Anth - Mistletoe & Magic

by Mistletoe

  'They're bad. Will Santa bring them anything?"

  "Tf they're sorry, maybe." Rose's voice. 'I'm not sure about Mrs. Gilhooley, though. It's bad form to be knocking your children down in the street."

  "Danny washed Tessie Gilhooley's face in snow, and made her cry. Will Santa bring Mm a present?"

  "Hummm. Maybe not. Though maybe he should worry more about what Mis. Gilhooley might do."

  Apparently, Mrs. Gilhooley was a force to be reckoned with, for Danny gave a cry of mock horror, and Kate and Rose collapsed with giggles.

  "Put your plate in the sink, Danny, if you're finished. Here, I'll get it."

  "I'm not done yet. You're so clean, you're trying to wash our plates while we're still eating."

  More merriment in the kitchen. Funny, he didn't ever remember hearing Danny laugh before.

  Ash looked up, and caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the windows.

  Suddenly, it seemed ridiculous. Here he was, alone in this huge room, eavesdropping on his housekeeper and her children for company. He reached out with his knife, and poked the service cupboard closed.

  It was pathetic. He was so bored that he was sitting out here listening in on the latest strategies of snowball wars, and wondering which shanty the Gilhooleys were in so that he might catch a glimpse of the formidable missus. All this when what he really would like was— the door swung open, and Rose was there.

  "Mr. Asher?" She held a cup of coffee out to him. "If you're finished with your supper…"

  She bent over to retrieve his plate, and he looked away, wincing at the awkward way she had to move around her belly. "there's a brown-sugar apple cake, if you care for any."

  "I would. But I'll sit in the kitchen with you, if you don't mind. I've been considering… I think it's as stupid as all creation for me to sit out here every night."

  I'm afraid our chatter would bother you." She looked slightly puzzled, as if unsure of how to respond. "Of course, we could leave you the kitchen, if you prefer…"

  "I'd prefer, with your permission of course, to spend some more time in your company." Damn! That had come out wrong. He had sounded for all the world as if he was asking permission to court her. But he had simply said exactly what he meant to, hadn't he?

  "Mr. Asher." Her voice was always so solid. She never seemed to falter. "You had only to say so. We'd be delighted with your company. I'm afraid being snowbound must be very tiresome for you."

  Of course, she understood. He looked up at her, and saw that brilliant, dimpled smile in her heart-shaped face. It was a kittenish sort of face, too narrow at the chin and too wide at the forehead, and nose a bit too pointed, but somehow, all of it came together with a grace and symmetry that was uniquely Rose.

  And suddenly, he didn't notice the swollen stomach or awkward gait, but saw only the pale glow of her skin, and the way her dark eyes shone.

  For no reason that he could account for, he found her beautiful.

  He followed her into the kitchen, and the children fell silent as he joined them at the table.

  Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.

  Rose carried the cake to the table, and joined them.

  "Any news in town?" he asked, after a moment of silence.

  "There are toys in the store window," Kate volunteered. "And Charlie Gilhooley threw a snowball into the saloon, and hit Mr. Svenson, then had to run away."

  "They sound like a boisterous bunch, the Gilhooleys. And how about you, Danny? Any good snowball fights?"

  "No, sir."

  The boy's face was set and sullen.

  "All ready for Santa Claus?"

  The boy raised his eyes, dark brown like his mother's, but with none of the warmth and humor, "That's bunkum," he replied rudely. 'I'm not a baby."

  "Danny." Rose spoke quietly, but with unmistakable warning in her voice.

  "What's bunkum?" Kate demanded, looking anxiously up from her cake.

  "It's slang," Rose replied with evident displeasure, "It means your brother's getting too smart for his own good, and had better watch his step."

  "Done any sledding?" Damned if Asher knew why he was trying so hard to be sociable.

  "No sled," was the quick answer,

  The silence was flat. He tried to remember what he had liked best at that age. Horses.

  "Well, I'm planning a ride out to Dussler's farm in the next couple of days, to see what he's got in the way of livestock. How does a goose sound, for Christmas? Or maybe some fresh pork?"

