The church decorating committee has been marvelous. They're putting up three extra Christmas trees, so there 'll be one on each side of the altar and one at each end of the communion rail. Our minister has given his consent for the service to be done by candlelight. It should add just the perfect touch. The whole effect will be amazing. Can you imagine it, Margaret?

The magnificence of the glistening Christmas trees softened by the romantic glow of the flickering candles wasn't hard for Margaret to imagine at all. She could see Annette, an enchanting vision in her beautiful wedding dress, floating down the aisle on her father's arm. The voices of the choir rose, filling the huge church with old familiar carols. It was perfect. But Molly's life always was.

The vivid memory of the last time she had seen her own daughter, Maryann, burned higher.

The teen-ager's face was twisted with anger. "You'll never understand! I've always wanted to be a singer. Now that I have the chance, why can't you support me? Mom does." "Leave your mother out of this. She doesn't put the food on the table in this house. And as to you being a singer, do you have to look like a whore to do it?"

Margaret gasped. How could he call their daughter something so horrible? Not that she approved of Maryann's short tight skirts, manly cut bleached white hair, and several rings in her ears, but it was the times and the style. She was a good girl, always keeping her father's strict curfew. She even graduated high school with honors.

"You've always made sure everyone knew who was boss, Dad. Including Mom,"

Maryann shot back, ignoring his name calling. Edward's hand flew to his daughter's cheek. The smack echoed repulsively in Margaret's ears. Maryann stood unflinching. A mask of ice slid over her face. Looking into her daughter's dead eyes, pain tore through Margaret. Yet her mouth refused to speak the words her heart screamed at her to say.

That had been seven years ago. They hadn't seen her since. Margaret prayed for her every day. Pushing back the ache, she shook her head and returned to Molly's letter.

What about you? Do you think you'll hear from Maryann this year? It's in my prayers that you will. Are Edward Jr. and his wife coming home for the holidays? It's a shame they don't have any children yet. It's so much fun being a grandmother. Little Scotty has brought so much joy into our lives. You get to buy them everything you shouldn't, spoil them rotten, and then send them home.

Margaret smiled. What would she have done without Molly's letters all these years? She tucked it into the secret nook in her desk, to join the many others hiding there. As she walked towards the door, she stopped. The loons in her painting seemed to laugh mockingly at her. She turned the painting over and went into the living room.

Edward was sitting on the sofa. She hadn't heard him come home. "How was your day at work, Dear?"

"Fine."

He didn't look up from his newspaper. She hadn't expected him to.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mother. Merry Christmas."

"Oh, Ed, dear. Merry Christmas. How are you? And Audra?"

"We arrived in St. Lucia yesterday. Audra still has a bit of jet lag."

"Oh, dear."

"No, Mother, she'll be fine. She's resting right now."

A pregnant pause stretched between mother and son. "There's a Christmas Eve party tonight at our resort so I can't talk long. Oh by the way, we checked with the airlines and it looks like we can make a connecting flight in Toronto on the way back. So we'll be over to see you then."

"That's wonderful. Your father and I will be looking forward to it."

"Well, good-bye, Mother. Wish Father a Merry Christmas for us."

"He's right here. Just a minute. I'll get him," Margaret said hurriedly, but she was too late. The dial tone emanated from the receiver.

She had their promise to visit, yet Margaret doubted they would. In the three years since their marriage, she had met Audra only once. That Christmas day, two years ago. She had seemed cool and unapproachable. Margaret supposed she shouldn't judge the girl on one meeting. She probably didn't try as hard as she should have herself, but it was so difficult seeing Audra in her daughter's place at the table. Edward, sitting in his big chair all afternoon with scarcely a word, hadn't helped to ease the awkwardness of the day either.

Christmas day passed as quiet as a whisper. She and Edward exchanged their customary gifts, a new tie for him and a pair of gloves for her. Afterwards, she rushed to the kitchen to prepare their traditional turkey dinner. As she had done each of the thirty years of her marriage, she got out her best linen cloth and draped it over the dining-room table. With the Christmas candles aglow in the centre-piece, her mother's china glistened gaily. The heavy silver cutlery laying on the bright red napkins beside each of the two plates also reflected the twinkling lights from the small Christmas tree in the corner. She and Edward sat amid the full festive regalia, eating dinner...alone and in silence.

The phone pulled Margaret from a deep sleep. A glance at the clock told her it was 11:00pm. She grabbed it before it woke Edward.

"Mom?"

Margaret's heart skipped a beat. "Maryann? Oh, Maryann. Thank God. Oh, Thank God." Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, Mom. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please forgive me for not calling. But I just couldn't."

"I understand, dear. Where are you? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, really. I'm fine. I'm living on a commune near Edmonton." A commune! Margaret hoped it wasn't one of those crazy ones that you read about and saw on T.V. "When are you coming home?"

