies in their kennel, to the cows in their stalls, out and to the forest. He finds a fox as she runs through the trees, following until she catches a mouse. He returns when his uncle rises from bed.
He moves slowly, trying not to wake her as he turns to the side. He fails, only just, feeling her hand on his lower back as she says “Andrew?”
“I’m going to help Don with the cows.”
She murmurs something back.
He dresses in what he wore the day before, carrying his boots to the kitchen. Donald is at the coffee counter, pulling the carafe from the drip maker.
“‘Morning, Andy,” he says.
“Hey, Don.”
Donald reaches for a second mug, “Still an early riser, I see.”
Andrew holds up his palms, “You too, but you have to be.”
Donald says “Yeah. Or maybe I get to be. You want coffee?”
“Please, black is fine.”
“Black’s more than fine,” and his uncle laughs to himself, “but you sure you don’t want some fresh cream?”
Andrew shakes his head, “Forgot where I was. That too.”
“You just woke up,” says Donald, now adding cream from a glass jug.
“I thought I’d go with you, help in the barn.”
“I thought you might. Hoped, even,” says Donald, giving Andrew the mug.
Andrew carries the cooler with its many empty glass half-gallon bottles, his uncle carries the leather bag holding tools, clicking his tongue for the collies as they walk to the barn. They have five cows, a calf among them, Andrew knows the names of three. Donald greets them by name, petting and examining each. Andrew sees the calf looking at him from behind her mother, then she walks to him. She sniffs at his knees and pushes up against them, he bends down and pets her.
“That’s Sherbet, and her mom is Choux,” says Donald.
The calf moos at him.
Donald eyes Andrew’s boots and says “You’ll want to watch your step.”
“Will do, but I’m sure I’ll keep them clean.”
“You’ve been warned,” he says.
They enter the utility room. There’s a tankless water heater and a washing basin, a metal table with a stack of pails and shelves with hand towels. Donald turns one faucet, waiting until the water is warm to lift two pails from the stack. He fills one and adds soap to the other as it fills, then leaves them to Andrew, who puts four towels on each shoulder and carries out the pails. Donald ties a rope halter on Toffee, the other cow in milk. She’s led to the large stall with the stanchion, where Donald sits on a very short stool as he examines her again. He nods and asks for the pails and the towels, he washes and dries her teats, then he takes a tool from his bag, a hand pump, and asks for the first of the glass bottles.
Andrew looks at the collies. The one named Spark is in the stall but she watches the cows on the floor. The one named Sprite is outside the stall, only her head visible as she bends around to watch his uncle.
“Does Lily still help you with this most mornings?”
Donald says “Not so much lately. Once in a while, yeah, and she does at night, when it’s her turn.”
He fills the bottle and gives it to Andrew, who screws on its cap and puts it in the cooler before handing over the next empty bottle.
Donald says “You know that Black side, used to hardly sleep, never had to get her out of bed. But she’s growing up, figuring things out. It’s the most normal thing, to change.”
“It is.”
Another bottle filled and capped, another swapped.
“Cait mentioned she hasn’t liked the winter.”
“Me, neither,” says Donald. “That’s another most normal thing, hating the cold. Especially since we don’t let her ride her horse in the snow.”
“Weather’s why I chose Florida.”
“No kidding.”
His uncle finishes milking and takes another tool from his bag, a disinfectant, and he dips each teat. He pets Toffee’s head, then leads her back to the floor where he ties the halter now around Choux and leads her to the stall where fewer bottles are filled for her calf.
They put on work gloves and clean the stalls, his uncle carting out the manure as Andrew moves the cart with the straw bale. He takes handfuls, tossing them to where his uncle points as he then rakes out the straw. With the bedding refreshed, they feed the cows, forking silage from a hopper to a cart and from the cart into troughs, then they leave the barn for the coop. Andrew only watches, holding the egg cartons while his uncle tends to the chickens. They return to the house, Donald giving a shrill whistle to free the dogs to sprint up the hill, and to the mudroom where Andrew sits on the bench as his uncle steps into the boot cleaner.
“Show them to me,” says Donald.
Andrew straightens his legs, lifting the soles of his boots.
Donald laughs, “Spotless.”
“I told you. You know I’m good on my feet.”
They finish their work in the small dairy kitchen just off the mudroom.
Emilia still sleeps. Andrew strips and showers, laughing under the water at the thought of what he did to keep his boots clean. She’s awake when he leaves the bathroom, her head resting on one hand, a smirk as she watches him towel off his hair.
“How were the cows?” she asks.
“They have a calf now, she’s adorable.”
“I bet.”
“Want to see them, after breakfast? We could see the farmhouse, too.”
She nods.
They dress and go to the kitchen, the house now awake. His father reclines in one armchair as he reads the news from his tablet. His mother is on the couch, her legs drawn up and covered by a small blanket as she holds a mug with both hands. She speaks quietly to Michael, who’s lying down beside her, his eyes closed and his legs fully stretched out. His grandparents each have coffee, they sit with the girls who are eating at the nook table. Emilia smiles at their uniforms, khakis and green sweaters with embroidered white ringed crosses. His aunt is at the espresso machine, she greets them, Emilia joins her. He hears his aunt ask “Latte?” and he hears Emilia say “Please.”
Derval and Eileen take their plates to one sink and give their goodbyes as they leave for school. Donald soon enters in a coat and hat, calling for Lily, and they also leave.
Donald starts breakfast when he’s back.
