Dragon's First Christmas Read online

  “What you probably want is a cage,” Harrison said. “You could ask the zoo what they’d recommend.”

  Rose said nothing. Her fist clenched around the phone. He was absolutely right: a cage would fit the parameters they’d defined, and the very idea was appalling. She had no doubt that Henry would veto it with vehement certainty.

  Maybe we’ve been thinking with the wrong assumptions, Rose thought. Maybe what we need is not to find a way to trap him, but a way to make sure it is not dangerous if he gets out on his own, which he will no doubt want to do increasingly more often as he ages.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jones,” Rose said politely. “I appreciate the speed with which you contacted us.”

  “If you need to contact me again, here’s the phone number for the boarding house,” he said, and recited four digits. “I’m not often here, though. And it’s often busy. There are three other boarding houses on our party line, plus at least two families, and one of the women in one of those places is constantly on the phone.”

  “Speaking of which!” a strange man’s voice cut in. “Are you two close to done? I need to make a call soon.”

  Rose rubbed her forehead. That was a voice she thought she had heard before, so the rude stranger was probably on the end of her party line. It would have been nice to be able to hold a conversation without the risk of strangers listening in. The lack of privacy with telephone conversations was a definite disadvantage to using them.

  “I believe we’re done,” Rose said, hiding her annoyance.

  “Yup, we’re done,” Harrison agreed.

  She hung up the phone, her mind unsettled. It seemed that she and Henry had, unknowingly, settled into the same mindset that had resulted in Violet’s living situation. This was something that they must not do, not if they wished better for Virgil.

  She walked over to the oven, where she peered in at Virgil. He was asleep with his tail curled around him, his back rising and falling in regular rhythm. As she watched, his tail twitched, and he let out a tiny sneeze. A spark escaped his nostrils.

  Rose shut the door carefully, making sure it didn’t clang as it hit the metal that kept it from closing completely. In the tiny gap, she could almost make out the outline of his growing-rapidly-more-ragged cloth diaper.

  How do we do what is best for Virgil, and also best for us? Rose wondered.

  She knew exactly how his birth parents would have handled it: they would have allowed the child free rein. But as Virgil aged, he would not be simply a toddler, he could be one which could set anything on fire, and yet who still probably needed exercise and freedom to develop.

  A large cage, like Violet’s, would probably work for a very young child quite admirably. But what about when their child aged? It didn’t seem wise to set the precedent that ensnarement was the only reasonable option. They must find an alternative, and they must find it quickly.

  Who might have an insight that might help? Rose wondered.

  Then she realized. She realized that they had been going to the wrong experts for ideas.

  She picked up the phone to ask the operator to connect her to her mother, and instead heard two strangers talking loudly, one of them the rude man who had interrupted her conversation earlier. It seemed to be an argument about in-laws visiting one of the strangers’ homes.

  Rose slammed the receiver back down. This might not be a conversation I want to have over the phone, anyway! I will have to talk to my parents when we see them tomorrow.

  Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and they would be going over for dinner; that had already been arranged. But if there would be no solution until then, Rose would need to come up with a stopgap that would work for tonight. One that would guarantee safety.

  Rose thought about that for a long moment, and then moved one of the kitchen chairs against the oven door. That would stop it from opening for one night, at least.

  She sat at the kitchen table in the other of the two chairs, and picked up her textbook. It was uncomfortable to have no homework to work on during the silent moments, as that left her with little to work on but darning the huge pile of worn-through socks of Henry’s that had accumulated over the past two months, a necessity she found unutterably boring but which he seemed to assume was her duty.

  She had, as such, already purchased three of the textbooks that she would need for next semester, and had spent all her spare time reading them. Perhaps if she allowed the socks to accumulate until he had no more left, he would make the effort to mend them himself, as he had before they’d been married.

  It wasn’t until she had memorized the contents of three pages that Rose looked up, somewhat disturbed. She stared at the oven, and the chair pushed up against it. Her stare became fixed.

  Isn’t that solution inconsistent with the resolution I made? she wondered. Isn’t that stopgap measure once again a way to trap him?

  Rose yanked her thoughts away from the disturbing notion and went back to her textbook. But her focus was no longer with it. She kept looking up and staring at the chair, more and more bothered by it.

  If there’s a way I want to do something, I must start the way I intend to finish, she thought. It doesn’t do any good to immediately flout the ideals I wish to follow.

  She stood up and walked over to the oven. She pulled the chair away, and it scraped loudly against the tile floor. There was a rustling from inside the oven.

  Virgil was awake! Virgil had had a good nap!

  Rose opened the oven door and gathered the little dragon up in her arms.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m trying. I just don’t know what to do.”

  Virgil wasn’t sorry. Virgil didn’t know why his mother was sorry. Virgil was fine. Virgil was — Virgil’s stomach hurt!

  Rose scrambled to put him back in the oven, but she wasn’t in time. A roar from Virgil’s nostrils hit the back of the chair, which ignited into a small flame. She beat it back with her elbow until the chair merely had a dark spot against the seat. She stared at the baby in frustration.