"I can't."

"Who's calling at this time of night?" Edward grumbled from his side of the bed.

"Please Mom, don't tell him it's me."

"Oh, it's just a wrong number."

"Thanks, Mom. Merry Christmas. I love you."

Well, at least her daughter was alive. Margaret knew Molly's advice would be, "Be grateful for that blessing".

Now that the rush of the holidays was behind them, the store where Margaret worked no longer needed her as often. She was back to working only on Thursdays and Fridays. Oh how she missed the excitement of the holiday crowds

Margaret signed her name with love and scanned, one last time, the letter she had just finished writing to Molly. It wasn't very long, only one paltry page. Except for the phone call from Maryann, there hadn't been much to write about. With a sigh, she folded the thin sheet and tucked it in an envelope. She mailed it the next day, for she knew Molly would be waiting to hear from her.

It was the second week of March. Margaret went downstairs to pick up their mail. Right on top was a letter from Molly. It was so thick, the envelope had to strain to contain it. She went directly to her little painting room, anxious to find out all about Molly's holidays and Annette's wedding. Meticulously, she slit the envelope with her letter opener and drew out the papers. By the time she had finished reading, tears were coursing down her cheeks.

The opening of Molly's new store had been a tremendous success. The only regret she had was Ted, 'poor Darling', had come down with the flu and couldn't be there. She thought he had gotten over-tired on his business trip to Singapore. And that, combined with the abrupt change of climate and jet lag, had lowered his resistance. He was fine and dandy now though.

Molly had gone all the way to Los Angeles...on her own. It was getting harder and harder not to envy her friend her courage, her success, and the closeness of her family. Especially the closeness of her family. They shared so much. Both the good and the bad...getting through it together. Molly wrote that Annette had suddenly developed doubts on the eve of her wedding, but she was able to talk with her, help her to realize her fears were normal, and that she truly loved Paul. And he her. Margaret wished with all her heart she had found the right words for own daughter.

Christmas at Molly's sounded like a fairy tale. Annette and Paul, along with Sam, Becky, and little Scotty, unwrapping presents and singing carols around the tree. Margaret could picture it so clearly. Molly and Ted also got an unexpected gift for Christmas this year. The most precious gift of all. Sam and Becky proudly announced that Becky was pregnant again. Molly would soon have two grandchildren. How she wished she had a child to hold and love again.

Ed Jr. and Audra hadn't made their promised visit. They had called from their home to apologize. Apparently, the only stop-over possible would have made them late back to work. They did mention something about trying to come east over the summer. There had been no further word from Maryann. But then, Margaret hadn't expected any.

Where did she go wrong? When did her children become so distant and hard to understand? Why couldn't she find some way to get through to them now? Not even Molly could answer those questions.

The days drifted into weeks, the weeks into months, but Margaret was unaffected by the passing of time. In fact, to her, it was barely discernible. Each day held so little difference from the one before it. She could, if she thought, tell them apart by the length of the scarf she was knitting, or by what she had fixed for Edward's dinner. A small roast of beef on Monday, pork chops on Tuesday, veal cutlets on Wednesday, and so forth. Even her time on the job was endless and boring to her lately. $11.95 for a sweater, $7.95 for a shirt. She punched in numbers, over and over again, while a parade of nameless faces waited impatiently.

She glanced at Edward asleep in front of the T.V. Did he have any idea of how she was feeling? Did he care? Did it bother him to be so estranged from his own children? She doubted if she would ever know. What had happened to them with the passing of the years? They never talked any more. Had they ever? Had Edward always been so cold?

A little girl with brown curls rushed to welcome the man coming home, only to be dismissed with a pat on her head. The man bent over a crying toddler, shaking his finger in admonishment of a boy's right to tears. Many, many forgotten birthdays and anniversaries. Yes. He had always been hardhearted. He hadn't changed. Should she have left him? Margaret looked around her comfortable middle class apartment. Edward had always been an excellent provider. She and the children had never lacked any of the necessities. No. She could never have given the children, or herself, this much on her own. And to leave him now seemed pointless. Melancholy was beginning to weigh heavy on her aching shoulders. What she needed was a diversion from her thoughts.

Margaret put down her knitting and quietly crossed to her painting room. When she had shut the door securely behind her, she went and stood in front of her latest attempt. It was coming. Trees and a lake were taking shape on her canvas. She intended on including another loon. Maybe Molly would like this one better. She paused. It had been quite awhile since she had heard from Molly. Margaret went and sat at her desk. After taking out a sheet of paper, she picked up her pen and wrote:

BARBARA OSWALD and Bernice Lowe live in Ontario Canada. They are long-time Purr contributors. Both writers were interviewed on a Canadian TV station. Barbara won an editor's choice award from the National Library of Poetry for a poem that came out in their Best of 1997 anthology.