played for or attended. The night was filled with the rattle and throb of diesel buses pulling away.
Stuart’s mother, Buffy Longstreet, was crying. She wanted Stuart to come with her back down to Los Angeles. Stuart was comforting her and explaining gently that he just couldn’t do this as he walked her out to her car.
The exceptional women came to say their farewells together, and with the singular man, Hockan Crost, and that cinched it. Morphenkinder, had to be. Another, a dark-haired woman whom Reuben hadn’t met before, confided her name to be Clarice as she took Reuben’s hand, and told him how much she’d enjoyed the entire festival. She was his height in flat evening slippers, and wore a decidedly politically incorrect white fox-fur coat.
“You thrive in the public eye, don’t you?” she said, her speech so very heavily accented that he found himself leaning forward, the better to hear her. “I am Russian,” she explained, sensing the difficulty. “I am always learning English but never mastering it. This is all so innocent, so normal!” She made a soft scoffing sound. “Who would ever dream this was Yule?” The others were waiting a bit impatiently to say their good-byes, it seemed, and sensing it, she gave a petulant shrug and embraced Felix tightly, confiding something to him under her breath that made him smile a little tightly as he released her.
The other ladies embraced him in turn. Berenice, the pretty brunette who so closely resembled Frank, gave him long lingering kisses, and seemed suddenly sad, the tears plainly rising in her eyes. The woman he’d seen with Thibault introduced herself as Dorchella, and offered her thanks warmly as she left. The tall pale Fiona of the diamonds appeared to be rushing the others. She kissed Reuben brusquely on the cheek. “You bring a strange new life to this great house,” she whispered. “You and all your family. Aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid of what?” he asked.
“Don’t you know?” she asked. “Ah, youth and its eternal optimism.”
“I’m not following,” said Reuben. “What is there to be afraid of?”
“The attention, of course,” said she quickly. “What else?”
But before he could respond, she’d turned to Felix.
“I marvel that you think you can get away with all this,” she said. “You don’t learn, do you, from experience?”
“Always learning, Fiona,” said Felix. “We are born into this world to learn, to love, and to serve.”
“That’s the dreariest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Fiona.
He flashed a brilliant and perfect smile on her. “How very good of you to come, young Fiona,” he said with seeming sincerity. “Delighted to have you as a guest under this roof anytime. Don’t you agree with me, Reuben?”
“Yes, absolutely,” said Reuben. “Thank you so much for coming.”
A deep anger darkened Fiona’s face, her eyes moving quickly over both of them. Does anger have a scent, and what would her scent be if she weren’t a Morphenkind? Behind her, the woman named Helena pressed in, and put a hand on Fiona’s shoulder.
“You think you can get away with anything, Felix,” said Fiona, voice uglier than before, a flush beating in her cheeks. “I think you like heartbreak.”
“Good-bye, my dear,” said Felix with the same even courtesy. “Safe journey.” The two women withdrew without another word. Catrin went with them, flashing a smile at both Felix and Reuben.
Yes, Morphenkinder, because some scent of malice would have arisen from all that, but there had been nothing.
Hockan Crost’s eyes lingered on Reuben for a long moment, but Felix at once spoke up in his usual convivial manner, “Always good to see you, Hockan, you know that.”
“Oh, indeed, old friend,” said Hockan in his deep melodious voice. There was something wistful in his expression. “We need to meet, we need to talk,” he said emphasizing the word
“I’m more than willing,” said Felix earnestly. “When have I ever closed my doors to you? And during Midwinter? Never. I hope we see you soon again.”
“Yes, you will,” said the man. He looked troubled, and there was something immediately appealing about him, in the way he let his feelings come to the fore, in the imploring way in which he spoke. “There are things I have to say, beloved Felix.” He was pleading with dignity. “I want you to hear me out.”
“Indeed, and we will have the chance to talk together, won’t we?” said Felix. To Reuben he said, “This is my old and dear friend, Reuben. Hockan Crost. He should always be welcome day or night here.”
Reuben nodded and murmured his approval.
Then the man, glancing at the guests crowding towards the exit, and sensing that this was not the time and the place for any more talk, moved on.
And they were gone, the mysterious ones, all this confusing and unsettling talk having taken no more than two or three minutes. Felix gave Reuben a pointed and meaningful glance, and then sighed audibly with eloquent relief.
“You recognized your kindred, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Reuben. “Most definitely yes.”
“And for now, forget about them,” said Felix, and he went back to the farewells with renewed spirit.
Susie Blakely gave Reuben a hug as she came to say good-bye. Pastor George whispered, “You can’t imagine the change in her! I can’t tell you. She actually had fun!”
“I saw it. I’m so happy for her. And please, stay in touch with me.”
Off they went.
Of course the family and closest friends remained for a while longer, together with Galton, Mayor Cronin, and Dr. Cutler, and some of Stuart’s old gay boyfriends. But then even Celeste and Mort said they were tired and had to be going, and Grace, after hugging each of the Distinguished Gentlemen in turn, kissed Reuben good-bye, leaving with Aunt Josie, Cousin Shelby and Clifford, and Uncle Tim and his wife, Helen.
Finally Stuart’s friends wandered out into the night also, one of them singing the “Hallelujah Chorus” at the top of his lungs, the mayor and Galton left arguing with each other over something to do with the village festival, and the giant plastic flaps of the tent doors came down on the damp and gusty darkness. The windows to the main room were being shut up and locked.
Then it was to the kitchen, where Felix wanted to personally thank the maids and the entire catering team. Would Reuben please join him? And he would show Reuben just how he liked to do these things.
Reuben was eager to learn. Tipping people had always made him very nervous.
Lisa appeared right beside them with a large leather purse from which Felix took one white envelope after another to present to each individual cook, server, waiter or waitress, and maid as he gave thanks. Soon he deferred to Reuben and handed the envelopes to him to give to the workers, and Reuben did his level best to assume the same gracious manner, discovering how easily the awkward matter of tipping could be handled if he just looked people right in the eye.
Last, they handed out envelopes to the surprised teenage volunteers who had been the upstairs docents and guides and who had not expected any such special consideration. They were delighted.
The other Distinguished Gentlemen had wandered off. Soon only Lisa and Jean Pierre and Heddy were left putting this or that little thing in order, and Felix had flopped down in the wing chair by the library fire, kicking off his patent-leather dress shoes.
Reuben stood there drinking a cup of hot chocolate and looking down into the flames. He wanted so to tell Felix about having seen Marchent, but he couldn’t bring himself to confide this just yet. It would alter Felix’s mood too dramatically, and perhaps it would alter his own mood as well.
“This is where I secretly and quietly relive every minute of the evening,” said Felix happily, “and ask myself what I might have done better and what I might do next year.”
“You know these people mostly had never seen anything like this,” said Reuben. “I don’t think my parents in all their lives ever contemplated giving a large party let alone something even remotely like this.” He sat down in the club chair and confessed how he himself had only been to the symphony maybe four times in his entire life, and had only heard Handel’s
