Page 110 of Texas Glory
They walked into the parlor and the world was transformed into gaiety. In a far corner, with red ribbons, strung popcorn and raisins, and brightly painted horseshoes decorating its branches, an expansive cedar tree brushed the ceiling.
Austin sat Indian style beside the tree, Maggie curled against his side. He took a package from beneath the tree, placed it between their ears, and shook it. Maggie’s smile grew as the rattle bounced around them.
“What do you think?” he asked. “A puppy!”
Austin chuckled. “I don’t think so.” He put the package down and reached for another.
Houston and Amelia sat on the sofa, their fingers intertwined, whispering to each other without taking their eyes off their daughter.
Rawley stood beside an empty chair, wearing a miniature version of Dallas’s jacket, vest, and tie. With his black hair slicked down, his face scrubbed almost raw, and his hands knotted at his sides, she wondered if he knew Christmas came with gifts.
Maggie squealed. “Aunt Dee, you came!” She hopped up, ran across the room, and wrapped her small arms around Cordelia’s knees. “I’m so glad.” She looked up at Dallas. “Now?”
He touched the tip of her nose. “In a minute.”
Awkwardly, Amelia brought herself to her feet with assistance from Houston. Pressing a hand to her protruding stomach, smiling softly, she waddled across the room. With tears in her eyes, she hugged Cordelia. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered.
Cordelia fought back her own tears. She had expected a Christmas filled with joy, not sorrow. As Amelia drew back, Cordelia squeezed her hands and gave her a quivering smile. “How are you feeling?”
Amelia smiled brightly. “I woke up this morning and wanted to clean the house from top to bottom. I’m so glad Christmas Eve is today when I’m not tired.”
“Me, too,” Houston said. “She wanted me to help her clean.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Dee’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Dee.”
“Why don’t you sit over here?” Dallas said as he escorted her to the chair where Rawley stood, a silent sentinel.
Sitting in the chair, she smiled at Rawley and touched a finger to the lapel of his jacket. “You certainly look handsome.”
Twin spots of red colored his cheeks. He looked down at his boots—new boots, as shiny as Dallas’s. She had been so wrapped up in her grief that she hadn’t considered the child might need—might want—new clothes. She glanced up, wanting to thank Dallas for making certain the child was dressed as nicely as everyone else on this special day.
But he had moved away and was standing by the tree. He cleared his throat. “Our mother believed in tradition. She didn’t have many, but the ones she had always seemed special.” He met Houston’s gaze. “Austin didn’t remember the traditions because he was so young when our mother died, but Houston and I remembered them. We gave our word that we’d share them with Austin, and in time with our families. It always makes us feel as though our mother is still with us.” He cleared his throat again. “Anyway, she always sang a song before we opened the gifts.”
Houston stepped up beside him. Austin picked up his violin, placed it beneath his chin, and set his bow upon the strings. With one long, slow stroke, he brought the beautiful music into the room.
Then Dallas and Houston added their deep voices to the lyrical strains of the violin.
“Silent night, holy night …”
Dallas’s voice was a rich resonance that seemed to reach out and touch every corner of the room. Houston sounded as though cattle had taught him to sing, but it didn’t matter. The words journeyed from their hearts and their memories. Cordelia sat in awe, listening as three men, three brothers, paid their special homage to the woman who had brought each of them into the world.
Dallas faltered at the words “mother and child,” and fell into silence. He looked at her, and for a brief moment she saw the raw pain he’d been hiding from her. Then Amelia’s voice filled the room as she nestled against Houston’s side and he wrapped his arm around her.
Cordelia wanted to get out of the chair, cross the room, wrap her arms around Dallas, and tell him that everything would be all right. She would find a way to make it right again, but she saw a family standing before the tree, four people who loved each other. She couldn’t find the courage to walk into their midst, to ask them to accept her as she was—broken.
A small hand found its way into hers. Smiling softly at Rawley, she wondered if he felt as though he didn’t belong as much as she did.
The voices rang out with the final words of the hymn, and as they died away, Austin took his time, allowing the last strains of music to fade.
Maggie walked up to Dallas and tilted her head back. “Now?”
He smiled warmly. “Now.”
She squealed and dropped to the floor, clapping her hands. “Now, Unca Austin, now.”
Austin set aside his violin and pointed a finger at her. “No peeking, no opening anything until they are all passed out.”
Nodding her head, she scooted up. Houston and Amelia returned to their places on the sofa, and Dallas leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
Cordelia squeezed Rawley’s hand. “Don’t you want to move closer to the tree?”
