The False Ducks Blahg

     Well, it’s New Year’s Day 2017.  Where did the last six months go?  I write a blahg about Superman in the middle of June in 2016 and then it’s more than half a year before I get to a new one.  In that last blahg, I included a poem called “if you’d be a superman”.  The title is appropriate because I’m certainly not the man of steel.  Let’s hope I get this blahg done today.  I started it several times in December and hoped to have it done by the end of 2016.  Now I’m aiming for January 1st, 2017.  Here goes nothing. 

     This blahg has a certain theme to it but there is also going to be a mishmash of sorts.  The main point I want to talk about is two class act bands that I had the opportunity to interact with, of a sort, in December and prove that sometimes the smaller the band, the bigger the heart.  I know that’s like schmaltz but I haven’t written in a while so you get what you get. 

     Let me first start off by talking about The Weepies.  I have talked about The Weepies before and if you have read previous blahgs you should know by now that The Weepies are an American indie pop-folk duo of married singer-songwriters Deb Talan and Steve Tannen.  There are other musicians that have performed with them but I want to focus on just Deb and Steve.  The reason for this is that they recently did an acoustic tour in the USA and Canada.  Okay, there were only two cities included in Canada, Toronto and Montreal, but Toronto was enough for me. 

     I am not a big fan of Facebook.  Don’t ask, that’s another blahg altogether.  The only Facebook page I follow with any regularity is The Weepies’ page.  In November they announced they were going to do an acoustic tour in their mini-van with just Deb and Steve, their children, and their guitars.  I was excited but there were no Canadians dates announced.  There was one date on December 1st in Buffalo, NY, and I thought I might be able to make that event because it’s only four hours from where I live.  Luckily, my daughter Emily was monitoring a concert posting website for Toronto when The Weepies announced that they were going to give a show at the Drake Hotel in Toronto on December 2nd.  You can well imagine, and it was true, that I bought my two tickets right away. 

     I won’t go into a lot of other details about the show except to say the venue was interesting.  My wife and I had to walk thirty minutes from our hotel to get there and then stand in a room with about a hundred people throughout the entire concert.  I stood on some stairs so I could see a partially unobstructed view of Steve and Deb.  My legs were tired at the end of the night but it was a wonderful concert.  I found these images online from the concert in Toronto so you can see what I mostly saw:

     I wanted to take some video of the concert but I couldn’t shut off the bright light on my cell phone.  I decided to record part of the concert from my pocket but I only managed to record part of the song “Jolene” sung by Steve and part of his next song about a Jig.  Here they are:

 

	STEVE TANNEN – JOLENE (part)
	THE FALSE DUCKS BLAHG

 

 

	STEVE TANNEN – JIG (part)
	THE FALSE DUCKS BLAHG

     I did manage to find the following video online that someone posted from that concert in Toronto.  This is The Weepies performing “Ever Said Goodbye”: 

 

 

     Just one last wrap up on this fantastic concert.  Deb Talen will be releasing a solo album this coming Spring.  She sang a couple of her new songs when she was in Toronto but I could only find the following video of one of those new songs, “Butterfly”, from her Detroit, Ohio concert two nights prior to the Toronto concert.  It’s a fantastic song and I can’t wait for the new album.  It’s going to be great! 

     Now on to another class act and the one that inspired this blahg.  My daughter and I are fans of the currently airing TV Show “The Goldbergs”.  This is not to be confused with “The Goldbergs” TV Show that aired in the 1950s of which I’m the only fan in my household…but I digress.  The current show, “The Goldbergs” has a very interesting theme song sung by a group called “I Fight Dragons”.  The song is called “Rewind” and has never been officially released so give it a listen: 

     As a result of liking the theme song,  my daughter Abbie, has become a huge fan of “I Fight Dragons.”  The only problem is that she didn’t own any of their music and had to stream it from the internet.  We all know the varying ranges of quality that can produce.  So, for her Birthday, which was December 16th, she asked for some “I Fight Dragons” CDs.  The only problem was that online retailers in Canada pegged individual CDs at over $200 a piece because they were limited runs.  I tried other sources and didn’t fare much better.  I then turned to the “I Fight Dragons” website and their online store but everything seemed to be out of stock when I tried to order from there.  I told Abbie about the problem and she gave up all hopes of owning their music officially. 

     It would probably be at that point that most people would give up.  Not me.  I decided to email the administrator of the I Fight Dragons website to see if something could be done.  The following represent the email exchanges:

 

December 5th, 2016

Hello,

I hope you can help me.  My 17 year old daughter, who will be 18 on December 16th, is a huge fan of I Fight Dragons and really wants some of your CDs.  Unfortunately we live in Canada and can’t find them up here.  I’ve also tried ordering from your online store but it keeps telling me items are out of stock.  Is there any other venues for me to purchase the CDs in time for Christmas?

Thanks,

Scott Henderson

———————–

 

All I Want For Christmas Is…

It was getting on to Christmas; at least that’s what the stores would have one think.  It was early in December and holiday adornment and advertising was fair game.

                Ms. Harper locked up her classroom for the day and trundled her way down the hall weighted down with book bag, computer bag, lunch bag, and a loose bundle of theme papers to be graded over the weekend.  “All I want for Christmas is” would make for one afternoon’s fascinating reading.  No doubt she’d be apprised of all of the hot ticket items for this yuletide season.  Nine year olds never asked for World Peace.

Ms. Harper stifled a laugh.  World Peace had always been a little joke between Ms. Harper and her Mother.  Her Mother had once chided her about not asking for World Peace whenever she was questioned about what she wanted for her Birthday or Christmas.  Her Mother would always say it should be the top of the list because everything else comes second.  Ms. Harper never failed to offer up World Peace after that whenever she had a Birthday wish or made out her Christmas list.  She never got it but it never hurt to ask.

Thoughts of her Mother filled her mind most of the time.  On Friday afternoons she always went to see her Mother.  The drive out to Friendship Manor, how she hated that name, was her ritual before officially starting her weekend.  It had been almost two years since her Mother had been moved into the Manor.  It had been a rough few years for Ms. Harper and her Mother.

It started four years ago with the passing of her Father.  He’d been a strong man but a little distant.  He had raised her the best he had known how but there had always been something missing in their relationship.  Maybe he had wanted a boy.  Ms. Harper had always wondered about that.  He was never big on displays of affection with her or her Mother but he had always been there for them.  Then he was gone.  It had been a heart attack; nothing long and drawn out.  It was quick.  And then he was gone.  Ms. Harper had loved her Father but they had been more like acquaintances in the later years.  He was more formal and only casually interested in her life and career.  Now he was gone.

Her Mother had taken everything in stride.  She had weathered her husband’s death and had moved on.  She had been well provided for when he was alive and after his passing.  The house had been paid for and insurance and pensions had left her in a good position.  Then came the accident.  She had fallen getting out of her car.  She had slipped on a patch of ice one January and went down hard; fracturing her hip.  She needed to be hospitalized for eight weeks following her surgery.

