Chapter 36

It would soon be dark. The children were bored and restless, impatient to unwrap their gifts. “We can’t wait for Zona any longer,” announced Bruna. “Time to open the presents.”

Garnish spread his arms. “‘For tis good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child Himself.’” His voice shook. Emm guessed that he recited those lines with more conviction during a performance than at this moment. Alas, real children weren’t as angelic as Tiny Tim, nor were their parents as even-tempered as Bob Cratchit.

In a few seconds, eight pairs of sticky hands had ripped off all the wrapping paper. There were dolls and dress-up clothes for the girls, G.I. Joes and hockey and baseball equipment for the boys. Emm felt like Scrooge, ashamed that he hadn’t gotten them anything, until Jonah swooped a model airplane past his nose, pointed at Emm’s chest, and grinned. Darold winked at his father. Apparently, he’d bought a gift on Emm’s behalf for each of his great-grandchildren.

Emm spluttered thank you.

Virginia crushed a piece of wrapping paper under her heel. “He spent too much on them.”

Darold looked annoyed. “We can afford it. Besides, how many children are lucky enough to have a great grandfather to get presents from?”

“Technically, they’re not from him. They’re from you.”

“Would you like me to reimburse you?” asked Emm, worried how much it would cost.

Virginia answered, “Nah. It was fun wrapping them. I helped him.” She rested her head on Darold’s shoulder. “We polished off a quart of spiked eggnog by the time we finished.”

Emm shrugged. He couldn’t figure Virginia out. Thankfully, she was Darold’s problem.

The children, meanwhile, didn’t care who the packages were from, only what lay inside the ones for them. They grew more excited as they tore through the mountain of gifts, barely stopping to exclaim over one before opening the next. Betty hovered, picking up wrapping paper, smoothing it flat, and folding it into a neat pile. Bruna sighed but otherwise held her tongue. Emm was relieved that another fight had been averted, for Foy’s sake as much as his own.

Not that Foy might have cared this time. He was busy with his own present, the only adult to get one. It was a transistor radio, which he hugged to his chest. “It’s not broken,” he marveled. “It’s brand new.” Darold showed him how to use the headphones so the music wouldn’t bother his housemates. Emm thought about buying one for himself if he moved to the old age home after all. He could listen to the news without disturbing his roommate. Even better, he could blot out the bodily noises and chatter of the other residents.

“Can I listen after lights out?” Foy asked Darold, who said he’d have to check with Martha and Joe first. “I’ll brush my teeth before bed,” Foy promised, “if they let me.” Emm wondered about the rules at Kingsbridge, and to whom and what he’d have to promise if he wanted special permission to play his radio or do anything else outside of regulations.

One enormous package remained. Thomas caught his breath when he opened his Air Hockey game. The side of the box said “Fast action surface, 46 x 22 inches, wood with sturdy steel legs, built-in score keeper. Assembly required.” His father James set to work, joined by his father Darold and Uncle Cleon, who were soon assisted by Mark and Paul, Cleon’s sons, and Fred and Larry, Darold’s sons-in-law. Half an hour later, when a frustrated Thomas ripped a page from his sister Melissa’s new coloring book, James left to calm his children. The other men continued to study the instructions amid a stack of miscellaneous parts, screwdrivers, and wrenches.

Foy removed his headphones, turned off the radio, and wandered over. Without looking at the instruction sheet, only at the picture on the box, he methodically began to assemble the pieces. Ten minutes later, it was finished. “Foy fixed it,” yelled Thomas, racing over to his new toy.

Erissa had been staring intently at Foy the whole time. He waved a screwdriver at her, as if to say, “Me too!” Emm wondered whether Foy had in fact understood his comment about his sister fixing herself or was simply reaching out to include her, as he did with his friends. She clapped and the others joined in. Foy smiled shyly. Emm wished her siblings could clap for Erissa as well. Too bad she couldn’t put herself together as easily as Foy had the hockey game. If only she kept working at it, though, Erissa had a chance to be more successful than all those dads.

