Pearl shot me a look. The moment for my maternal lecture had arrived.
I lifted my chin, stared at Barbara directly in the eye, and said, “I think you should be the one who runs this house and sets the tone. Cleland has a bank to run and you’re supposed to be in charge here.”
Barbara looked from me to Camille.
“Lots of luck, Mom. They’ll never change. He’s just mean because he can be, and she takes it because she’s afraid of him. Sick,” Camille said, and took a bite of the dough. “Hey! This is fabulous! Y’all need help?” She went to the sink and washed her hands.
Camille was right, or at least it seemed to be a plausible explanation.
“Well, it’s almost Christmas and stranger things have happened,” Pearl said, referring to the surprise of Camille pitching in. “Go show them who’s the boss, Ms. Barbara, and don’t take no gruff from them.”
“Well, I’ll try. Dinner was delicious, Pearl. Thank you.”
“You are entirely welcome,” Pearl said.
Minutes later, the noise overhead became louder. Next we heard Barbara yelling from afar, then Cleland. Doors were slamming, feet were stomping, and it went on and on. It was very upsetting for all of us. Except Pearl, who had a cool demeanor.
“Why can’t they just get along?” I said to no one in particular.
“I hate it when they fight,” Teddie said, and a sudden flood of hot tears streamed down her scarlet cheeks. “I just hate it. It makes me so mad.”
Perhaps the fact that her parents fought all the time was at the root of Teddie’s poor behavior. I had not given it much thought until then. It was true that she was constantly being manipulated to choose her father’s affection over her mother’s.
Out of the mouth of Andrew came, “Maybe they don’t know how to.” We all looked at him and he added, “Get along, that is.”
Camille looked up and smiled at Andrew and her love for him was apparent to Teddie, who seemed to sulk as she noticed it. She was jealous. I did not blame her. That child needed some affection, and heaven knew, she needed a lot of guidance.
I took a tissue from my pocket and wiped Teddie’s face. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s not cry.” I felt enormous sympathy for the poor little wretch.
“Well, maybe we’re gonna teach them how to behave, Teddie,” Pearl said. She reached over and rubbed Teddie’s back. “It’s all gwine be fine, honey. Don’t you worry.”
“I sure wish somebody could,” she said, and she stopped crying. “I wish I could believe you.”
I felt deeply sorry for the child. She was certainly entitled to a peaceful home. They had no real problems that I knew of except for George’s bullying and churlish ways.
Wait! I had almost overlooked the obvious! We were in the kitchen doing something together and it was a start. In fact, it was a marvelous new beginning!
Dozens of sands were baked and rum balls were rolled. Toward the end of it all, the children understandably became antsy and we told them they could scamper off. Then the shopping bug bit Camille. She excused herself on the pretense that she had to pick up a last minute gift.
However, before our kitchen party broke up, the children agreed that the sands were the best things they had ever eaten. As soon as the first batch was baked to a perfect golden brown and had cooled, Pearl rolled two in powdered sugar and gave them to the children with a glass of milk. They were just delighted.
“You can eat all the ones that break,” Pearl said.
“Let’s break some,” Teddie said. We knew she was only teasing.
“Don’t you dare!” Pearl said, taking the threat as a compliment.
Unfortunately, the wariness in Camille lived on, as she batted her eyelashes again and again in disbelief when Andrew and Teddie gave Pearl a firm hug around her waist.
“Be careful driving around in that fog,” I said to Camille.
“Don’t worry! I’m too young to die!”
“Don’t go tempting fate,” Pearl said.
Pearl’s face was grim as she spoke those words and Camille shuddered.
“I won’t,” Camille said.
Finally, when there was only Pearl and me left in the kitchen, I said to her, “Tough bunch, huh? Camille likes to take pills and go shopping. With vigor.”
