The Silver Walnut
By Ann Applegarth - Roswell, New Mexico, USA - 3 December 2016
Paula Stevens caressed the fluid folds of ice-white crepe de chine as she looped the hanger holding her new dress over the hook inside her dressing room door. She studied the graceful line of the skirt for a moment, then chose from the rack of shoes a pair of turquoise sandals: thin soles, three-inch heels, and three wispy strips of butter-soft kid.
“Perfect,” Paula murmured as she sat down and slipped her feet into the shoes. Her rose-enameled toenails, barely visible through a veil of nude nylon, gave a finished look to long, narrow feet. Turning to her dresser, she opened a drawer and unwrapped her favorite evening bag, a slender pouch of turquoise faille with a shoulder strap scarcely thicker than a knitting needle. From another drawer she selected a lacy handkerchief to tuck into the bag along with the jeweled compact and lipstick case Grant had given her for her fortieth birthday several weeks before.
Dear Grant. Paula’s face lightened into a smile as she thought of her husband. This would be his night of nights. December 24th, 1985. A date to remember. For a year, Hadley Blake had been preparing to step down from the presidency of the company his father had founded and passed on to him, and he had hinted -- publicly and privately -- that Grant Stevens would be his successor.
How like Hadley to pick Christmas Eve to make the long-awaited announcement, Paula thought as she leaned toward the mirror, peered at her image, and began the four-minute task of making up her face. She understood her husband’s employer, and she could imagine every detail of the coming evening. Lucinda (freshly coiffed and stunning in black and pearls) and Hadley (beard and moustache trimmed and festive in his red Christmas dinner jacket) would be perfect hosts, greeting their ten guests warmly and seeing that each enjoyed the evening to the utmost. On the low glass table in the Blakes’ living room there would be silver trays of savory crab and mushroom canapés, butter-toasted pecans, Greek olives, and one of Lucinda’s famous raw vegetable mosaics with a tangy Roquefort dip -- and a choice of white wine or mineral water served in sparkling Swedish crystal glasses.
Precisely at eight, dinner would be announced, and each guest would search eagerly for the place card with his or her name in Lucinda’s distinctive backhand script. Paula knew that she and Grant would be seated in positions of honor at Hadley’s and Lucinda’s right, respectively, as they had been for the preceding two parties, and that the other guests would be arranged about the great oval table next to people whom they hadn’t sat by recently. After a delicious meal of braised pheasant (from Hadley’s annual hunting trip to South Dakota) with all the trimmings, Hadley himself would roll in the mahogany tea cart from the kitchen and, with the deftness and flair of a great concert pianist, produce a magnificent flaming sauce for the ice cream.
Finally, after the table was cleared, Hadley would stand, assume his most imperious voice, and make what Paula called his “state of the corporation” speech. Then, with flourishes of his hands and a spoken word of appreciation and gratitude for each of his guests, he would pass out Christmas gifts: an ecru envelope containing a generous bonus check for each man and a lavishly wrapped bottle of perfume for each woman. Paula knew hers would be her favorite Chanel No. 5, as it had been for as long as she and Grant had been members of this charmed circle.
Paula had studied the Blakes’ style of entertaining for a decade now, and she was confident that she and Grant would be competent heirs to carry on the company’s longstanding tradition of elegant monthly dinner parties for its executives and the annual July beach weekend for all of the employees and their families. Indeed, Paula anticipated that future dinner evenings would be even more enjoyable in the ambiance of the beautiful century-old house she and Grant had lovingly restored to its historic elegance. Her energy and creativity far surpassed Lucinda’s, and she had the added advantage of several years’ experience as executive secretary to the C.E.O. of Shoreline Oil.
Helping her boss to be supremely organized had taught Paula the ins and outs of executive life, skills she had wisely used to help speed Grant on his journey up the corporate ladder. Didn’t everyone at Grant’s office, in the symphony guild, in the PTA, at the children’s school, in her clubs, and in their church say, “If you want it done right, ask Paula Stevens to do it”?
Tonight was an example of her organizational genius. The house sparkled inside and out, and decorations of red velvet and gleaming gold graced every room and the curving rail of the staircase. Most of the food for Christmas Day feasting, prepared days before, waited in freezer or fridge. Thoughtfully chosen gifts, beautifully wrapped, lay beneath the fragrant white-pine tree that touched the high ceiling in the living room.
While she and Grant were at dinner, the children would spend the evening decorating the tree, a pleasant task that Geoff at 16 and Elisabeth at 13 were now old enough to do with skill and taste. Paula and Elisabeth had tied red and gold bows to be fastened to the branches with florist’s wire, and Grant had performed his annual ritual of washing Paula’s collection of antique crystal prisms with ammonia water. He had wiped each one with a linen towel, showing Geoff and Elisabeth how to handle them by the hooks when they put them on the tree so that no fingerprints would dull the sparkling glass. Yesterday he and Geoff had entwined the huge tree with strands of tiny white Italian lights that flashed like fireflies from the depths of the thick branches.
