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Cecily chirps,"I've a lovely story, Mrs. Nightwing." Of course she does.
"Ah, splendid, Miss Temple."
"Once there was a girl who was as good a girl as could be found. Her character was above reproach. In all matters, she was discreet and kind and genteel and mannerly. Her name was Cecile."
I believe I know where this story leads.
"Unfortunately, Cecile was tormented by a cruel savage of a girl named Jemima." She has the nerve to look at me when she says this. "Hateful as she was, Jemima taunted the poor sweet Cecile, speaking falsehoods and turning some of her dearest friends against her."
"How terrible," Elizabeth tuts.
"Through it all, Cecile remained kind and virtuous. But the strain proved too great for her, and one day, the dear girl fell deathly ill, driven to her sickbed by Jemima's relentless cruelty."
"I do hope that Jemima gets her just deserts," Martha says with a sniff.
"I hope that Cecile meets an untimely end," Felicity whispers to me.
"What happened then?" Ann asks. It is very much her sort of story.
"Everyone came to know what a horrible girl Jemima was at heart, and they shunned her ever after. When the prince heard of Cecile's kindness, he brought his doctor to make her well and fell madly in love with her. They were married, while Jemima wandered the countryside as a sightless beggar, her eyes having been torn out by wild dogs."
Mrs. Nightwing looks confused. "I don't quite see how this is a Christmas story."
"Oh," Cecily adds quickly."It takes place during the season of our Lord's birth. And Jemima comes to realize the error of her ways, begs for Cecile's forgiveness, and goes to work in a country parish, sweeping floors for the vicar and his wife."
"Ah," Mrs. Nightwing says.
"Must be difficult seeing to the sweeping, as she's lost her eyes," I grumble.
"Yes," Cecily says brightly. "Her suffering is great. But that's what makes it such a fine Christian story."
"Splendid," Mrs. Nightwing says, her tongue a bit thick. "Shall we have a song? It is Christmas, after all."
Mr. Grunewald sits at the piano and plays an old English tune. Some of the teachers sing along. Several girls get up to dance. Miss McCleethy doesn't. She's staring right at me. No, she's looking at the amulet. When she catches me watching her, she gives me a broad smile, as if we've never had a quarrel and are old friends.
"Miss Doyle," she calls, beckoning me with her hand, but Ann and Felicity are upon me.
"Come on, let's dance," they insist, pulling me to my feet and far away.
The evening passes like a happy dream. The excitement proves too much for many of the younger girls. Nestled against each other, they sleep by the fire, angel wings crushed under the limp, plump arms of their dear friends, sugarplum and holly crowns askew in the tangle of their hair. In a far corner sit Mrs. Nightwing and Miss McCleethy, heads bent in conference. Miss McCleethy speaks in an intent whisper, and Mrs. Nightwing shakes her head.
"No," our headmistress says, her voice made louder by the sherry."I cannot."
Miss McCleethy places her hands gently over Nightwing's, murmuring things I can't hear.
"But think of the cost," Mrs. Nightwing answers. Her eyes catch mine for a moment, and I look quickly away. In a moment, she rises unsteadily to her feet, placing a hand on the back of her chair till she finds her footing.
Long after the lamps have been dimmed, the fires have fizzled out, and all are safely in bed, Ann and I meet Felicity down in the great hall. The last glowing embers in the enormous stone hearth cast an eerie glow over the cavernous room. The Christmas tree seems an ominous giant. In the center stand the marble columns decorated with fairies, centaurs, and nymphs. The sight gives me a shudder, for we know they are more than carvings. They are living things imprisoned there by the magic of the realms, the place we are ready to see and feel and touch once more--if we can.
"Don't forget that you owe me a pound," Ann tells Felicity. Her teeth are chattering. "I shan't," Felicity answers.
"I'm afraid," Ann says. "So am I," I say. Even Felicity has lost her usual bluster."Whatever happens, we do not leave without each other." She doesn't say the rest: like you left Pip . . . left her to die.
"Agreed," I say. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves."Give me your hands."
We join hands and close our eyes. It has been so long since we've entered the realms. I'm afraid I shan't be able to make the door of light appear. But soon, I feel the familiar tingle on my skin, the warmth of the light. I open one eye, then the other. There it is, shimmering before us: the glorious portal into the other world.
Felicity and Ann wear their awe on their faces.
