Chapter Mrs. Bennet #10
“Fancy,” Mr. Bennet said. “I’ll sample the Bennet way.” He scooped a cupful directly from the punch bowl and took a swig.
“How is it?” Mary asked.
“It needs vodka,” Mr. Bennet said.
“You’re not allowed to drink.”
“It seems to me the people in this world who most need to drink alcohol are the very people not allowed to imbibe.”
“Oh, Pa. You don’t need to drink. You have everything any man could ever hope for.”
“Whatever you say, Mary.”
Mary’s father had bounced back from his health ordeal. He was slower and used a cane, but Mary didn’t mind, as long as he was there to lead the family.
“Don’t let that man drink!” Mrs. Bennet said, coming down the stairs one at a time, gripping the bannister.
“I’m not, Ma.”
“Damn stairs. I will die without the benefit of an elevator.”
“The stairs are good exercise,” Mr. Bennet said.
“Your new room will be ready after Christmas,” Mary promised her.
“You know I don’t deal well with change,” Mrs. Bennet groused. “And I don’t know if I’ll like the back parlor as a bedroom.”
“But you will,” Mr. Bennet assured her.
“Do I have a choice?”
“No,” Mary and her father said in unison. The three of them laughed.
The door from the garden behind them blew open. Joe carried a cord of wood into the old house to the fireplace. He began to stack the wood.
“A fire! I love a fire!” Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands together.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Bennet,” Joe said. Joe wore the flannel shirt that reminded Mary of her blanket. They had spent Christmas Eve in New Jersey with the Tarantellos. Mary had never experienced the Feast of the Seven Fishes, and now she hoped she always would.
“Ma, Pa, sit down.” Mary helped her parents to the sofa.
Mary had put up the Christmas tree in the back parlor, as was the tradition. A tall blue spruce, fragrant and full, shimmered with lights and ornaments. Gifts wrapped in paper and ribbons were stacked underneath it. Mary closed the pocket doors between the front and back parlors.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells divine,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“I cooked all the traditional dishes—your recipes, Ma.”
“I wish I could help.”
“You made more than thirty Christmas dinners, Ma. I’m happy to do it.”
“I did my share, that’s for sure.” Mrs. Bennet sipped her punch. “One never knows when they’re in the midst of all that hard work if anyone notices it. I’m grateful you did, Mary.”
Joe smiled and lit the kindling. Soon, the logs roared, with flames of orange throwing heat and light.
Mary leaned against the mantel she had decorated with candles and branches of pine. “It’s a beauty,” she said.
Joe pulled her close. “And so are you.”
Joe kissed her, but it was quick and chaste. After all, Mary’s parents were sitting a few feet away. But Mary didn’t care. She kissed Joe again. She was in love, and she didn’t care who knew it.
“Of all the wonderful sons-in-law I have, and believe me, I have them, and yes, I know it’s a sin, but Joe is my favorite. I never thought one of my girls would marry an Italian, but here we are. And I am so happy for it.”
“My wife likes your skill set with wire cutters and pipes and a hammer and nails.”
“I’m happy to help,” Joe said.
The doorbell rang. Mary excused herself. She threw open the front door. Her sisters, their husbands, and their children poured into the house, filling the place to the brim.
“The new sidewalk is so even!” Lizzie said.
“And the stoop—no cracks,” Lydia marveled.
“We’re getting there. One job at a time,” Mary said cheerily. As the children ran to the tree, they peeled off their coats. Mary helped collect the coats of her sisters and brothers-in-law and sent them into the back parlor to see the tree.
“Joe built a fire,” Mrs. Bennet announced as Darcy entered the parlor. “He remembered to open the flue,” she added.
“Will I ever live that down?” Darcy turned to Lizzie.
“The black smoke Christmas?” Lizzie laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“We thought we’d die,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“But we didn’t,” Darcy reminded her.
“Have some punch,” Mary said. “Everyone.”
Lydia ladled the punch into glasses. Kitty served. Jane handed out linen cocktail napkins that Mrs. Bennet had embroidered with small trees. Lizzie wrangled the children to the tree to look at the gifts wrapped underneath it, as the brothers-in-law joined their father-in-law on the sofa.
The girls clamored around the tree, squealing when they read their name on a gift tag.
“So this is a Bennet family Christmas,” Joe said. “A lot of feminine energy.”
“Is there any other kind?” Kitty joked.
“There is in New Jersey.” Joe winked at Mary.
“How were the Seven Fishes, Mary?” Jane asked.
“Seven times seven.” Mary laughed. “But not to worry. The feast inspired my new play.”
“Good for you.” Mr. Bennet grinned.
“My mother overdoes it,” Joe said. “My father was hanging wallpaper five minutes before the guests arrived.”
“That’s a great opening scene,” Mr. Bennet said.
“The Tarantello men are builders; they can do anything.” Mrs. Bennet sipped her punch.
“I’ll say. Joe, this brownstone never had so much love. The new bathroom is perfection,” Lizzie said.
“For years, it was a water closet, now it looks like a powder room in Versailles,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Joe’s masterpiece.” Mary kissed him.
“I always wondered what it would look like, all fixed up. It’s lovely,” Jane said.
“Thank goodness somebody married a man who’s handy.” Kitty laughed.
“Hey,” Bing said. His brothers-in-law on the Bennet side concurred. Perhaps they weren’t talented in plumbing, electrics, and building, but they had other talents.
Lydia joined Joe and Mary by the fire. “Are you serious with that bathroom? It’s gorgeous.”
“Carrara marble. I figured you needed something Italian in this house.”
“Besides you.” Lizzie smiled.
“I love Italian everything,” Lydia said. “You’ll have to come to Waterford and build me a bathroom with spa features.”
“I’d be happy to,” Joe said.
“Oh, no, no, no!” Mrs. Bennet shouted. “Mr. Tarantello must never leave Jane Street!”
“I might,” Joe said.
The sisters looked at one another.
“But I will never leave Mary Bennet,” Joe said.
The sisters cheered. Their husbands had a laugh. Mrs. Bennet was smug. And Mr. Bennet was relieved.
Mary Bennet, for her part, was happy—the kind of happiness that’s bigger than any dream, bigger than any house, bigger than Christmas—the kind of happiness that lasts.