by Mistletoe
Rose stopped abruptly, her hand still on the wooden spoon she was holding, and an odd expression passed over her face.
"Thank you," she said quickly, and turned her attention back to cooking.
"You don't mind staying in the room you're in, do you?" he asked Danny.
"All for my own? A room to myself?"
It was the first time the boy had looked at him with anything but distrust. He watched Danny struggling for his usual nonchalant expression. "Thanks," the boy said casually, as if it meant nothing,
He caught Rose's smile out of the comer of his eye, and suddenly Asher needed to be away from them, to find his solitude.
Without even an "excuse me," he left for the quiet of the parlor, the fire now blazing and warm, the room pleasant with the bright morning sun streaming through the clean windows.
He stopped, and sniffed curiously. A light, flowery scent wafted by his nostrils, and then was gone. Asher looked around, and sniffed again, trying to place it.
He couldn't. He sat by the fire, sipping his coffee, wondering why such a pleasant odor would make him uneasy.
He had eaten breakfast, saddled his horse, and was halfway to town before he realized; the aroma had been uncannily like Emily's favorite perfume.
Dismissing the thought, he guided his horse through the drifted snow, and rode on to town, hoping the telegraph lines were still up and that the storm hadn't done too much damage.
The morning passed pleasantly for Rose. She starched and rehung the lace curtains, now whiter than the snow they framed, acquainted herself with the contents of Asher's pantry and cold cellar, washed the breakfast dishes, and started several loaves of bread. It was a pleasure to have all the things she needed, and so readily at hand.
She took her spare dress and Kate's Sunday dress from the trunk, and sprinkled and ironed them.
Finally, she went upstairs, using the front staircase. It came out on a landing with high windows. A writing desk stood there, its surface covered with dust. She picked up one of the books that sat there, and opened the cover.
Emily Asher 1878.
The sloping, pretty handwriting startled her, and she closed the book quickly, looking around guiltily.
"Don't be silly," she said aloud. It was coincidence that Kate had named her imaginary angel Emily. It was coincidence that they were in a beautiful house with a rocking chair in the kitchen.
She replaced the book firmly, and made her way down the hall in search of her new quarters. The first door she opened was simply an empty room, large and light, but with heavy round marks scarred into the wood floor where a bed had once stood.
The second door was obviously Asher's room, when he was in town.
"Saints preserve us," she said, staring at the chaos. Shirts, pants, long Johns, boots, newspapers, and coffee cups were scattered over chairs, hanging from the mirrored dresser, and in heaps on the floor. His traveling trunk lay open in the middle of the floor. One sock hung from a lamp, and it took all her self-control to close the door without removing it.
She crossed the hall, and opened another door. A bathroom. White tiled and beautiful, with a huge curving bathtub, and a minored dressing table. She opened the linen closet, and saw stacks of Turkish towels, thick and costly.
The thought of bathing in such a tub was so tempting that she was ready to head down the stairs and start heating water, but the thought of Mr. Asher coming home and catching her was terrible.
With a longing look, she left the bath, and opened the fourth and last door.
This was her room. A huge bed, with a dainty coverlet of crocheted lace, a matching wardrobe of dark walnut, and a dresser as well. A dainty chair, upholstered in needlepoint flowers.
And, of course, there were flowers on the walls. A delicate ivory paper with a pattern of roses, pale pink and burgundy, running up the walls in vertical stripes.
Unable to resist, she lay full length on the bed, sighing at the softness of the feather mattress. No straw-filled ticking in this house.
For a rare half an hour, Rose Shanahan did nothing but lie there, hands wrapped around her huge belly, feeling the comforting rolling movement of the child inside her. She closed her eyes, and pretended that this was truly her house, her beautiful room, her full pantry downstairs. She imagined dresses she bought for Kate, and then the boots and wool coat she would buy for Danny. She would mail-order a beautiful cradle for the baby. She would buy them a sled for Christmas, shiny wood with painted red runners.
