“Blythe.”
“No, no.” Her fingers shook so it took three tries to get the key in. She turned it, flung open the door and staggered inside. She could hear Amie screaming for her uncle. He was right behind her. “You go to her. She needs you.” She shut the door in his face, ran to the bathroom and threw up in the commode.
For some time she sat crumpled on the floor, until the cold of the tile beneath her seeped through her coat. Tears flowed unchecked. Harley sat beside her, his whimpers ignored. Finally he raised his muzzle and lifted a mournful howl. Blythe wrapped her arms around his neck and cried into his fur.
When she finally raised her face, he licked her tears away, his tongue soft as rose petals. She could hear the phone ringing and Thane calling her to pick up. She ignored the ringing. Ignored the hole his voice tore in her heart. When she crawled into bed, Harley beside her, she didn’t quit shivering for what seemed like forever. Sometimes loving meant you had to let go. He didn’t deserve to be saddled with an emotional cripple like her. Slowly she released her hand and lay with it palm up, so he could fly free.
“Blythe, honey.” Elsa sat on her daughter’s bed.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Blythe gazed around at her bedroom full of sunlight. She jerked fully awake. “Amie, is she all right?”
“Thane called us. Amie is fine. He was frantic.”
“Oh.” Blythe flopped back on her pillows. “Where’s Harley?”
“Your dad has him out from the backyard.”
“Oh.” She blinked, as if from far away, trying to see what time it was. She glanced down to see that she was still dressed in silk slacks and blouse. “How come you’re here?” Nothing was making sense. Her mind refused to leave the land of deep stupor. A shroud of blackness hovered at the edges.
“Thane called us. He said you won’t answer your phone.”
Blythe nodded. “I don’t want to see him.” A shudder swept from head to foot.
“But why?”
“I let Amie die. No, no.” She clenched her eyes shut. She reared up, fear and fury warring for supremacy. “Can’t you see! It was just like Robert. Choking, getting blue. He died, don’t you remember? It happened again. I can’t be trusted with little children. I let them die.” She could hear herself screaming, but like catching smoke, she couldn’t make it stop. She clutched her mother’s shoulders, hiding in her embrace.
“But Blythe, dearest Blythe, your little brother didn’t die, and neither did Amie.”
“Yes, they did, I saw them last night. Blue—and—and dead.” Another shudder followed the tears. “Dead, they were dead.”
Her mother held her close, stroking her head, just as if she held a little girl in her arms. “Where did you see them?”
“Last night…” Blythe pulled back enough to stare into her mother’s eyes. Elsa shook her head, gentle, small movements, not even blinking. “Last night…” The words came one at a time as if dredged up from some horrendous pit. “Last—night—in a dream. I haven’t had that dream for a long time. Robert lying dead. And now there was Amie, too. All my fault.” Blythe gazed around her room, wonder filling her eyes. “But Mom, Robert lives in Alabama. Thane took Amie home. She coughed and the hamburger came out.”
“Yes.”
“But I’ve been so afraid.”
“I’m so sorry, Blythe, you never told me about the nightmares.”
“I never told anyone. Suzanne used to wake me up.” Blythe felt like she was walking in a dream world, but this time—this time the sun was coming up. The night fears, the black shroud, were banished by the light.
“I need to call Thane.”
“You won’t have to call loud, he’s in the living room.”
“I can’t let him see me like this.”
“Yes, you can.” Thane filled the doorway, leaning nonchalantly against the frame.
But Blythe could see the tension in his jawline, the furrow between his thick brows.
“Where’s Amie?”
“At Suzanne’s.”
“I think I’ll leave the two of you alone.” Elsa kissed her daughter on the forehead and left the room.
“I need a shower.” She felt like hiding under the covers. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it. You’ll have to forgive me for eavesdropping but when you screamed—I—I couldn’t stay away.” He crossed the room, one slow step at a time, holding her gaze with eyes that burned with—with what?
Ah, she recognized the look. Love, only love, could look like that. She patted the bed beside her. After all, she was fully dressed, even though rumpled as if she’d slept in her clothes—which she had. “I bet I have bed head.” She brushed her fingers back through her hair.
“You look beautiful to me.” He sat down and took her hand in his. “I had no idea.”
“The scary thing is that I didn’t, either. How could fear blind me so?”
“I don’t know, but God made us incredibly complex creatures. No wonder he says to cast out fear.” He lifted her hand, inch by inch, his gaze locked on hers, then kissed the palm. “I love you, Blythe Stensrude.”
Tears blurred the sight of him. Her palm felt on fire, burned clean. “I…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Give me time, all right. I think what I feel is the beginning of love but I have to make sure.”
“I’m in no hurry. You can have five minutes.” He raised her watch, grinning at her over his arm.
“Thane.” She sniffed back tears that kept threatening to overflow.
He turned her hand over and kissed her knuckles. “Truly, take your time. I have all the time in the world.”
Amie walked between them, holding on to each of their hands, as they climbed the broad concrete steps to the church. The beauty of “Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel” flowed out the open doors, inviting them and the crowd in to celebrate with the singing Christmas Tree.