After Paula finished her make-up routine by blotting her face with a damp sponge, she ran her fingers through her short auburn curls to achieve the fashionably casual look she preferred. Then she slipped into the white silk dress and murmured “mmm” as the soft fabric rippled over her shoulders and arms. Her dark eyes sparkled as she turned before her three-way mirror and inspected her finished image -- front, rear, and both sides. Just then she was interrupted by a soft knock.
“Mother?” Elisabeth’s sweet voice vibrated with holiday excitement.
“Come in, darling.” As her tall, coltish daughter entered the room, Paula threw up her arms like stop signs and warned, “Watch out for my dress!”
Elisabeth stopped. “Oh, Mom, it’s so pretty. I hope I have a dress all white like that when I grow up.”
More relaxed now, Paula reached out and patted her daughter’s cheek. “You’ll certainly have a dress this white for your wedding someday. How’s the tree coming?”
“It’s beautiful already, and we’ll finish it after you and Daddy leave,” Elisabeth said, her face breaking into a fleeting smile. “But Geoff thought that it needed more ornaments, so we got down the box from the attic and dug out all the gold balls. I hope that’s okay?” A flicker of apprehension clouded her gray eyes.
Paula quickly pictured in her mind the effect of the ornaments in question, then nodded. “Sounds lovely -- but only the gold, please.”
Elisabeth nodded. “Oh, of course, Mom, just the gold. But also we were -- uh, Geoff and I were wondering, too, about something we found at the bottom of the ornament box. Look.” She opened her hand and displayed a walnut that had been painted with silver paint. A hole had been drilled through either end, and a loop of monofilament fishing line inserted through the top and tied neatly in a large knot at the bottom.
Paula picked up the silver walnut by its loop, dangled it for a moment from her index finger, and then sat down at her dressing table, swung her chair around, and looped the nut over one of Elisabeth’s fingers.
“That, my darling daughter,” she said, nodding toward the little silver nut, “is the ghost of Christmas past. I can’t imagine why your father and I saved it all these years.”
Paula sat thinking for a moment about the first Christmas she and Grant had shared. Memories, sketchy at first from disuse, gradually became vivid. 1969. Houston, Texas. Just out of the Navy, Grant landed a job in the accounting department of the oil company where Paula worked. They met in the lunchroom the January day when he started. On Valentine’s Day he proposed, and a week later they married. But Elisabeth already knew that part of the story.
“Do you remember,” Paula finally said, “that your brother was almost a Christmas baby? Well, it was that Christmas. Your father and I were living in a little duplex in Bellaire, and I was this big.” She extended her arms as far as she could reach, and both she and Elisabeth laughed.
“Grant’s salary was barely enough to live on, and we had agreed to keep my savings in the bank as a college fund for our children, so there we were, two thousand miles away from family, with only a hundred extra dollars to celebrate our first Christmas together. I made candy and jam to send to our families, but I had to stretch that hundred dollars to cover other gifts, wrapping paper, cards, postage, a tree, decorations, a small party for our friends, our Christmas offering at church -- you know how it is . . .”
“Mom! Daddy paid almost a hundred dollars just for our tree!”
“Well, a hundred dollars bought quite a bit more in those days, dear, but still it wasn’t enough for all of the things we wanted. So, on the first day of December (Paula hummed a phrase from the carol), my true love and I sat down and made a budget. We decided that some things -- such as the tree -- couldn’t be skimped on, but others could be done well with very little money. For Christmas cards I bought postcards and sketched little angels on them. For our party I served Mulligatawny soup and homemade bread sticks. But . . .”
“But what?” Elisabeth squirmed with interest.
“But we just couldn’t stretch the dollars to buy both a tree and ornaments. We decided on a beautiful tree, and then Grant -- you know how artistic your father is, Elisabeth -- got the idea of spraying walnuts silver.
“We had just enough money for thirty walnuts and a can of silver spray paint from the dime store. Grant’s office closed at noon on Christmas Eve, so we found a perfect tree reduced to half price, and while I took a nap, he made the ornaments and a little stand for the tree.”
Paula leaned back and lowered her eyes. A dreamy smile softened her face as she let the memories have full rein. She looked up at Elisabeth, and her voice was gentle and melodious as she continued.