“Gotcha. Heaven help us! I may have to resort to a little Gullah magic, too,” Pearl said. “I wonder if that would be breaking the daggum rules?” A few seconds later, a light came into her eyes as though she had remembered something. “Hmmph. Watch and see. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Get that list. Call somebody back in here and send them to the grocery store for me. I need two quarts of pomegranate juice, a quart of orange juice, three dozen eggs, two quarts of heavy whipping cream, and a box of powdered sugar. And fresh nutmegs.”
I wrote everything down as quickly as I could. I looked at my scribble in frustration and wondered how in the world anyone else would read it since I could not.
“Pearl?”
“Oh, don’t worry yourself so!”
One snap of her fingers and my script became legible. I glared at it in surprise and Pearl laughed so hard she had to lean over and slap her thighs.
“How in the world do you…?”
“Being dead does have some advantages!”
“Well, that’s nice to know. I mean, I guess…”
“Oh, hand me the list and I’ll get them going!”
She snatched the paper from me and disappeared through the swinging door. I turned around, thinking I would put away the food we had made and try to finish the dishes, only to marvel that everything was as clean as it had ever been. Pearl must have snapped her fingers on the way out the door. All the sands were fanned out in layers on a cake plate, the rum balls were piled high in a glistening cut-glass bowl, and the fruitcake, baked to perfection ahead of schedule, rested on a cake rack, filling the air with the exact same divine perfumes I remembered from my childhood.
Of all the five senses, the experts say that smell is the most powerful. For me it was certainly true. My good friend Pearl, on the other hand, seemed to be in possession of a variety of senses. At least six. With her sixth sense and her pockets bulging with every kind of Gullah magic, she was determined that her visit would create a loving order, or else. I didn’t want to think about the or else. If she succeeded, that loving order would force my family to rise from their acrimonious pit of discord. I hoped. Oh, how I hoped!
What did she want with all that pomegranate juice? I was to find out by six o’clock that evening.
Pearl must have blistered her fingers snapping them that afternoon because family treasures began appearing that we had not seen in years. She resurrected my mother’s large punch bowl from somewhere and polished it until you could see your reflection in its sides. My mother’s mother had owned a perfectly magnificent ladle that Pearl coaxed into duty from the dark corners of a silver chest and buffed until it was worthy of a queen’s table. She placed them both on a gleaming silver rectangular tray whose provenance I could not recall, but knew that I had not seen in at least thirty years. I remembered that it had once belonged to a Charleston family whose ancestor had signed the Declaration of Independence. What could have been more fitting for the moment? This was certain to be a Christmas Eve of historic significance.
Pearl surrounded the bowl with the very same collection of mismatched engraved julep cups we had used for one of Barbara’s bridal lunches so many years ago. And for so many other occasions when times were happier and things were different.
I have to say, by then I was somewhat hopeful about success because there was tangible evidence of a shift in the atmosphere. The outdoor manger scene was set up, and to my surprise, everyone made a positive remark about it, even though it tilted to one side. Perhaps more importantly, the children and even Camille, whether they would admit it or not, had found some authentic holiday joy at one another’s side while they bake
d together. And I had gained some insight into Teddie.
Once again, the family relics rested on the dining-room sideboard with the sands, rum balls, and fruitcake. It did my heart good to see at least some piece of our family’s traditions restored. Getting back to the larger problem at hand, holiday food and old relics were nice, but I suspected it was the contents of the punch bowl that would matter.
We were gathered together in the living room, placing last-minute gifts under the tree, listening to a medley of carols played by the Canadian Brass. Although the mood seemed festive, I was nervous, fretting about what the night would bring. Pearl must have read my mind because she brought me my cocktail on the same precious tray Eliza used. She gave me a wink and then turned to the others.
“Y’all want to try some punch? It’s an old Gullah recipe my mother used to make for special occasions. It’s good, ’eah?”
“Sure,” Barbara said. “Can the kids drink it? I mean, is it fortified with spirits?”
Pearl burst into laughter.
“Ms. Barbara?” She laughed again. “It’s perfectly safe for the children to drink. In fact, the more everyone drinks the better!”
