Page 90 of Truly, Madly Viking

"Me, too," she said and squeezed his hand. There were tears in her eyes, and Jorund knew they were tears of pride for Sue-zee and Beth, who were performing at the church altar. It was one of the things he admired most about Mag-he—the ferocious devotion she showed her daughters. If he ever had children again, he would accept no less in a wife.

Oh, may God and all his angels weep! Where did that thought come from? I will never wed again. I will never breed babes again. Never, never, never! The joy of parenthood will ne'er be mine again.

Ironically, the recital ended then with a loud rendition of "Joy to the World," accompanied by the blare of trumpets. Was it a sign? And that clicking noise .... surely it was just a clock ticking somewhere in the church vestibule.

Afterward they were driving home—Jorund in the passenger seat, Sue-zee and Beth in the backseat.

There was a warm feel to the comfortable silence that surrounded them. Forevermore, Jorund knew he would associate this kind of hushed tranquility with Christmas. Perhaps this was what was meant by peace.

"Mom..." Sue-zee said.

"Hmmm?" she responded.

"This is the best Christmas ever."

Beth agreed, adding, "Like a dream come true."

Misty-eyed, Mag-he glanced over at him and murmured, "Thank you."

He looked at her, back at the girls, then at her once again. "Nay, heartling, I thank you."

Christmas was almost over in the Muck-bride household, and Jorund should have been at peace. He wasn't. Not anymore.

Oh, it had been one of the most wonderful days of his life. He could not deny that. Perhaps that was why his spirits had plummeted. Perhaps it was as simple as the fact that he did not want the day to end.

No, he knew it was more than that. No matter what happened tomorrow, or some tomorrow down the

road, this was a day he would never forget.

It was that inevitable tomorrow that was brewing unrest in him now.

First there had been the gift exchanging, followed by a special yule breakfast of bacon, "dippy" eggs, toasted bread, and pancakes shaped like Christmas trees, covered with butter and syrup, along with pitchers of milk and orange juice, and cups of black coffee, a bitter brew he could not like, no matter that it was a favorite beverage of adults in this time. Later they'd had a feast of baked ham with roasted potatoes, vegetables, and let-ass, a staple of practically every meal, but which was little more than grass, if you asked him.

After that, they had watched a move-he on the TV world box called It's a Wonderful Life. Mag-he and the girls had gone weepy-eyed at the end, to his dismay, but they had told him it was "good crying,"

whatever that was.

The gift exchanging had been the best part, with the girls exuberantly exclaiming over each gift, big or small, and Maggie breaking out in tears over the antique gold, heart-shaped pendant on a chain that he'd given her. The heavy gold was etched with writhing animals in the Viking style. Inside there was an inlay of amber and a somber photograph of himself, which Sue-zee and Beth had helped him make in a machine at the shopping mall.

The girls had given their mother numerous small gifts bath oils, perfume, a leather carrying bag for her papers, a music box that played her favorite song from a move-he about a sinking ship. Mag-he in turn gave them clothes and wrist rings and music CDs and stuffed animals. Of course, they had pretended that the gifts came from Santa Claus, but they weren't fooling him. He knew Santa was a myth. He had closed the flue on the fireplace chimney last night, and when he'd checked this morning, it was still closed.

Not that he'd been foolish enough to give that legend any credence.

Jorund loved to receive gifts—he would not deny them that the gifts had made him handcrafted cards with poignant sentiments that shot straight to his already melted heart. In addition, they'd given him fun presents, like a miniature Ricky Martin doll, which they claimed resembled him, only younger; a sweatshirt that said, Proud to be a Texan; a scale model of a Viking longship; and a glass bowl of green Jell-O cubes that could be held in the hands and eaten that way. Good thing that last had been a jest, for Jorund did not think he would have been able to eat even one, especially after imbibing that horrible egg-nog that Mag-he had claimed was a traditional yule drink. What is wrong with good old mead as a yule drink, I ask you?

Even the annoying Rita had not been left out of the gift giving. Mag-he had given her a feline foo-tawn bed, which was a type of comfortable couch. The damn cat was spoiled too much, in his opinion, and he didn't feel that way just because the beast had taken an extreme dislike to him at first sight. She shed her fur all over his garments. She hissed when he approached Mag-he. She coughed up hairballs into his running shoes.

In any case, aside from the ridiculous foo-tawn, Mag-he had also given Rita a Santa hat, which she deemed the latest in "cat coo-tour." Jorund had barely been able to stifle his chuckles of delight at how ludicrous the cat looked.

Sue-zee gave Rita blowing bubbles that had catnip in them, and Beth gave her a Christmas wreath made of tuna-flavored leaves to place above her new bed. The wreath played a meowing version of "Jingle Bells." To be sure, that smelly wreath was going to be lost before morning. "Jingle Bells" was bad enough. A meowing "Jingle Bells"? Never.

Not wanting to be considered a cat hater, which he no doubt was, Jorund had purchased a cat present, too: a feathery kitty wand, which had a heavy metal disc for a base that suctioned to the floor, and a tall, thin metal pole from which numerous bird feathers were suspended. Cats apparently took great pleasure in trying to catch the elusive, fluttery feathers. The good thing about this one was that every so often, when Rita batted at a feather, the wand would swat back, causing the cat to fall on her fat rump with a shriek.

Mag-he had eyed him suspiciously, obviously wondering if he'd deliberately bought a toy that would drive Rita half-mad.

He'd just smiled innocently at her.

Of course, there was no explaining away the second gift he'd bought for Rita: a food bowl with the words, The Cat from Hell, emblazoned on the side.