  Virgil’s stomach felt better now. Could Virgil roll on the floor that was soft?

  Rose sighed deeply and moved him to the carpet. After that tremendous burst, he shouldn’t need to breathe fire for another few hours. The need seemed to build up in him, much like releasing the results of his digestive system.

  Virgil rolled around and sunk his claws into the carpet. Virgil liked the floor that was soft! It was soft and rolly!

  “And I have no idea what we’re going to do,” Rose murmured. “Why can’t you make things easy?”

  Chapter 6: Chore

  Henry looked very taken aback as he walked into the living room. “What . . . are you doing?”

  “I am moving the couch cushions to the floor of the kitchen,” Rose said, walking past him with the second of three. “Was that not evident?”

  Henry followed her into the kitchen, stepping around Virgil, who was busily clawing one of the charred branches of their Christmas tree. “Why?”

  “In order to sleep in the kitchen tonight,” Rose said. She placed the second cushion in line with the first one and strode back to the living room.

  Henry followed her. “Why?”

  “So that, if Virgil decides to exit the oven tonight, he will land on top of me, which will awaken me, and he will therefore not roam around the apartment unsupervised.” Rose gathered up the third cushion and moved back to the kitchen.

  “Doesn’t that seem a little convoluted?” Henry protested, trailing after her. “There has to be a better solution.”

  “I imagine there is,” Rose agreed. She walked past him to reach the linen closet in the hallway. She pulled out their spare sheet and tucked it under her arm, then headed back to the kitchen. “I hope my family will suggest it tomorrow night.”

  “I mean, there has to be a better solution tonight,” Henry said. “Why don’t we . . . uh . . .” He cast his eyes around the kitchen, then spied the chair that was out of place. “Why don’t we put this i
n front of the oven door?” he asked triumphantly, seizing it.

  “That would be lovely if we wished to keep our son in a cage,” Rose said flatly.

  Henry loosened his grip on the chair. “Huh?”

  “Harrison Jones called while you were sleeping,” Rose said, tucking the sheet around the couch cushions to make a rather unappealing facsimile of a mattress. “He informed me that what we had described to him was a cage. It occurred to me that if there is no functional difference between Violet’s living situation and Virgil’s, we might as well be putting him in the zoo and have done with it.”

  “Hang on,” Henry said, grabbing her hand. “Rose, there’s a world of difference between the two. For one thing, Virgil actually lives with us.”

  Rose shook his hand off. “Harrison Jones visits Violet.”

  “Yes — visits! That’s a big difference!”

  “Would you put a human infant in a cage?” Rose challenged.

  “Yes!” Henry said. “That’s what a crib is! It’s a place to keep a human infant restrained!”

  Rose stared at him flintily.

  “Look,” Henry said, “getting Virgil a safe place to sleep that won’t put him or us at risk isn’t a bad thing. It’s good parenting.”

  “A cage is out of the question,” Rose said.

  They stared at each other for a moment, tension bristling between them.

  “Fine,” Henry said shortly. “Then at least let me sleep on the floor. You sleep on the bed.”

  “You are a sound sleeper,” Rose shot back. “What guarantee is there that you’d waken if Virgil fell on you?”

  “I woke up this morning,” Henry said heatedly.

  “One instance is not a guarantee!”

  Virgil rolled across the carpet and stared at them from an upside-down, sprawling position.

  Why were his parents angry? They should feed him. He was hungry. He wanted food.

  Henry opened up the icebox and groaned. “I forgot. We’re almost out of chicken. Can you buy one and get it cooked today?”

  Today? Rose thought. You only just woke up from your nap, and I have not yet caught up with my sleep from our interrupted morning!

  “I will ask my mother to purchase one for us tonight,” Rose said, keeping her temper in check. “We can pay her back for it tomorrow. We could even ask her to cook it for us before we come.”

  “Do you have to lean on your mother for everything?” Henry exclaimed. “Do you know how to cook yourself? I haven’t had a hot meal since we got married, except when we visit your parents!”

  “Virgil . . . was sleeping . . . in the oven,” Rose said coldly. “I was not going to impose upon our neighbors any more than necessary, given that sandwiches and such could suffice.”

  “Is that going to change when we get him a different bed?” Henry exclaimed. “Are you ever actually going to cook dinner? You haven’t even darned one of my socks in six weeks!”

  “You know how to darn them yourself,” Rose snapped. “We’re both in school. We’re both equally busy.”

  “I shouldn’t have to darn them!” Henry said. “It’s your chore!”

  “Oh, really?” Rose asked icily. “Why is that?”

  “Because that’s what wives do!”

  “Well, perhaps husbands,” Rose said coldly, “could make some effort at an equivalent number of chores.”

  “I take care of all the finances!”

  “As I’ve said before, I wish you’d let me see them.”

  “I feed Virgil!”

  “So do I.”

  “I change his diapers!”

  “So do I.”

  “I wake up in the middle of the night to do both of those!”

  “So do I.”

  Admittedly, that was far more than Rose’s father had ever done, and perhaps Henry’s father as well. So perhaps he wanted to be reminded that she appreciated the fact that he didn’t seem to think the baby was all her problem. Rose opened her mouth.