“Do the tree sing?” Amie asked.
Thane looked down and scooped her up in his arms. “Guess we’ll have to see.”
“Merry Christmas,” the usher greeted them and handed them a program.
Once seated and studying the program, Thane asked, “This was one of your projects, right?”
“Right.”
“You do good work.”
“Thank you.”
“Joy to the World” broke forth and the lights dimmed. The choir entered, each member holding a candle, and made their way to the tree-shaped risers to the right of the stage.
“Pretty.” Amie looked to Blythe.
“It is.” Pretty was far too plain a word for the scene unfolding. Thank You, Father, for the gift of Your son and for being here, for the three of us.
Amie stared wide-eyed when Mary rode down the center aisle on a donkey, and shot Thane a look of awe at the sheep with the shepherds. The angels burst forth with glorias from all around them, one hovering above the manger scene.
Blythe’s heart swelled with joy as Joseph held baby Jesus up for all the congregation to see and said the words of scripture. “And his name shall be called Jesus.” The choir burst into “Mary had a Baby Named Jesus,” the rhythm setting her feet to tapping.
After the wise men departed, the lights changed and the pastor turned to smile at the congregation. “And he came that we might have life, and have it abundantly. Love came to earth that we might be set free from sin, free from fear. All we need to do is accept Jesus into our hearts so that we can live with him forever. I invite you to come this night and do just that.”
A violin sang, joined by a piano and a soprano voiced the haunting words of “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming.” The notes drifted off into the hush. No one stirred.
A child started, “Jesus loves me this I know.” Another joined on the second line and the choir director turned and motioned them all to join in. At the finish, the lights went out, but for the single candle burning bright in the center of the stage.
A deep male voice echoed through the darkness. “In him was life
and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not put it out. A blessed Christmas to you all. Amen.”
Even Amie was quiet on the way back to Thane’s condo, as if absorbing what she had seen. Thane reached across the console and took Blythe’s hand. She covered them with her other.
Softly playing Christmas carols greeted them as they entered the condo. Thane took their coats. “Amie, you can turn on the tree lights.”
As if honored, the little girl picked up the switch box and clicked it. The twinkle lights turned the dark tree into life, like the candle on the stage. “Ooh, pretty.”
Thane lit the three fat candles in a row in the long, narrow arrangement of greens and red plaid bows on the coffee table. The fragrance of evergreens, winterberry candles and spiced apple cider mingled, another reminder of the season.
Blythe let the dogs out of their crates and settled them at her feet.
Thane served cups of cider to the three of them, making sure that Amie knelt by the coffee table to drink hers. “Merry Christmas.” He touched his cup to Blythe’s, then Amie’s. The little girl giggled.
“Mewwy Chrimas.”
A bit later, after putting Amie to bed, Blythe sat next to Thane on the sofa, her feet drawn up under her. “I have…”
He said at the same time. “I have…”
They chuckled together, as Thane slid his arm around her shoulders.
“You first.” She waited.
“I made a rather interesting decision.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember when the waitress asked Amie where she got her shirt and she said her aunt Sandy ‘gibbed’ it to her?”
“Sort of.”
“Well, it set me to thinking. One of LynnEllen’s parole stipulations was that she could have no contact with former druggy friends. I have a feeling that was the secret she was keeping. Linnie wasn’t lying when she said the stash wasn’t hers. She knew nothing about it, but she had given Sandy a ride somewhere and Sandy left her a gift—the baggy of crack. The evidence that put her away.”
“What will you do?”
“Everything I can to get her out of there. But first tell her I believe her.”
Blythe fought tears, the tears that had floated so near the surface all night. “That’s wonderful. Oh, Thane, I’m so proud of you.”
“It’s all your fault, you know.”
“My fault?” She turned to watch his face.
“Well, I figured if you could let go of fear, I could let go of judgment. I’ve forgiven my sister and now I just have to let her know.”
Blythe quit fighting the tears. Harley whimpered at her feet, then stood and laid his head on her knees. “It’s okay, Harley. These are good tears.” She took in a deep breath. “Now is it my turn?”
“I guess.”
“I love you, Thane Davidson. With all my heart and for all time.” She place a hand on his cheek and brought his head down for the kiss they’d waited so long to share.
“Will you marry me?” He moved his head only enough to whisper the words against her lips.
“In a heartbeat. But it will take at least a couple of weeks to put a wedding together.”
“That long?” He kissed her again. “I will always remember this as the best Christmas ever.”
“Me, too. And it’s not even Christmas yet.”
Harley whined. Matty whimpered. As if they planned it, the two bassets bounded onto the sofa and into the laps of those they loved. This night truly was the most special time of the year.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Fictional characters often function as a mirror for a reader, reflecting back characteristics we recognize in ourselves. Which character is most like you? What personality traits of Blythe and Thane spoke to you?
Both Blythe and Thane developed as individuals during the course of the story. How did your favorite character grow in the story? How did this development enable them to fall in love?