While she was in the hospital, Ms. Harper’s Mother had been diagnosed with dementia.  She began to decline in the hospital.  The Doctor had explained that it was a form of functional dementia.  In her own environment, namely her home, she had done well but now in the hospital the dementia began to be a little more aggressive.  The dementia had probably been there for some time.  Ms. Harper had noticed little things.  Her Mother had become more forgetful.  Sometimes she had struggled for a certain word or had a hard time recalling a memory.  In the hospital, her physiotherapy was slowed by her mood.  Some days she would struggle to work with the aid of walker and a therapist.  Other days she refused to get out of bed.  There was one bad day when she didn’t recognize Ms. Harper at all.  There were some good days when her memory was good and Ms. Harper could talk with her Mother but those came infrequently.

Ms. Harper had visited her Mother every day throughout those eight weeks.  It was hard to see her Mother like that.  She had her good days and her bad days but at least she regained some of her memories of her daughter.  She didn’t talk as much and some visits at the hospital just consisted of Ms. Harper holding her Mother’s hand and reading to her.

Now her Mother was in Friendship Manor.  How she hated that name.  At least the Manor lived up to its name.  It had become obvious that her Mother could not return to her home after her hospital stay.  Ms. Harper had made all the arrangements and had taken care of selling the house and car.  Her Mother was still being provided for but in the hands of strangers.  Her Mother had been at the Manor now for two years.  She still didn’t speak much and she rarely recognized Ms. Harper as her daughter.  She was this nice lady who came every Friday and read to her.

Ms. Harper looked at the bundle of theme papers clutched in her hand.  These would be good to read to her Mother.  It would help Ms. Harper get through them quicker.  Then she would have the rest of the weekend to herself.

Ms. Harper lived alone.  There was no one else.  She had no siblings and she had never married.  She had no children.  There were twenty-five of them each year for ten months that she could call her own.  She was a good teacher but she wasn’t a parent.  The children all had parents of their own.  They didn’t need Ms. Harper to act the part.  The faces changed every year but that was fine by her.  She was good with that kind of detachment.

Maybe it had been the way she had been raised.  Her Father had been detached and she became accustomed to that.  Her Mother had been a different story.  Her Mother was always quick with emotions.  She had doted on her daughter despite her husband chastising that she was spoiling the child.  Still, it could not be denied there was a special bond between the Mother and the daughter.  Now it was all but gone.

Ms. Harper recalled her youth.  She’d been happy.  Her Mother was mainly the reason for that happiness.  Her Mother had always been there for her.  Her Mother had not worked outside of the home and when her daughter was at home, she was always spending time with her.  She always loved to brush her daughter’s hair or snatch her up in her arms and hug her.  Ms. Harper recalled those hugs.  Her Mother’s arms had always been so warm.  It had been a long time since Ms. Harper had felt that warmth.  Now, it was Ms. Harper who initiated the hugs with her Mother.  The warmth wasn’t there now.  It was like hugging a stranger.

Glancing at the theme papers again, Ms. Harper remembered her own Christmases.  There had always been a tree; a real tree.  Despite, his detachment, Christmas was something her Father seemed to enjoy.  Maybe that was from his youth.  Ms. Harper didn’t know but there had always been a real tree.  And there had been ornaments.  Many of these had been homemade.  Ms. Harper and her Mother had made most of these themselves.  There had been many years when her Mother and she had sat down to an evening of ornament making.  Clay angels or Santas or trees or reindeers had been baked in the oven and hand painted.  There had been wood ornaments her Father had cut out and Mother and daughter had adorned with paint and glitter.  There had been store bought ornaments, too.  Each had been specially selected on shopping outings.  Christmas had been the one good time she could look forward to each year and the one good memory she could still hold onto.

Ms. Harper still had most of the ornaments in boxes.  Most everything else had been sold at the same time the house had gone.  She always got herself a little tree every year from a lot near her home.  She pulled out her favorite ornaments from the boxes.  She would watch some old Christmas movie on television and then go to bed.  On Christmas morning she would go out and see her Mother.  The Manor always put up a Christmas brunch and the place was overflowing with residents, family members, and friends as well as the staff.  It was the only time Ms. Harper would visit her Mother when she knew there would be a crowd.

On Fridays, after school, she would drive out to the Manor and spend a couple of hours with her Mother.  It wasn’t so busy then.  She had tried going once or twice on a Saturday or Sunday but there were too many others visiting their relatives.  Ms. Harper didn’t want to have to engage with others.  Her time with her Mother was her private time and she didn’t like to share it.  She didn’t like to share much of anything about her Mother.  It didn’t really matter because there really wasn’t anyone else to share with.

“Heading out, Lee?”

Ms. Harper turned in the direction of the voice.  It was Mr. Clarke.  He taught grade six.  He too was weighted down with bags and papers.

“Oh hello, Mr. Clarke… John,” she quickly corrected herself. It was a reflex action to refer to another teacher by their surname when in the school.  She wasn’t close with most of the teachers and using their first names did not come easy to her.  It wasn’t often she heard others use her first name either.  “Yes, another week done.”

“Not many left now until the Christmas break,” Mr. Clarke replied.  He was a handsome man about Ms. Harper’s age.  His looks were pleasing and certainly not lost on Ms. Harper.  He was single, like her, but there had been a Mrs. Clarke once.  School gossip always abounded.

“No, not many now.”  Ms. Harper looked down at the papers in her hand.  She couldn’t look directly at him for long.  She couldn’t deny there was something there.  She just didn’t know how to handle it.  She was accustomed to distance.  There had been few men in her life and she hadn’t been really close with any of them.  Certainly there had been her Father and now he was gone.  There had been boyfriends or male friends but not many.  She couldn’t see herself in a long relationship and most of them just moved on after a time.  She always reminded herself it was her and not them.  She was accustomed to distance.

“Say, Lee, you wouldn’t want to go for coffee or a bite to eat, would you?”  There was a faint smile from Mr. Clarke’s handsome face.

Ms. Harper looked up at him.  There was something there but the timing was wrong.  She had to go see her Mother.  The timing was always wrong.  It made her feel awkward.  He was a handsome man who wanted to go out with her.  But the thought of coffee or a meal might lead to more coffee or more meals.  She wasn’t ready for that.

“I can’t, Mr. Clarke, John,” she stammered.  “I have to be somewhere.”  That was true but the thought was that right now she wanted to be somewhere other than here.  She was good with distance.  It was the closeness with which she had a hard time.

“That’s okay,” Mr. Clarke replied.  “I have some math tests to grade.”  The smile didn’t fade.  “Maybe another time, then?”  There was some hopefulness in his voice.

“Another time,” Ms. Harper answered matter-of-factly, and looked away.  Maybe another time she thought.  Maybe there was a time when she would have answered differently.  Maybe there would be another time in the future when she would answer differently.  It was the closeness.  It always got in the way.

Ms. Harper held on close to her burdens and hurried to her car.  The closeness of the inside of her small car was something she could handle.  She felt safe.  It was just her and her thoughts.  All of those thoughts of Mr. Clarke, John, and all those other relationships; even if there hadn’t been many.  She thought of her Father and her Mother.  Recalling her Mother, she started the car and started for the Manor.

Her Mother was in her room.  It wasn’t often that she found her Mother in the hall or in one of the common rooms.  If she did, she would quickly escort her Mother back to the closeness of her room.

“Hello, Mama,” Ms. Harper began, on seeing her Mother.  “It’s Lee.”  As if reminding her Mother of her own daughter’s name would help bring her back to her.  She hugged her Mother instinctively but there was nothing between them.  There was no warmth in this hug.

