A Very BryonySeries Christmas: Excerpt No. 4

This except is from the first book of Before the Blood, which is scheduled for a January 2019 release.

FYI, as the relationship is not clear from the excerpt, Abbott is John's father. Enjoy! :)

  

By next week, Christmas cards from business associates were pouring into the house. Abbott shook his head when he saw another stack sitting on his desk and pushed them aside.

   "It's Louis Prang's contest, that's what it is," Abbott grumbled as he settled in the chair with his fourth cup of coffee. "There you have it, John, the common man, hoping to make an uncommon mark with a lousy piece of art and another mercenary transaction for a holy day."

   John picked up one such L. Prang and Company card. A red-head angel, hands on her hips, with a Xmas banner on the top right and a "to and "from" on her lower left smirked back at him.

   "You don't feel Jay Gould is sincere? Shocking!" John tossed the card on the desk. "Still, you don't mind yet another shipment of German mercury glass for your annual round of New Haven blue spruces, one for every wing of every floor, if I'm correct, courtesy of Uncle Ralph."

   Still intent on the account books, Abbott muttered, "We do an extraordinary amount of entertaining."

   "Explains your concern regarding insufficient alms for the poor."

   "That reminds me," Abbott said, glancing up with sly eyes. "Your pay is reduced for this month. I figured you'd want to make a generous contribution to Hudson Poor Farm, current home of the Gibbs family."

   John held the gaze, but inside, he boiled with fury. Without another word, he left the room.

   By the evening of December 23, the house was filled with guests anticipating festivities extending through New Year's Day, most of them centered around food, from the creamed fish leading the Christmas Eve dinner at dusk to the roast goose stuffed with apples and potatoes on Christmas evening. As Christmas Eve night deepened and the post-dinner conversations grew louder over thick slices of Irish cake and lively games of whist, John retreated to his chambers, avoiding those of his mother's, to think and plan.

   He was back downstairs by a quarter past eleven. With his star outshining the others in brilliance and brightness, John accompanied Abbott on foot to the candlelit midnight Mass at Old St. Patrick's Cathedral. Abbott stubbornly refused to set foot inside the new seat of the Archdiocese of New York, which John could not comprehend, as his father was not generally sentimental. But either the solemnity of the newborn Savior or the claret punch struck Abbott, for his strong tenor cut through the silent, glittering night on the walk back:

Adeste, fideles, laeti triumphantes:

Venite, venite in Bethlehem:

Venite adoremus.

Venite adoremus.

Venite adoremus Dominum.

   At home, feast number two awaited them: French omelets, hot buttered toast, buckwheat cakes, creamed potatoes and creamed sweetbreads, oyster pie, assorted jellies, and coffee. But the post-Mass discussions were subdued and halting. Gradually, the weary clan dispersed to their rooms, and John went with them, Gloria, in excelsis Deo lingering in his mind. By late morning, they had relished a hearty brunch of French onion soup, mutton chops, and fried apples; an afternoon Christmas tea staved off hunger pains for several more hours. John retired sooner than usual. Abbott had scheduled an early morning meeting with the board of trustees.

   On Saturday, the last day of the year, Abbott closed the bank at noon and donned his best host etiquette for yet another multi-coursed feast in the large dining room and musical entertainment in the drawing room. John sat in the corner and greeted eighteen eighty-two with a bottle of champagne and a heart of steel. He'd erred greatly in softening toward Savannah. He would never make that mistake toward any woman again.

   Never.

   The crowd sang Auld Layne Syne; a cloud drifted over his star.

Photo by Timothy Baran