Lance was relieved. “I’ll find a tree tomorrow. But, we’ll have to make our own decorations,” he said. “There isn’t much time. Christmas is next week.”
“There’s plenty of time!” Brook was enthusiastic. “I bet there are all kinds of things around here we can use for ornaments.”
Lance suggested they have roast duck with all the trimmings. Brook, after rummaging through Lance’s supplies, volunteered to make pineapple upside-down cake, an old family recipe. Excited, they made their plans.
That evening, Lance excused himself and went to his workroom. Brook didn’t follow; she wanted the time alone to think of something she could make for him for Christmas. But what? She didn’t want to ask Lance if she could use things from the cabin, and she couldn’t exactly go shopping. She pondered her dilemma. She selected and discarded a number of ideas. Finally, inspiration struck. She dug in the kitchen for the scraps of fabric left over when she altered Lance’s clothes to fit her. He had tossed the remnants into the rag bag, but she rescued them and tucked them inside her purse. Then she took out her notepad.
Unknown to Brook, while she sought an idea for his present, Lance was working on a gift for her. That night after they made love, Brook found it difficult to fall asleep. Memories, good and bad, assailed her along with a niggling sense of guilt and confusion over Clark. Yet, she rested her head on Lance’s shoulder and delighted in the warmth of his body, his tender protective embrace. Surprised that she could hold so many simultaneous conflicting emotions, Brook seemed almost a stranger to herself in many ways. Although she had anticipated changes, negotiating her internal environment was sometimes like visiting a place she had never been before.
Thoughts of her and Lance’s plans for the holiday further disrupted her slumber. She had just given up and resigned herself to lying awake all night, when sleep sneaked up on her and pulled her down into its soft depths.
The next morning, after breakfast, Lance hurried through his chores, anxious to find just the right tree. He let Gilbert out, allowing her to accompany him on his search. Her belly was rounding out nicely and swung a bit from side to side as she trotted along.
Lance had to shake the snow from each tree before he could see its true form. Some of this snow landed on Gilbert, and she pranced away, shaking her head as she turned a reproachful eye upon him. In some places, the snow was so deep she nearly got stuck. Lance admonished her gently. "Stay with me, now."
Finally, after searching for over an hour, Lance spotted the perfect tree. Wielding his axe, he made short work of chopping it down. He bound the branches with a piece of twine and hauled it home. After returning Gilbert to her pen, he carried his find inside the cabin.
Brook’s face lit up when she saw the tree. Lance cut the twine loose and the branches sprang back into shape, revealing a Douglas fir almost perfectly shaped, and nearly as tall as her.
“Let’s put it in front of the window,” Brook suggested. “I know there’s no one out there to see it, but I think that’s where it belongs.”
“We’ll see it,” Lance reminded her. “When we’re coming in from outside, we’ll see it in the window.”
“That’s right!” Brook smiled at him.
They decorated the tree with little odds and ends from Lance’s workroom, metal pieces that flashed and sparkled. Popcorn was strung and slender paper chains were fashioned. When they were finished, they stood back to admire their work and were pleased with the result.
“Next year we’ll add some battery-powered lights.” There was a pause. Lance felt his spontaneous joy slipping away when he remembered that Brook wouldn’t be here next year. He quickly moved past the sad thought and returned the bright smile to his face. Brook let the comment slide, not wishing to think about leaving either.
For the next few days, every time Lance went outside, Brook stayed in and worked on his gift. For his part, Lance spent more time than usual alone in his workroom, with an ear cocked toward the doorway so he could hide his project if he heard Brook coming.
Christmas Day arrived and they woke to more snow. It had fallen softly during the night adding a thick new layer over the slopes and trees. Before getting out of bed, Lance held Brook close and warm under the blankets, brushing the hair from her eyes with a tender touch.
“Merry Christmas, Brooklyn,” he whispered.
She snuggled in and answered, “Merry Christmas, Lance.”