Her Mother looked good.  Someone had brushed her hair.  Her Mother had always had such beautiful long hair.  Ms. Harper kept her own hair long like her Mother.  It was the only thing they now shared in common.

Ms. Harper looked about the room.  It was a nice room.  It was clean and bright.  The late afternoon sun streamed in the window.  Its light illuminated the small personal items on her Mother’s dresser and night table.  Personal items salvaged from her home before the sale.  Many of them with a significance now lost to time.  There were a couple of photos of her Father.  There was one of her parents on some long ago beach.  There were some photos of Ms. Harper in younger days; nothing current.  She looked like her Mother.  At least the long hair was the same.

“I’ve brought some theme papers, Mama.”  Why did she call her Mama?  It was always what she’d called her; never Mom or Mommy.  It had always been Mama as far back as Ms. Harper could recall.  “I thought I would read some of them to you.  Won’t that be nice?”

Her Mother looked at her but said nothing.  Did she recognize her own daughter?  Was there a memory that was trying to work its way to the front?

“You look good, Mama.  I like your hair.”  Ms. Harper didn’t like the silence between them.  Even hearing her own voice was better than nothing.

Ms. Harper reached out and grabbed her Mother’s hands and brought them to her lips and kissed them.  Her Mother’s hands were warm but it didn’t mean the old warmth was there.  Her Mother snatched back her hands and folded them in her lap.  Ms. Harper was not startled by the gesture.  It happened every week.

“Mr. Clarke asked me out to coffee, Mama.  You remember me mentioning, Mr. Clarke, John?”  Of course she didn’t.  She didn’t even remember her own daughter.  What need was there in Ms. Harper that she would want to share this information about Mr. Clarke with her Mother?  Maybe just saying it aloud would help her accept the fact that someone else was interested in her.  Ms. Harper looked away from her Mother and decided to let it drop.

“All I want for Christmas is,” Ms. Harper began again; moving on to a safer topic, “World Peace.  Do you remember that, Mama?  You always told me it should be at the top of the list because everything else comes second.”  Ms. Harper looked into her Mother’s eyes but there was no acknowledgement or recognition there.

Ms. Harper picked up the first of the theme papers and began to read to her Mother.  There were the normal requests there.  Someone wanted the latest video game.  Someone wanted some figure skates.  There were action figures, games, electronics, music CDs, and the list went on.

“All I want for Christmas is,” she began again on another paper.  She was interrupted by her Mother beginning to hum.  Ms. Harper looked at her Mother.  It had been a long time since her Mother had hummed or even sung; certainly not since living in the Manor.

Startled, Ms. Harper looked intently at her Mother.  “What’s that you’re humming Mama?”  She didn’t want her Mother to stop.  It was a touching moment.  The humming stopped however as quickly as it began.  Ms. Harper was upset with herself for interrupting her Mother.  It was a touching moment and now it was gone.

“Miss Annabelle, Lee.  All I want for Christmas is Miss Annabelle, Lee.”  Ms. Harper’s Mother stared straight ahead and repeated the last part again.  “All I want for Christmas is Miss Annabelle, Lee.”

Ms. Harper was taken aback.  Her Mother rarely spoke and now she had addressed her daughter by her name.

She snatched up her Mother’s hands again.  “Yes, it’s me Mama.  It’s Lee.”  Tears began to form and cascade down Ms. Harper’s cheeks.  Her Mother was still in there.

“Who’s wonderful, who’s marvelous?” her Mother continued.

Ms. Harper held tightly to her Mother’s hands.  What was this?  What memory was this?  Those words and that little tune her Mother had hummed were familiar.  If only Ms. Harper could recall the memory.

“What is that from Mama?”

“Miss Annabelle, Lee.  All I want for Christmas is Miss Annabelle, Lee.”  Her Mother continued to stare straight ahead.  If she had been addressing her daughter, it wasn’t direct.

 “Mama, what is it?  Who is Miss Annabelle?” The tears continued to stain Ms. Harper’s face.

Her Mother was now silent.  Whatever the thought or the memory, it was gone now but Ms. Harper couldn’t let it go.  Her Mother had recognized her; the memory of her daughter caught up in some other memory.  Who was Miss Annabelle?

“Mama, it’s me.  It’s Lee.  You remember.  You were telling me about Miss Annabelle.”  Ms. Harper didn’t want to let it go.  She didn’t want to let her Mother go.  She had to come back.

Her Mother withdrew her hands from Ms. Harper.  She was silent and her gaze did not fall upon her daughter.  Ms. Harper felt cold.  Her Mother’s hands hand been warm and her Mother’s words had been warmer still.  For one shining moment that distance that had been between them for the past two years had closed and her Mother had come back to her.  Now the warmth and her Mother were gone again.

Who was wonderful?  Who was marvelous?  Who was Miss Annabelle?  All of these questions swept over Ms. Harper.  She needed answers.  She needed to bring her Mother back to her.  Maybe if she could solve the mystery of those questions, she could again bridge that distance between her Mother and herself.

Ms. Harper wiped away the remaining tears.  Yes, she had been moved to tears and that hadn’t happened in a long time.  She had shed tears when her Father had died and again, for the last time, when she left her Mother that first day here at the Manor.  But these tears were different.  These were tears for something that she had lost but had regained; if only momentarily.  Ms. Harper felt embarrassed for the tears.  They had served no purpose now.  If her Mother had seen them, she had not acknowledged them.  Whatever had passed between them just now had not been shared by her Mother.

Ms. Harper suddenly felt awkward with the closeness of her Mother’s room.  Like earlier, with the awkwardness between her and Mr. Clarke, Ms. Harper felt the need to be somewhere other than here.

“It’s getting late, Mama,” she began.  “You must be tired.  I’ll leave you now.”  She thought to grasp her Mother’s hands again but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.  These past few moments had been too much for her and not enough.  She leaned in and kissed her Mother’s cheek.  “I’ll be back again soon Mama.”  She wanted to add that she hoped her Mother would be back soon, too.

Ms. Harper awkwardly grabbed up the theme papers and left her Mother.  On the way to her car, she quietly cursed the theme papers and what they had brought to her Mother in the closeness of her room and what they had as quickly taken away.

Ms. Harper sat up late that night.  She could not sleep.  She tried to tell herself that what happened that day did not bother her.  She tried to convince herself that distance was the answer.  If she could only put distance between herself and what had happened then she would be fine.  She was good with distance.

It was no use.  Ms. Harper could not distance herself from it all.  It had really happened.  Her Mother had come back and had tried to share something with her.  What was it?  Who was Miss Annabelle?

It had been a long day.  The children in her class had been excited for the weekend.  Fridays were always that way and she had to try and instill discipline but more often than not just tried to ride out the remainder of the day.

Then there had been that awkwardness with Mr. Clarke, John.  She should have accepted his offer for coffee or something to eat.  How many more offers would there really be?  She tried to think he would ask again.  Would her answer be different next time?  It was that closeness again.  Why did she have such a hard time with it?  Why was distance so much easier to handle?

Who was Miss Annabelle?  That question and that moment with her Mother kept flooding back.  She’d tried to think of other things, school, Mr. Clarke, but what happened with her Mother kept riding roughshod over everything else.

Who’s wonderful?  Who’s marvelous?  Her Mother had asked these questions as well.  Did her Mother even know the answers herself?  And the humming, what was that?