First the eggs, taking more than they gathered earlier. He divides them unevenly and tasks Andrew and Michael with cracking them. From the refrigerator, paneled to match the cabinets, he takes a small container of breakfast tomatoes, two butcher’s packages of bacon and sausage, and a wheel of butter in waxed paper. He slices the tomatoes, then unwraps the meat. A scoop of tallow goes on the heating griddle, melting quickly as he spreads it with a bench scraper. He lays out the meat and washes his hands, then lifts a blue-enameled pot from a floor cabinet beside the stove. He fills the pot with a bronze faucet on the stove’s tile backsplash, then starts it on a burner on high.
Andrew has the larger share, the eggs that will be scrambled. He cracks them into a steel bowl, adding salt and then whisking. Michael’s smaller share are the eggs that will be poached. He cracks them into a mesh strainer set in a second steel bowl, pours them in a third steel bowl, and then takes the bowl to his uncle at the stove.
Donald flips the bacon. In minutes, the sausage. When the pot simmers he salts the water and lowers the flame, stirs the water once with a slotted spoon, then uses the bowl to pour in the eggs as he continues stirring. When the eggs are poached he moves them to a ceramic bowl.
When the bacon is done he uses metal tongs to move the pieces to a wire rack on a small pan. When the sausage is done it goes on the same pan, then the pan goes in the oven to keep warm. Donald then pulls the skillet to a front burner, starting it on low as he cuts a large piece of butter from the wheel. He halves the piece and puts both halves in the skillet, then while the butter melts he adds the sliced tomatoes to the griddle. He cooks the rest of the eggs, whisking slowly but constantly, stopping only to turn the tomatoes. The scrambled eggs fill a larger ceramic bowl and he finishes with english muffins Cait baked the morning before, toasting them on the griddle.
He tasks the brothers again to set the nook table. A red butter bell and crock of clotted cream are placed in the middle, then a jar of honey and two jars of fruit preserves. These are followed with a glass bottle of milk, then plastic bottles of orange juice and grapefruit juice, then the coffee carafe. The dishes are placed, then the nine sets of plates, saucers, mugs and cups and silverware.
Andrew sits on the cushioned bench, Emilia beside him, his mother beside her. Emilia squeezes his knee, then holds his hand between hers while Cait blesses breakfast. They eat, Andrew listening just enough to hear New York said by his uncle and Argentina said by Michael before turning his attention to his aunt and grandparents asking Emilia about school.
The maids arrive before they finish breakfast.
Cait finds snowboots that fit Emilia.
She holds his arm on their walk from the house, on the heated path through the bailey and past the little walls. The path goes to the horse barn, then around to one of the many gates on the many fences of the manor. The heated path continues, running alongside the old path that’s made from tan and orange river rock in age-blackened mortar. They walk down the hill, to the old dogwood nursery at its base, Emilia holding closer for sharp wind, then they walk up the shorter hill to the cattle barn. It’s the idyllic form, with a stone base of that same river rock and the stable walls painted white. The loft overhangs the stable and is painted cardinal red.
The cows huddle beneath the fans on radiant heaters. Andrew walks out to them, Emilia staying just behind him. Toffee looks at him first, she stretches her neck toward him, flicking her ears as she sniffs, then her ears flop back. “Her name is Toffee,” he says, and Emilia laughs when the cow moos in answer to his voice. He calls to Donut, light streaks on either side of her face. Honey with dark hair between her eyes to the tip of her muzzle. Praline by the white spots above her eyes, and Choux, whose hair is a uniform golden-brown. He scratches Toffee’s neck and gestures with his head for Emilia to do the same, she does, then both laugh as Praline comes, also wanting attention.
Sherbet shows herself again by peeking around her mother, again she walks to him and sniffs at his knees. Emilia crouches and pets the calf, her smile going ear-to-ear when the calf moos at her.
They leave the barn through a different door, taking the old path through more trees and to the farmhouse. Two stories and also cardinal red, there’s a short porch on the back with covered chairs and a rack of firewood. Andrew presses on a fob on the keys before he unlocks the door that opens on the small kitchen.
Rustic and not. A steel-finish stove fills the brick hearth, a tall steel-finish refrigerator on the adjacent wall. The floor is large squares of grayish limestone, the space mostly taken by the kitchen table, six chairs around it and with a light blue tablecloth. The cabinets are stained wood and the countertops vintage Formica with a butler sink they use to wash their hands. Emilia opens the refrigerator, seeing only a jug of water. She closes it and looks at Andrew, he points to a floor cabinet, the wine chiller concealed there. “One night,” she says, he nods.
They enter the living room. Again rustic and not, with a flat-screen television and large stereo. The floor is hardwood, gleaming from being refinished but still clearly original. There are two simple couches and a recliner, a red Persian rug below them all. A second hearth has a wood fireplace, and an upright piano sits beside the staircase. He takes her to a wall, to a picture of his uncle’s family below the flowers of the giant dogwood. “Oh,” she whispers. He takes her to large windows through which they can see the hill and the enormous tree.
She pauses at the piano before they climb the stairs, lifting the fallboard and playing a chord. Her head tilts, she plays another, then she lowers the fallboard. They go upstairs, every door open. He explains how originally there were four bedrooms, but one was claimed as the bathroom for the remodeled master suite. The suite is large, though smaller than their guestroom, and it does still match the house. Simple white curtains that are closed, beige blackout curtains that are open. A tall wardrobe in a corner, a dresser beside a vanity and another Persian rug below the four-poster bed. She walks slowly around the bed, feeling the fabric of its curtains, then they leave the room. She only looks in the second bedroom, then she enters the third where she walks to a window offering another view of the hill.
She steps backward to the bed to sit, still looking at the tree. “This is wonderful.”
“They’re going to offer to host the wedding.”