There was excitement in the air, similar to that of holidays past, when Brook was a child. As an adult she still loved Christmas, but hadn’t felt that old enthusiasm for years. Now, it was back.
Lance cleared the new-fallen snow from the paths and completed his chores while Brook had a quick bath. He carried in the eggs and set them on the counter, then waited his turn in the bathroom. Brook started breakfast while he showered. She was getting better at working the old black stove.
After eating, they sat before the decorated tree. Lance was surprised to note a second gift sitting under the tree next to the one he had placed there last night before bed. He reached for his gift to Brook and placed it gently into her hands. Brook’s hands shook slightly as she removed the paper from around the gift. Inside she found a small wooden box. Lance had crafted the container to look old fashioned, with brass corners and delicate carvings. He watched anxiously as she opened the lid, relieved as a smile raised the corners of her full lips. Inside, she found a steampunk charm bracelet with dangling metal pieces that included tiny gears, wheels, hearts, and miniature antique keys.
“Oh, Lance! It’s absolutely lovely.” Her eyes sparkled. He reached over and helped her put on the bracelet. His touch lingered on her wrist. They shared a slow tender kiss. “Thank you so much. I’ll treasure it always. And the box, too! It’s so pretty, so unique. I just love it.”
“You’re welcome, Brooklyn. I’m glad you like them.”
“Open yours now!” Brook handed him a gift wrapped in brown paper from a grocery sack and tied with twine. She had fashioned a bow from the same cord creating a package with homespun appeal that was pleasing to the eye. He hadn’t really expected a gift, knowing she had no way to get him one. He untied the string and pulled the paper apart. Inside he found a small cloth-covered book made from scraps of a flannel shirt that he recognized as the one she had resized to fit her. It was bound with a thin suede strip looped through two holes and tied in a knot. In the middle was a small pocket with a little scroll sticking out. He unrolled the small piece of paper and found it said ‘to Lance from Brooklyn’.
“How did you do this?” he asked, turning the book over in his hands.
“Oh, it was really nothing,” Brook said, thinking of how she had taken the cardboard backing of her writing pad and covered it in fabric for the back and front. “But open it! Read the inside.” She looked down, suddenly shy.
The pages were sepia, and Lance recalled Brook asking for tea bags one day. He now understood that she had treated the paper to make it look old. Page one featured a simple ink drawing of his cabin in the snow. On page two, he found the first poem.
If there ever were a place to be
lost, reduced to a painful crawl
It would be here in the piney trees,
God guiding me through nature’s sprawl.
If there ever were a man to find me,
to rescue me from savage harm
it would be you, so strong and kind
to soothe my grief and mend my heart.
If there ever were a way to stay
where hurts are healed and tears are dried,
somehow to you I’d find my way
And stay forever by your side.
“I did the best I could, but they’re not very good. I’m anything but a poet,” Brook said.
“It’s beautiful,” Lance told her, his eyes warm. He wanted to ask her if she really meant the words, if she would really stay by his side. Then he read it again and focused on the line, if there ever were a way to stay and thought he had his answer. But
he refused to be sad this day. He turned the page.
He found more poems; one about the comfort and warmth of the cabin, a humorous one about Gilbert’s impending motherhood, and an intense sonnet about their lovemaking that was so intimate it caused a slow wave of heat to wash over his body.
“Oh, Brooklyn,” he whispered, his eyes meeting hers. “You’re right, these aren’t good; they’re excellent. I would say you definitely have a way with words.” He moved closer to her. “You have taken my heart, you know. And your writing captures that feeling exactly. Thank you.” She smiled at his praise, her cheeks flushed.
He looked through the book again, stood, and offered her a hand up. He set the book in a place of prominence on the mantle before taking her in his arms.
“Brooklyn.” He spoke her name like a song. “I don’t know whether you want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. I love you. I love you so much.”
She laid her head against his chest, lifted high by the words she had longed to hear. Her heart swelled with emotion, and she looked up into his eyes. “I love you, too, Lance.”