  "It sounds wonderful," Rose said quickly, her eyes brightening, "It's been years since I cooked a goose. I wonder if I'd remember how."

  "Oh, I'd bet you do. It's a far place to go, though. Could use a little company. Dan? Care to ride along?"

  The boy's expression was blatantly hostile.

  "No."

  "Daniel. You may leave the table. And apologize to Mr. Asher for your rudeness."

  "I apologize."

  "And I'll take that apology as kindly as you gave it." Asher said, meeting the boy's eyes evenly.

  Without a word, Danny left the table. A moment later, the door slammed behind him.

  Rose started to rise, her eyes snapping, but Asher caught her hand.

  "Let him go. It's a hard age to be."

  "It's no excuse for rudeness. That child wears my patience thin."

  "He isn't mean," Kate said softly. "Just sad, Mr. Asher. Sad and lonely."

  Sometimes, the child's dark eyes seemed so adult, so at odds with her tiny face.

  "You're a good girl, Kate," Rose said. "Go wash up, and get ready for bed, and I'll come hear your prayers."

  "Yes, Mama. Good night, Mr. Asher."

  Her footsteps were light as she ran up the stairs.

  "Mr. Asher."

  He turned to Rose, and saw that her dark eyes were wide and worried.

  "Yes?"

  "Are you aware that you are holding my hand?"

  "I am?" He looked at her hand, laying beneath his own on the table. It was such a small hand, but a hand of considerable strength. Every blister and scar on her palm spoke of her ability to meet life's blows, and endure them.

  It had been years since he had held a woman's hand.

  "Does it offend you?" he asked softly.

  Her eyes lifted hesitantly to his face, and he saw her uncertain for the first time since he had met her. She looked down at their hands together, and then back up with an expression of wonder.

  "No," she answered slowly. "No, it doesn't offend me."

  They sat in silence for a long time, neither moving or speaking, simply feeling the warmth and comfort offered by each other's touch.

  He was deep in sleep, burrowed beneath the heavy blankets, dreaming something about violets. They were vivid, velvety purple splashed with yellow as brilliant as sunshine. Violets in the snow, sparkling like diamonds.

  Rose was in the kitchen, singing softly as she made coffee. Footsteps came outside his door, quick and light, soft laughter like silver bells. The little girl, passing by the closed door, spoke softly so as not to wake him. Emily answered her, her voice soft with happiness, leaving the scent of violets in her wake.

  He spoke to Emily in his dream. "Do you like her, Em? Is it right?"

  And in his dream, Emily answered. "Oh, yes, Joshua She's brave and strong and good"

  A door slammed, below in the house. Danny and his mother, speaking in the kitchen.

  Joshua opened his eyes, startled.

  He didn't dream often, and it disturbed him, the way this dream seemed to hang over him in the cold morning air. For a moment, Emily's words seemed to hover in the room, and he could almost smell the scent of violets.

  "Horse shit," he muttered uneasily. the room was exactly as it always was. He reached for his clothes, and found his pants thrown over a chair. He hurried to put them on over his red flannel long johns, then threw on a plaid flannel shirt.

  He froze as he heard it again— the soft step in the hall, a whispering voice.
He exhaled sharply. It was just Kate.

  But still…

  Silently, in his heavy socks, he crossed the floor, and stepped out into the hall. Empty.

  A quick movement caught his eye, and he turned rapidly toward the back staircase. He followed quickly, and looked down. Nothing, just the murmur of Rose's voice, and Danny's answer rising from the kitchen.

  Damn it, he had heard or seen something. He turned, and looked up, where the staircase narrowed and turned toward the attic. A cold breeze moved down to meet him.

  Quietly, he turned the comer and peered up into the dark stairwell.

  "Katie?"

  The little girl turned swiftly, her dark braids flying.

  Of course it was Kate. Of course, she was alone.

  "Hey. What are you doing up there?" He squinted up at the dark stairwell, and saw her expression of alarm.

  She bit her lip, and stared at him with doe eyes. "Looking for something," she whispered.