***

By now it really was dark. Bruna closed the blinds and actually thanked Betty when she helped clear away the dirty plates and crumpled napkins. The children, filled with sweets and sugary punch, had barely eaten dinner. They were tired and cranky. So was Emm. He was dozing when there was a quiet knock at the door and Zona slipped in. Cleon’s slow, exaggerated clapping broke the stillness in the room. Virginia muttered, “About time.” Erissa smiled. Not at Zona, but to herself, as if to say, “Thank goodness someone else will be under the microscope for a while.”

Bruna, lips pursed, pointed to the bedroom, where Zona retreated. Ten minutes later she emerged, minus her coat, with red-rimmed eyes. She handed gifts to the children, but by then they were as sated with toys as with candy and cookies. Only Emm revived at the sight of his youngest child. Her hair was braided with red ribbons, appropriate for Christmas Day. Ditto her sequined snowman sweater.

Zona perched on a folding chair beside him. “The tree is lovely.” She didn’t make up an excuse for being late. Emm regretted that he’d tried to invent one for her earlier. Darold brought her a plate of food, which she ate dutifully, head bowed. Not until she’d finished did Zona look up and around the living room. Children sprawled across their parents, who sat with heads thrown back and legs outstretched, like soldiers dazed after a winless battle.

Only Erissa, no longer behind the tree, sat upright, eyes wide open. Emm’s first thought was that she’d snuck off for a stimulant, but he was pretty sure she hadn’t ventured from her spot. Being with the family was its own kind of drug. It made you high and depressed at the same time.

Zona followed Emm’s gaze, touched his wrist, and moved next to her sister. Erissa shrank back, as if heeding the standard rehab warning to avoid people who, by association, could get you into trouble. Her eyes narrowed when Zona took out her wallet. Emm was puzzled too. Was she giving Erissa money? A business card? Zona flipped to the plastic picture holders at the back and handed the wallet to Erissa. “This is Riley.”

Erissa cautiously examined the first photo and asked what kind of dog he was.

“A mix of mutt and monkeyshines.”

Erissa smiled. Her smile broadened as she looked at the rest of the pictures. When Zona described the circumstances of one photograph—Riley had tangled with a skunk in the garden last summer and was shaking off after a tomato-juice bath—Erissa laughed outright. The Benbow children snapped to attention. They hadn’t heard that sound in decades.

Emm felt a laugh bubble up inside him too. Maybe he wasn’t totally powerless to improve relationships among his offspring after all. He vowed to ask Zona to drive him to visit Erissa so he could bring them together more often. As he continued to watch them, two more thoughts came to him. One was to accept Darold’s invitation to visit his own siblings. Once again, Emm decided to wait a year. He needed time to work things out with his children first. The other was to carry pictures in his wallet too. Who would want to see them? Not Mrs. Cray; childless people usually weren’t interested in those of others. He thought of his roommate’s photos at Kingsbridge. If Emm lived there, shots of his great-grandchildren would be an icebreaker for meeting people. Plus, whenever he felt lonely, he could look at them himself. And share them with Izora.

From the kitchen doorway, Bruna watched Zona and Erissa talk. Emm tried to gauge her expression. Curiosity? Jealousy? Bruna had probably never gotten Erissa to laugh so loudly and spontaneously. Maybe there was also a touch of gratitude for Zona’s kindness. He didn’t think Bruna was ready to soften toward Zona, but maybe her armor had melted a chink or two.

Silently, Emm addressed Izora. “Wouldn’t it be something if Erissa was the reason that our three daughters—the living ones—connected?” His wife slipped into the empty chair beside him and answered, “Sometimes it’s the least likely person who ends up being the peacemaker.”

***

Bruna dimmed the lights and placed candles on the taller pieces of furniture, beyond the reach of small hands. She nodded at Garnish to lead the singing. Emm would have taken the gesture as her making amends, but the expectant looks on everyone’s faces suggested that he did this every year. Perhaps singing, unlike feeding, was not an activity where Bruna’s role as the family hub was threatened. They sang the usual songs, “Hark the Herald Angels” and “Away in a Manger.” Emm’s baritone was unwavering, yet melancholy. He remembered the staff and patients at the hospital singing “O Holy Night” when Arvil was born, and Izora singing carols at the house year-round.

