Immortal Mine

by Cindy C. Bennett

  “I was planning to hide in my room and ignore the day completely.”

  “Or you could spend it with me,” he says. I begin to shake my head, but he says, “Hear me out. Shane and I are alone. You and... Jean... are alone.” I can’t help but notice he stumbles over her name. “Why not spend it together and be a little less alone?”

  I glance up at him. “That’s your argument for spending Christmas together? Less alone?”

  He scowls. “I did this completely arseways.”

  “You did it what-ways?” I ask, confused. He flushes.

  “Uh... I mean, I completely botched it.” He takes a breath, and I realize he’s nervous. No wonder he’s acting so strangely. “It’s just... I really want to spend the day with you, Niahm.”

  “Okay,” I capitulate, wanting to let him off the hook. “Why don’t you come here and I’ll cook?”

  He shakes his head. “No, Niahm, I don’t want it to be a day of work for you.”

  I smile at him. “Sam, how long have you known me? Since when have you known me to consider cooking work? Besides, it’s tradition.” My voice hitches a little on the last word. This will be the first Christmas I haven’t cooked for my parents. Suddenly, I decide that’s exactly what I want to do. Sam’s eyes are full of sympathy, so I push away from him and turn back to the rake, picking it up and stabbing at the hay.

  “I’ll invite Stacy and her family.” Stab, toss. “I’ll make all of the things I’ve made every other year.” Stab, toss. “Then everything will be okay.” Stab, toss.

  Sam steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, leaning his cheek on the top of my head. He pushes the rake from my hand and slips my gloves off, entwining his fingers with mine. I give a shaky laugh.

  “All I do is cry, anymore,” I say. “I must be wearing all my friends out with my pathetic-ness.”

  Sam chuckles against my hair. “I don’t think that’s a word.”

  “Well, neither is the one you used before. What was it? Arseness?”

  He stiffens against me. “Arseways,” he says thickly.

  “What does that mean?”

  Pause. “It means making a mess of something.”

  I squeeze his hands, which warm mine much better than the gloves.

  “Where did you learn that?”

  He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Just as I‘m about to turn to discover the reason for his hesitancy, he speaks.

  “I knew a guy who used it all the time. He was Irish.”

  “Mm,” I answer. I suppose he must have known a lot of immigrants and foreigners in New York. Sam makes a slightly strangled sound.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, worried that maybe he shouldn’t be out here working so hard if he’s reinjured his arm. He grunts, and not for the first time I wonder if he somehow knows what I’m thinking.

  “What should Shane and I bring?” he says, ignoring my question.

  “Bring for what?”

  “For Christmas, silly.”

  I turn in his arms, releasing his hands to wrap mine around his shoulders, my tears gone. Sam always manages to pull me from the brink of falling apart.

  “A tree,” I say.

  Chapter 34

  Sam

  Shane and I are on Niahm’s doorstep first thing Christmas morning, loaded with gifts—and a tree. Niahm smiles at me, her eyes soft as I drag the pine into the festive-free house. It takes some time to set it up, drag the bulbs and lights from the attic, and decorate it. Shane then brings more boxes down, and we decorate the mantle, railing, tables, and every other surface we possibly can. Stacy and her family come during this, and between us all, the house soon feels like it should on Christmas morning.

  Niahm stuffs the turkey we brought, and puts it in the oven, shooting me a look at the size of the massive bird. She, Stacy, Mrs. Bowen, and even Jean head to the kitchen to prepare the rest of the food.

  I figure Niahm’s going to be plenty angry with me when the doorbell rings in the early afternoon admitting the first of a large group of invited guests. I hadn’t told Jean what I was up to, but Stacy and her mom were aware. They’d given me the list of who I should invite. I definitely don’t want Niahm alone today. When the house is full to the tune of thirty people, I feel I’ve accomplished my goal.

  Many of the men are gathered around the TV, watching a football game. I walk to the kitchen doorway, and see Niahm surrounded by friends from school, and other townspeople who love her. Bob dances happily around everyone’s feet, quickly snapping up any morsel that drops to the ground.

