The Wolves of Midwinter twgc-2 Page 26

  Something communal was happening that he could never have anticipated, never thought possible, not here in this place or this time. He’d thought the emotional temperature of his world far too cool for such a thing.

  The orchestra and choirs went right into “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” with the same vigor and after that “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen.” A whole string of English carols followed, each one more exuberant than the other. There was a jubilant authority to the music, and a spirit that seemed to engulf all present.

  When a single soprano led the magnificent “O Holy Night,” people actually began to cry. So powerful was her voice, and so lustrous and beautiful the song itself, that the tears came to Reuben’s eyes. Susie leaned against Pastor George, who held her close and tight. Jim was beside Pastor George.

  Stuart had come up to stand beside Reuben, and he too was singing as the orchestra moved into a solemn and urgent “O Come, All Ye Faithful” with the choir soaring over the rapturous strings and the deep throbbing French horns.

  A silence fell with the rustling of the little paper candleholders and a few coughs and sneezes as one might hear in a packed church.

  A thickly accented German voice spoke through the microphone. “And now I give the baton to our host, Felix Nideck, with pleasure.”

  Felix took the baton and held it high.

  Then the orchestra struck up the first famous notes of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus,” and people seated throughout the giant pavilion rose to their feet. Even those slightly confused by this were rising on account of the others. Aunt Josie struggled to rise with the help of her nurse.

  When the chorus broke forth with the first “Hallelujah” it was like the blast of a trumpet, and on and on the voices went rising, falling, and rising again, declaring with the orchestra surging beneath them the gorgeous anthems of the chorus.

  All around Reuben people were singing, falling in and out of riffs of lyrics that they knew and humming with those they didn’t know. On the voices roared: “And he shall reign forever and ever!”

  Reuben pushed forward. He moved closer and closer towards the overwhelming sounds, until he stood close to Felix between the orchestra and the chorus, vigorously conducting with his right hand, the baton in his left.

  “King of kings. Forever and ever!”

  On and on in frenzy the music coursed towards its inevitable climax until there came the last great: “Ha Le Lu Jah!”

  Felix’s arms dropped to his sides, and he bowed his head.

  The pavilion roared with applause. Voices broke out everywhere in a delirium of convivial thanks and praise.

  Felix straightened and turned, his face positively glowing as he smiled. At once he broke and rushed to embrace the conductor, the choirmasters, and the concertmaster and then all the players and singers. On and on came the applause as they took their bows.

  Reuben pushed his way towards him. When their eyes met, Felix held him closely. “Dear boy, for you, this Christmas, your first at Nideck Point,” Felix whispered in his ear.

  Others were reaching for Felix, calling his name.

  Thibault took Reuben by the arm. “Easiest thing now is to stand by the door, or they’ll all be stumbling around trying to find you to say good-bye.”

  And he was right.

  They all took up their positions by the main entrance, including Felix. The medieval mummers and the tall gaunt St. Nicholas were also there, reaching into green sacks for coins and toys to give everyone.

  For the next forty-five minutes people filed out, voicing their exuberant thanks. Some of the kids wanted to kiss St. Nicholas and feel his natural white mustache and beard, and he gladly obliged, offering his toys to the adults when there were no more children.

  All the musicians and singers were soon gone, some declaring this the best Christmas festival they’d ever played for or attended. The night was filled with the rattle and throb of diesel buses pulling away.

  Stuart’s mother, Buffy Longstreet, was crying. She wanted Stuart to come with her back down to Los Angeles. Stuart was comforting her and explaining gently that he just couldn’t do this as he walked her out to her car.

  The exceptional women came to say their farewells together, and with the singular man, Hockan Crost, and that cinched it. Morphenkinder, had to be. Another, a dark-haired woman whom Reuben hadn’t met before, confided her name to be Clarice as she took Reuben’s hand, and told him how much she’d enjoyed the entire festival. She was his height in flat evening slippers, and wore a decidedly politically incorrect white fox-fur coat.

  “You thrive in the public eye, don’t you?” she said, her speech so very heavily accented that he found himself leaning forward, the better to hear her. “I am Russian,” she explained, sensing the difficulty. “I am always learning English but never mastering it. This is all so innocent, so normal!” She made a soft scoffing sound. “Who would ever dream this was Yule?” The others were waiting a bit impatiently to say their good-byes, it seemed, and sensing it, she gave a petulant shrug and embraced Felix tightly, confiding something to him under her breath that made him smile a little tightly as he released her.

  The other ladies embraced him in turn. Berenice, the pretty brunette who so closely resembled Frank, gave him long lingering kisses, and seemed suddenly sad, the tears plainly rising in her eyes. The woman he’d seen with Thibault introduced herself as Dorchella, and offered her thanks warmly as she left. The tall pale Fiona of the diamonds appeared to be rushing the others. She kissed Reuben brusquely on the cheek. “You bring a strange new life to this great house,” she whispered. “You and all your family. Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Afraid of what?” he asked.

  “Don’t you know?” she asked. “Ah, youth and its eternal optimism.”

  “I’m not following,” said Reuben. “What is there to be afraid of?”

  “The attention, of course,” said she quickly. “What else?”

