“He says that I have a tumor growing in my brain. It is already quite large and, because of its location, they cannot operate.” Mary looked straight ahead now, almost through us. Yet her words were strangely calm.
“There is nothing that they can do. I have wired my brother in London. I thought you should know.”
Keri was the first to throw her arms around Mary. I put my arms around the two of them and we held each other in silence. No one knew what to say.
Denial, perhaps, is a necessary human mechanisim to cope with the heartaches of life. The following weeks proceeded largely without incident and it became increasingly tempting to delude ourselves into complacency, imagining that all was well and that Mary would soon recover. As quickly as we did, however, her headaches would return and reality would slap our faces as brightly as the frigid December winds. There was one other curious change in Mary’s behavior. Mary seemed to be growing remarkably disturbed by my obsession with work and now took it upon herself to interrupt my endeavors at increasingly frequent intervals. Such was the occasion the evening that she asked the question.
“Richard. Have you ever wondered what the first Christmas gift was?”
Her question broke my engrossment in matters of business and weekly returns. I looked up.
“No, I can’t say that I’ve given it much thought. Probably gold, frankincense, or myrrh. If in that order, it was gold.” I sensed that she was unsatisfied with my answer.
“If an appeal to King James will answer your question, I’ll do so on Sunday,” I said, hoping to put the question to rest. She remained unmoved.
“This is not a trivial question,” she said firmly. “Understanding the first gift of Christmas is important.”
“I’m sure it is, Mary, but this is important right now.”
“No,” she snapped, “you don’t know what is important right now.” She turned abruptly and walked from the room.
I sat quietly alone, stunned from the exchange. I put away the ledger and climbed the stairs to our room. As I readied for bed, I posed to Keri the question Mary had asked.
“The first gift of Christmas?” she asked sleepily. “Is this a trick question?”
“No, I don’t think so. Mary just asked me and was quite upset that I didn’t know the answer.”
“I hope she doesn’t ask me, then,” Keri said, rolling over to sleep.
I continued to ponder the question of the first gift of Christmas until I gradually fell off in slumber. That night the angel haunted my dreams.
The following morning at the breakfast table, Keri and I discussed the previous evening’s confrontation.
“I think that the cancer is finally affecting her,” I said.
“How is that?” Keri asked.
“Her mind. She’s starting to lose her mind.”
“She’s not losing her mind,” she said firmly. “She’s as sharp as you or me.”
“Such a strong ‘no’,” I said defensively.
“I’m with her all day. I ought to know.”
“Then why is she acting this way? Asking weird questions?”
“I think she’s trying to share something with you, Rick. I don’t know what it is, but there is something.” Keri walked over to the counter and brought a jar of honey to the table. “Mary is the warmest, most open individual I’ve ever met, except. . . ” She paused. “Do you ever get the feeling that she is hiding something?”
“Something?”
“Something tragic. Terribly tragic. Something that shapes you and changes your perspective forever.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
Suddenly Keri’s eyes moistened. “I’m not so sure that I do either. But there is something. Have you ever seen the Bible that she keeps in the den?” I shook my head. “The pages are stained with tears.” She turned away to gather her thoughts. “I just think that there is a reason that we’re here. There is something she is trying to tell you, Rick. You’re just not listening.”
Chapter V
Y CONVERSATION with Keri had left me curious and bewildered. As I gazed outside at the snow-covered streets I saw Steve in his driveway brushing snow off his car. It occurred to me that he might have some answers. I ran upstairs to the Christmas Box, removed the first letter from it, and scrolled it carefully. Then stowing it in the inside pocket of my overcoat, I quietly slipped out of the house and crossed the street. Steve greeted me warmly.
“Steve, you’ve known Mary a long time.”
“Pretty much all my life.”
“There’s something I want to ask you about.”