  The best part of the scene is Niahm herself. She’s in top form, bossing everyone around, organizing the chaos of so many people in a relatively small space. Even better, she’s laughing and smiling as she does so. As if sensing me watching, she turns toward me. She smiles, then mouths thank you. Maybe she won’t be as furious as I’d figured.

  Tables and folding chairs are pulled out of the garage and set up anywhere we can fit them. After a noisy, chaotic dinner and time spent cleaning up, Stacy leads Niahm to the living room, and plops her down onto a chair in front of the tree. As others gather around, Niahm looks wary.

  “Niahm,” Stacy says after quieting everyone down. “We knew that this was going to be a hard day for you.” Niahm’s wariness turns to anxiety as she looks around. Stacy takes her hand. “We decided that rather than give you a bunch of useless presents, we wanted to do something to hopefully make it easier.”

  “Like overrun my house with more people than it was meant to hold?” Niahm asks shakily, and everyone laughs.

  Stacy pulls out large, square, heavy book wrapped with a ribbon and places it on Niahm’s lap. Niahm’s anxiety ratchets up to panic. I can feel it from where I stand across the room. I walk over and sit on the floor next to her chair, casually taking her hand in mine. Her mind is a riot of alarm, wondering what pain they want to inflict on her now. I pull her hand to my mouth and behind the guise of kissing it, look up at her and say, “It’ll be alright, Niahm. Trust me.”

  She stares at me, holding my gaze, searching. I pull my mind from hers. I can feel when she begins to relax nonetheless. I frown from her utter trust in me—I don’t deserve it.

  “We all wanted to share with you memories of your parents,” Stacy says, then hurries on, not giving Niahm a chance to react. “In that book are stories from most of the people in town.” Niahm’s eyes drop to the book. She runs one hand over the surface lightly. “All of ours are there, also, but we wanted to tell you while we’re here.”

  Niahm takes a deep, steadying breath, giving a minute nod.

  “I’ll start.” The deep voice belongs to Mr. Franklin, who grew up with Jonas. He lives on a small farm on the opposite side of town. “When Jonas and I were boys, we had a penchant for... well, let’s just say for getting adventurous.” All of the people who knew Jonas as a boy laugh. “One time, we decided it would be fun to go down to Mrs. Brown’s and see if we couldn’t steal a pie from her window sill where she left them to cool.” Niahm’s eyes jump to mine and twinkle at the mention of a pie.

  “She had this big bull terrier, so we took some bacon from my mother’s fridge to bribe him. We didn’t take into account how quickly a big dog can down bacon.” Another round of laughter and the corners of Niahm’s mouth begin to curve upward. “We got into the backyard and all the way up to the house before that dog finished the bacon. Jonas had hoisted me up on his shoulders and I was just reaching for the pie when we heard growling behind us.” Several people are leaning toward Franklin, apparently having heard the story before, in anticipation of his next words.

  “Jonas swung around at the same time my hand touched the edge of the pie, bringing it down on his head. He began running, cherry pie filling dripping down his face, me still on his shoulders, holding on for dear life.”

  I open my mind to Niahm once again, and see that she knows this story. She is anticipating Franklin’s telling of it as much as anyone. She has a small smile resting on her f
ace, and I can feel her contentment, see the memory she has of Jonas telling her the same story when she was younger.

  “Mrs. Brown comes out to see what the commotion is, and see’s Jonas running around with what appeared to be blood covering his face, me clinging to him. She screams and runs back in, coming out with a shotgun. ‘Let him go,' she screams at me, but I can’t because he won’t stop running.” I feel a slight jolt in Niahm at the image of her father covered in blood, but just as quickly it’s gone, and she’s back into the story.

  “Thank heavens Mrs. Brown is the worst shot in the world,” Franklin says, everyone laughing. “At least the sound of the shot brought Jonas to his senses, and he stopped running so that I could jump down. Then he was bowled over by that dog, who began licking the filling from Jonas. Mrs. Brown screamed again, and about that time Mr. Brown moseyed on out from where he’d been watching TV.”

