Several times Sybil saw Elsie looking at
her strangely. But Elsie said nothing,
though she introduced Sybil to a new young
man just back from building bridges.
He stayed by her all evening, but Sybil
scarcely saw him. She felt a kind of bitter
gratitude at last to slip quietly past the tall
Christmas tree which guarded its great pile
of gifts and climb the stairs to her room.
Now it was bleak morning and they ex
pected her to come down. But why? She'd
seen family Christmases before.
The children would yank the wrappings
from the too-many presents and be caught
up for a moment by excitement Then, when
it was done, they'd turn vaguely disap
pointed faces toward their parents because
the tree hadn't yielded some great secret.
And the parents, seeing their disappoint
ment, would know that they had failed
what did children want? Then they'd get up
and go to breakfast, and the light of the day
would turn the bright tree tawdry, and it
would stand in its loneliness, not magical
at all, not at all.
Some small part of the storm was ascend
ing the stair. The door opened and Alan,
the youngest Marsden, entered, running.
"Aren'tcha gonna watch us, Aunt Sybil?"
His wild climb had turned his voice breath
less. "Didn't Mama call you?"
Alan had not been Sybil's favorite among
the Marsden children before this, but now it
seemed that he was. There he stood, wild
with impatience to explore the marvels of
the Christmas tree, yet wanting her enough
to reclimb the stairs and stand there yell
ing: "Come on, Aunt Sybil!"
"I'm coming!"
She buttoned her rose-colored wool robe
with one hand, seized a hairbrush with the
other, and fled after him down the stairs.
"The others will be all through," he
shouted, "if we don't hurry!"
Sybil came to an abrupt halt. The tree,
glorious in this moment of triumph, shed its
colored lights into the gloom. The fireplace
added its own flickering magic. And by the
fire, turning to smile at her, and then again
looking toward the tree, was Bob James.
The flickering lights hid Sybil's blush.
She sat down by Elsie and began brush
ing at her hair. Three children seemed a
dozen. Their shoutings tinkled the orna
ments and set the tree shivering in delight
What do I care if I look a hag, thought
Sybil, I came down because of Alan.
She watched Paul and Elsie, their faces
reflecting the children's excited interest.
Elsie sometimes complained, "I wear myself
out for those kids at Christmas time, and
we spend twice as much as we can afford.
I don't know why." Yet, seeing their faces,
she knew why: it was for this moment.
Sybil brushed her hair and didn't look at
Bob, but she said to Elsie in a low voice,
resentfully, "What's he doing here?"
Elsie gave her a moment of attention.
"Bob? He always comes here Christmas
mornings when he's in town. He hasn't any
family, you know, and he's lonely."
A feeling of foolishness caught her. She
hadn't thought of him as lonely.
He didn't look lonely, always laughing
and asking questions that were none of his
business. "Why didn't you tell me, Elsie?
I could have combed my hair at least"
Elsie giggled, her eyes not leaving the
children. "If I'd told you, you'd have come
down looking calculated. He'd never have
seen you. Besides, I take an interest in Bob.
What if you weren't the kind of girl who'd
get up just because it was Christmas morn
ing and there were kids? Bob needs a real
person. I hide it, but I'm a matchmaker."
Sybil felt more foolish than ever, but
happier. Elsie was crazy forgetting Nola
Emerson but nice, and Sybil loved her.
The search for the secret under the tree
was soon over. Alan played at stacking the
empty boxes, then pushing them over. The
two others kept searching the branches of
the tree as if they sought some last un
opened package which would contain the
fantastic, wonderful thing they never
thought to ask for. But the tree yielded
nothing more, and they went out to play.
"Kids!" Paul said impatiently. And Elsie
announced: "The coffee's ready. Help me
with the cups, Paul."
Bob moved over beside Sybil, his grin
somewhat different from his newspaper
smile. "When you're a kid," he said, "you
keep looking for the secret of life under the
Christmas tree. I guess when you're older
you look for it in children looking for it."
He had almost spoken her own thought
"Is it because we don't understand that
Christmas can't be contained in a material
thing that we can't teach our children?"
"Maybe. Some things we can only half
grasp. But it's human to keep looking."
"Maybe the secret is in the searching,"
said Sybil.
They smiled at each other, and Sybil
thought of Nola Emerson, but the thought
had no strength in it
"Right now," he said, "it seems I'm close
to the secret."
"Yes," she said.
"If we're wrong, Sybil, we can go on
looking together. Can't we?"
"Yes," said Sybil.
Elsie came with the coffeepot and Paul
after her, carrying the tray. Their moment
of disappointment had passed. Elsie said,
"Merry Christmas."
Bob and Sybil returned the wish together,
to her and to each other, and Sybil looked
at the tall tree emptied of its bounty and it
was magical still.
She wished desperately to be alone with
Bob, to say that the answer lay in the
heart; that only when you looked to the
tree to supply what can be found only in the
human heart did the tree become tawdry
with barrenness. But of course, she had
to wait. "I'll have cream and sugar," she
said instead.