THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART FORTY-SEVEN:

Dinner lasted a long time, with almost as much talking and laughing as there was eating. Martha and the other women had outdone themselves with the cooking, though, and Marshall listened to the clink of forks, the settings down of glasses, the scrape of knives cutting meat. It's a true
Christmas feast, he thought, in the finest sense of the word. It was interesting, good, to be in the midst of it, be a part of it.

When it got well into its second hour, though, he began to tire. He wished his energy level would get back up. From time to time because it made no actual difference to him at all, he let his lids close. After he'd sat that way for a long moment, he remembered and opened them. It was difficult for blind people always to keep aware of the fact that they could be seen. He lived with what he called his 'illusion of privacy.'  He knew it was an illusion, that though he could not see what others were doing, they could see him. But it took a conscious effort to be aware of it. He had gotten very used to turning his face toward someone who was talking to him even though, for him, it was a superfluous act. He understood that sighted people did this and so he did it, too, as a matter of courtesy and so they would know they had his attention.

"Do broken eyes hurt, Marshall?" Luke asked.

"Not usually, Luke. Why do you ask?"

"You were closing them and I was wondering if they hurt."

"I'm just tired. I've been rather sick of late."

"I heard about that. And how the bad guys left you in the forest. They were really, really bad to do that."

"But everything's all right now. And it's almost Christmas. Isn't that wonderful?"

Luke nodded, forgetting Marshall couldn't see that. "What do you want for Christmas, Marshall?"

"I already have it."

"You opened your present already?"

Marshall smiled. "It's the lady beside me. She's my present."

"A people present?"

"The very best kind."

"But don't you want something in a box?"

He leaned toward Luke, whispering confidentially.  "I don't think she'd much like to be in a box. And she's all I want anyway."

Eden, hearing them, smiled. But she'd noticed how he was closing his eyes, too. She'd also noticed how he was keeping his back very straight, not giving in to it. There was nothing she could really do at the moment, though, to help him. The dinner plates had just been removed and the table was groaning under a massive array of desserts. Coffee, tea, hot chocolate and heated cider were on the side table, their aromas mingling with the centered scents of chocolate, cinnamon, whipped cream, cherries, raisins and more.

Marshall ate a slice of chocolate pecan pie, moving his fork slowly. He was already full but from the sounds around him, everyone was busily working on diminishing the desserts.  He sighed, wanting to close his eyes again, but settling for some long, quiet blinks. Eden had moved her
left leg to the side so that her knee touched his. He liked that, liked being in contact with her in that quiet, gentle way. He managed to separate out from the rest, her scent of roses and concentrated on that.

Ryan and Connie were still talking. He could hear a change in the tone of her voice when she spoke to him, something rich and excited added to it. He wondered if Eden were aware of it. Of course she would be. She and Connie were like sisters. The thought of that brought Jeffrey
clearly to his mind. Christmas and Jeff. Year after year of special times. Damn, but he missed his brother. The sudden missing rose right up through the middle of him, splattering itself with needle pricks on the back of his eyeballs and he blinked more, this time rapidly to hold the
moisture in check.

Eden missed almost nothing any more when it came to Marshall. She leaned close. "What is it, darling?"

"Just thinking of Jeff.  All this...family...here. I miss him."

"I wish I could've known him."  She really meant it. He'd been such a marvelous big brother to Marshall. Everything she'd heard about him made her regret that she'd never have the chance for that.

"He would have loved you," Marshall said. There it came again, the needle pricks. Jeff would never know Eden. He blinked again. "Sorry," he whispered, "I don't...I seem...I mean when I'm so tired, it's harder to...." 

"Do you want to go upstairs?"

"I do actually, but I don't think it's a very gracious thing to do just yet. I'll be fine."

"Train tracks," she whispered back.

"What?"

"Severed legs?"

"Oh!" he grinned a bit. "Yes, the train and the legs. Well, I will be fine. Just wrap a tourniquet around my neck or something."

Dessert went on for a long while, too. Ryan caught Mike's eye and nodded toward Marshall. Mike leaned enough to see Marshall's face. He was sitting there, a bite of pie on his fork half lifted to his mouth, but had let his eyes close again and was just holding the fork there as though not really aware of it. Mike whispered a few words to Martha and after an appraising glance at Marshall, she stood up. "Why don't we move on to the parlor," she suggested in a tone that made it not a suggestion at all. "Eden, you and Marshall go on in first, ok, and get settled."