  But before he could respond, she’d turned to Felix.

  “I marvel that you think you can get away with all this,” she said. “You don’t learn, do you, from experience?”

  “Always learning, Fiona,” said Felix. “We are born into this world to learn, to love, and to serve.”

  “That’s the dreariest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Fiona.

  He flashed a brilliant and perfect smile on her. “How very good of you to come, young Fiona,” he said with seeming sincerity. “Delighted to have you as a guest under this roof anytime. Don’t you agree with me, Reuben?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” said Reuben. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  A deep anger darkened Fiona’s face, her eyes moving quickly over both of them. Does anger have a scent, and what would her scent be if she weren’t a Morphenkind? Behind her, the woman named Helena pressed in, and put a hand on Fiona’s shoulder.

  “You think you can get away with anything, Felix,” said Fiona, voice uglier than before, a flush beating in her cheeks. “I think you like heartbreak.”

  “Good-bye, my dear,” said Felix with the same even courtesy. “Safe journey.” The two women withdrew without another word. Catrin went with them, flashing a smile at both Felix and Reuben.

  Yes, Morphenkinder, because some scent of malice would have arisen from all that, but there had been nothing.

  Hockan Crost’s eyes lingered on Reuben for a long moment, but Felix at once spoke up in his usual convivial manner, “Always good to see you, Hockan, you know that.”

  “Oh, indeed, old friend,” said Hockan in his deep melodious voice. There was something wistful in his expression. “We need to meet, we need to talk,” he said emphasizing the word need both times.

  “I’m more than willing,” said Felix earnestly. “When have I ever closed my doors to you? And during Midwinter? Never. I hope we see you soon again.”

  “Yes, you will,” said the man. He looked troubled, and there was something immediately appealing about him, in the way he let his feelings come to
the fore, in the imploring way in which he spoke. “There are things I have to say, beloved Felix.” He was pleading with dignity. “I want you to hear me out.”

  “Indeed, and we will have the chance to talk together, won’t we?” said Felix. To Reuben he said, “This is my old and dear friend, Reuben. Hockan Crost. He should always be welcome day or night here.”

  Reuben nodded and murmured his approval.

  Then the man, glancing at the guests crowding towards the exit, and sensing that this was not the time and the place for any more talk, moved on.

  And they were gone, the mysterious ones, all this confusing and unsettling talk having taken no more than two or three minutes. Felix gave Reuben a pointed and meaningful glance, and then sighed audibly with eloquent relief.

  “You recognized your kindred, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Reuben. “Most definitely yes.”

  “And for now, forget about them,” said Felix, and he went back to the farewells with renewed spirit.

  Susie Blakely gave Reuben a hug as she came to say good-bye. Pastor George whispered, “You can’t imagine the change in her! I can’t tell you. She actually had fun!”

  “I saw it. I’m so happy for her. And please, stay in touch with me.”

  Off they went.

  Of course the family and closest friends remained for a while longer, together with Galton, Mayor Cronin, and Dr. Cutler, and some of Stuart’s old gay boyfriends. But then even Celeste and Mort said they were tired and had to be going, and Grace, after hugging each of the Distinguished Gentlemen in turn, kissed Reuben good-bye, leaving with Aunt Josie, Cousin Shelby and Clifford, and Uncle Tim and his wife, Helen.

  Finally Stuart’s friends wandered out into the night also, one of them singing the “Hallelujah Chorus” at the top of his lungs, the mayor and Galton left arguing with each other over something to do with the village festival, and the giant plastic flaps of the tent doors came down on the damp and gusty darkness. The windows to the main room were being shut up and locked.

  Then it was to the kitchen, where Felix wanted to personally thank the maids and the entire catering team. Would Reuben please join him? And he would show Reuben just how he liked to do these things.

  Reuben was eager to learn. Tipping people had always made him very nervous.

  Lisa appeared right beside them with a large leather purse from which Felix took one white envelope after another to present to each individual cook, server, waiter or waitress, and maid as he gave thanks. Soon he deferred to Reuben and handed the envelopes to him to give to the workers, and Reuben did his level best to assume the same gracious manner, discovering how easily the awkward matter of tipping could be handled if he just looked people right in the eye.

  Last, they handed out envelopes to the surprised teenage volunteers who had been the upstairs docents and guides and who had not expected any such special consideration. They were delighted.

  The other Distinguished Gentlemen had wandered off. Soon only Lisa and Jean Pierre and Heddy were left putting this or that little thing in order, and Felix had flopped down in the wing chair by the library fire, kicking off his patent-leather dress shoes.

  Reuben stood there drinking a cup of hot chocolate and looking down into the flames. He wanted so to tell Felix about having seen Marchent, but he couldn’t bring himself to confide this just yet. It would alter Felix’s mood too dramatically, and perhaps it would alter his own mood as well.

  “This is where I secretly and quietly relive every minute of the evening,” said Felix happily, “and ask myself what I might have done better and what I might do next year.”