She sighs. “My mom will want it to be the Mass,” she nods to herself. “And, I do too.”
“Then that’s it.”
“But I also want it to be here!” and she rolls over on the bed, face down against a throw pillow. She rolls again, covering her face with the pillow as she lets out a little yell.
Andrew laughs, taking the pillow and lying beside her. “We could elope.”
“We could . . . ”
“But?”
She sits up, then looks down, touching her ring. “I want everyone to see me.”
“I do too.”
Emilia whispers “Así dímelo de lleno.”
He does. He sits up, reaching for her sweater. When it’s above her head he throws it and his hands go to her face as he pushes her back down.
They walk slowly back to the manor house. The wind has lessened but it’s enough to excuse reddened cheeks, were there any impolite company to ask.
O Clavis David!
Emilia sleeps, her hand at his neck, her breaths on his skin.
His aunt rises with his uncle. She’s at the center counter when Andrew enters the kitchen, already at work with a wide ceramic bowl. She has an earthenware pot of flour beside the salt cellar, a small jug of buttermilk and a small jar of baking powder. From a ramekin she adds slices of butter to the bowl, working it into the flour with a pastry cutter. She then adds the buttermilk, mixing it with a wooden spoon, then she turns out the dough on the butcher block to begin its folding.
Donald stops him in the mudroom, holding out a second pair of rubber work boots. Andrew laughs, pulling them on while he looks at the dogs. Both are at the door, both stare at his uncle, both with little wags of their tails, just waiting for the whistle that will free them to run their jets. The whistle comes at the fence. Andrew smiles as both collies leap over the gate, flying down the tall hill and then up the short hill.
“Who knows that joy?” says his uncle.
When they’ve returned from the barn and the coop and they’ve spent turns on the boot cleaner, they once again go to the dairy kitchen. It’s half the size of the full kitchen, with the same sandstone flooring in smaller blocks to accommodate drains and walls covered in small tiles, mostly white, but every second tile of every second line is green. There are windows on the western wall, though it’s only now sunrise and the light comes from fluorescents, while in day it will be the two skylights that most illuminate the space. There are two steel doors, the walk-in refrigerator and walk-in freezer, and there are steel counters, cabinets and movable tables. There are appliances including a stove, open shelves with pots and bowls and trays of glass bottles and jars, and tucked in a corner a third door to the main pantry.
Andrew arranges the milk jars in three lines on the center table as his uncle prepares the dairy chiller. They pour the jars through nested filters on the chiller’s tanks, the machine gently agitating them for the milk’s swift cooling. The empty jars go on a tray Donald sets in a sanitizer he then starts, the machine hums in its few-minute cycle. They go to the walk-in, carrying out bowls in which the previous day’s milk has settled. Donald skims cream from the bowls into a gastronorm pan as Andrew brings a tray of bottles to the table.
When the cream has been skimmed, Donald locks a vacuum-sealing lid on the pan, then they pour the bowls’ remaining milk into a steel reservoir they use to fill the bottles. Andrew then removes the slightly-steaming tray of jars from the sanitizer as his uncle inserts two trays holding the bowls.
Andrew pulls four bowls from the shelves as the dairy chiller rings, its cycle complete. They each lift a frosted-over tank to fill the new bowls they then cover with silicon lids. The pan and bottles are labeled and left with the new bowls in the walk-in. Andrew now takes the slightly-steaming trays of bowls from the sanitizer as his uncle disassembles the steel reservoir into three large pieces. These go on yet more trays in the sanitizer. Their work is done.
His uncle pats his back and thanks him, then he clicks his tongue to call the dogs and they’re out for the horse barn. Andrew smells the baking as he stays a moment longer in the dairy kitchen.
It can be nice sometimes, not being the tallest.
He returns to their guestroom. The bed is empty, he sees her yellow pajamas in a hamper. He hears the shower, he hears her singing. He looks at the bathroom door. She’s left it not quite closed.
Breakfast will be lighter, so announces Cait. Fried eggs, the griddle large enough to cook the entire batch in one pass. Michael brings her a stack of plates, then he stands to her side as she spreads ghee on the griddle. With one hand and one tap she cracks and adds each egg. By the last, the first are almost done. Every plate gets two eggs and is passed to Michael, whose reach lets him move them continuously to the large counter. Every plate then gets a cold slice of ham and two biscuits, served at the table with fruit preserves and, of course, more clotted cream.
They’re shooed from the kitchen when the maids arrive. Andrew and Emilia go again to the library. She takes one couch, almost finished with her book. He takes the other, closing his eyes and looking out.
He returns when they’re called to lunch. Shelby, the family assistant, has delivered sandwiches from a local shop. They eat and return to the library, Michael now with them. The brothers play chess, blitz with a gratuitous increment. Andrew takes six of seven, Michael shakes his head after his last loss and leaves with a “Later, bro.”
Emilia has finished her book, another by Coetzee. Waiting for the Barbarians.
“How was it?” he asks.
“I keep thinking about everything he must have seen,” she says. “Did you know he’s still there?”
“I didn’t,” he says.
She says “They didn’t ban his books, they used them in their propaganda. He tried to leave the country after that, and they put him on house arrest until the expulsions were done. They claim he’s teaching but I don’t see how he could, or how they’d let him say what he must want to say. I really want to know what he’s been writing.”
Andrew nods but says nothing.
“You could go,” she says.
“Yes, I could.”