The kiss was long and intense, and led them to the passion that was always humming between them, just below the surface. They sank onto the daybed in the corner and surrendered to the heat of their ardor. Afterward, Lance cradled her in his arms and stroked her hair. They were drowsy and satisfied. Eventually, they rose to prepare their Christmas dinner, having decided to eat at noon and then snack on leftovers throughout the rest of the day.
Gathering the ingredients for her holiday cake, Brook was sharply aware of the grief her family would be struggling with at this time. She said a silent prayer for her loved ones. In spite of a pang of guilt, she also said one for Clark and hoped the Lord would listen to her under the circumstances.
Lance kindled the fire in the cook stove. He carried the thawed duck to the sink area and washed it thoroughly, rubbed salt into its cavity-and placed it in the center of a roasting pan. Collecting a couple of apples and an onion, he chopped them and mixed in some pecan halves and spices. He stuffed the duck with this mixture, and then smeared butter over the breast. Covering the pan loosely with foil, he slid it into the oven.
He glanced over at Brook. She was mixing ingredients in a bowl at the table and seemed preoccupied.
“Missing your family?” he asked, perceiving her thoughts, as usual. Sometimes she was shocked at how well he could read her.
“I am,” she answered. “But it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” With a force of will, she pushed her worries to the back of her mind. She was not going to taint this day with sorrow. “I just need to keep reminding myself how relieved and happy they’re going to be when I come home,” she continued. “They’ll probably feel like I’ve returned from the grave. What about you, Lance? Do you miss your family?”
“Sure,” he answered. “In fact, I’m going to visit them as soon as I can. I’ve decided it’s time I stop being so selfish. If I want to hide from the world, that’s fine. But it won’t hurt me to go see my folks more often. I guess I feared it would be too painful to be around them, with their eyes full of sympathy and concern for me. I thought it would rip down my defenses, break my heart all over again. Somehow I’ve been able to shut off the emotions for a long time. Having you here has kind of changed that.”
“Is that bad?” Brook gave him an intent look.
“No, no, baby. It’s good. It’s opened up some areas I had been trying to ignore, but I feel more alive than I have in years. It’s a change. But it’s not a bad one.” He paused and reflected for a moment. “Are you aware this is the first Christmas I’ve celebrated in…wow, five years? And, this is one of the best I’ve ever spent, special, with gifts from the heart.”
Brook smiled as she played with her bracelet. “I know what you mean. Christmas has gotten so commercialized. It’s wonderful to have a small celebration. Your gift means more than the ones I usually receive. I’m glad I could bring the happiness of a holiday back to you.”
Lance smiled to himself. She had no idea how close she came to tons of gifts. He had wanted to give her all the steampunk items he had finished and make a few more besides. But, he had controlled himself and she seemed to be happy.
Brook, for her part, thought about Christmases past. She recalled holidays in Denver with piles and piles of brightly-wrapped expensive gifts under the massive tree. Clark would send a driver for her parents at the airport and then he’d escort them through their spectacular home, showing off in subtle ways. Clark and his flashy over-the-top gifts, professionally wrapped, and generous in size and cost. She and Clark toasting the season with their friends and family, their laughter and joy filling the rooms and bouncing off the tall ceilings. Of all the memories, none meant more to her than the simple Christmas she was sharing with Lance. No gift was more precious than the bracelet that now jingled softly against her wrist as she worked. Her priorities had changed, and she found herself humming as she stirred the batter.
Lance, too, thought of Christmases past. Ellen singing carols in a crazy off-key voice to be funny, and lighting what seemed like hundreds of candles. He would find them everywhere during the season and told her jokingly, on more than one occasion, that she was going to burn down their house someday. They always had a living tree, and hung it with candy canes and red bows. And they always adopted a family from the angel tree in the mall, which was a source of great delight. Ellen loved shopping for total strangers, trying to select gifts that would be most needed and appreciated. He had enjoyed it, too, but nothing like she had. She had a caring heart and a kind spirit. For once, Lance found he could think of Ellen and not feel that old familiar pain. He could think of her now with fond remembrance. The old grief had mellowed, lost its bite.