Only the last one they sang, “The Huron Carol,” was unusual. Canada’s oldest Christmas hymn, it was written by a Jesuit missionary in the native Huron/Wendat language. An English version came out in 1926, the year of Arvil’s birth, and Izora had taught it to the family. It celebrates Jesus, born in a lodge of broken bark and wrapped in a rabbit skin, surrounded by hunters, and given fox and beaver pelts by tribal chiefs. Emm had never known why Izora liked it so much, but listening to the words again after all these years, he understood. It was her way of saying that riches, such as those promised by Mr. Millar, were not what mattered. A simple, but natural life, was enough.

When they were growing up, the Benbow children would get on their knees at the last line and warble, “Come kneel before the radiant Boy, who brings you beauty, peace and joy.” Tonight, they, with their children and grandchildren repeated the ritual. Emm, unable to kneel, bowed his head. Only Zona did not join in. By the time she’d been born, Izora had stopped singing.

***

The lights were turned back on. Emm wondered if the party was over, but no one got up to leave. He looked at the baby Jesus, a singular child, nestled in the branches of the tree. It had taken half a century, but in the past nine months, Emm had begun to learn about each of his children. Would he lose touch now that this year was coming to an end? Perhaps he could rotate among them after all, an idea he’d opposed after his stroke. There were five who could take him in, six with Erissa. That meant two months a year with each, plus visits with Foy. He, and they, could manage. Zona wouldn’t like sharing him, but if she were more connected to the rest of the family, she’d be okay.

Emm’s children stood and formed a circle. Their spouses and the two younger generations sat on the floor inside the ring. Bruna motioned for Emm to join those standing and they all joined hands. She explained, “We started doing this six years ago, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of Mother’s death.” Going around the circle, in order of age, each person bestowed a wish upon the others. Bruna told everyone to enjoy the love of family and friends, Cleon wished them all success in school and work, Darold said a blessing for good health, and Erissa dittoed him. Foy said he hoped everyone made a new best friend and smiled at Emm. Garnish said their days should be filled with creativity, Zona with the satisfaction of caring for others. Then it was Emm’s turn.

He didn’t want to bestow a general wish upon all his children, not after he’d finally come to know each of them as individuals. Slowly, he made his way around the circle.

Bruna, my daughter, both generous and fair/You are your mother’s truest heir.

If ever Benbows should stray or roam/Welcome them back to your new old home.

Cleon, I hope that you stay vital/And your beloved Toronto teams win every title.

May your sons grant the respect you’re due/And model themselves on Betty and you.

Darold, your kindness needs nary a tweak/May angels clean your house each week.

Should life stomp on or rudely spin ya/Find comfort in the arms of feisty Virginia.

Worried he’d gone too far, Emm looked to see how Darold’s wife had taken this verse. He saw the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile and, reassured, moved on.

Erissa, may you no longer feel numb/And flower like plants under your green thumb.

Thrive in school and also in work/And find an unmarried boyfriend who isn’t a jerk.

Dimples appeared in Erissa’s cheeks, which seemed to have filled out even more in the last couple of hours. Emm squeezed her hand.

Foy, you’re the child who was heaven-sent/You taught me how to be content.

May your sweet disposition persist/And may you have no cavities at the dentist.

Garnish, your creativity is a gold mine/I hope your talent continues to shine.

Relish the flair that makes you clever and arty/And have a blast at every party.

Zona, infused with light from above/May you be embraced by kinfolk with love.

Frolic and cuddle with your dear Riley/Whatever happens, stay hopeful and smiley.

Emm considered making up verses for Izora, Arvil, and Helma but decided that this round robin belonged to the living. He returned to his place between Bruna and Zona. One at a time, his delighted children thanked him. The poetry wasn’t his best, but he’d do better next year. The important thing was that he’d started a new holiday tradition. Emm hadn’t been sure he believed himself when he told Mrs. Cray it was never too late, but he’d just proven his words were true.

Spouses and families stood up and side by side, four generations of Benbows made a chain that hugged the walls of Bruna’s living room. Twenty-eight voices sang “Silent Night.” After the last “Sleep in heavenly peace” had faded, Garnish quoted Tiny Tim, “‘God bless us, everyone!’”