“Miss Annabelle, wonderful, marvelous.”  Ms. Harper found herself wondering aloud.  “All I want for Christmas is you, Mama.”

Ms. Harper eventually gave in and went to bed.  Her dreams were full of her Mother.  In them, Ms. Harper was a little girl again.  Her mother was singing something.  Little Ms. Harper could not make it out but when her Mother stopped and scooped her up in those arms, it was warm.  Her Mother’s arms were so warm.

Ms. Harper went back to the Manor the next day.  This was unusual for her.  She didn’t like seeing all of the other families.  It was something she was willing to endure, however,  if she could connect again with her Mother.

She found her Mother in her room.  She was not alone.

Ms. Harper’s Mother was with one of the staff.  She was having her hair brushed.  The staff member was speaking softly to her.

“It’s alright Mrs. Harper.  No harm was done.  You didn’t hurt anyone.  You didn’t mean to scare that little girl.”

Ms. Harper cleared her throat so she could make her presence known.

“Oh,” the staff member began, a little startled, “look, Mrs. Harper, it’s your daughter.”  Mrs. Harper didn’t look up.

“Hello, Mama,” Ms. Harper began, as if by rote.  “It’s Lee.”  She hardly ever altered her awkward opening line to her Mother.  She felt even more awkward with the presence of the staff member.

“Mrs. Harper,” the staff member continued. “I’m going to have a little chat with your daughter and then I’ll come back a little later to check in on you.”  She placed the brush on the dresser and gestured Ms. Harper to follow her into the hall.  Ms. Harper’s Mother still did not look up.

“We didn’t expect to see you today.  You usually don’t come in on Saturdays.”  The staff member was just being observant.  She wasn’t chastising Ms. Harper in any way.

“Yes, I usually come on Fridays but something happened yesterday during my visit.  I just had to come back again to see my Mother again.”

“Something happened today, too.”  The staff member was trying to get down to it.

“Something happened with my Mother?  Is that what you were speaking to her about?”  Ms. Harper felt uneasy.  She had hoped for another moment alone again with her Mother.  She wanted to understand better what had happened yesterday.  Now something had happened again today with her Mother.

“Oh nothing to be alarmed about,” the staff member said, trying to put Ms. Harper at ease.  “She just got a little agitated was all.”

Ms. Harper stared intently at the staff member.  Her name-tag said, Julie.  She was a young woman but that didn’t mean anything.  It took a certain type of person to work with old people.  Ms. Harper knew that full well.  It also took a certain type of person to work with young people.  But this wasn’t about her.  Ms. Harper tried to focus on what this Julie was telling her.

“Your Mother was in the dining room,” Julie continued, “when a family came in with their young granddaughter.  It is actually our Mrs. Kennedy’s great-granddaughter.  We get all types of family members on weekends.  Well, this young girl had a doll.”

“A doll?” Ms. Harper interrupted.  What was this all about?  Why had her Mother become agitated?

“Yes, an old fashioned sort of doll”, Julie continued.  “Mrs. Kennedy had given that doll to her daughter and it had been passed down to her granddaughter and then to her great-granddaughter.”

“What does a does this great-granddaughter have to do with my Mother becoming agitated?”  Ms. Harper was getting a little agitated herself.

“It wasn’t the little girl that had your Mother so upset, it was the doll.  As soon as your Mother saw that doll, she wanted to have it.  She kept gesturing to the little girl and put her arms out for that doll.  I’ve never seen your Mother get so worked up.”

“Over a doll?”  Ms. Harper couldn’t believe it.  Her Mother never got ‘worked up’ as this Julie called it.  Until yesterday, her Mother had hardly even spoken in the last year.

                “I don’t know what it was about that doll but your Mother really wanted it.  She even called out to the doll.  She kept saying a name over and over again.  It frightened the little girl so I had to bring your Mother back to her room.  I think she enjoys it when I brush her hair so I started doing that and it calmed her down.  I think she’ll be okay now.”

                “A name?  You said my Mother kept saying a name?”  Ms. Harper tried to grasp onto something Julie had said.  She was sure she knew where this was leading but she had to hear it from this Julie to be sure.

                “That’s right,” Julie began again.  “I didn’t understand her right off but I think it was Miss Annabelle or something like that.  There might have been more to it but I was focussing on getting her out of the dining room and back to her room.  I’ve never seen your Mother get so worked up.”

                There it was again, Miss Annabelle.  Who was Miss Annabelle?  Was she a doll?  Ms. Harper only had pieces of the puzzle.  What did it all mean?

                “It’s alright now,” Julie continued.  “I don’t know what it was all about but your Mother seems fine now.  I’ll be back in a little bit to check on her.”  Julie turned and walked away.

                “Thank you,” Ms. Harper thought to say.  She wasn’t sure what she was thanking this Julie for.  She had just added more to the mystery.

                Ms. Harper entered her Mother’s room again.  Her Mother hadn’t moved.  She was looking down at her hands which were folded in her lap.

                “I’m back, Mama,” Ms. Harper said.  She looked at her Mother and then looked around the room.   She saw the brush on the dresser.  She thought to pick up the brush and continue what that Julie had started.  It brought back memories of how her Mother would brush her daughter’s hair when she was younger.  Recalling that memory was still painful for Ms. Harper.  She let go of the thought of brushing her Mother’s hair now.

                Ms. Harper pulled up another chair and sat in front of her Mother.  She thought also of grasping her Mother’s hands but remembered how her Mother had withdrawn them yesterday.  How could she connect with her Mother?  How could she begin to understand what had been stirred up in her Mother and herself?

                “Mama, I heard about the doll.  I heard about Miss Annabelle.”  Ms. Harper watched her Mother for a reaction.  It came quickly.

                “My Miss Annabelle, Lee,” her Mother said without looking up.

                “Yes, your Miss Annabelle, Mama,” Ms. Harper replied.  “Who is your Miss Annabelle?”

                “All I want for Christmas is my Miss Annabelle, Lee.”  Her Mother continued to stare at her hands.

                Ms. Harper thought again of grasping her Mother’s hands and this time acted upon it.  She gently grasped her Mother’s hands and raised them to her own face.  Her Mother’s gaze followed her hands and she was looking directly in her daughter’s direction.

                “It’s me, Mama.  It’s your Lee.  You can see me, can’t you Mama?”  Ms. Harper wasn’t sure if her Mother was looking at her hands upon her daughter’s face or if she was looking and seeing her daughter behind those hands.

                “Who’s wonderful?  Who’s marvelous?”  Her Mother began to hum that little tune again.  It was too much for Ms. Harper.  She began to softly weep.

                “Who’s wonderful?  Who’s marvelous, Mama?  Is it Miss Annabelle?  Is she a doll?”  Ms. Harper asked through her tears.  She was trying to piece it all together.

                “My Miss Annabelle, Lee,” her Mother said again.

                “Yes, Mama, your Miss Annabelle.  Who is she?”

                Ms. Harper’s Mother withdrew her hands and her gaze once again fell on them resting in her lap.

                “Mama, please,” Ms. Harper said through her sobs.  It was no use, her Mother had withdrawn again.  Ms. Harper tried several times again to ask about Miss Annabelle but her Mother would not respond.  Whatever had passed between them was locked away again inside her Mother.

