Celtic music was playing.
"Mother says hi. Precious was very good, weren't you Precious?" Oliver
took Emma. "Doesn't it smell good in here!"
"Dinner's all ready."
"Oh, and a fire. How nice to be home. Let's turn that music down a
little."
"Da Da."
Oliver pushed Suzanne to the back of his mind, struggling for time to
understand or to outlive what was happening. Early the next morning, he
cut a Christmas tree in the woods behind the house. He bought lights
and a tree stand at K-Mart. By noon, they were hanging tinsel on the
tree, and Jennifer was telling him that she could finally get some
really nice decorations. Rupert had never wanted to bother with a tree.
At one-thirty, they walked across a graveled driveway in Falmouth and
knocked on Bogdolf Eric's door. Oliver was carrying Emma; Jennifer held
a canvas bag containing a fat beeswax candle and two bottles of wine, a
Chardonnay and a Merlot.
"Ah, Jennifer!"
"Eric," she said, handing him the bag and accepting his hug at the same
time.
"And here we have Oliver and Miss Emma," he said, disengaging.
"Merry Christmas, Bogdolf."
"Oh dear, I'm afraid--no Bogdolf today. The Lore Keeper is--in the
field.
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