Pearl could barely contain her unmitigated glee. I knew why she was in stitches. That punch was fortified by spirits, all right, but not spirits of this world.
“Probably better with some rum,” Cleland said, and took the bottle from the bar to his place at the table.
“That’s up to you, Mr. Cleland,” Pearl said.
I followed Pearl back to the kitchen.
“What kind of concoction is in that bowl?”
“We called it the Clean Slate punch.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this ’eah family needs to wipe the slate clean. If I was you, I’d stick to bourbon or ice water. Somebody might have to be the referee.”
Mystified by her explanation, I went to the dining room, where everyone waited. Teddie and George were the first ones to try it. It didn’t appear to have any special effect on them. Soon the others all had a cup and then another. Camille, given to excesses of all kinds, seemed to be serving herself more than double what the others consumed.
“This is so delicious!” she said.
I stuck with my cocktail and sipped it more slowly than I had sipped a drink in twenty years. Maybe longer. All I could do was worry about what was to happen.
Soon we were gathered at the supper table for she-crab soup, which would be followed by bowls of shrimp creole over white rice. We’d always had seafood for Christmas Eve dinner, and even though the children were not particularly fond of it, that night they did not balk or complain. Large baskets of Pearl’s light-as-air biscuits almost floated around the table on their own and more punch was served in lieu of water or wine.
However insincere it may have appeared to the outside observer, Cleland offered one of his feeble blessings, and we toasted the holiday and one another. I lifted my spoon and the meal began. At first the conversation was benign enough, but soon I noticed that Camille had developed a little twitch. That bothered me and I hoped to steer the conversation toward a safe harbor.
“What do you want Santa to bring you, Teddie?” I asked, hoping she wouldn’t blow the night for Andrew.
“Clothes and stuff. I’m too old for toys.”
“I’m not,” Andrew said.
“And pierced earrings,” Teddie added.
“You’re too young for pierced ears,” Lynette said. Kindly note that Lynette had at least four holes in each ear.
“No, I’m not!”
“Well, your father thinks so,” Lynette said.
“It’s not necessary to stick holes in your ears,” George said. “What’s next? A tattoo?”
Bomb number one was to launch immediately.
“Well, it sure won’t say I heart Dad,” Camille said.
Teddie put her spoon down as her face fell. Frankly, I didn’t see why George felt that way about Teddie piercing her ears, but perhaps it was an attempt to delay her maturation in some way. Camille’s remark—well, I decided I must have misunderstood what she meant and I took the lead again.
“What are you hoping for, Andrew?” I said.
“A mountain bike. All my friends have them.”
The next little bomb dropped.
“If all your friends jumped off the Cooper River Bridge, would you jump, too?” This imbecilic, and hostile, cliché tumbled from the lips of who else? George!
“No, of course not,” Andrew replied. His brow wrinkled and he looked down at his lap, frowning, knowing that Christmas Eve or not, he was in unfriendly territory.
“Well, you could sure use the exercise,” Teddie said, and snickered. No one joined her. She blanched in embarrassment, but wasn’t she simply following her father’s lead?
“Know what? You’re a creep,” Camille said to George. “Will your schadenfreude cup never be filled? It’s bad enough that your little girl is…uh, uh, sadistic. Given who you are, it should come as no surprise to anyone that you are, too.”
Stunned, George clamped his mouth shut. Luckily, the remark flew right over Teddie’s head, or surely she would have started screaming to find herself called sadistic. And Lord! Schadenfreude? Did George really find delight in the pain of others? I had not heard that term in years! Perish that thought right to a waste bin!
“Would anyone care for more punch?” I said.
“Sure, Gran, thanks,” Camille said. “While we’re on the topic of stinkers…Daddy? I saw you at lunch today at Peninsula Grill.”
Cleland stammered around and finally said, “I was having a business lunch.”
“Sure. Monkey business.”