Before long, tantalizing aromas filled the cabin. Lance opened the shutters and a world of white lay in pristine beauty outside the windows. Brook stared at the view, hypnotized. It was a picture that belonged on a Christmas card, a picture that would stay in her memory long after this day had passed.
A delicious meal followed. The duck was succulent and flavorful and the mashed potatoes creamy and satisfying. Lance served the green beans with crisp shards of bacon and sautéed onions. Homemade rolls came out perfect, golden and fluffy. And Brook’s cake was mouthwatering. Patting their stuffed bellies, Lance and Brook leaned back in their chairs and sipped mugs of after-dinner coffee laced with brandy, a treat he had been saving for just such a special occasion, although he had never pictured anything quite like this when he had stashed the bottle. His lips curved into a smile of satisfaction.
After cleaning up the table, Lance stoked the fire and they retired to the bedroom for a nap, which was preceded by a long leisurely session of tender lovemaking.
The rest of the afternoon and evening they spent relaxing, chatting, and reading by the fireside.
Chapter 47
Not every day was perfect. There were times when Brook couldn’t handle even the thought of physical intimacy, much less the act. At those times, Lance would hold her in a chaste embrace, or he’d leave her enough space to wrestle her demons before finding her way back to him. As with anyone and any life, there were joys and there were sorrows. There were ups and downs, but far more of the former than the latter.
One day, Brook seemed particularly agitated. Lance sat patiently with her, waiting. He knew she was building up to something. At last, she spoke.
“If not for you, I’d be dead,” Brook stated, holding his gaze.
“Not necessarily,” he answered slowly, wondering where this would lead. “It would depend on which direction you traveled. Had you gone one way, you might have eventually found my cabin. Had you gone the opposite direction, you could have ended up at the main house of the man who owns this land. But, it’s a really long, rugged hike. Or you might have just wandered in circles in the forest. Perhaps you would have come across cold-weather hikers or climbers had you gone far enough. It’s hard to say.”
“No.�
�� She took his hand. “I was at the end of my strength. I’d have died if I hadn’t found you. You’ll never convince me otherwise.”
“Brooklyn, I don’t want to convince you otherwise. I don’t know why it happened or how. I only know I’m glad it did. I’m glad I was there in the right spot at the right time. I just wish you hadn’t suffered so much.”
“I’m still trying to sort this all out in my mind.” She struggled for words. “I hate what happened to me, hate it. It was horrifying and painful. I don’t know how I survived. But there is one thing that stands out above all the rest. And that one thing is very confusing.”
“What’s that, honey?” Lance stroked her hand.
“If it hadn’t happened, I would never have met you.” Tears spilled from her eyes and she swatted at them as if annoyed. “How can I balance the two? The worst thing that ever happened in my life made possible the best thing. Knowing you. And now I love you, and I’m not supposed to. I’m not supposed to feel this way. But I do. I can’t help it.”
“Sometimes there are things in life that just can’t be reconciled. They just are what they are. As far as loving me, I can’t help you with that, Brooklyn.” His eyes were intense. “I can’t be objective because I love you, too. And I want you. I want you like I’ve never wanted anything else. Right or wrong. I can’t help it either.”
“What are we going to do?” Her anguish was plain in her voice, her face inches from his. He took her into his arms and they clung to each other.
“I don’t know, Brooklyn,” he murmured. “I guess we’ll just take it a day at a time for now.”
Her mouth found his and their passion blazed again. Filled with emotion, they sank into the swirling heat and tenderness once more.
Chapter 48
After several false starts, winter’s reign ended, sending rivulets of water flowing down the mountain and filling the streams and rivers. Shoots of green peeked from behind rocks, and leaves unfurled on trees. The grass that dared to extend above the patches of remaining snow became more verdant daily. Life was refreshing itself after a wintry sleep.
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