“Our first Christmas Eve together. We thought it was the first Christmas Eve the world had ever known.” She shook her head and chuckled. “I wore that green dress I’m wearing in that photograph on your father’s desk, and he wore his brand new suit. We went to early Mass, then went home and popped popcorn, sliced a red apple and a green one, and that -- and a few slices of cheese, I think -- was our festive dinner. We decorated the tree with the silver walnuts, lit candles all around the room, turned out the lights, and sat on the rug and drank cocoa. Oh, Elisabeth, it was beautiful! The candlelight, my loving husband, our baby wiggling inside of me, carols softly playing, the tree with those lovely walnuts dangling from the tips of the branches -- I suppose that’s why we’ve saved that one all these years.”
“Oh, mother, I wish you had saved all of them. Shall I hang this one on the tree?”
“You mean our tree -- this year?”
Elisabeth nodded.
Paula gave a little laugh and then glanced at her watch. “No, darling. It’s an interesting memento, but it really doesn’t fit in with our scheme, does it? Now run along. I told Marie you’d come walk over with her. You know, she’s about the size I was that first Christmas. It wouldn’t surprise me if she has that baby before New Year’s.”
Paula had invited Marie Brown, their neighbor across the street, to spend the evening with the children. Marie had everything ready for the birth of her first child, but her husband Joe was still in Chicago on business. He had planned to fly home on the 22nd, but because of snow, the flight was canceled, and the first flight he could get on was early Christmas morning. That still gave the couple a week together before Marie’s parents arrived on January 4th, the baby’s due date, but it meant they would be apart on Christmas Eve.
Paula, sensing her neighbor’s loneliness when Marie called to tell her the news, had suggested the evening with the children, and Marie had gratefully accepted.
After Elisabeth went out, Paula fastened on a simple silver necklace, took a last long look in the mirror, and joined her husband and son in the living room.
Grant was nervously pacing, as she had known he would be. He always paced when he was thinking or when he was waiting.
As his mother entered the room, lanky Geoff glanced up from his book and said, “Nice dress, Mom.”
Grant smiled and nodded his agreement. “Nice lady,” he said, pausing by the door to the coat closet. “Ready for your jacket?”
“In a minute. Let’s get Marie and the children settled in before we go. There’s plenty of time,” Paula said. She straightened her husband’s blue rep tie and stroked his cheek. “This is your night, my darling, and you’ve earned every minute of it.”
Grant smiled. “Well, I must admit that Hadley likes to think he’s kept a great secret, that no one has a clue about the heir apparent.”
“Oh, yes,” Paula said. “Lucinda has played that game with me, too, and yet she constantly gives away the secret by the things she doesn’t say or when she stops in mid-sentence and you know what she almost revealed. But I knew years ago, Grant. You are the son Hadley and Lucinda never had, and they love you very much.”
“Yes, but we both know that Hadley Blake would never let love stand in the way of success.”
“True, but he’s tested you in every possible way. Production charts tell one significant story, but Hadley has also learned over the years that Grant Stevens is a born leader, that you keep a cool head when you’re angry, that you’re magnificent in a crisis, that you can motivate people, that you’re loyal, that . . .”
The ringing of the telephone interrupted.
“I’ll get it.” Geoff leaped off the couch and ran for the house phone.
“Teenagers.” Grant shook his head. “Remember when phone calls were for us?”
“Here, Mom,” Geoff extended the handset. “It’s Liz. For you.”
“Elisabeth?” Paula said. A slight frown flickered over her brow as she listened. “Let me speak with her. Yes? Uh-huh. I’m not sure. Uh-huh. Well, Marie, I’d better come over. Be right there.”
Paula clicked the phone off and handed it back to her son. “I think it’s the baby. Marie’s been having what she called ‘twinges’ all afternoon, but she didn’t recognize them as contractions. She decided to lie down for an hour before coming over here, and when she stood up just now to answer the doorbell, a sharp pain hit her. I’ll just run over and see what’s going on.”
“Here’s a wrap.” Grant opened the closet, took out Paula’s black wool coat and draped it around her shoulders.
As she hurried out the door, Paula said, “Maybe you should call Lucinda and tell her we might be a few minutes late.”
Elisabeth met her mother at the door. Noticing the worried expression on her daughter’s face, Paula kissed her forehead and whispered, “Aren’t babies exciting? Sometimes they surprise everyone.”
Paula handed her coat to Elisabeth and hurried into the bedroom. Marie lay on her side on the bed, covered with a crocheted granny-square afghan. Her long blonde hair was disheveled, and her wide blue eyes revealed anxiety and embarrassment. “Oh, Paula, I feel utterly ridiculous. I’m sorry to bother you like this, but something’s not right with me, and surely it can’t be the baby.”
Paula laughed, pulled a chair close to the bed, and sat down. “Since when is helping a neighbor a bother, for goodness’ sake? And babies do have minds of their own, you know. Now, tell me just what’s going on.”
“What’s going on right now is another one,” Marie whispered, inhaling deeply.