Donald makes dinner. Potatoes he starts in the late afternoon, to be served with the steaks he grills that evening. Andrew and Michael carry the pans of meat to the patio and its outdoor kitchen. Sirloin for James and Andrew, filet for the girls, ribeye for the rest. The patio tile is the color of dark terracotta. There is a teak table with twelve chairs, light gray cushions tied to each seat but a rainbow in pillows tied to the backs. Andrew sits there, in a chair with a yellow pillow. There is a teak sectional, again with light gray cushions and many bright pillows. Michael sits there, hands behind his head, eyes bright as he listens to Donald recalling an old game. There is a large linear fireplace as well as ribbon burners, all of which are lit, and Andrew thinks it must already be comfortable enough when Lily sits near him after she and Derval set the table.
“Hey, Lily,” he says.
“Hi Andrew,” she says.
“How’ve you been, how’s school going?”
“It’s good. I’m looking forward to the break.”
“I bet. Are you still playing music there?”
“I am. I played in the school’s Christmas show last week.”
“That’s great, how was it?”
Lily says “It was fun. I was the pianist for Shchedryk. It’s the song Carol of the Bells is based on. It’s Ukrainian and that’s what the choir sang in.”
“That’s really cool. I like that song.”
“It’s my favorite Christmas song to play. Or maybe Sleigh Ride.”
“That’s another good one,” Andrew looks at his uncle’s back, then smiles at Lily, speaking quietly as he says “I hear a big meanie says you can’t ride your horse right now. That sucks.”
She smiles, “It does!”
“There’s not that much snow.”
“There isn’t, and she’s good in the snow!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! She’s a Haflinger, they’re bred for the mountains. You should see how happy she gets in the snow, I’d know she’d be okay.”
Andrew nods, “They’re just looking out for you, both of you.”
“I know,” and she looks down, whispering as she says “I’d just feel,” but then she goes quiet.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. She nods, giving him a sad smile, then looking down again.
“What’s your horse’s name?”
“Clementine.”
“That’s a great name for a horse.”
“Thanks,” she says.
“And hey, the snow will be gone before you know it, I promise,” and when she looks at him, he feigns a serious look with a frown, “I don’t like it either, I might melt it all myself, if I have to,” and he taps his head and grins.
Lily laughs, but something flashes in her expression, a moment Andrew would notice if not for Emilia joining them. She has a glass of wine; he stands to get her chair. When they’re seated he puts his hand on her thigh, looking from her to Lily as he says, “Lily was telling me about Clementine. She’s a Haflinger, and they’re good in the snow.”
“A Haflinger?” says Emilia, then at Lily’s nod, she asks “Where are they from?”
Lily says “They’re from Italy, in the mountains. They’re named after a town called Hafling. We went there two years ago.”
Emilia says “Really?”
“Yeah,” says Lily.
Emilia asks “What was your favorite part?”
“We did a horseback ride around the mountains, it was amazing how much we could see of all of it.”
“I can just imagine,” says Emilia as she gives a look to Andrew, smiling. He laughs.
Donald finishes the steaks by wrapping them in foil to rest. The family fills the table, Anna blessing their dinner, and they eat. Andrew listens, happy, as Emilia and Lily now talk about music. Dessert comes as pints of frozen custard shared over the table. He leans, whispering in her ear, Local chain.
Derval and Eileen excuse themselves. Lily stays through, now more talking piano at Emilia. They finish, they clear the table and move to the kitchen where many hands make light work of the used dishes.
Cait holds the two at the gallery. “Would you like to have a chat with Donald and me, in his office, in a bit?”
Emilia nods, Andrew asks “Mind if we go now?”
Cait waves them on.
He takes Emilia’s hand, walking her through the other side of the gallery, to the manor’s northern hall. Its far doors are to the garage, to their right is a wall of windows with doors to the exterior, to their left a wall with large photographs of nature and the first entrance to the family wing. It opens in a parallel hall, this with windows on its far walls. The second and proper entrance to the family wing is here, heavy doors offset-left of the first. He opens them, Emilia gasps.
She whispers “He made this much playing baseball?”
“He did,” he whispers, “but he also invested in Epitaxial as soon as it went public.”
The family wing opens with a sunroom set on the terraced third courtyard that’s twice the length of the others. Beyond the french doors of the sunroom are four more sets staggered up the terraces and a sixth set is on the western side at the top of the wide staircase to the master hall where square pillars support its tallest roof. On either side of each set of doors are backlit wood screens detailed in interlocking rings. The ring motif continues on the line of wooden blocks on the progressively rising soffit and the pedestaled stone blocks scattered through the courtyard. The blocks contain lights, and together the entire courtyard appears candle-lit. “The trees,” she says. Three coral bark maples, one on each terrace, subdued compared to daylight but still a piercing red through the falling snow.
A pair of doors to their left and a second pair of sharp turns take them to the staircase to the basement. It opens in the family room where Eileen sits cross-legged on a rug, the television on YouTube and Ben Finegold playing chess. Andrew points, Emilia nods. A final pair of turns takes them to a hall covered in pictures, many baseball, most family. The door to Donald’s office at the end.
Better a little museum. Cooperstown plaque above the door, Cy Youngs on either side, all in sight from the desk. Gold Gloves in cases, many signed baseballs, many framed jerseys and framed front pages of the Post-Dispatch. Andrew points to his favorite: OCTOBER BLACKOUT! DON’S PERFECT IN GAME 4
He explains how they were at the game, how he was too young to remember anything more than his father going quiet and how loud it got at the end. He points to a hat resting on a hook behind the desk. The hat from that game, unlabeled, unprotected. A fire suppression system and everything else behind reinforced glass but six figures at auction on a hook, in arm’s reach and not just for Don. He wonders about that again.
“I watched his speech at the Hall of Fame,” says Emilia.
“It was a good speech.”