  “You know these people mostly had never seen anything like this,” said Reuben. “I don’t think my parents in all their lives ever contemplated giving a large party let alone something even remotely like this.” He sat down in the club chair and confessed how he himself had only been to the symphony maybe four times in his entire life, and had only heard Handel’s Messiah once, during which he had fallen asleep. The fact was, parties had always been a bore to him, and mostly involved tiny hors d’oeuvres on plastic plates, white wine in plastic glasses that wouldn’t stain anybody’s carpet or linen, and people who couldn’t wait to leave. The last time he’d had this much fun was at a “bring your own bottle” party in Berkeley where the only food had been pizza and there hadn’t been much of that.

  Then, quite suddenly with a violent start, he remembered Phil. Was Phil still here? “Good God, where is my dad?”

  “Taken care of, dear boy,” said Felix. “He’s in the best room in the middle of the east side. Lisa took him up, saw to it that he had everything he needed. I think he’s here to stay, but he doesn’t want to presume.”

  Reuben sat back. “But Felix, what does that mean about our own Yuletide?” he asked. Never mind the sadness he felt that his parents were in fact drifting apart, far apart. That was nothing new, after all.

  “Well, Reuben, we will ask for his indulgence on that night when we go out into the forest. We’ll call it a European thing, you know. Something like that. I’ll speak with him about it. I’m sure he will gladly allow us our private Old World customs. He knows so much history, your father. He knows so much about the old pagan ways in Europe. He’s a reader of wide scholarship. And he has that Celtic gift.”

  Reuben felt uneasy.

  “Is it a powerful gift?” he asked.

  “Well, I think it is,” said Felix, “but don’t you know?”

  “We’ve never talked about it, me and Phil,” he said. “I do recall his saying his grandmother saw ghosts and that he’d seen them, but that was all there was to it. In our house, people weren’t very receptive to that kind of talk.”

  “Well, there’s a great deal more, I’m sure. But the main thing is you needn’t be the least concerned. I’ll explain that on Christmas Eve we have our private customs.”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Reuben. Lisa was filling his cup with hot chocolate again. “That’s how we’ll handle it, of course.

  “Listen, there’s something I have to confess,” said Reuben. He waited until Lisa had left the library. “There was a little girl here tonight—.”

  “I know, dear boy. I saw her. I recognized her from the papers. I greeted her and her friend when they came in. They didn’t expect to be admitted so easily. They asked to speak to you. I told them everyone was welcome. I insisted they join the party. I told them they’d find you in the main room. And I saw you later with them by the crèche. You had quite a good effect on the little girl’s spirits.”

  “You know, I didn’t reveal anything to her, not deliberately in any event. I was just trying to assure her that yes, the Man Wolf was real, and what she’d seen was real—.”

  “Don’t worry. I knew that’s what you would do. I trusted that you would handle it beautifully, and I saw that you did.”

  “Felix, I think maybe she suspected … because I might have said something, just something offhand that made her recognize me, I mean, for a minute anyway. I’m not sure.”

  “Don’t worry, Reuben. Do you realize how few people tonight even mentioned the Man Wolf, or asked about the scene here? Oh, there was a lot of whispering, but it was the party that mattered tonight. Let’s enjoy our pleasant memories of the party. And if the little girl is troubled, well, we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

  There was a moment of silence and then Felix said, “I know you were quite mystified with Hockan Crost and a number of the others tonight,” he said. “Stuart’s no doubt puzzled by them as well.”

  Reuben’s heart skipped a beat. “Morphenkinder, obviously.”

  Felix sighed. “Oh, if you knew how little I care for their company.”

  “I think I understand. They made me curious, that’s all. I guess it’s only natural.”

  “They’ve never approved very much of me and my ways,” said Felix. “This house, my old family. And the village, they’ve never understood my love of the village. They d
on’t understand the things I do. And they blame me for some of my own misfortune.”

  “So I gathered,” said Reuben.

  “But at Midwinter Morphenkinder never turn away their own kind. And it’s never been my policy to turn away others at any time, really. There are ways to live this life, and my way has always been one of inclusion—of our own kind, of all humankind, of all spirits, of all things under the sun. It’s not a virtue with me. I don’t know any other way to move through the world.”

  “But you didn’t actually invite them.”

  “I did not invite them, no, but then all the world was invited. And they knew that. And I’m not surprised that they came, and it’s understood that they may join us for the Yule celebration. And if they come, we will of course include them. But frankly, I don’t think they will. They have their own ways of celebrating Yule.”

  “That man, Hockan Crost, you seemed to like him,” Reuben ventured.

  “Did you?”

  “He’s very impressive,” said Reuben. “His voice is positively beautiful.”

  “He’s always been something of a poet and an orator,” said Felix, “and he is magnetic, and I daresay immensely attractive. Those black eyebrows of his, those black eyes, and the white mane of hair; he’s quite unforgettable.”

  “And is he old and experienced?” asked Reuben.

  “Yes,” said Felix. “Oh, nothing as old as Margon. There is no one as old as Margon, and no one as widely respected as Margon. And Hockan is kin to us, I mean quite literally kin to us. We have our differences but I can’t dislike him. There are times when I’ve deeply appreciated Hockan. It’s Helena one has to be wary of, and Fiona.”

  “I caught that, but why? What is it that so offends them?”