“That’s dispiriting.” Harry half-smiled.
Jean quietly surprised them all. “What I find dispiriting is that this entire society is sexualized. Sex is used to sell everything. We’re bombarded with images, suggestions, outright taunting. Add to that the fact that we meet so many more people than our parents did or those who came before. Amidst all those people, some are bound to be, uh, delicious.”
“There is that.” Racquel sighed. “Which somehow makes monks strange.Then again, the Catholic Church covered up all those pedophile priests. That’s as shameful as the Inquisition. Lying bastards.”
“It’s difficult to be compassionate when the molested were children,” Harry concurred. “Sex is irrational. The impulse in one’s self is irrational; the response to other people’s behavior can be irrational.”
“That’s part of what makes monks strange,” Jean said. “I grasp the significance of sacrificing your sexuality for the community. It’s your gift, and if you aren’t in a family then you can more easily serve others. The truth is, each of us puts our families first, and we must.”
“True.” Susan found herself intrigued by this discussion.
“We have thousands of years of evidence from every civilization this world has produced that no form of restraint, no punishment, can really alter the fact that people are going to have sex, whether with a socially approved partner or not.” Harry believed this.
“Bryson’s fooling around again,” said Racquel. “I think it’s time for me to have a retaliatory affair to make up for the past.”
“Racquel, what does that solve?” Jean had heard this before.
“Makes me feel better. I’ve been married to the man for eighteen years, and, you know, it’s really true that you don’t know someone until you live with them. I remember on our honeymoon: we didn’t exactly escalate this into an argument, but it was a pointed discussion. We stayed on the island of St. John’s in the Caribbean, a wonderful place to have a honeymoon. The bathroom needed a new roll of toilet paper. Why call the maid? Especially on our honeymoon and when there were extra rolls in the bathroom. So I put the roll of paper on the holder, with the paper drawing down from the back.” She paused for dramatic effect. “He comes in, I leave. He emerges and says, ‘Toilet paper should always have the paper pull from the front.’ I said, ‘What’s the difference?’ It’s needless to add further detail. It went on. That’s when I fully realized I had married a control freak.”
“Bill suffers a touch of that, too,” Jean observed wryly.
“Bill’s a piker compared to Bryson. I try to ignore it, but sometimes I really could kill him. And what’s with Bill’s homophobia? I swear he’s getting worse. Even Bryson noticed.”
Jean shrugged. “Middle age. He’s getting cranky. Every thing sets him off.”
On the way home, Harry thought about the tempestuous emotions that a spouse’s affair releases. She hadn’t wanted to kill Fair, she just never wanted to see him again. He had a lot to learn, but so did she. Some men are players. Many aren’t but succumb due to stress, a sagging sex life, or any number of reasons, all of them understandable, not that understanding means consent.
Then she thought about the toilet-paper discussion. If Fair had pulled something like that on their first honeymoon, she would have gotten up in the middle of the night and toilet-papered his car. Their honeymoon was spent in Crozet, since neither of them had money at the time.
A honeymoon is a honeymoon, and theirs, given the rupture and subsequent healing, was continuing on.
14
On the eve of the winter solstice, sun sparkling on the snow kept humans and animals happy. Since light was in short supply, the wildlife that hunted in the day hurried to find food before sunset. The birds wanted food to ward off the cold, too. For the humans, some were so out of touch with nature that they failed to realize how the shortening of the days affected them. Some were depressed. Others felt sleepy the minute the sun set. Many ate more, not realizing the cold spurred their appetites. However, the humans all knew there were four more shopping days left until Christmas.
As it was Saturday, December 20, Harry congratulated herself on getting her shopping done early. Wrapped presents, with cards attached, would be given to her friends after the St. Luke’s party. Since everyone would be there— well, most everyone—she’d save gas money on deliveries. Saving money was more important to Harry than to Fair. He figured you can’t take it with you, but he wasn’t a spendthrift.
“What’s she doing now?” Pewter rested on the windowsill of the kitchen window over the sink.
“Reading a recipe. Christmas demands special dishes. You know that,”
Mrs. Murphy, also on the windowsill, replied.
“Well, I wish she’d start cooking so we could get tidbits.” “Stuffed goose,” Tucker dreamily said from her sheepskin bed.
“Oyster stuffing.” Pewter purred.
“I don’t think she uses oyster stuffing for goose.” Mrs. Murphy tried to remember past Christmas meals. “Of course, she could roast a goose and a capon. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“More for us.” Pewter raised her voice.
Harry looked up from the notebook, her mother’s fine handwriting still dark blue on the lined pages. “Getting pretty chatty around here.”
Tucker shot out of her bed and raced to the kitchen door. “Intruder!”
The cats sat up to look out the window just in time to see Simon, the barn possum, scurry back through the animal hatch in the left barn door.
One minute later, Brother Sheldon, with Brother Ed in the passenger seat, rolled up in a one-ton truck.
Harry rose, saw the two monks, put on her jacket, and hurried outside. “Brother Sheldon, Brother Ed, what a welcome surprise. Please come in and have some coffee, tea, or maybe something stronger.”
Brother Sheldon smiled. “Thank you, but we’re here to drop off your tree. Brother Morris has us on many a mission.”
The two men climbed into the back of the truck and maneuvered the symmetrical Scotch pine. Once at the edge of the tailgate, they hopped off, hoisted it, then walked it inside. Harry preceded them to open the doors. The tree was placed in a corner of the living room.
“You wrapped the bucket in red foil.” Harry beamed. “That’s beautiful.” The two started to leave. “Let me pay you for the tree. I never did pay.”
Now in the kitchen, Brother Ed said, “No. It’s the broth-erhood’s gift to you.”
Harry reached into her pocket, pulled out bills, and pressed ten dollars into each man’s hand. “Please take this.”
“We don’t want anything,” Brother Sheldon protested.
“I know you don’t, but it’s cold, you’ve made a special trip, and, really, you’ve made my day.” She walked over to the liquor cabinet, which was an old pie safe, and retrieved a brand-new bottle of Johnnie Walker Black. She handed it to them. “Wards off the chill.”
“Yes, it does.” Brother Ed liked a nip now and then.
As Harry opened the kitchen door for them to leave, she noted, “You sure have a truck full of trees. You will be making the rounds all day.”
“Maybe even the night, with the traffic.” Brother Sheldon frowned. “Too much buying useless stuff.” He threw up his hands. “The bills aren’t paid off until April and half the stuff that people received is in the trash. We need to go back to the real Christmas.”