“I liked it.” She pauses at a picture of Donald shaking hands with Al Gore. “How does your dad feel about all of this?”
“He’s happy, he’s always been, and proud. One of the times I remember him happiest was when Don called us to say he got into the Hall. Everyone knew it was coming, half his career might have been enough. My dad still cheered.”
“Do you ever wonder about that?”
“All the time,” says Andrew. “Me aside, Mike’s like this, Don’s like this. I know my dad’s really good at golf, he’s better than Don. He could have played, but he also could have been a fighter pilot.” He shakes his head. “I can see him starting high school. Don’s a big deal, everyone knew he was going pro. I wonder if my dad saw everything he’d go through if he played a sport, and he didn’t want that. So he joined the military, because that’s all he had. That’s what I wonder most about.”
“The military?”
“Yeah. He had a teacher in high school who fought in Vietnam. He was in the Navy, in the special forces, and he fought on the ground. He was a war hero. My dad had expected to join the Navy, and he asked his teacher what he thought about it, and his teacher told him to join the Air Force instead. That’s what I think about, because the Air Force takes every soldier like my dad and tries to make them pilots. I don’t know if his teacher thought he would be better in a plane, or–if he joined the Navy, he would have been given a choice. Try to become a pilot, or try to become a SEAL. I think he would have done that, I think he would have thrived. And then he doesn’t meet my mom.”
Her hand is on his cheek, she pushes it up to run through his hair. “He won.”
He nods. She tousles his hair.
Cait and Donald join them. Andrew says “I was just telling Emilia about Coach Fire.”
“Oh yeah?” says Donald.
“I was telling her how he told my dad to join the Air Force, and then I was going to mention your team winning state. He must have been a great teacher, having that sort of understanding of his students.”
Donald says “He was. He still is, actually, he’s not coaching baseball anymore but he’s still teaching history in Ava. I usually try to drive down to his ranch when I’m there.” Donald waves them to the couches, when they’re all seated he says “He might have understood Jim most of all, for putting up with him. Your dad ever mention how much they argued about Buchanan? Whole school heard it.”
Andrew laughs, “He hasn’t.”
“The cockiest freshman,” Donald laughs. “They did both like Clinton.”
“Dad still does.”
“No doubt,” says Donald.
Emilia looks over the room before she says “This is all incredible.”
Donald smiles, “I have been extraordinarily blessed,” and he holds his hand to them, “and they just keep piling up.”
They smile. Cait says “We’d love for you to have your wedding here.”
Emilia takes a deep breath, then she sighs and slowly shakes her head. “This is the most beautiful house I have ever seen, but,” Andrew watches as she nods to herself, just as she did in the farmhouse, “my family, we’re also Catholic, and we’ll be having it in Texas, at our parish.”
“Oh, of course,” says Cait. “That’s how Donald and I were married.”
Donald says “Yep, I wasn’t Catholic, but Cait said I had to be to marry her, so I am, and the girls are too, of course. And Anna, and you boys. Must be something about the men in this family.”
Cait smirks, then looks from Andrew to Emilia as she asks “How did he propose?”
Emilia says “It was perfect.”
Cait smiles.
Emilia says “How did you meet? Andrew told me a little bit, he talked about Branson and Silver Dollar City.”
Cait and Donald look at each other, clearly deciding who should speak first.
“Yeah, yeah,” starts Donald. “I’d dated some, but I always said I was going to wait to have kids. I wanted to be there while they were growing up, and I just couldn’t do that when I was gone half the year playing baseball. That’s nice, about football. I know you work, and damn hard, but it’s a lot fewer games, a lot more time with your family. Because of that, because of me, really, things never worked out. I just kinda settled in to waiting,” and he stops, smiling at a thought, “This Friday will make twenty-two years since we met,” Cait now smiles, “It was before Andrew was born, Jim had just left the service, and he and Anna had gotten married. I had a house here I lived in during the offseason, and dad called me to say mom kept talking about going to Branson. We always drove around looking at lights after church on Christmas Eve, but she wanted more, she wanted to go to Silver Dollar City because they put on one great spectacle. Every building in the park is done up with lights, and they have shows, and there’s a night parade with carolers and floats covered in lights. Mom was right to bug us. Dad and I had already decided on it, but we let her go on, ‘cause we’ve always liked getting her wound up. Then your parents got here, Andrew, and we let them know the plan, and I told mom, ‘Alright, mom, let’s go, I’ll buy everyone’s ticket.’ Not that it was that much, not back then. There were a lot of people, cold as it was, and we watched the parade and then mom wanted hot chocolate, so I was getting her that, and a funnel cake, and as I leave the stand, I turn around, and,” he holds his hands at Cait, “I was struck. Got about a step away then just stopped. I was already thinking I should say something, and then I heard her order a funnel cake, and I had to say something.”
Emilia is smiling, she looks at Cait to ask, “How is it you were here?”
Cait says “My best friend is from here. Her name is Eileen.”
“Oh,” says Emilia, “that’s nice.”
Cait smiles. “We met at school. Eileen was on a year at Trinity, and we had class together and we became fast friends. She said I must visit, and I liked the idea, but it was so far away and I’d never been to the States. But she wore me down, and I started thinking of how to visit, and then I had the idea about studying here.” She pauses, a hand on her mouth. “The faculty all just loved her so much, so she helped me persuade my advisor on how it would be worthwhile for me to study in a much quieter part of America, and it was, besides the obvious,” she rubs Donald’s knee. “We moved into a delightful home near the university, it was she and I and several other girls, all of us students, and I liked it here enough I wanted to stay over for Christmas. I spent most of that with Eileen and her parents, and she had the idea that we go to Branson, and that became all of us girls in her parents’ van, bundled up and traveling down. And yes, I’ve not seen a better display for Christmas, or not a more American display,” she laughs lightly. “Eileen said I must try some funnel cake, and we joined the line, and a few spaces ahead of us was a very tall man. Eileen recognized him, well, she said she thought she recognized him, and she was whispering about him to the other girls, and then they were all talking about him, and we moved up in line and they were still talking about him, so I had to order the funnel cake. Then I turned around, and he was looking at me. I didn’t know the first thing about baseball, but I knew, if I’m honest, he had me straight away, and one year became,” she smiles at Donald and then looks back at them, “twenty-two.”