  Another round of laughter. In Niahm’s mind, I see that it’s common knowledge that there isn’t much that will pull Mr. Brown from in front of his TV. Apparently it takes a gun shot.

  Franklin smiles warmly at Niahm. “Jonas and I spent a great deal of time that summer cleaning the Brown’s yard, and weeding her garden to pay for that fiasco. But I’ll tell you, Niahm, it wasn’t the punishment our parents had hoped. Jonas managed to make everything we did into a game. I’ll never regret the day that I said yes when a funny kid named Jonas came up to me in first grade and asked me to be his friend. He was my best friend. I’m so grateful for having him in my life.”

  Niahm stood and went to hug Franklin. She hugged every other person when they finished telling their memories of Jonas and Beth. Each time she returned to her chair and took my hand, I felt the further peace and contentment she experienced. Stacy, whose idea this whole thing was, sits beside Niahm. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude that she’s accomplished what I could not.

  Chapter 35

  Niahm

  It’s tradition in Goshen to hold the New Year’s Eve bash in the school gym. There’s a big pot-luck dinner, followed by a talent show mostly starring the younger kids. There’s a pseudo New Year’s call at nine for the younger kids, who are then taken home by their parents and either left with a babysitter, or with a neighbor who swaps years with one another.

  That’s when the music starts, with dancing and a few of the adults breaking out champagne. No one under fourteen is allowed to this party. Sam dances with me, but also with some of the other girls from school. I’m not jealous, because when he’s dancing with them, he’s watching me.

  Everyone goes out of their way to make sure Shane and Sam are having a good time, since this is their first party. Of course, Shane’s mostly being mobbed by the women, which amuses Sam—and irritates Stacy. I just shake my head at her. She’s obsessed.

  Just before midnight, someone puts a slow song on and Sam pulls me into his arms and out onto the dance floor before he can be claimed by anyone else.

  “Having fun?” I tease.

  “I am.” He sounds surprised. “How about you? You seem like you are.”

  I lean my cheek against his chest. “I almost feel guilty that I’m having fun,” I tell him honestly. “Maybe it’s because there were a lot of years when they were already gone on their next adventure, so it’s not that unusual to be here alone.” He doesn’t ask who they are; he doesn’t need to. “Plus,” I say, smiling up at him, “this is the first year I’ve had you here, so that’s a bonus.”

  He laughs. “When you first met me, did you imagine you’d ever be glad to have me here?”

  I think back to the first time I met him, when he insulted my pie. It’s only been about four months, but it seems much longer. “You scared me,” I tell him.

  His eyes widen. “I scared you?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I’ve always been pretty independent, determined to only marry someone who would stay in Goshen with me. And even then I had no plans of getting serious with anyone until I’m at least twenty-five.” I shrug, and feel the strange heat begin between our palms. “When I saw you, it was like there was this weird pull toward you, as if you were a danger to my plan. Probably just because I couldn’t get over your amazing hair,” I tease, lifting my hand from his shoulder to ruffle his copper head. When I glance at him, he has a strange look on his face. Part horror and part... hope. Suddenly I realize how this must sound to him, as if I’m saying we’re destined to be together. For the first time, I question his feelings for me. Maybe it really has been based on pity. Maybe he’d been planning on dating someone else when my parents... and then he felt like he had to stay. Maybe he really wants—

  “Niahm,” he says sharply, interrupting my thoughts. When I look up at him, I make the decision to let him off the hook now, break up with him—if one can break up with someone who they aren’t even sure feels any kind of commitment to them.

  “I felt the same thing,” he says with some amusement as I open my mouth to speak.

  “What?” is my brilliant response. “You liked my hair?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I do. That’s not what I mean. I felt the same thing,” he repeats, “when I first saw you. Why do you think I kept coming back when you made it clear you didn’t want me around?”