Barbara looked up at Cleland and then said to Camille, “Maybe we should talk about your daddy’s business friends another time. I think I would like some more punch. Will you get it for me, dear?” She held her cup out toward George.
“Sure,” he said, and got up. “Maybe one reason Dad has friends is that you act like the imperious queen of an ice castle.”
“I don’t think this is nice talk for Christmas Eve, George,” I said.
“It’s okay,” Cleland said. “I married her for her castle and she doesn’t care.”
Barbara’s face turned crimson and her eyes filled with tears.
“Cleland, I know what you do and where you go. It doesn’t matter. I have always loved you. I wish I could make you feel differently about me. And, I wish you would drink a little less.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” Cleland said with a scowl.
“I’d drink, too, if I had a philandering husband,” Lynette said in a screwball defense of Barbara.
“You do have one,” Camille said, throwing another hand grenade into the evening.
“Oh, shut up, Camille. Why don’t you take your pill-popping bahunkus shopping and spend some more money!” George said.
“The stores are closed,” Lynette said.
“There’s always another day,” Camille said.
In the brain, off the tongue. I was terrified. I also realized if this punch was forcing them all to tell the raw naked truth, it appeared that only Barbara and Andrew had nothing to hide.
“Are you running around on me, George?” Lynette asked.
“I’m a man, aren’t I?” George turned to Cleland. “I learned it all from you, Pops. It took me three marriages and watching how indifferently you treat Mom to figure this out. You don’t have to love women for them to give you babies.”
“Really?” Lynette said.
“Yeah, really!” George said.
“You’re a disgrace and a coldhearted…I won’t use the word with the ladies present,” Cleland said to George. “But I think you know what I mean. Do you know what an embarrassment you are?”
“Me? Me a disgrace? I make five times the money you do! What have you ever accomplished in your life?”
Lynette stood up. “You don’t love me, George? Well, I’ve got news for you, Georgie. Merry Christ
mas! Teddie ain’t yours!”
“What? What? Daddy’s not my daddy?” Teddie started kicking the table and everything rattled and rattled.
The wind picked up, howling as it had last evening, and it seemed to me that the walls were undulating in anger and disgust.
“It doesn’t matter if he’s your biological daddy, hon,” Camille said. “You’re just like him anyway.”
“Yeah? Well, my daddy says the reason Andrew doesn’t have a daddy is that you’re a man-hater. Uncle Grayson left you because you wouldn’t stop shopping! And the reason Andrew is so stupid is because you’re on drugs all the time.”
“My mama is not on drugs and I am not stupid!” Andrew said, bursting into a geyser of very impressive tears. “How do you think life is for me? I can build the Chrysler building out of a box of LEGOs, but I can’t read the directions right to build a simple fort! Then, in class…kids laugh at me when it’s my turn to read, but I can recite almost word for word what I hear…sometimes I think I want to just die. Just die.”
“You don’t mean that, Andrew,” Camille said. “Please don’t say that.”
“Moron! Moron! Fat little moron!” Teddie said in a most obnoxious singsong.
“Shut up!” Camille said.
Lynette grabbed Teddie’s arm to quiet her. I began to panic. What in the world was happening? This was terrible! They were saying such loathsome things that they would never forgive one another! Pearl was absolutely wrong. Absolutely wrong! With the toe of my shoe I pressed the buzzer under the rug at my place to bring her from the kitchen. Barbara had a buzzer, too, but perhaps she was too upset to use it. On top of it all, the windows were beginning to rattle, and I swanny to heaven, I thought this time they would shatter and come crashing to the floor for certain!
“Aren’t we a lovely family?” Camille said. She turned to Teddie. “Let me tell you something, you sassy little urchin of unknown origins, my son Andrew is not a moron. You are. And my husband never left me over money.”
Where was Pearl?
“I think…” I said.
“What?” they all said at once.
“I think y’all better stop all this hateful talk, right this very second, or you all will regret it later.”