In the springtime she would plant a vegetable garden, and eat fresh green peas off the vines. She imagined her handsome husband coming home, and sitting beside her on the front porch in the summer, watching the mountain as it turned rose-colored, glowing in the warm twilight.
He'd turn to her, and she'd say, "Do you know, Ash, what the baby did—"
"You ridiculous creature," she said aloud, and sat straight up, feeling silly. She stood up slowly, wincing. Her boots were getting too tight; her feet were swelling, but she couldn't bear to leave the buttons undone and go flapping about the house like a slattern. She looked bad enough, waddling about like an overstuffed duck.
It had been a long time since she had worried about her looks.
She hung her and Kate's dresses in the wardrobe, closed the door with a bang, and used the kitchen staircase to go back down, as was proper.
"He thinks he's some pumpkins," Danny grumbled to Kate, as they made their way toward the house. "Mr. Fancy. I allow we'd have done just as well for ourselves in the city."
A week in Joshua Asher's house hadn't changed Danny's feelings about the man, not one bit. He was the enemy.
Kate struggled behind her brother through the snow, anxious to get back to the warm house. "I like him. I like our house. And the food…"
Danny couldn't argue about the food. He had never eaten so well. And every day, his lunch pail was a delight. His classmates couldn't mock him anymore for bringing nothing but a cold biscuit. Now he had soft, fresh bread, tangy pieces of cheese, and apples from the cellar. But food was one thing, and Joshua Asher another.
"It's easy for him to give away food, with all his money. But he doesn't really like us."
Kate was stung by the thought, and stopped right there on the road. "He does!" she cried, her breath puffing out in great clouds. "He likes us! And he likes Mama. They sit and talk every morning."
For some reason, this seemed to infuriate Danny even more. "He does not!"
"He does. You're just mean because you don't like Sunday school, and Mama made us go."
"There was no reason to walk all that way. This was supposed to be a day of rest."
Kate quoted her mother, "You should have rested when you got there, while you listened to your teacher."
"I already heard it from Mama, I don't need to hear it from you."
Kate ignored him, and hummed happily as she walked along.
Danny rolled his eyes, and cursed his broken boots that let the snow in at the toes.
"I'll tell you a secret," Kate offered, trying to cheer him up.
"What?"
"Don't tell Mama."
"What?" He was interested now, but wouldn't let on.
"Mama's going to have a baby."
Danny turned and regarded his sister with a look of utter contempt. "I know that. Mama knows that."
"She does?"
"For corn sake, yes! You're such an idiot, Kate."
"You're mean. I bet you don't know the baby's name."
"No, and neither do you. Race you." He stalled up the long drive at a dead run, anxious to reach the warmth of the house.
Kate stood in the drive, watching her brother. The wind whispered past her cheek, and made a pretty sound. She took a deep breath, and smelled snow, clean and clear, and then, a breath of flowers.
"Emily?"
She closed her eyes, and felt a gentle sparkle of warmth near her. "I know you're there, Emily."
She looked around, but saw nothing but snow and tre
es, and up ahead, Mr. Asher's beautiful house.
"Danny doesn't mean to be like that, but he is. Do you think it's because he's sad? Like Mr. Asher? He never smiles, or laughs, but he's not mean. Maybe Santa Claus will bring Danny something nice. That would make him happy."
The little girl walked on toward the house, chatting away.
"Grown-ups don't get things from Santa," she said then. "They give each other things. I'd like to give Mr. Asher a present."
She tilted her head into the wind, and smiled, as if she heard an answer.
Ash stood by the front window, watching the children. There went that little girl, chattering to the air again. She spun in a circle in the snow, her arms spread wide, and laughed at nothing. Then she put her hand on her hip, and stood, nodding thoughtfully, as if she were listening to someone.
"Weird kid." He wandered into the kitchen where Rose was banging pots and pans around, doing whatever she did in there all day. He always felt at odds on Sunday, when the mine was closed.