Blythe and Thane love their bassets very much, and in fact meet through their dogs. How has your pet (or how have your pets) influenced your life?
Thane found it difficult to deal with his sister’s incarceration, and Blythe faced similar trouble dealing with his niece. What would you have done in these situations? What lessons did each character learn about himself/herself?
’TWAS THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Lenora Worth
To Sandy Smith, a great friend and a faithful reader!
CHAPTER ONE
Everything here is old.
Elise Melancon stood staring out at the bright red cardinals fighting over birdseed in the wintry courtyard of her grandmother’s gracious home and wondered why she’d agreed to meet her parents here at Belle Terre for her two-week Christmas vacation.
She could have been skiing in Vail, or traveling around Europe with friends. Instead, at her mother’s—well, more like her grandmother’s—insistence, Elise had decided to spend the entire holiday season with the family down in the southern most region of Louisiana.
But why had Grand-mère insisted? Elise wondered as she studied the bright red velveteen Christmas bows adorning the huge columns surrounding the house on all sides. And what was Elise to do with herself here in the bayous and swamps of south Louisiana for two whole weeks? Elise knew there would be the obligatory duties to keep her busy—the open-house Christmas gatherings, the usual round of parties and holiday get-togethers, even the annual bonfire on the river. But those were traditions that meant more to her parents and her grandmother than they did to Elise. Grand-mère knew this about Elise, knew that being twenty-five and on the cusp of life meant more than just tradition. Didn’t it?
Elise thought about her life back in Shreveport. She had gone right out of college to a handpicked job as communications director for Melancon Oil and Gas. Although there was no one serious in her life, she dated interesting men and she had a great group of friends to hang around with. She’d even found a good church home, per her formidable grandmother’s parting instructions years ago when Elise and her parents had moved to Shreveport.
But was there more out there?
Elise glanced around the quiet halls of her grandmother’s home, her gaze taking in the large Douglas fir centered in the marble-floored entrance hall, its branches decorated with all her grandmother’s favorite antique Victorian ornaments. The whole house glowed with all the frills of the holidays—holly branches draped across the Hepplewhite sideboard in the dining room, magnolia leaves glistening across the Sheraton secretary in the front parlor, and frosted pinecones and cinnamon-scented candles centered on the long Duncan Phyfe dining table in the formal dining room.
This house had been in the Melancon family for generations. Built in 1845, Belle Terre—which meant “beautiful land” in French—had withstood the test of time, including the Civil War, hurricanes, river floods, fires, yellow fever and everything else that fell under the heading of “acts of God.”
But through it all, God had been good to Belle Terre.
Thirty rooms and ten thousand square feet, two-storied and starkly white, with squared, tall cypress columns that measured at least two feet around, and elegant outside central stairways leading up to the second floor, both front and back, it was more than just a house. This place was the local legend and about the only attraction in a village that was fast becoming a ghost town.
Elise didn’t see this old mansion as an attraction, even when it was all dressed and shining for the holidays. She only saw it as the house where her father and his four brothers had been born and raised, as the place where her dear grandparents had always lived. Elise remembered long summers of romping up and down these stairs, long summers of lounging in the rickety old swing out underneath the great live oaks that sat like giant green mushrooms throughout the back gardens. She remembered having two coming-out parties. One in Shreveport for the Plantation Ball, and one down here at Bel
le Terre, put on for her especially by Grand-mère Melancon so that she could show off her only granddaughter to all her society friends from New Orleans and Baton Rouge.
Elise remembered flowing white dresses on creamy-skinned debutantes, and lemon-scented magnolias floating in crystal bowls filled with water. She remembered giggling girls putting on their makeup in front of a one-hundred-year-old standing oval mirror in one of the many upstairs bedrooms. She remembered tiptoeing down the curving oak stairs late at night, her pink cotton nightgown and robe flying out around her bare feet as she slipped out into the honeysuckle and wisteria-drenched gardens, just so she could stare up at a full Louisiana summer moon.
And she remembered how very much she loved and respected her grandmother, Betty Jean Melancon.
“And that is why I’m here now, Grand-mère,” Elise said out loud, her hushed words echoing out into the spacious family room at the center of the mansion. “Because of you.”
“I appreciate that,” her grandmother said from the hallway, causing Elise to whirl around.
“Mamere, I didn’t hear you there.”
“I’ve learned how to sneak around my own house, I can assure you,” Betty Jean said, the twinkle in her green eyes belying the stern words. “Now what are you mumbling about, child?”
Elise knew the best way to win over her keen grandmother was to be honest. “I want to know why you insisted I come here for Christmas.”
“I wanted everyone here with me this year,” her grandmother replied, her smile proper and practiced, her back straight as she stood with hands folded together over her gray St. John suit. “It’s been much too long since we’ve had Christmas at Belle Terre.”
“But why?” Elise moved around, her designer heels clicking on the aged hardwood floor near the tall windows. “I mean, we’ve been meeting at Mom and Dad’s in Shreveport for Christmas for the last…well, for a very long time now.”
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