  “And I let you go to college!” Henry added.

  Rose’s mouth snapped shut.

  “Let me?” she shouted once she had recovered from speechlessness. “Let me? In what way do you let me?”

  For some reason, Henry seemed determined to not back down from the atrocious statement. “I talked your father into paying your tuition! I talked the dean of your college into letting you stay after we got married!”

  Rose pursed her lips. Henry had had to go in and assure the dean that he did not mind if his wife continued with her college education. To her intense displeasure, it had turned out that married women were not allowed to continue as students without special permission. That had enraged her.

  For what possible reason had Henry brought up such a sore subject? To enrage her further?

  Henry seemed to take her silence as agreement. “I know most men wouldn’t accept their wives being in college. I do! I just ask that you take care of things like you’re supposed to!”

  Rose clenched her fists and reminded herself that her father had said far worse. It had never helped to shout, though she had done it many times despite knowing that.

  “I see,” Rose said quietly. “It is good to know that that is where you stand. I will be sleeping in the kitchen tonight, and I will be glad of it.”

  She turned to walk through the living room to get her pillow, and nearly tripped over their son, who was lying on the carpet batting at one of the tree’s charred bottom branches.

  Were Virgil’s parents mad at him? Could Virgil have food? Virgil was still hungry. Virgil was wet. Virgil’s tail was in the wetness. It was uncomfortable. Could Virgil have food?

  “Yes, you can have food,” Rose said. “If we run out of chicken before tomorrow night, you can have eggs and butter alone.”

  Virgil liked chicken food. It was prey. One day his parents would teach him how to hunt prey. His father had given him prey, but it didn’t taste good. Could he have his prey?

  “No, you can’t have your teddy bear right now,” Henry said, sounding annoyed. “Yes, you can have food.”

  Virgil liked food! Virgil would roll over to his father! Now he was on the hard floor. The soft floor was more fun to play on. Was Virgil’s mother tired? Was she taking a nap?

  “Perhaps I should,” Rose said. “I’m still short on sleep from this morning.”

  “Fine,” Henry muttered. “Sleep as long as you want. It’s not like I can’t make sandwiches for myself.”

  It’s not like the person who has the shorter commute to school can’t learn to cook for himself, Rose thought.

  But she didn’t continue the argument. She just went to the bedroom, where she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  Chapter 7: Choleric

  Bad tempers abounded the next morning. Though it was Christmas Eve, neither Rose nor Henry made any effort to speak to each other. Rose spent most of the morning with her textbook, while Henry spent most of it absorbed in the small book where he kept an account of their finances. For some reason, he kept looking up and staring at Virgil quite often before going back to his pencil scribbling.

  Virgil spent most of the morning rolling around on the carpet, sometimes clawing at the brown, dried needles that had fallen from the tree. At one point, one flipped into his open mouth, and Virgil’s expressionless face somehow gave the impression of disgust and betrayal.

  That was not-food! Why was not-food in his mouth? He didn’t like it!

  Rose and Henry both started to stand up, noticed the other standing, hesitated, and then Rose sat down and Henry got up to remove the foliage from their child’s mouth.

  They alternated feeding Virgil without discussion, this being an ingrained habit. They did run out of chicken by lunchtime, which Rose discovered when she got up to take her turn, so she cracked raw eggs into a pat of butter and fed that to Virgil, which he seemed very disgruntled about.

  This was not-food! No, that was food. That was not-food! No, that was food. That was not-food! V
irgil wanted his food!

  Henry looked silently triumphant.

  Rose tried to ignore this.

  The phone rang several times, causing them to jump from their seats, but it was always the wrong sequence: one long ring and two short ones, three long ones, and one short ring and two long ones. That meant the phone was for another household. Rose hoped that none of these conversations lasted long enough that the call they were waiting for failed to come through, but given the frequency of the ringing, it seemed likely that the conversations were all of short duration.

  At last the correct ring came, two short and one long, and Rose leapt from her seat to answer it.

  “Hello?” she asked, hoping that it was her mother. Her family had agreed to call as soon as they felt Christmas dinner was only an hour away. It was barely two minutes past two, and Rose’s mother had estimated dinner would start at four o’clock, so Rose would be overjoyed to leave this tense atmosphere to walk there early.

  “Hello, Rose,” her father’s voice said on the other end of the phone. “Your mother says the chicken’s ready, so if you want to come over early, you can. Your sisters are insisting they want to string popcorn, and your mother wants to go caroling as soon as we’re done with dinner. You planning to come along?”

  “That sounds delightful,” Rose said. She did not consult with Henry. If he did not want to go, she would simply leave him behind at her parents’ home.

  “It looks like snow,” her father added, “so you might want to wear your warmest coats.”

  “Understood,” Rose said. “We will be over as soon as possible. We’ll see you in an hour or so, Papa.”

  She set down the phone, and it immediately rang. She jumped, but it was only two long rings and one short one, meant for somebody else.

  “They’re ready early,” she told Henry. “We can leave now.”