Danny had just come in, and was wiping the snow from his boots, frowning. His cheeks were red with cold.
"What did you learn today?" his mother was asking.
He shrugged. "Something about God."
"Well, I should hope so. Never mind, I'll ask Kate. I hope one of you pays attention." She was elbow-deep in suds, washing something She was always washing something. Ash wondered if there was anything left in the house that hadn't been cleaned.
"Rose?"
The boy shot him a resentful look at the use of his mother's first name. Too bad, he found himself thinking somewhat irritatedly.
"Yes, Mr. Asher?
"May I ask you something personal?"
She stopped scrubbing, and turned, giving him her full attention. Her coffee-colored eyes were wide with curiosity as she dried her hands on her apron.
"I suppose."
"It's about your little girl. Is she… well, normal?"
"In what way?" Her spine stiffened a little, and her left brow lifted slightly.
He was a little sorry he had asked, but they'd always been frank with each other. "The way she talks to herself. You know. And… listens."
"Her hearing is fine."
"That wasn't what I meant. But… oh, come on. You know what I mean. Every time I round a comer, she's chatting away to nobody, and laughing, and I just wondered…"
Rose Shanahan nodded briskly. "Yes, I know. Kate is a very normal little girl, thank you very much. She just has a very vivid imagination, and talks about it. I believe many children have imaginary friends."
"Emily," Dan put in, rolling his eyes.
"What?" Ash asked with an involuntary start.
"—never mind," Rose said at the same time.
"Her friend," Dan explained, helping himself to an apple from a bowl on the kitchen table. "Kate says she's an angel named Emily. And she really believes it."
Ash said nothing.
"Yes, yes, with silver wings, and violets in her hair," Rose said briskly. "A little girl's fancy, Danny. That's all."
"Violets?" Ash asked, and his voice sounded a little uncertain to his own ears. They were Emily's favorite flower.
"A vivid imagination, Mr. Asher," Rose repeated. "That's all. Nothing to worry about." She gave a quick nod at the back door, and he saw the little girl coming up the steps.
"She believes it," Danny persisted, swallowing a bite of apple. "She's making me as crazy as a loon. Emily this, Emily that. And now Santa Claus."
"That's enough." Rose's voice was sharp as Kate came through the door, letting in a cold gust of fresh air.
The little girl ran straight to her mother, wrapping her arms as far around her middle as she could. Rose pulled off the girl's gray knit cap, smoothed the part of her dark hair, and bent to kiss her.
"What have you got there, darling?"
"A present. For Mr. Asher." The little girl turned to him with her gap-toothed smile, and held out her hands.
Red-berried holly branches, and vines of green ivy.
"How pretty," Rose said, smiling with the soft look of a loving mother.
"They go over the mantel, in the sitting room," Kate told him. "For Christmas. You know?"
He knew. He remembered. He didn't know what to say.
He remembered Emily, light brown hair shining. Their first year in the new house. She was wearing pale green, something loose and full over her pregnant stomach, her hands full of dark green ivy, and glossy, redberried holly branches"
"We'll put them over the mantel, to bring Christmas in, Joshua. Look, how pretty. Now it feels like Christmas is coming, doesn't it? "
The little girl was looking up at him with bright, innocent eyes.
He cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Well. Thank you, Kate. I… umm… I don't really keep Christmas, anymore."
Her brow wrinkled. "Keep it? No, you can't keep it. It's coming, and then it goes away. Here. It's a present."
Hesitantly, he took the branches. He glanced at Rose, and saw the troubled look in her eyes. She knew that something was wrong.
"Tell me, Kate," she said quickly, "for your brother can't remember. What lesson did you learn in Sunday school today?"
the child smiled proudly. "I remember. 'With belief, all things are possible,'" she quoted. "Can I have an apple, too?"
"May I," Rose corrected. "You may. But go wash your hands, first."
Rose turned away deliberately, and went back to her dishes.
Ash backed silently out of the room, the branches still in his hands. He looked down at them, shaking his head.
