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I gushed on, happy to see him so animated. "This Christ child looks like a real baby, when most don't, and the virgin Mary is absolutely beautiful. Joseph looks so kind and understanding."

"He'd have to be, wouldn't he?" asked Jory, who was leaning forward to put more of his gifts under our family tree. "After all, it must have seemed a bit incredible for him to believe a virgin could be impregnated by an invisible, abstract God."

"You're not supposed to question," answered Bart, his eyes lovingly caressing the almost life-sized figures he'd purchased. "You just blindly accept what is written."

"Then why did you argue with Joel?"

"Jory . . . don't push me too far. Joel is helping me find myself. He's an old man who lived in sin when he was young and is redeeming himself in his old age through good deeds. I am a young man who wants to sin, feeling my traumatic childhood has already re deemed me."

"I suggest a few orgies in some big city will have you running back here, as old and hypocritical acting as your great-uncle Joel," answered Jory fearlessly. "I don't like him. And you'd be wise to drive him out, Bart. Give him a few hundred thousand and say goodbye."

Something yearning struggled in Bart's eyes, as if he'd like to do exactly this. He leaned forward to stare into Jory's eyes. "Why don't you like him?"

r /> "I can't really say, Bart," said Jory, who'd always forgiven easily. "He looks around your home like it should be his. I've caught him glaring at you when you aren't paying attention. I don't believe he's your friend, only your enemy."

Deeply distressed and disturbed looking, Bart left the room, tossing back his cynical remark. "When have I ever had anything but enemies?"

In a few moments Bart was back, bearing his own heavy stack of gifts. It took him three trips from his office to put all he'd bought under the family tree.

Then it was Chris. Carefully arranging all his presents, and that took some doing. The gifts were stacked up three feet high and spreading to fill most of one corner.

Melodic crept dismally into the cheerful room like a dark shadow and settled down near the fireplace, close enough to feel the warmth, crumpled like a rag in her chair, still everlastingly finding more fascination in the dancing flames than in anything else. She appeared sullen, moody, withdrawn and determined to be there in physical appearance only as her spirit roamed free. Her abdomen was

tremendously swollen, and she still had a few weeks to go. Her eyes were darkly shadowed.

Soon all of us were making an effort to be a loving family as Cindy played Santa Claus.

Christmas, as I'd learned a long time ago, had its own gifts to give. Grudges could be forgotten, enemies forgiven as we all united around the tree, even Joel, and one by one shook our packages, made our guesses, then tore into our packages, laughing and drowning out the carols I'd put on the stereo. Soon glittering paper and shining ribbons littered the floor.

Cindy at last handed Joel the gift she had for him. He accepted it tentatively as he'd taken all our gifts, as if we were heathen fools who didn't know the real meaning of a Christmas that didn't need gifts. Then his eyes were bulging at the white nightshirt and the peaked sleeping cap Cindy must have really hunted to find. Definitely he would look like Scrooge wearing those things. Included was an ebony walking stick, which he hurled to the floor along with the nightshirt and cap. "Are you mocking me, girl?"

"I only wanted you to have warm sleeping garments, Uncle," she said demurely, her sparkling eyes downcast, "and the walking stick would hurry your steps."

"Away from you? Is that what you mean?" He stooped painfully to pick up the stick and brandished it wildly in the air. "Maybe I will keep this thing after all; great weapon in case I'm attacked one night when I stroll the gardens . . . and long corridors."

Silent for a moment, not one of us could speak. Then Cindy laughed. "Uncle, I thought of that in advance. I knew one day you'd feel threatened."

He left the room then.

Only too soon all the gifts were unwrapped, and Jory was staring worriedly at the litter on the floor, then scanning all around the room. "I didn't forget you, Bart," he said with concern. "Cindy and Dad helped me wrap it once, but then I undid the wrapping, touched up again, wrapped it myself the last time after Cindy helped me lift it in." He kept looking through the rubble of discarded foil and ribbons. "Early this morning, before the rest of you were up, I came down here and I put it under the tree. Where the hell did it go, I wonder? It's a huge box, wrapped in red foil, tied with silver ribbons--and by far the largest box under the tree."

Bart didn't say a word, as if he'd grown accustomed to disappointments and the lack of Jory's gift was of no importance.

Of course I knew Jory had worked for months and months to finish the clipper ship that had ended up three feet in length and just as tall, with all its fragile riggings exactly right. He'd even sent for special copper fittings and a solid brass wheel for the helm. Desperately Jory looked around. "Has anyone seen the big box wrapped in red foil, with Bart's name on the tag?" he asked.

Immediately I was on my feet and scrambling through the piles of boxes, papers, ribbons, tissues, with Chris soon joining me in the search. Cindy began her own search on the other side of the room. "Oh," she cried out. "Here it is, behind this red sofa." She carried it to Bart and put it on the floor near his feet, bowing in mocking obeisance. "For our lord, our master," she said sweetly, backing away. "I think Jory's a fool to give it to you after all the hard work he put into this thing, but maybe you'll be appreciative, for once."

Suddenly I noticed Joel had slipped back into the room to observe Bart. How strange his expression, how strange.

Bart dropped his sophistication like an unwanted garment and became childishly eager to open this particular gift. Already he was tearing into the package Jory had so beautifully and carefully wrapped. He glanced up at Jory, his smile warm, wide and happy, his dark eyes lit with boyish anticipation. "Ten to one it's that clipper ship you made, Jory. You really should keep that yourself . . . but thanks, thanks a heap--" He paused, then sucked in his breath.

He stared down into the box, paling before he looked upward, his happiness vanished. Now his eyes were full of bitterness. "It's broken," he said in a dull tone. "Smashed to small pieces. There's nothing in this box but broken matchsticks and tangled rigging."

His voice cracked as he stood up and dropped the box to the floor. Violently he kicked it aside before he threw a hard look at Melodie, who hadn't said a word even when she opened her gifts, only thanked us with nods and weak smiles. "I should have known you would find the perfect way to repay me for sleeping with your wife."

Stunned silence rumbled louder than thunder. Melodic sat on, bleakly staring, seeming an empty shell, even as she mumbled on and on about how much she hated this house. Jory's eyes went starkly blank.

Had he guessed all along? All of Jory's color vanished before finally he could force his eyes to look at Melodie. "I don't believe you, Bart. You've always had a nasty, hateful way of kicking where it hurts most."