  I cringe as I think of how horrible I had been

  “Why did you keep coming around?” I ask. “Most guys would have run the other way as fast as they could.”

  “There was just something about you,” he says, amused.

  “My apple pie?” I ask.

  “Well, there was that.” I elbow him lightly and he laughs. “And now...”

  “Now what?” I demand impatiently when he doesn’t say anything.

  “Here you go,” someone interrupts, nudging us with their tray full of sparkling grape juice. “It’s almost midnight.”

  Sam releases me as he takes two of the plastic cups and hands me one. I feel a sinking disappointment that he didn’t finish his sentence. Then I look up at him, see the flush in his cheeks, the hesitant look on his face and realize that maybe he was going to break up with me.

  “Time for the countdown,” Officer Hill booms from the stage that was set up for the DJ. “10-9-8...”

  Stacy hurries over to us, followed by the double-H and a few other kids from school. I’m a little surprised that she isn’t near Shane.

  “Hey, guys. Another year in paradise,” she enthuses sarcastically. “Cheers.”

  I narrow my eyes at her, but laugh anyway.

  “3-2-1. Happy New Year!”

  Everyone cheers and lifts their plastic cups as someone begins singing Auld Lang Syne. Sam watches me intently, and I wonder what he thinks of all this. He takes my hand and pulls me from the room, which Stacy and all my friends notice, of course. But none of them follow us.

  Outside the building, we can still hear the loud singing, and Sam and I laugh at it.

  “I want to finish what I began to tell you,” he says, and my stomach clenches.

  “Kiss me first,” I say. I figure it might be the last time I get to request a kiss from him. He accommodates me, cupping my face with both hands as he leans down, smiling just before his lips close on mine. Sam’s kiss is deep and warm. I stretch upward toward him, as if drawn by his very being. Heat tendrils curl up from the pit of my belly to my throat as he wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly against him. When he pulls away, my head is spinning.

  “Don’t freak out,” he says, and I immediately feel the panic begin to rise. “Shane told me not to do this, that it’s too soon, but I don’t care.” My heart cracks, and I bite the insides of my cheek to hold back the tears.

  “I’m in love with you, Niahm.”

  My mouth drops open. I just stare at him, unable to find any sense in his words.

  “I know it’s not what you want to hear,” he says urgently. “And if it frightens you, I’m sorry. But I had to say it. I’ve had to stop myself from saying it so many—”

  I launch myself at him and, unprepared, he stumbles b
ack but manages to keep us from falling as he wraps his arms around me. I can’t stop the stupid tears from falling.

  “Whoa,” Sam says, rebalancing. Then he looks at me, and brings his hands up to thumb the tears from my face. “I’m sorry, Niahm, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  I laugh through the tears. “Don’t be sorry. I’m so relieved.”

  “Relieved?”

  “I thought you were going to... break up with me,” I say. The words sound inane as I say them.

  “Niahm, I can’t ever—” He stops himself, as if he were going to say something he’s changed his mind about. “I love you. The only way I’m going anywhere is if you ask me to.” Something in the way he says the words makes me think he’s trying to say something else.

  “Then I hope you’re planning to stay for a while,” I say. “Somehow, in the short time I’ve known you, you’ve become...” I search for the right word, “… essential to me. I don’t know how I would have survived without you.”

  Sam pulls me close again, and I relax into his arms.

  “I love you, Sam,” I say, wondering how one annoying, frustrating, auburn headed boy has managed to so completely derail all of my carefully laid plans in such a short time. Then he leans down to kiss me again, and I don’t care how, just grateful that he did.

  Chapter 36

  Niahm

  Sitting next to Sam in his truck as we drive down the old, unused, mostly deteriorated road is something I couldn’t have imagined six months ago when he first moved to Goshen. A cloud of dust billows up behind us, surprising me. Though only patches of snow line the road and fields, most of the ground is still heavy with dampness. The past few days have been unseasonably warm, which I suppose accounts for the dry layer of dirt on the thin, cracked pavement.