Wadsworth, who'd been almost completely under the table during the course of the meal, came out, shook himself and waited just behind Marshall's chair.  With a soft sigh, Marshall stood up, sliding his hand under Eden's elbow to let her guide him through the newly-unfamiliar territory of the rearranged dining room. He settled gratefully on the big couch, his head feeling rather heavy for his neck, and was content to let it rest against the high, soft back. That, though, made it even harder for him to keep his eyes open. But he did, determined to be a part of the Christmas Eve gathering.  Elizabeth brought him some more cider, setting it on the coffee table for him. Everyone was aware he'd only gotten out of the hospital a couple of days ago. Joan set a plate of sugar cookies near his cup.

While the leftovers were being put away and the dishes done,  Ryan came in and sat in a chair near the couch. "Ryan here," he said, to announce his presence and identity. Mike went over to the fireplace, engaging himself in an intent study of the mantel decorations, which let him have his back to the room.  "Sorry we didn't get to talk much at dinner," Ryan continued. "That's quite an amazing story you've got there. Glad to see you're doing pretty good after all that."

"Just my version of a peaceful stay at a country inn," Marshall smiled, his hand resting on Eden's knee, hers atop his.

"I don't think he's quite got the hang of peaceful inn-staying," she added.

Ryan chuckled. "I could arrange a New Zealand bungee jumping getaway for him."

"Shhh!" Eden said, mock seriously. "He'd probably do it."

Connie wandered into the room, a dish of homemade marzipan fruits in her hand. She held it out to Ryan. "Peach?" she asked.

He picked up one of the molded bits, not taking his eyes off her. "Indeed," he said.

"Who's going bungee jumping?"

"Ryan was suggesting it for Marshall," Eden explained.

"But only if Wadsworth does it with me," Marshall added. "I wouldn't want to get lost on my way down."

"Tish tosh!" Martha said, coming into the parlor and heading straight for the piano. "Enough of this bungee talk. It's time for some carols."

Luke had followed his grandmother, perching on the piano bench beside her.  "Play Grandpa's carol," he urged.

"Your grandfather has his own Christmas carol, Luke?"  Connie asked, sitting on the arm of Ryan's chair as all the seats were now taken.

"Yep. 'Hark the Harold Angels Sing.' Play it, Granny."

"You got it."  And she launched right in to it. Soon everyone was singing along. This was what Marshall had done nearly every Christmas Eve of his life. His mother playing the piano, his Dad, Jeff, and him singing along with her. He must be tired. His eyes were stinging again.

They went through all the old familiar hymns, and all the Silver Bells, White Christmas, and even the Rudolph songs. He found it an exercise in bittersweetness, the memories of his family flooding through him bringing both the pleasure of the fact they had been and the pain of the
harder fact that they were gone. But there was Eden at his side, Eden who in such a short time had become so important to him. The room was warm and he began to swim in the surrounding stream of the music, floating on the scent of her roses. He didn't even realize he was falling asleep as the voices around him moved into 'I'll Be Home For Christmas.' 

Luke, watching from the piano bench, whispered to Martha, "He didn't die, did he?"

Martha turned to look. "No, Luke. He didn't die. He has too much to live for."  She gave him a little squeeze. "You like him, don't you?"

He nodded,  adjusting his thick glasses. "He knows things."

"What kind of things, Luke?"

"Eye things. That it's not so bad to have broken eyes."

She pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him. He was only six and his eyes were steadily getting worse. He was one of the reasons she felt such a pull toward Marshall. Together, they sat on the bench looking toward the couch.  Marshall had sagged a bit toward Eden
and she had rearranged herself so that his head rested against hers. She had his right hand in her hands and was gently tracing her fingers over it. "You see that, Luke?" Martha asked.  "You see how she loves him? Love is the best thing in the world, my darling, and much more
important than if your eyes are broken or not."

Mike had turned, a pinecone from the mantel in his hand, and was looking at them, too. You're right, Martha, he thought. You are so right.

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