Ms. Harper stood, turned and left.  She did not even say goodbye to her Mother.  She tried to hide her face from others as she passed through the building and out to her car.  She did not want anyone to see how she had been moved to tears.  She felt foolish.  She also felt very alone.

The remainder of the day was a blur for Ms. Harper.  She barley recalled driving home and being in tears all the way.

She turned to her marking as a distraction.  The theme papers were no distraction by any means.  Every, “All I want for Christmas is” paper reminded her of her Mother and the mystery of Miss Annabelle.  Somehow she managed to get through the papers and the tears subsided along the way.

The rest of the day and the weekend were also a vague series of moments.  She went through her hours preoccupied and numb.  She could not shake it off.  She slept.  She ate.  Still, the memories of Miss Annabelle haunted her; haunted by a wisp of a thing she knew nothing about.

The beginning of a new week brought some release.  The distraction of school and children helped to push away thoughts of her Mother.  She could focus on other things during the day but the nights were the worse.  She sat alone or lay awake long.  Her dreams were little girls and dolls and her Mother brushing her hair, and her Mother’s arms.  Her Mother’s arms had been so warm.

Ms. Harper still worked on the puzzle.  She went through old family albums for any clue.  There were faces she didn’t recognize.  Could one of these be Miss Annabelle?

She saw pictures of her young parents.  They looked happy.  There were even pictures of a young Ms. Harper.  She was happy, too.  Where had that little girl gone?  Where was that sense of happiness?  When had she changed?  The closeness of family and friends were gone.  Now she was alone.  Now she was alone with her thoughts and all that she had lost and everything she couldn’t find.

Miss Annabelle.  Who was Miss Annabelle?

Sparked by one of the images in a family album, Ms. Harper eventually reached out to the only other person who might be of some help.  It had been a while and certainly she wasn’t sure if any help would be offered.  They were not close.

Her Mother had only one sibling, a sister.  Ms. Harper had not known her well.  She lived somewhere out west.  She travelled around a great deal.  Even her Mother had not seen her in a few years.  Not since her Father’s funeral, four years ago, had Ms. Harper even seen her.  She had flown in for the funeral and was gone just as quickly.  A few words had passed between her Mother and her Aunt and then she had gone.  Ms. Harper had reached out to her Aunt when her Mother had gone into the Manor but there had been no response.  Now she needed her Aunt’s help; if she had any to offer.

The contact information for her Aunt wasn’t much.  There was a post office box on the back of a faded postcard.  There might have been a phone number once upon a time but she did not find it among her Mother’s things.  Perhaps it was another thing locked away in her Mother’s mind.

Ms. Harper wrote a detailed letter.  It wasn’t the first time.  She had written her Aunt when her Mother had fallen and had been hospitalized.  She had written again when her Mother had to be moved to Friendship Manor.  On both occasions, she had not heard back from her Aunt.

Her letter now to her Aunt had a sense of desperation.  Ms. Harper put it all down on paper.  She talked about how difficult it had been for her Mother and how she had declined since entering the Manor.  There were details of the incident with her Mother and the doll.  There was mention of the tune.  Mostly, there were questions.  Who was Miss Annabelle?  Who was marvelous?  Who was wonderful?  Had there been a doll?  Who was Miss Annabelle?  She found herself posing that question to her Aunt more than once.  Would her Aunt have the answer?  Would her Aunt even respond?

It was surprising, how little she knew of her Aunt.  Her Mother had not spoken much of her over the years.  The visits from her Aunt were few and far between and brief as well.    All she really knew was that her Aunt was older than her Mother and seemed to be in good health; certainly better health than her sister.  She also travelled a great deal.  Her Aunt had always travelled extensively.  That was one thing Ms. Harper’s Mother had shared with her daughter.  There had been a collection of postcards from exotic locals and some not some exotic.  A box of the postcards had been found among her Mother’s things.  At some point, the cards, like the visits, had stopped.  What had happened between her Mother and her Aunt?  More memories and answers locked away from Ms. Harper.

The days ran on down to Christmas.  It was the same, each time she visited her Mother.  There would be few words between them but if Miss Annabelle’s name came from her Mother’s lips it taunted Ms. Harper.  Sometimes her Mother would hum snatches of that mystery tune.  Other times, her Mother was silent.  It was more than Ms. Harper could bear.

School came to an end and signalled a beginning of the Christmas break.  Ms. Harper’s students had been generous to her this year.  There were many Christmas cards with little gift cards for coffee shops and book stores.  There were mugs with candies and assorted boxes of chocolates.  There was even a scarf and a small bottle of perfume.  Ms. Harper wondered each year if the tokens were a sign that she was a good Teacher.

There hadn’t been another invitation for coffee from Mr. Clarke.  In fact, there had been few pleasantries shared between them since his first offer.  The last week before the Christmas vacation had been so busy that the staff had not had time to organize an annual Christmas party.  Hastily, in the remaining days before the break, someone organized a luncheon on the day before Christmas and someone else organized the drawing of names for a Secret Santa exchange.  They would all gather at a local restaurant and exchange gifts.

Ms. Harper was reluctant to attend the luncheon.  It was no secret to the other Teachers that she had been preoccupied with some personal and private issue.  She was either the last to leave or the first one out the door at the end of the day.  It helped her to avoid interacting socially with the other Teachers.  It was that closeness again.  It was compounded even further by the time of year and the issue with her Mother.

Ms. Harper had found herself seated next to Mr. Clarke at the luncheon.  It was awkward but certainly not unwelcomed.  The conversation between them was more one sided with him sharing more about himself.  Ms. Harper only mentioned her Mother in passing in noting she resided at Friendship Manor and that Ms. Harper visited her regularly.  She did not share the mystery of Miss Annabelle.

For his part, Mr. Clarke talked about being divorced and having a daughter that lived with his ex-wife.  He acknowledged how lonely it was not having a wife and only seeing his daughter on weekends.  His daughter would spend half of Christmas day with him.  Ms. Harper took it all in and was a good listener and tried to be good company as well.  There was no denying she felt an attraction to Mr. Clarke.

When the gift exchange came, Ms. Harper found herself the recipient of yet another coffee shop gift card.  It was a very generous amount and she felt it probably exceeded the limit they had put on the gifts.  For her part, Ms. Harper had purchased a nice bottle of wine for the kindergarten teacher.

Ms. Harper was glad that the decision had been made to have the luncheon on the day before Christmas.  It had helped to fill out her day.  Christmas Eve would be lonely enough as she spent it by herself.  She would drive out to see her Mother the next day and try to put on a brave face.  There had been no word from her Aunt.  If her Mother really expected Miss Annabelle for Christmas, it would be beyond Ms. Harper to make it happen.  She still did not know who or what Miss Annabelle was.

There was one last awkward moment after the luncheon when she had to speak to all of the other staff and wish them a Merry Christmas.  Mr. Clarke pulled her aside and disclosed that he had been Ms. Harper’s Secret Santa.  He had drawn someone else’s name but had asked around until he had found who had drawn Ms. Harper’s name.  He had switched with one of the grade two teachers.

The gesture was not lost on Ms. Harper.  She now realized the significance of the generous amount of the coffee shop gift card.  Now there would be no excuse for her to say no to his offer of coffee.  Mr. Clarke wrote out his telephone number for Ms. Harper and wished her a Merry Christmas and hoped that they could have that coffee sometime over the Christmas vacation.  Ms. Harper did not know what to say in response and quietly nodded her head to the thought.  She wasn’t saying no at least but it was all she could offer at this time.