  "Did you lose something?"

  She shook her head.

  'Then what are you looking for? There's nothing up there but an old dirty attic."

  "Oh, no sir. It's in there."

  "What, honey?" The poor little thing looked nervous. "You can tell me."

  "No, sir. I mustn't. Mama said I mustn't upset you."

  "Ah. Well, your mother makes the laws, as usual. But if I guess, that's not telling me, is it? Arid if I'm not upset, no harm done."

  She considered that.

  "Make you a deal. If I guess why you're here, and I'm not upset, I'll help you look."

  She smiled. "That's not disobeying, is it?"

  "Not a bit. Now I would guess… hnnn. You've been talking to angels again."

  "You guessed!" She peered down at him. "Are you upset?"

  "Not a bit. Now, what do you think is in the attic?"

  "Let's go inside first."

  Curious, he followed her up, and unlatched the hook on the door. "See? Good thing I happened along. You're too little to reach that."

  He went first, his breath showing in the frosty air. The light was dim, slanting in two dusty windows set beneath the peak of the roof.

  "How about that? I think we found the one place in the house your mother didn't clean."

  "Two places. She won't clean your room. She says it looks like the wreck of the Hesperus. What's the Hesperus?"

  He choked back a laugh. "A ship in a poem. Your mother's a smart woman."

  the little girl nodded, smiling. "Now. Let me see. We're looking for a box."

  He looked around the dusty room. "Take your pick. There's about twenty of them."

  She moved quickly across the floor, her little boots leaving footprints in the dust, and walked slowly around the neat stacks of boxes, trunks, and crates. The headboard of the bed that had once been his and Emily's leaned against a wall, gathering cobwebs.

  She stopped next to a broken chair, and pointed. "This one."

  He walked over, and lifted it. It was an old vegetable crate, covered in faded newspaper. "What is it?"

  "Christmas," she said simply.

  He knew what he would find even before he lifted the comer of the paper.

  "You said you didn't keep Christmas," Katie said softly. "But you do. You keep it in a box."

  He tossed the newsprint to the floor, and lifted out a tiny swan of silver glass, and then a little house made of shining glass with a powder of sparkling snow painted on the roof. Next came golden walnut, delicate and fragile. A string of glass beads, still shimmering with jewel bright colors.

  These were Emily's precious Christmas ornaments, some from Germany, some from England. All were wrapped carefully and carried with her all the way from Boston, now gathering dust in the attic.

  "Well," he said, and had to clear his throat. "Well. What do you make of that?"

  "Do you know what Mama would say?" Kate asked solemnly.

  "No, what?"

  "God works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform," the child quoted softly.

  He didn't know what to say, or what to believe. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe Kate had been poking around in the attic, and found the box days ago.

  But even as the easy thought occurred to him, he thought of her little boot prints, making a trail through dust obviously undisturbed for several years. And the latch.

  "Is that what your mother would say?" he asked finally. "Well, I guess if she says it, it's so. You know what else she'd say?"

  "What?"

  "She'd tell us to get out of this dust and cold before we catch our deaths, and wash up for breakfast, and that's that."

  His imitation of Rose's no-nonsense manner delighted Kate; she stifled her giggles behind her small fingers.

  "Come on. I'll carry the box I keep Christmas in, and you get the door. We'd better hurry. We have a lot to do today."

  "What do we have to do?" She was almost skipping beside him, her eyes fastened longingly on the box of treasures in his arms.

  "What do you think? These things are no good without a tree, are they? Have you ever had a Christmas tree, Kate?"

  "No. But there was one in church last year, and we made paper chains for it. It was beautiful."

  "this one will be better," he promised, as they went down the stairs. "I've got an idea. Let's hide these, and surprise your mother."

  Together, they slipped the box inside his bedroom door and hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

  Rose was standing at the stove, laying thick strips of bacon in a pan, and she gave them a sharp look as they entered.

  "What on earth have you two been up to? You look like the cats who stole the cream."

  "Exploring the attic," Asher answered innocently.

