“You know ain’t none a them chat with me. All I can tell you is that both your
brothers look to be in perfectly good health.”
Two weeks before Christmas a blanket of snow covered the town. Jettie
dragged a scraggly little tree into the parlor, fitted it into a wooden stand, and wrapped a green velvet skirt around it. Then she got a box of shiny red and orange glass bulbs out of the attic and gave Olivia the makings to tie red bows
on pine cones, string acorns, and cut out paper decorations. The pathetic tree
leaned to one side, but that didn’t matter. Neither of them was alone. During the week before Christmas Jettie made a nightly ritual of pouring two cups of hot chocolate or eggnog and asking Olivia to sing a few carols. On Christmas Eve she poured herself a large glass of whiskey and Olivia couldn’t help wondering
if she usually spent Christmas drunk. In past years had she decorated a tree for
herself? Or perhaps gone to spend the holiday with the cousin she’d spoken of?
The next morning Jettie sliced one of her special holiday coffee cakes and
after they finished their coffee they exchanged gifts. Since Olivia couldn’t go out
shopping, she’d wrapped up some of her own things. The first present that Jettie
opened was the hairbrush.
“Oh, Olivia, this is just so pretty. Look at that workmanship.” Jettie touched
the carved wooden back. Then she turned it over and ran it through her hair.
“It belonged to my mother,” Olivia said quietly and saw the anticipated look
of distress that passed over Jettie’s face. “I didn’t want to give it to you without
telling you. That wouldn’t have seemed right. But I really want you to have it and I’m sure she would too, in gratitude for the way you’re taking care of her daughter.” Olivia rose to give Jettie a hug.
“Well thank you. You just turn around and sit yourself down on this stool here
and let me have at that birds’ nest on your head.”
Olivia sat on the footstool between Jettie’s knees while Jettie brushed her hair,
just the way Olivia remembered her mother doing. Then Jettie opened her other
gifts: one of Nola June’s bone combs and a volume of Wordsworth’s poems.
Olivia had kept it when she returned the library books a few weeks ago, feeling
justified in confiscating it, in exchange for all her work.
“And this is for Angel.” Olivia handed Jettie the last package.
Jettie unwrapped the tiny red jacket Olivia had sewn out of an old dress Jettie
had cut up for rags. Jettie dressed the bewildered cat in it and danced around the
room with her, singing Joy to the World.
Jettie gave Olivia two store-bought maternity dresses, a delicate gold
necklace, and a beautiful journal. It was just like the one Olivia had bought in Detroit, bound in wine-colored leather, but his one had a metal clasp and lock.
Olivia put it to her nose to breathe in the fragrance of the leather and then flipped
through the empty white pages.
“You like to read so much,” Jettie said, “I thought you might like to put some
of your own words down. Keep a memory of this time. Maybe someday you’ll
even feel like writing about … that out there. Course, you do that, you got to be
extra careful where you keep it. That lock ain’t gonna stop nobody what wants to
cut it open.” She pressed the small key into Olivia’s palm.
“Thank you, Jettie. It’s beautiful. How do you always know what I need? I
bought one exactly like it in Detroit. Filled it with pictures and stories about everything we did. It’s upstairs in one of the baskets. I do like to write things down. Helps me think them through. I’m going to start right away, before I go to
bed tonight. I’ll write all about the lovely Christmas we had together.”