Christmas Eve held no significance for Ms. Harper.  There were no traditions left for her.  She had purchased the annual small tree from a lot near her home.  The man who ran the lot always saved one for her.  It was not very big but when she had decorated it some few lights and some of the old ornaments, it was all she needed.  In previous years she had been sure the sight of the lights dancing on the tree was all she needed.  Now, she was not so sure.

There were a few presents beneath the tree but these were for her Mother.  There was a sweater and some candies.  There was even a new hair brush.  Seeing that one of the staff took good care of keeping her Mother’s hair brushed, she thought it would be nice for there to be a new brush.  The memory of her Mother brushing young Ms. Harper’s hair was still a special memory.  There was also a large box of chocolates and a card for the staff at the Manor.  Ms. Harper had no traditions for herself but this was one thing she insisted on doing every year.

There were no gifts for Ms. Harper.  She had spread some of the gifts from her students beneath the tree but there was nothing else there for her.  These few things beneath the tree and the twinkling lights should have been enough.  Still, Ms. Harper felt an emptiness and a loneliness that she had not felt in other years.

It would be an early night with a light dinner, something half-heartedly viewed on the television, and a restless sleep.  She hated how she felt but she was not looking forward to Christmas and the brunch at the Manor with her Mother.

Ms. Harper was just beginning to think about preparing something for dinner when there was a knock on her door.  It startled her.  She rarely had visitors and certainly was not expecting anyone this evening.

On opening the door, she was taken aback.  At first, she thought it was her Mother but this woman was slightly older and smaller in frame.  This woman seemed to present the air of a well-seasoned traveller; someone who had seen it all and was prepared to tell you the same.

“Well girl, don’t leave me standing out here all night.  Don’t you have any Christmas cheer for your own Aunt?”

Ms. Harper could not believe it.  There had been no word from her Aunt.  She had given up any hope of hearing from her and yet, there she stood.

“Yes, of course, come in,” Ms. Harper stammered.  Those were the few words she could think to say.  She had a thousand questions but those would wait.

“Didn’t expect to see me, I’ll bet,” her Aunt began.  “Got your letter.  A friend of mine has been forwarding on my mail.  I was in India.  Always wanted to go and so I said, this is the year.  Wonderful place and terrible at the same time.  Don’t’ get me started.  Where do I put my things?”  She had a suitcase and a long package.  These weren’t many things but it looked like she meant to stay for a while.

“Here, let me,” Ms. Harper began but was quickly interrupted by her Aunt.

“Not necessary.  I can carry them myself.  After all, I’ve travelled the world with suitcase in had for many years.  What’s a few more feet?”

Ms. Harper gestured down a small hall and to a spare bedroom.  It was a small house.  There were just the two bedrooms but it was all Ms. Harper had needed.

“Here, take this,” her Aunt gestured with the long package.  “It’s for you anyways or it might as well be.  You’ll soon find out.”

Ms. Harper’s Aunt deposited her suitcase in the spare bedroom and quickly returned.

“How about a drink?” her Aunt began again.  I think we’re both going to need one before the night’s out.

Ms. Harper had been at a loss for words but then her Aunt had not given her time or opportunity in which to edge a response.  Her Aunt had descended upon her unexpectedly without explanation, looked  to staying a while, and now she wanted a drink.  Ms. Harper thought on that last one.  There probably wasn’t anything in the house.  She only drank socially and there was no need to have anything in her home in case weary world travellers happened to stop in on Christmas Eve.  That just never happened.  Not to her, it didn’t.

“You do have something to drink?” her Aunt continued.  I didn’t pack anything and there’s probably nothing open at this hour.  I’d take a coffee but I was hoping for something a little more cheering.”

Ms. Harper remained silent but it quickly came to her.  There was something in the house.  Stashed beneath the tree was a bottle of wine from one of her students.  There was always that one awkward gift from a parent who had forgotten to buy their child’s teacher a gift.  Once, she had received a small ham and there was that time she’d received a book of inspirational thoughts with a candy-cane taped to the cover.  This year it had been a bottle of wine.

“Will this do?” Ms. Harper asked as she arose from beneath the tree and pulled the bottle from a brightly festive gift bag.

“That’s the spirit,” her Aunt replied and laughed a little at her own joke.

How different her Aunt was from her Mother.  Here was this healthy woman, slightly older than her Mother, who would jaunt off to India on a whim or descend upon her niece without a moment’s notice.  How was it that this could be her Mother’s sister?  They may have looked alike but her Mother and her Aunt were dissimilar in so many other ways.

Ms. Harper removed two glasses from a kitchen cupboard.  They were not fancy glasses but they would suffice.  She poured herself a small glass of wine but was more generous with her Aunt’s offering.  Ms. Harper could tell it would be well approved.

Ms. Harper offered the glass to her Aunt and motioned to an armchair.

“I needed this,” her Aunt said, flopping down in the chair.  She looked tired.  “Am I, tired.  You don’t know how much I’ve travelled in the past few days.  I received your letter at my hotel, caught a flight out of Indian the next day, home for a couple of days to take care of some business, grabbed that package out of storage, and then I’m on a flight to here.”

“What,” Ms. Harper began before being interrupted by her Aunt again.

“What am I doing here?”  Her Aunt had asked precisely the question that Ms. Harper would have asked if her Aunt had given her the chance.

“Yes,” Ms. Harper replied.

“I came to be with my only family for Christmas.  Here’s to you.”  Her Aunt raised her glass high before taking a generous sip.

“But my Mother’s not here.  I wrote to you about that.  She’s in Friendship Manor.  I thought you said you received my letter?”  Ms. Harper was confused.

“I did receive it, and read it too,” her Aunt jokingly snapped back.  “You’re my family too girl.  I came to spend it with you.  I hope to see your Mother as well but first thing’s first.  Where’s that package I handed you?”

The package lay on a side table where Ms. Harper had placed it when looking for the wine beneath the tree.  It was long and narrow and was wrapped in brown parcel paper.  It wasn’t very festive if it was to be a Christmas package.  Ms. Harper stole a glance at the items beneath her tree.  They were better wrapped than this parcel and certainly more in keeping with the season.

She grasped the package and held it out to her Aunt.

“No, you open it,” her Aunt said, waving off the package in Ms. Harper’s hands.  “I said it was for you.”

Ms. Harper looked at the package.  She suddenly felt guilty.  She had nothing for her Aunt.  Maybe something re-gifted from beneath the tree might suffice.  She would have to rewrap something or change the card.

“Go ahead girl, get on with it.  I haven’t flown all this way and worn myself dog-tired just to sit here and watch you stare at the thing.”

Ms. Harper sat down and began to take away the wrapping.  The box beneath was not taped and the top of the box was easily removed by pulling upward.  Inside, wrapped in old newspapers, was a doll.

Ms. Harper stared at her Aunt.  Could it be?  Could this be…

“I give you, Miss Annabelle, Lee.”  Her Aunt was getting good at interrupting her niece’s thoughts and speech.  It seemed there was a streak of impatience in her Aunt.

“I don’t understand,” was all Ms. Harper could bring herself to say.

“Of course you don’t, girl, I haven’t explained it all yet.  There’s more to it than that doll.  There’s a whole family history that’s been kept from you; and from your Mother for that matter.  Better have your drink ready.  Like I said, you may need it.”  Her aunt took another long pull at her own drink.  It would soon have to be replenished.