“That’s so sweet,” says Emilia.
“How did you meet?” asks Cait, and Donald adds “We know it was at school.”
Emilia says “We did. I’m a year ahead, and,” she looks down, twisting her ring. “my first year was quiet. I didn’t get along with any of the girls in my program, and all the boys just looked the same to me. I wasn’t doing anything outside of school, I made friends at the church I go to there, but, they were all couples and out of school, and I wanted to be more social, but,” she looks down again. “Well, I got a job as an office assistant for one of the area clerks, she manages a complex where the athletes live, and that meant I stayed there for the summer. The office I work in has a lounge and the laundry, and it also has a café for the students, with those nice squashy armchairs. The café is closed in the summers though, so that meant I could sit in there and read all night. That’s all I did.” Emilia smiles, “One night Andrew came in, and he asked me what I was reading, and he showed up again, and we started talking about the books I was always reading,” she looks at Andrew, “I already liked him, then. But one night I was still working, and I had music playing, and he came in, and the music was in Spanish and that’s how I found out he also speaks Spanish.”
Cait looks at Andrew, “You speak Spanish? Donald did a little.”
“Yeah, him and baseball, that’s why I wanted to learn.”
Donald says “Mine was always rough, just enough to get by.”
“Same for me, I still have a lot to learn.”
Emilia shakes her head, “He speaks it very well, he proved it that night. And not long after that we were dating.” Then she says, “Oh, but, actually, we first met the day he moved in, I showed him around his dorm.”
Cait’s eyebrows raise, “Are you the first girl he met at school?”
They nod, his aunt and uncle laugh.
“‘Fastest Man on Earth,’ huh?” says Donald.
Andrew gives the slightest shrug.
“That’s lovely,” says Cait.
“It is,” says Donald.
They’re quiet, until Donald speaks again. “And now Michael’s there with you.”
“Yeah. Did he tell you one of his roommates is Jose Hernández’ son?”
“He did, that’s funny. I still think you should be playing baseball. I know what I just said about all the time it takes, and I know you’re it in football, but there’s a beauty in the diamond you just don’t find in any other sport. Summer days under the radio, measuring the seasons in the game, not just making it through the winter. Football’s what I watch while I wait for spring. But,” Donald raises his hands, “but, the way this lands, I’ll get to watch one nephew all summer and one nephew all winter. There’s beauty in that, too.”
Andrew feels Emilia squeeze his hand, he shakes his head, “This happened very recently, but, I’ve decided I’m not going pro. I’ll be done with sports after Florida.”
Cait covers her mouth, Donald’s eyes narrow, he shakes his head, “Why on Earth not?”
“Different plans, bigger plans.”
He would say more but Donald takes his pause to speak, “It had better not be something from your dad, it had better not be his streak coming through. I understand, I guess, what he saw, and he has done well, but you won’t be turning down a fighter jet,” he gestures to the room. “You’ll be turning down more than this, Andrew. I’ve made a lot, but you’ll make more than I ever did. I’ve watched every one of your games, in the pros, you would redefine the sport. What are those bigger plans? And I trust, really I do, that your dad has been fighting you on this at every step.”
“He has, really, I had to convince him, and it wasn’t easy. I’m studying materials science and engineering, and when I’m done at Florida I’ll be looking at grad school in St. Louis, because I want to work at Epitaxial.”
Donald blinks quickly, he says “You mean you want to work for John Canton.”
“Yes.”
Donald’s look changes all at once. “Huh.”
“You’ve met him.”
Donald says “I have, many times. I can’t say I know him.”
“What can you say?”
“Let me think,” says his uncle. “He’s a mountain of a man. I think I’m a little taller but it never felt that way. Hell of a handshake, and ah—” he pauses, looking at Andrew. “He has a presence. There was a time, it was a Sunday, we’d just wrapped up a weekend series in New York, and he was there fighting that night. We all stayed to watch, I think the whole team went. King Canton, but also, St. Louis kid, you know. After the fight, all of us were together, one by one we’re shaking hands, and then it was just him, Adam, and me, and we got to talking, and I could feel something, just that, that presence,” Donald smiles. “After he retired, which, you know, was after I retired, Cait and I, we were at a charity dinner for Barnes, and I remember knowing when he entered just by how the feeling in the room changed. I’ve met a lot of people. Anymore, no one quite so wealthy, but powerful people. McCain wasn’t like that, Gore wasn’t, Clinton wasn’t either. Buchanan was, maybe a little, but now that you’re in the room, and you mention him?” Donald laughs. “You’ve got that, too. It’s strange, I just realized I’ve been wondering about that for ages, and it’s only now I have the words. You know what I mean?”
“Maybe.”
Emilia is looking at Andrew. She says “Yes.”
Donald looks between the two and nods, “Well, you’re young. That feeling, that’s why I put money in his company,” he looks at the room, “and we already had this planned, but, it certainly made the decision easier. Canton, wow, of course he’s the wealthiest man in the world. Or maybe it’s that the man who carries himself like that, could only become that. Or, well, it all makes sense. Yeah, for you? Hard to believe, but why not skip football?”
