Free The Body in the Sleigh by Katherine Hall Page Page A

Maybe she’d want Miriam to heat up some broth. That and saltines were what she mostly ate. Maybe she’d want Miriam to pour some water, so she could take one of the blue pills that were in a container tucked under her pillow. Once when her mother was in a deep sleep, Miriam had tried to slip the small container out and read what was on the label. Her mother had awakened immediately and with surprising swiftness grabbed the pills from Miriam’s hand and told her to leave them alone.
    â€œThese are not for children.”
    Miriam had never tried again.
    The house was silent. They didn’t have any pets. Not even fish. Miriam walked through the dining room to the hall and up the stairs. They were carpeted, like the rest of the house. It was a place without much sound of any kind. Not even footsteps.
    She turned the knob on her mother’s door. The drapes were closed and only a small night-light was on. The furniture, a few pieces of artwork on the walls—everything looked gray. Her mother lay motionless under the covers, and every day Miriam had the same thought: “What if she’s stopped breathing?” This was the worst part about coming home. The part where she went over and puther hand on her mother’s cheek to feel whether it was warm or not. Sometimes her mother would open her eyes and say a few words, but that had been happening less and less frequently.
    The cheek was warm. Miriam let out her breath, unaware that she had been holding it. Her mother didn’t open her eyes today, but Miriam thought she saw a little smile on her lips. Her face had once been a very beautiful face, but now it looked as if the skin were too tight for the bones beneath. Miriam slipped off her shoes and gently lay down next to the still figure. “I’m here, Mom,” she said softly. “It’s me.”
    â€œAmen. Thank you for that nice blessing, Tom. Now let’s eat.” Freeman Marshall looked down the long table that had been made even longer with the addition of several card tables. His wife was at the far end, grandkids to either side. The Marshall family wanted everyone, no matter what age, around their holiday board. No children’s table in the kitchen for them, and if things got a little messy, Nan was there with a roll of paper towels.
    â€œGrandpa, could we say a special one for Norah, I mean Zara?”
    â€œOf course, Jake. How ’bout you do it?”
    The teenager shook his head, so Freeman bowed his and said, “Dear Lord, we know you are taking good care of our little girl who you chose to take from us so early. We don’t always understand how your wisdom works, but we know it is here guiding us every day of our earthly lives. As we celebrate the birth of your son, we give special thanks for Norah’s birth and her years with us. Help Darlene, her poor grieving mother. We’ll be there for her too. Amen.”
    This appeared to satisfy Jake Whittaker. He nodded and almost everyone reached for a serving utensil. Faith hung back. Jake’s mention of the girl—had they baked cookies with Nan together? Gone out fishing with Freeman?—pierced Faith’s heart. In hermind’s eye, she was seeing the picture that had accompanied the obituary in this week’s Island Crier . It was a school picture taken junior year. Norah—Faith couldn’t think of her as Zara—hadn’t changed her hair color yet and although she sported numerous piercings, there was still something of the cheerful, younger girl Faith remembered in the upturn of her lips and the way she looked directly into the camera. What had happened to her when she left the island? What had happened the last time that had kept her from coming back to those who loved her and only wanted to keep her safe? People like Jake, obviously a close friend, and the rest of the Marshall clan? Her mother?
    The weather had grown much colder. The icicles that had been dripping