Selby sorted through the letters. There were household bills, a note from Miss Culpepper for Shana, a statement from the league’s pension plan and a card from Mrs. Cranston.
Everything was fine at home, young Gideen had shoveled out the drive, and some of Shana’s friends had made a Christmas wreath of plastic bones for Blazer’s doghouse. “It sounds all wrong, but it’s really very pretty. The bones are painted red and green,” Mrs. Cranston explained.
Miss Culpepper wrote that she had found some new books on Swiss history that Shana might find of interest but would hold them at the library until the Selbys returned. She concluded with a smattering of local news, which Shana read aloud for Davey’s benefit:
“Muhlenburg beat Bull Run for the regional finals. Normie Bride scored eighteen points. Weather is cold and blowy, with lots of snow. The new management at Brandywine Lakes is making all sorts of changes. They’re mostly young men — by my measure, very young — in their thirties, that is, a team of specialists in community planning from Belgium and South Africa. A good deal of construction is going on...”
Shana dropped the letter and said, “Davey, can you imagine living with Normie Bride if we make the state finals? You know how intense he gets.”
Selby picked up Miss Culpepper’s letter and glanced through it. He put it in the pocket of his duffel coat. It was dark by then, and time to drive down to St. Stephan to meet Brett’s train.
Shana was saying, “Davey, we’re having a party tonight. Miss Brett will be here for dinner. Would you go up to my room, please, and—”
“I know she’ll be here.” Davey’s voice was good-humoredly resigned. “I also know she’s won about three or four hundred medals skiing, and I’m still floundering around on the bunny slopes.”
“You’re doing fine,” Selby assured him. “Remember, she hasn’t been on skis since she was in college. You’ll probably have to help her along until she gets the feel of it again.”
“Davey, listen, please. Will you get my shoulder bag for me? I’ve saved some money from my allowance, lots of francs, and we should buy some fresh flowers for the table tonight. You can order the wine, that will amuse everyone.”
“Very funny, mam’selle.” Davey wasn’t indifferent to his sister’s opinion and occasional sarcasm, but he had lost most of his young sensitivity to it.
“My bag’s on the dressing table,” she told him, “or hanging on the hook in the closet. Or in the drawer with my sweaters, maybe.”
“I’ll get a metal detector and sweep the place,” Davey said, standing and walking into the hotel.
Selby paid the check and they stood and watched the snow drifting heavily into the street, the flakes spinning through the colored lights from the shop windows.
“Daddy, may I ask you something?”
“Why, sure.”
She hesitated. “Is everything okay with you and Brett?”
“I think so, Shana, I think it will be. But there are some things to talk over. Nothing serious from my point of view.” He paused. “Brett finds it hard to put in full perspective any problem or issue. I mean that as a compliment. She doesn’t blame other people if things go wrong, she takes the responsibility herself. Most people, as you probably know, lean a little the other way. But Brett tends to feel any failure is probably her fault. It’s made her, well, cautious.”
“Can I tell you something?” Shana smiled and suddenly hugged him tightly and put her forehead against his chest. “I’m not going to be the only girl in your life now. So I won’t ever say this quite this way again, not ever exactly this way. I love you, daddy, I love you very much. And I respect you more than anybody. Even during the worst of what we went through and when we were angry and said things because of it, I knew you were never really mad at me or disappointed. I always had that to hold on to, I knew we were trying to get through it together. That made the difference, because I knew you were on my side and nothing could ever change that. I wanted to tell you this, I wanted to say it, and now I have.”
Selby held her close for an instant, her slim body firm and warm in his arm, and then he let out his breath and smiled and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m glad you told me,” he said. “It makes me feel very good, Shana, and very proud.”
It was an important and precious moment because it was so fleeting and impermanent; they were closer than they might ever be again, and they both realized that, with a poignancy matched by the lights of Christmas and the transient beauty of drifting snowflakes.
When Davey came from the hotel with Shana’s shoulder bag, she kissed her father on the cheek, and that moment between them was over, the child was gone, and it was a young woman who slipped from his arms and hurried away with her tall brother.
Selby stood and watched them, hearing their light voices mingling with the sound of church bells. A curtain of snow fell across the street, stirred by winds, and Davey and Shana disappeared behind it. He had an impulse to call after them and wish them well. They were growing up, no question of that, they had started their journey, and he hoped people would be kind to them... God bless.
The station at St. Stephan was on a spur between the main line from Montreux to Interlaken. A weathered sign gave the town’s name. A chalked notice below it listed the arrival of the next Bern connection: 6:35 P.M. A lath and timber building with a narrow clock tower above it, the station adjoined a platform which had a phone booth and several wooden benches.
The stationmaster was tail and thin, with black moustaches waxed to tapering points. He assured Selby the Bern Exchange was on time. The interior of the station was warmed by an iron stove. A group of people stood around it, but Selby decided to wait outside. A glowing red wreath hung above the ticket window, the light falling across the tracks. A wind from the valley sent snow gusting along the platform. But the rails were clear and Selby knew he would see the light from the train when it came around the foothills into the St. Stephan spur.
He sat and reread Miss Culpepper’s letter. “... the management at Brandywine Lakes is making all sorts of changes... community estate experts from Belgium and South Africa... a good deal of construction is going on along the river. They’re putting in a landing strip for their own airfield, buying up most of the land on the other side of the Rakestraw Bridge. I’ve never been opposed to progress, anyone who lives with books as much as I have knows that change is just another way of defining growth, but all growth isn’t necessarily an improvement on present conditions, or a congenial addition to the general community. We are losing so much of our natural beauty here, things that seemed to belong to us without question...”
Selby heard the sound of the Bern local, a muted, staccato rumble, and saw the headlights turning around the hill into St. Stephan.
He looked at Miss Culpepper’s letter again and then — with the feeling he was ridding himself of a worrisome burden from his past — he crumpled the pages lightly in his big hands and dropped them with a sense of relief and finality into the immaculate blue-and-white trash container beside the phone booth.
The train stopped and a conductor swung down and looked at his watch. Several passengers were met by friends and relatives with flurries of holiday greetings and hugs.
Selby went aboard and walked through both cars, and then spoke to the conductor in his stilted French. He described Brett as well as he was able to, holding up a hand to indicate her height, but the conductor shook his head and snapped the cover shut on his watch. In careful English he replied that no person of such a description had boarded his train in Bern or Montreux. Excusing himself, he climbed aboard and the cars started up with a lurch, gathering speed as they began the climb toward Zweisimmen.