“I’ve not been looking forward to disappointing you, with this,” says Andrew.
Donald shakes his head. “With what you’ve got your eyes on, I can say it’s just football. If it were baseball,” and he laughs again. “And, now, if Michael is also planning on depriving us of world-class talent.”
“Definitely not. He’ll be better than you.”
Donald says “He’d better be! I had to teach myself everything, he’ll get to start with knowing all my tricks.”
Andrew laughs.
Cait looks at Emilia, she asks “What about your family, what will they think?”
“They know he’s not going to play,” says Emilia.
Cait asks “Did they know before he proposed?”
Emilia lifts her hand, looking at her ring, “My ring was my grandmother’s. He told them before they gave it to him.”
“And they agreed anyway?” says Don. “Gaining the blessing of a girl’s parents after telling them all the money you’re turning down?” He laughs in exhale, “Sounds like Canton, alright. Well, ah, I could make some calls. Want me to?”
Andrew says “If I have to, but I’m hoping I won’t need a leg up. Thinking I’ll have it.”
Donald says “Yeah, your announcement will be some kind of news.”
O Oriens!
Emilia sleeps. He watches her, his head on his right hand, his left on her thigh.
He could pray in thanks. He does in spirit.
They see to the livestock, the milk and the cream. Shelby is in the kitchen when Andrew returns through the mudroom, she moves bakery boxes on the large counter. They greet each other, he asks about her delivery. She points to each box, croissants, danishes, donuts and bagels. Just something easy, she says, a treat for the girls.
The girls are in all high spirits when he returns with Emilia, excited for the last day of school before their Christmas break.
They stay in the kitchen while the maids clean the family wing, then move with them. To the small salon in the guest wing as they clean the kitchen, then the library as they clean the guest wing. Neither reads, Emilia talks, he listens.
Shelby makes a second visit, her last before her own Christmas break as she delivers groceries and lunch. From the kitchen, Emilia goes with the women to the family wing and the master hall, Andrew goes to their guestroom. He reads on the sofa until the words drag, then he closes his book and his eyes.
His uncle brushes the coat of one horse. The collies are in the field attached to the horse barn, Andrew smiles at them racing in the fresh snow. His sight moves west, out from the trees, over the farms and then the small mansions. To the warehouse that is the Costco. He’s unsurprised by the hundreds at the store. He sees them, from pushing large carts to the queue at the gate, to taking cards from wallets and purses to wave them at the greeters. He follows one as they go directly to the food court. He looks on the heat of its ovens, on a pizza as it’s pulled and cut and a slice served with a hot dog. He follows another cart from the food court across the store and to the back. To a table where cart after cart stops, customers taking in twos and threes what are surely pumpkin pies. Over, to the cold of the butcher and the heat of the rotisseries, then up.
He moves west and north, passing a factory where vats supply long lines connecting to rows of nozzles, spraying in application to long sheets from what he would guess are rolls of plastic. To nearby warehouses and a long garage where figures work on vehicles. To figures in apartments and neighborhoods, to a stretch of empty soccer fields buried in snow and an indoor soccer facility with a few figures in an office. To baseball fields circling a hub and a stretch of tennis courts at a complex with far more indoor courts. The parking lot has been plowed, he looks on an edge with a tall and long mound of snow, half the spots otherwise filled as the courts are at capacity. He looks on the odd lobby, more an intersection, the junction of three hallways with space cut for a desk, a woman there, looking at her phone. Down a tunnel of a hall to the first of two warehouse-like spaces with the courts. He moves through very tall and very heavy curtains in place to protect patrons from stray balls. He sees all doubles here, he watches a rally. Two men taller than the rest though neither giant, their exchanges the strongest. They go to twelve before the ball squeaks past an outstretched racquet and sees one man laugh and the other shake his head. Tennis, he thinks, tennis would have been quieter. And Florida’s program is strong.
He moves just north, to the city’s tiny second airport. He opens one eye to look through a skylight, some blue, mostly cloudy. The airport has a single runway and a prop plane circling, two in the cockpit, a student running laps. West, past another factory with an entrance he only knows as a giant cup from seeing it in person, across a busy street and over the empty campus of the university he knows as a seminary. He looks on its chapel, on the pipes of its organs on the wall of the stage behind a crucifix. Just west, to a military depot and small base. He sees its several dozen Humvees and cargo trucks parked below tall shelters and within its fences a rather castle-like building that has three floors below ground. These spread, and out, he looks on tunnels connecting to smaller buildings on the base, then back to the core. To the ground-floor mess where trays are returned by the figures wearing fatigues. He follows one, to the first door where a badge is swiped for entry, to a second, to a third door with a man behind reinforced glass who presses a button to permit entry at the armory. Yet another warehouse-like space in the side of this fortress, with rows of lockers of small arms and crew weapons. He follows the man to an office where he sits for only a moment in chair to rub his eyes, then the man takes a clipboard from his desk and stands and leaves the office.
Up and farther west, over more neighborhoods and another busy street, to a park and a public pool, its tarp covered in snow. South then, to the campus he knows as the technical college. South further, across the freeway and over a concrete plant and railyard and the baseball stadium of a minor league affiliate of the Cardinals. He looks on its conditioning center, far smaller than Heavener but far fewer athletes, and he can tell its offerings are more than adequate. The same for its training center, ten sections for indoor batting practice. They do love their Redbirds, he thinks. To the diamond and up the stands and slow at the concourse he imagines he can smell. Up and out again, past the tallest building in the city past apartments and townhouses and to the university he knows as Missouri State. He looks on a concert hall at a corner edge of the campus, the venue busy as many work around a stage. To two arenas side-by-side, both almost empty. To the bell tower on its library, to its football stadium he would be kind to describe as half of Ben Hill Griffin.