Paula mentally calculated that it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since Elisabeth had left home. She stroked Marie’s hair and counted silently until the contraction subsided. “What does your doctor say?”
“I haven’t called him. The baby’s not due until January, and I’ve read all about false labor. I think that’s what this is.”
Paula handed her neighbor the bedside phone. “Let’s give him a ring, just in case.”
Marie called and left a detailed message with her doctor’s answering service. “I feel better already,” she joked. “If I get sick, all I have to do to feel much better instantly is make an appointment with the doctor.”
A few minutes later, she reached for Paula’s hand. “If you’ll give me a hand, I think I can sit up now.” She threw back the afghan, but as she swung her legs over the bed’s edge, she tightened her grip, winced, and lay back down. “Another one, Paula,” she said. “I’ll breathe.” Then she began the breathing exercises she had practiced for the past few months.
Paula stared at the second hand on her watch. As soon as Marie relaxed again, she stood up, tucked the afghan around Marie’s shoulders, and said, “You are doing okay. I’m going to run home and tell Grant to go ahead. I’ll be right back. When your doctor calls, tell him we’ll meet him at the hospital.”
Elisabeth was waiting in the living room. “What’s happening, Mom?”
“A baby, I think. Hurry, Elisabeth, let’s go tell your father.”
Grant met them at the door, a frown clouding his face. “I thought you’d never get here. We’re already late, Paula, and I . . .”
“We’re late,” Paula interrupted, “but the Browns’ baby is early. Grant, I can’t leave Marie alone. When her doctor calls, I’ll drive her to the hospital and then meet you at the party.”
“You know as well as I do . . .” He stopped, clenched his teeth, looked thoughtful for a few seconds, then said, sheepishly, “Well, I suppose Hadley can wait more patiently than a baby can. I told them we’d be a little late. I’ll explain what is going on and why I’m arriving alone. Now hurry back to your patient, Florence Nightingale, and don’t speed to the hospital or when you head from there to the Blakes.”
“Geoff, we’ll be home in time to go to midnight Mass,” Grant said as he reached into the closet for his overcoat. “You and Elisabeth be ready.”
Paula blew a swift kiss as she hurried out the door. “Tell Lucinda and Hadley I’ll be there just as soon as I can.”
Paula found Marie breathing hard with yet another contraction, her face alternately flushing and turning pale.
“Any word from your doctor?” she asked as she kicked off her sandals and sat down.
Marie shook her head.
“Well, little mother,” Paula crooned. “don’t worry about a thing. I’ll be right here with you until he calls, and we’ll get you to the hospital in plenty of time. Grant has gone on to the party, and no one will even notice when I slip in late -- he’s the star of the show.”
When the phone finally rang an hour and a half later, Paula grabbed it. She explained to the obstetrician step by step what she had done and how Marie was doing now. The approval in his voice reassured her that it had all been done correctly. He made a joke about how babies like Marie’s sure made his job easy, asked to see Marie at his office on the morning after Christmas, and gave Paula his home phone number in case Marie should need him before then.
Just then the front door opened, and Grant, Geoff, and Elisabeth stepped in. “Paula? It’s us,” Grant called.
Paula hurried into the living room. “Shhh!” she said, her finger to her lips. “Marie and her baby son are asleep!”
Elisabeth braked, pointed, and shrieked, “Mother! Your dress!”
Paula looked down and discovered that the exquisite white silk was mottled with bright bloodstains. How could she not have noticed? She touched one of the larger spots and examined her fingertip. Then she shrugged and stammered, “Oh. . .well. it’s okay, Elisabeth. I don’t. . .”
Grant interrupted, “Those are battle ribbons, Paula -- red badges of courage.” He folded his wife into his arms with no thought at all of staining his suit. “You are amazing,” he whispered. “Hadley thinks so, too -- that’s why he made the announcement before dinner and sent me packing -- to be sure you were all right.”
Paula kissed him, then pulled Geoff and Elisabeth into the embrace. How sweet to feel the security and warmth of family after the intensity of helping deliver Marie’s baby. Tears of relief and love began welling up in her eyes as she held her husband and children close.
After a minute, Paula released her hold, stepped back, gazed fondly at her family, and said, “You know, Marie’s baby is a gift for all of us, too. This is our best Christmas Eve ever -- one that reminded me of something I had forgotten. Christmas isn’t really about parties and decorations and trees and presents and new dresses -- or even about promotions, important as that is. It’s about the birth of a baby nearly two thousand years ago.”
Her face radiant now, and her eyes still shiny from tears, she continued, “I need to stay with Marie tonight, my darlings. You can see her and little Joe Junior in the morning. Say a prayer for them and for Joe at Mass—but right now the three of you need to run on home, pop some popcorn, slice some apples, and hang that little silver walnut in a high place of honor on our tree.”