"Just a vivid imagination—"
"An angel named Emily—"
"… and violets in her hair."
"—put them over the mantel, to bring Christmas in…"
"… all things are possible."
Almost unwillingly, he walked to the mantel, and laid the branches gently over dark wood.
They looked right. They felt right.
A sudden sunbreak pierced the cloudy sky, and shone through the windows, making little prisms of the leaded glass designs and warming the wine-colored patterns of the carpet.
He looked around. Something was different.
But nothing was. the room held the same furniture, the same carved what-not in the corner, the same coals glowing in the grate, the same everything. Only the glossy green leaves on the mantel were different, yet it seemed as if the whole room had transformed.
Yes, it was different. the house felt warm and lived in, like a happy place, instead of an empty, waiting shell.
Laughter came from the kitchen, and the warm smell of baking. There was snow outside, and cinnamon within.
For the first time in years, Joshua Asher felt Christmas coming
Either that, or he was losing his mind.
Chapter Five
The weather showed no signs of warming, and the citizens of Black Diamond were stranded together in the pine-scented, icebound hills.
The miners still worked the mines, freezing in the dark caverns, until Joshua Asher announced that until the thaw, men would work only half days, but still receive their regular pay.
A week before Christmas, another heavy snow fell, collapsing the roof of the schoolhouse. Since no one had been hurt, there was more rejoicing, this time among the children. Homemade sleds of varying sizes and shapes appeared, and Main Street took on an unusual holiday air as children slid, skidded, stalled, and shrieked through town.
The postmaster, once the telegraph system was up and miming again, reported that Seattle had been blessed with rain, but it immediately turned the snow to mud. the streets were impassible, and there was a rumor— unconfirmed, but believed by all— that a horse had fallen into a mudhole and drowned.
The general store was filled with more visiting gossips than shoppers, but that was nothing new. the storekeeper paid tribute to the season by removing the picks, pans, and boots from the window, and laying out his annual Christmas display— a slightly dingy blanket of
cotton wool, and a few cotton bolls hanging from threads (meant to resemble falling snow) and an assortment of enchanting, if mostly unaffordable gifts. Tin banks, paper dolls, pull toys, books, and a couple of china-headed dolls and bags of marbles provided much entertainment for the younger set, who, if they couldn't actually own such riches, could always stare at them and dream.
Reverend Quigley frantically rehearsed the little church choir every day, in preparation for the Christmas Eve service— considered a highlight of the year— and lamented that the only really true soprano in town belonged, most unfortunately, to the town's woman of ill repute. And yet, bad or not, she showed up for every rehearsal— and the fact that the other women sat at a distance from her only seemed to confirm her place as featured soloist.
All around, Christmas was coming, and there wasn't a man, woman, or child in Black Diamond who could ignore it.
Joshua Asher wanted to. He felt isolated, removed from the community. He longed for the peace of his Seattle house, where he had his lumberyards and warehouses to occupy him. Critcher managed his coal mines perfectly, his accounts were balanced and there was nothing else to interest him here.
He was at odds with himself, not used to having so much time on his hands. He couldn't very well sit by the stove in the general store playing checkers, and he was uncomfortable watching Rose lumber around the kitchen. Instead, he rode into town every day, telegraphed his Seattle offices, heard that everything was fine, and rode home again.
And every night, he sat in the dining room at a table meant for twelve, ate his dinner, and felt utterly alone. Funny, he thought, he had been alone for eight years now, and it had never bothered him.
Bored, he picked at his plate of chicken and dumplings, and entertained himself by trying to eavesdrop on Rose and her children.
They were laughing, but he couldn't tell at what. After a moment's thought, he reached over with his dinner knife, and opened the room's never-used service cupboard. the little open space, while affording him only a view of the shelves, let the Shanahan voices drift more clearly to him.
Danny was speaking. "—and then Sid knocked down Charlie, and Charlie knocked down Sid, and they both say they won. Then their ma came out, and knocked them both down for fighting."