  "Of all things. You're lucky you didn't catch pneumonia in that dust and cold. Saints preserve us. Go wash up for breakfast."

  "Told you," he whispered to Kate, and the two of them choked back laughter.

  Danny, coming in from the front of the house, looked suspiciously at them.

  "Do you mind if I borrow your children this morning, Rose? I need their help."

  "Not at all. What on earth for?"

  "You'll see."

  "I'm busy," Danny said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  Josh bent down, smiling a false, cheerful, smile. "Look here, you surly little hellion," he whispered, never breaking his smile. "We're doing this to make your mother happy, and you'll come along, and like it, or I'll kick your ass to all creation. Now, smile."

  The boy's smile looked more like a grimace, but it would suffice.

  "What are you doing in that sitting room?" Rose called through the dining room door, as if she didn't know.

  "Don't come out!" Kate shrieked. "Not yet."

  "Oh, all right." She retreated back into the kitchen, and eased herself into the rocker by the stove. She closed her eyes, and ran her hands over the firm mountain of her stomach.

  The baby was quiet today, and she knew its time was drawing near. She offered up a silent prayer for his safety.

  How long now? she wondered. As much as she dreaded the labor, she longed to have it done with. She wanted to be lithe and quick again. She had taken her old dresses out of the trunk this morning. the gray wool was in deplorable shape, but the sage green calico, sprigged with yellow and pink flowers, was still wearable, if faded. The corsets she had been so happy to discard were washed and waiting. It would be good to have a waistline again.

  Out in the sitting room, she heard Kate give a cry of alarm, and, for the first time, heard Asher laughing without restraint. What were they doing to that poor little tree?

  "Rose?" Asher came through the kitchen door. "Are you all right?"

  "Fine," she said, opening her eyes.

  He didn't look convinced. His eyes, blue as springtime skies, were worried beneath furrowed brows.

  She suddenly felt huge and ungainly in front of him. She must have imagined it, that feeling she had in the kitchen last night. No man could find h
er attractive, swollen, and graceless, moving with the lumbering step of a bear.

  "You don't look fine. Do you want me to fetch the doctor?"

  "Great merciful heavens, no."

  "You're sure?" he persisted.

  She had never noticed before, that he had a scar on his forehead, one clear white line running above his eyebrow. It didn't make him any less handsome.

  "I'm sure," she told him

  "You'll tell me in plenty of time, won't you, when I need to go? I wouldn't want… I don't want you to…"

  "Mr. Asher." She met his eyes directly. "I'm not going to die. That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"

  "I've considered the possibility," he admitted, flinching slightly at her harsh words.

  "Put your mind at ease. If the Holy Mother could give birth in an old barn, I can certainly manage in a feather bed in a warm house. I'm actually looking forward to getting it over with. Now, stop fussing at me. Is it time for me to be surprised yet?"

  A smile curved his lips. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Good. And I hope you didn't track pitch and pine needles all over the house."

  "Rose? Are you this formidable when you're not… in an interesting condition?"

  "Oh no," she said, trying not to smile. "Not at all. I'm much, much worse."

  "Lord help us all. Here, let me help you up."

  "I don't need help." But she let him take her hands, and pull her to her feet.

  "You're a tiny thing," he remarked.

  "I'm as big as a house," she contradicted.

  "A tiny house," he conceded.

  That made her laugh, and it felt good to stand there, her hands clasped in his. there was something so stable and good about him. His very touch made her feel safe. What would it be like, she wondered, to be with a man you could depend on?

  "We had best go out," he said. "Those kids are awfully anxious for you to see it."

  She almost hated to ask. "Was Danny any better today?"

  "A little. He's a hard nut to crack, Rose."

  "He's grieving. It will pass."

  He had to ask. "And you're not?"

  "I'm not a child. I spent eleven years grieving and angry. Not to speak ill of the dead, Mr. Asher, but mine was not a happy marriage. I'm sorry for Jamie, but I quit loving him long ago. And this…" She nodded at her belly, and tried hard to find words to explain what there were no socially acceptable words to explain.