Ms. Harper glanced at her own glass.  She hadn’t even started on it.  Obligingly she started in on her own wine.  It wasn’t bad for a parent purchased effort.  It was warming and Ms. Harper felt it might just help brace her for whatever her Aunt had to offer.

“That doll has been the source of trouble in our family,” her Aunt began anew.  “You’d never know from looking at her she held such secrets that it could divide a whole family.  Go ahead, take her out.”

Ms. Harper had been balancing the box on her lap.  Now, she removed the doll and placed the box gently on the floor.  The doll was old.  It was mainly plastic and that showed signs of wear.  Ms. Harper wasn’t sure what she had expected of Miss Annabelle.  She hadn’t much to go on.  Her Mother certainly hadn’t provided any description.  Ms. Harper hadn’t been completely certain, until this moment, that the Miss Annabelle was a doll.

The doll represented a young girl.  Her clothes were well maintained and clean.  Her dress was green and her hair was auburn.  Ms. Harper suddenly felt a kinship to this doll.  She remembered a similar dress of her own from her youth and Miss Annabelle’s hair colour was very like her own.  She shared that trait with her Mother.

“Look familiar?” her Aunt asked.  “It should.  That’s your Mother.  It could be you, too.  You look just like your Mother.”

Ms. Harper could see it now.  Was that the secret of Miss Annabelle?  Had she been fashioned to look like her Mother?  Who had given this doll to her Mother?

“Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”  Ms. Harper finally found some words.

“That she is,” her Aunt replied.  “It says ‘Mama’ when you tilt her a certain way.

Ms. Harper looked hard at the doll.  She held her over backwards and sure enough the doll said ‘Mama’.  The doll looked like her and it looked like her Mother and it said ‘Mama’.  Was this why she called her Mother, Mama?  There were more questions than answers.

“You’re Mother loved that doll.  It near broke her heart when that doll went missing.  Your Mother always blamed me for that.  She never would believe that I had nothing to do with her disappearance.  It’s one of the reasons why we haven’t been close all these years.”

“One of the reasons?” Ms. Harper found herself asking aloud.  What secrets was her Aunt holding back?

“Good for you, girl.  You picked up on that did you?  Well, you might as well know the rest.”  Her Aunt took another drink of her wine as if to steel herself for what she had to say.  The contents of the glass were almost gone but she didn’t prod Ms. Harper for a refill.

“I never took away Miss Annabelle, Lee,” her Aunt continued.  “It had something to do with my Father.  He never liked that doll.  It was probably because he resented the person who had given that doll to your Mother.”

“Who?” Ms. Harper asked.  She found herself leaning forward in her chair.  What was this all about?

Her Aunt drained her glass and stared long at Ms. Harper.  For once, her Aunt seemed to be at a loss for words.

To fill the awkward silence, Ms. Harper rose and poured more wine into her Aunt’s glass.  While pouring the wine, she had leaned in and placed a hand gently on her Aunt’s arm.  It was something she had offered enough times over the years to console a child at school.  The gesture was not lost on her Aunt.

“Thank you, girl.  I like to think I’m a tough old bird but I’m finding this a little hard.”  Ms. Harper noticed that there was a mistiness to her Aunt’s eyes.  It was clear she was trying to hold back her emotions.  Tough old bird or not, it was clear this was difficult for her Aunt.

Her Aunt started in on the newly refilled glass of wine before letting out with a gentle sigh and beginning again with her story.

“That doll was given to your Mother by her Father.”

“But I thought you said he hated that doll?” Ms. Harper asked with a note of confusion.

“No, I said my Father hated that doll.  My Father was not my sister’s father.  There it is.”

Ms. Harper didn’t understand.  What did this mean?  How could her Mother and her Aunt not have the same Father?

“Your Mother’s not adopted, if that’s what you’re thinking,” her Aunt continued.  It wasn’t what Ms. Harper had been thinking but it would have explained a great deal.

“But,” Ms. Harper began to say before being interrupted once again by her Aunt.  She was taking no offense.

“Listen,” her Aunt continued on, “let me get this all out.  There’ll be time enough for questions when I’m done.  I only found out the whole story myself after my Father had died.”

Her Aunt stopped to take another long drink of the wine before continuing.

“You have to understand it was a different time.  I was only two when World War 2 broke out and my Father was called up.  My parents had been my whole world up until then.  I didn’t have any siblings and my parents probably spoiled me, truth be told.  I think they were happy but then I was young.  I only know what came after.”

“Well, the War came along and off my Father went.  He was off at some training camp before shipping out but he came home a couple of times before being posted overseas.  My Mother was alone with a small child and you can probably guess what happened next.  She met another man and they became involved.  It’s probably not a unique story.  I learned later that it happened more than you think.  Anyways, my Mother became pregnant with your Mother.”

Ms. Harper was hanging on every word that her Aunt said.  This last part was a little too much for her.  She leaned back in her chair and quickly set into her own glass of wine.

“Steady now girl, there’s more to it,” her Aunt said upon noticing the reaction from her niece.

“Well, this other man got his call and he too soon shipped out.  There was my Mother alone with me and pregnant with another man’s child.  She didn’t know what to do but she packed me up and off we went to my grandparents.  It was what you did back then if you wanted to keep your secrets from your neighbours.  Eventually she wrote to my Father and this other man and told them she was going to have a baby.  She didn’t hear back from my Father until he was injured in battle and was shipped home.  Carried shrapnel in his leg for the rest of his life and walked with a cane.  But that’s not important”

“When my father came home, he didn’t come to see my Mother right away.  I think he must have taken his time to think on what he was going to do.  I don’t think he really thought there was much he could do.  People stayed together back then.  Divorce wasn’t as commonplace as it is today.  I also think he felt he had some obligation to me.  After all, I was his child.”

“That other fellow never wrote my Mother at all.  Probably thought he’d had his fun and didn’t want to have to be saddled with any obligations after he got home from the war.  After a while, my Mother believed he might just have been killed in the war.  It was probably an easier thing to think than to believe he’d just used her.”

“Eventually my Father met with my Mother.  He said he’d stay with her but she could never have any contact with that other man.  He agreed to even raise the new child as his own.  By this time, your Mother was almost a year old.  Like I said, it was a different time and a different world back then.  It wasn’t easy but somehow they made it work.  It hardened him, though.  Some thought it was the war but those who knew the secret knew better.  I didn’t know myself.  All I knew was that I had a new baby sister and my Father was home.  But it was never the same after that.”

Ms. Harper’s Aunt stared off as if trying to peer back through the years.  Ms. Harper was not surprised to see that her Aunt had shed some tears while reciting her narrative.

“I’ll get to the part about the doll,” her Aunt began again, “but let me tell you what it was like growing up with your Mother.  I loved your Mother.  I didn’t know she was only my half-sister and we had some good times.  But there was always something hanging over us that I couldn’t explain.  It started with my Father.  He wasn’t as fun loving with me as he was before the war.  He tried and I think he even tried harder with your Mother because he didn’t want to hold anything against her.  It wasn’t her fault.  Still, he wasn’t the same.  He was distant somehow.  It was if he couldn’t handle closeness anymore.”