He continues south, over uninterrupted miles of neighborhoods. He holds on a park with a giant tree, falling through its branches as young children play in the snow nearby. To a busy intersection where he moves east, to the several parking garages and mass of figures at the mall with its famed Sears. Fewer customers there than the Costco, maybe, but easily past two thousand cars between the garages and the lots. So many people. In the mall’s northern lot stands the Sears’ warehouse delivery center. He looks on parcels, following one that contains action figures and Lego. It moves through a maze of conveyors, twisting down to the floor where workers slide parcels to the left or the right, this parcel left, where it’s loaded on a trolley and is last in a sprinter van that leaves its bay and exits from an access-only road, southbound. He follows the van to a church connected to a school.
A gray figure is there, Lily in the front row, he thinks taking a test. A piece of paper on every desk, every head bent, a pencil in every hand.
He returns, over the hills and the manor and to the forest on its eastern edge where deep in the trees he’s shocked to find the fox awake.
There’s a spot, he thinks.
The fox stands in a clearing between two hills. She digs several spots, she finds nothing. She moves into the trees, pausing to sniff, or stop, her head turning and her ears twitching. She moves to a spot of snow she digs, it yields only berries. She finds no rodents, much as she moves, much as she looks. She freezes. She’s heard something. She sniffs, her head turning slightly left, then right. A rabbit. She lowers, her paws moving so slowly as she crawls up a short mound to hide below a shrub. The rabbit gnaws at a sapling on the mound. The wind rolls past, over the rabbit and then the shrub. The rabbit suddenly turns, head moving quickly. It resumes its gnawing. The fox leaps.
Andrew opens his eyes. Emilia watches him from a chair.
She says “So you just go . . . anywhere?”
“I go where I want.”
“What do you see?”
He stands. He looks down at her. “I see what I want.”
He lifts her over one shoulder and carries her to the bed.
In the evening, most of the family attends Mass. His mother and the girls go with his aunt. Andrew and Emilia go with his uncle. Donald drives an unfamiliar route to the Church of the Immaculate Conception. Only a few decades old but it is the traditional material and form. Neo-gothic, masonry with ornate carvings and flying buttresses against the nave. The façade has two short towers, a gable between with a large rose window above the main portals, three sets of recessed wooden arched doors. A low echo, Andrew knows, of the façade of the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis.
Emilia touches his arm inside and whispers Disculpe as she steps away for confession. He could smile. His eyes move with her to the confessional. He looks at the doors, spaces on which he sees through to blue curtains. When did he last confess? He thinks, not this year, not last Christmas. It was Easter. A year, almost to the day, before the man in Mexico.
He feels no guilt with her, not like that, not to be held over the hair difference in time of not waiting to know her as his wife. He would confess to premarital sex. How would he confess for how he treated her? How would he confess for his lie to his aunt and uncle? How would he confess for his lie, his threat, to her parents?
How would he confess for the dead?
It is not enough to say that he lied, he must explain the lie, the threat, the dead. Heaven holds the priest’s tongue, guilt holds his. What penitent act proves remorse and absolves him? He does feel proved, that the stars are his attestation, and he does feel proved, that he has acted twice. But good is not a ledger; certainty that he has found the most good in the lives he will uplift, that he has found good in the lives he has saved, these are not remit for the dead. In his sloth he has done ill and though good will result, he knows the end in thinking it justifies is perdition. What he has done he could have always done, there was no question to be guided past by an ephemeral voice. He could have thought and he didn’t think fast enough.
The others share your guilt!
Why, Ledger, say I accept your arbitration, how totals my debt of souls? You sum one half-million? Oh so this city devoured. I reject you, they do not share my guilt. I am the First, called. Mine is greatest, but still, your offer says we could equally act. We are equally blamed, then. You cannot divide a soul, why then two? I tread blood, what penitent act for the mortal sin that leads to death when my sin is death? Forgive me, Father, I lack the faith to believe you should.
She leaves the confessional.
And now I inflict her once more, how many times now again? Now I threaten her, imperil her so soon with my name and my child, how could I deserve her with what this could bring—he shakes his head—Forgive me. For her, I would tear down the stars. Why is it I can? Why—?
She sees him and smiles.
Because I didn’t know. Because I acted when I knew and when I was needed most. Because I acted first. Because I am the First, called. Because I made her suffer. Because she accepted suffering on my behalf as still she stayed. Because every man should threaten the stars for his beloved. That I can is my providence. The stars belong to me as she belongs to me; the stars belong to her as I belong to her. Wife and mother I will make, husband and father she will make me. I offer because in me she is worthy, as in her I am worthy.
Clearly, as if spoken. It now offers your place. It cannot ever offer your absolution.
Andrew wipes at one eye and smiles back. She takes his arm and they sit.
She stands for Communion. He only watches her.
Before they leave, Andrew speaks with the priest and enters the confessional.
The lamps are on, the curtains drawn. The fireplace is dark but still warm.
Andrew and Emilia are together.
His hands are on her hips, she has one hand on his shoulder and one behind his head. She kisses his neck and his chin and his cheek and she leans to one ear to whisper “I know you got me presents, but,”
“Yeah?”
“I wanted to ask you for something else.”
“Anything.”
“I want you to take me with you,” she kisses his ear. “Show me what it’s like, up there.”
He pushes her just back, a soft movement to better see her eyes. He nods, quickly.