Free Plundered Christmas by Susan Lyttek Page A

the doctor!” Mary said triumphantly. She raced to her mother’s side. Mary immediately shooed Dad out of the way, and slowly and carefully lifted up the pads. She didn’t remove them entirely, just raised them enough so that she could see the wound.
    After looking and cocking her head in several different angles to examine the shark bite, Mary replaced the pads and sighed. The relief in her expression was easy to read. “I showed the doctor a picture on my phone of Mom’s shoulder. I told him about our situation and spotty reception. He told me what to look for and what to worry about. I didn’t see any pus or white discharge in the sore. It looks clean, but raw. He said in that case, to wait an hour or so before changing the gauze or absorbent pads as the case may be. He also said that as long as Mom was conscious, she could take ibuprofen for the pain, drink water, and eat a little. Like the kind of stuff she would eat at the hospital.”
    The cook beamed. “I have just the thing, ma’am. I made some broth.” She ticked off the contents of her refrigerators by pointing to different fingers on her hands. “And I made a gelatin mold for the children.” Mrs. Smith turned to Josie and Justin. “You dearies don’t mind if I share some of it with Miss Margo, do you?”
    They assured her that they didn’t. Josie didn’t even like wobbly desserts, with the exception of canned cranberry sauce—with the berries. She would choke down a small serving whenever aunts or well-meaning neighbors made some for Justin and included her in the “treat.” Rather than traditional kid foods and desserts, our daughter had more upscale taste. If you wanted to excite Josie about dessert, it required two words “chocolate” and “fountain.” If she could repeatedly drench everything from strawberries to saltine crackers in warm chocolate, Josie was happy.
    I wonder where she inherited that food obsession from ?
    The cook hurried off to get a small something for Miss Margo. Mary dug some painkiller from her purse, and Juliana ran to fetch a bottle of Margo’s favorite brand of water.
    Dad, in the meantime, did what Dad did best. He made sure she was comfortable and talked to her about anything and everything that didn’t relate to her pain.
    By this time, the fire roared comfortingly against the harbor side of the house.
    The kids located Margo’s stereo system and with her permission, selected a couple of CDs they recognized from titles that Mom had passed down to me. Soon, the soothing tones of Nat King Cole made the entire room feel like Christmas could indeed happen at this place and time.
    Josie danced in time to the songs, pirouetting like a ballerina.
    Justin had pulled out his handheld game system and sat under the tree trying to better a previous score on a favorite conquest.
    If not for the fact that a shark-bitten woman sat on her couch, it would have been idyllic.
    Margo had nearly finished her broth and gelatin when the wind kicked up higher.
    It sounded like the gales wanted to push the great house closer to the ocean, if not into it. The lights flickered and the stereo whined as it stopped and then started. Twice more, the power flickered and recovered. Then, the house went dark.
    It was the loss of the flickering Christmas tree that I missed the most. Instead, a dark mass filled the shape inside the staircase. Sometimes, when the glow of the fire caught it just so, it looked like a giant lunging for us. Without planning to, we all gradually moved away from the tree and closer to the fire.
    Thankfully, near the crackling flames we could see each other and feel its warmth. Nobody spoke much and when they did, it was hushed as if the loss of light took away sound as well.
    “I’ll go round up some candles and torches,” Charlie said.
    As the older man headed toward the supply room in the east wing using the glow of Miss Margo’s phone, Jelly started barking for all he was worth.
    “Calm down, boy,” said