Ms. Harper couldn’t believe it.  It was the same way with her.  She was good with distance.  It was the closeness that made her uncomfortable.  But it couldn’t be an inherited trait.  Her Aunt had just finished telling her that her grandfather wasn’t really her grandfather; not by blood at least.

“It was the same with my Mother after a time.”  Her Aunt just kept on pushing through.  She had not noticed how Ms. Harper had taken the last part of the story to heart.

“My Mother was very close with your Mother and me but it didn’t show with my Father.  They were a couple but we never saw much affection between them.  I’m the same way.  I couldn’t bear it after a while and I had to get out.  I took the first job that came along.  I moved around a lot and kept on travelling.  A different country or a different man was my answer.  I couldn’t handle the closeness either.  It was the way I was brought up.  I saw that in your Mother, too.  I think she chose your Father because he wasn’t a man quick with his emotions.  I’m not speaking ill of your Father at all.  He was your Mother’s choice.  You get brought up a certain way and you continue on the same way.  I think it’s probably the same way with you.  I see it.  There was something in your letter that I sensed right off.  I thought maybe it was time someone set you straight on the way things have been and how they might continue on if things don’t change.”

Her Aunt cut Ms. Harper to the core.  It was true.  She was more product of all that family history than anything else.  Her Father had not been easy to be close to when he was alive.  Now, she was the same way.  A history of family members better with distance than closeness had come all down to her.  Her Aunt, however, had chosen a different path.  Yes, she had not been close to anyone but she had lived and loved and travelled and her life was hers to answer to.  At that moment, her head spun with this new family history and the revelations.  She thought of her own relationships.  There hadn’t been many and her relationship with her Mother was now a ghost of something she was trying to hold onto.

“I’m sorry to lay that all on you, girl but there’s no cushioning the truth.”  It was true.  Her Aunt wasn’t trying to hurt her but it was painful to hear nonetheless.

“What about the doll?” was all Ms. Harper could think to ask.  It was more the truth of things than the wine that was making her lightheaded.

“Oh yes, Miss Annabelle, Lee.  Well, it seemed your Mother’s real Father had not died during the war.  He returned home and married someone else.  My Mother never did find out who it was.  She said she didn’t want to know.  She had made a promise to her husband she was determined to keep.  Still, one Christmas that doll showed up for your Mother.  My Mother knew who it was from but she never told my Father.  There had been a note but my Mother put it where she thought no one would ever find it.  She was wrong.  A few years later, my Father found the note and my Mother told him the truth.  It was after that when the doll went missing.  My Mother told me about it later in life.  She knew how upset my Father had been about the doll being from your Mother’s real Father so she hid it away.  Your Mother blamed me for it.  I thought it had been my Father.”

“Who named the doll?” Ms. Harper asked.  “Was it given to her by my Mother’s real Father?”

“No, that came from your Mother.  There used to be this song that our Mother used to love singing to us.”  Her Aunt stopped and began to hum the tune that Ms. Harper’s Mother had mysteriously hummed that first day she mentioned Miss Annabelle.

“A song?” Ms. Harper asked.  She was sure she knew part of the answer.

Her Aunt began to recite the words to the song.  “Who’s wonderful?  Who’s marvelous?  Miss Annabelle, Lee.”

“That’s what my Mother was trying to tell me!”  Ms. Harper exclaimed.

“Yes, your Mother loved that song and she loved that doll.  She even named you after the doll.”

Ms. Harper stared incredulously at her Aunt.  Her Aunt was mistaken.  “You’re mistaken, I’m named after my Father’s favorite author, Harper Lee, who wrote ‘To Kill A Mockingbird.’  It’s backwards, I know, with my first name being Lee and my last name being Harper but that’s the what my Father wanted to name me.  My Mother never called me Annabelle.”

“Oh, this was in the beginning, when you were born.  She wanted to call you Annabelle Lee after her doll and that song.  Your Father didn’t like it much so they kept the ‘Lee’ and the ‘Annabelle’ part was lost to you until now.

Now it all dawned on Ms. Harper.  Her Mother and her Aunt had been saying ‘Miss Annabelle Lee’ all this time.  She had thought they had just been saying ‘Miss Annabelle’ and then addressing her by her first name, ‘Lee.”

Her aunt saw the truth dawning across her niece’s face.

“After my Father had died, my Mother told me all about her wartime affair and the doll.  She said she had hidden away the doll but she couldn’t bring herself to tell your Mother the truth about the doll or her real Father.  She said she never heard from your Mother’s Father again after receiving the doll.  I found Miss Annabelle Lee among my Mother’s things when I settled her estate.  I thought I should have returned it to your Mother but that would have raised all kinds of questions I wasn’t prepared to answer at the time.  I guess it doesn’t matter now.  You do what you wish with her.  That’s it.  Now you know everything and I feel like I’ve been on another round the world trip.”  She leaned back in her chair and started in on her wine again.

After that there wasn’t much to say between them.  The truth of everything had been laid bare.  Ms. Harper had no questions for her Aunt.  She felt she knew all there was to know and that was enough.  In one evening she’d found the truth about her family and found an extended family in her Aunt who had stopped her travelling long enough to bring truth, enlightenment, and hope to Annabelle Lee Harper.

After a light dinner, and a little more wine, her Aunt retired early.  Ms. Harper rewrapped some chocolates from beneath her tree and switched the name on the sweater that she had intended to give her Mother.  The candies and the hairbrush and the Miss Annabelle Lee doll would be more than enough for her Mother this Christmas.

Ms. Annabelle Lee Harper lay awake that night and thought long on all she had been told by her Aunt.  A family history of awkwardness with being close to someone brought on by a family secret.  Could she really break away from that?  She thought about Mr. Clarke, John.  She would call him up tomorrow and wish him a Merry Christmas.  That would be a start.

In the morning Ms. Annabelle Lee Harper and her Aunt drove out to Friendship Manor to have brunch with her Mother.  She was very nervous about seeing her Mother.  How would she react to seeing Miss Annabelle Lee?  How would she react to seeing her sister?

They found her Mother in her room.  The staff had not yet come to collect her for the Christmas brunch.

Ms. Harper held back nervously in the doorway.  She felt a gentle push from her Aunt.

“You go in, girl.  I’ll be in after a bit.  This is your moment.  Go ahead.”

Before entering, Ms. Annabelle Lee Harper removed the doll from the box and held it out so her Mother would see it right away.

“Hello Mama, it’s me, Lee.  Merry Christmas Mama.  I’ve brought something for you.  Look who it is.  It’s Miss Annabelle Lee.”

Her Mother looked up in surprise and instinctively put out her arms.

Ms. Annabelle Lee Harper offered her Mother the doll but her Mother brushed away the doll and grabbed her daughter’s arm and pulled her in close to her.

“My Miss Annabelle Lee,” she said, pulling her daughter closer.

Ms. Annabelle Lee Harper understood.  It hadn’t been about the doll.  It was about her.  All her Mother wanted for Christmas was her own Miss Annabelle Lee; Miss Annabelle Lee Harper.  Her Aunt had helped her to realize that.  She had changed so much since she was a little girl but after last night she understood all those years of distance had made her almost unrecognizable to even her own Mother.

Would her Mother continue to know her or was this recognition fleeting?  Ms. Annabelle Lee Harper did not know.  All she knew at this moment was her Mother’s arms and her Mother’s arms were so warm.

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