by Mistletoe
It had been months since she and her husband had been together that way, but there had been one night last March, cold and bitter and dark. James had been silent, finally, after hours of rough, rasping coughing, and they were huddled together for warmth. It had been a sad joining, a kind of farewell. She had never expected a child to result.
"I never expected this," was all she could think of to say. "It was a surprise. But for some reason, it was meant to be. I don't understand why, but there it is. God works in mysterious ways. And," she said, drawing a deep breath, "that's that."
He brought his hand to her cheek. "I'm sorry for asking."
She looked up at him. He was going to kiss her. She could see it in his eyes.
"Mama—"
They stepped apart abruptly as Danny burst in through the door. But not quickly enough.
His eyes darkened as they looked from Asher to his mother, and the eager happiness faded from his face. Silently, the boy retreated.
"Damn! Bad timing." Asher remarked.
"On all counts," Rose agreed, then she sighed. "But it can't be helped. Now, let me see this tree."
Even though it was still light out, the lamps had been lit in the sitting room, and the room glowed with warmth.
She didn't need to feign surprise.
A little tree was enthroned in a place of honor in front of the window, and the scent of pine, tart and rich and clean, filled the air, perfuming the room with the scent of the ancient mountains.
Beads of brilliant red and starry blue, gold and green and magenta draped through its branches, and amazing little glass ornaments sparkled and swayed beneath them. At least thirty candles were clipped to the branch tips, slender and white.
I've never seen the like," Rose said, her voice soft with awe.
She held Kate's hand while the child pointed out the little snow-sprinkled church, the pine cones of silver glass, and the golden walnut and acorn. There were birds of gold and red, with real feathers in their glass tails, and a silvery white swan and tiny golden trumpets. A bell of pure white glass, painted with red roses, dangled alongside a tiny Santa Claus, improbably short and fat, but Santa all the same.
"That is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, in all my born days," Rose proclaimed. "I don't know what to say."
Asher beamed with pride, Kate danced in a circle, and even Danny managed an uncertain smile.
And then, to all their shock, Rose burst into tears.
She couldn't help it. Everything was so good, too good, and it had been years since she had hoped, or even dreamed that life might offer her anything other than the rest of her days bent over a steaming tub of laundry, scrubbing her fingers raw and hoping for nothing more than one good night's sleep.
And she was terrified that it was going to end.
At her sobbing, panic ensued. Kate cried, and pulled at her mother's skirt. Danny rushed to take her arm, begging her to tell him what was wrong. Nearby, Asher shouted at them to get her to the sofa, apparently sure that the baby was coming.
"Is it time, Rose? Should I go for the doctor?"
"Are you sick, Mama?"
"Please stop, Mama—"
She was being pulled and clung to and pleaded with from all directions, and as suddenly as she had started crying, she was laughing
"No, no, I'm fine. It's all right, Katie, don't cry. There. Gracious, Danny, don't push me, I'm sitting. There, I'm sitting. Get back here, Joshua Asher, you're not sending for the doctor so that he can tell me I'm a goose."
They all watched her carefully, and their faces were so full of uncertainty that she laughed again, still wiping tears from her eyes.
"See? I'm fine."
"What happened?" Danny demanded, still clutching her ann.
"I got too happy. My cup runneth over, I guess." She wiped her fingers beneath her eyes. "I just overflowed"
"Don't do it again, all right?" her son said, somewhat grumpily.
"I'll second that," Asher agreed, raking his hand through his hair. "Good Lord, woman. You scared us half to death."
He was pale, she noted. Amazing. Did he really care for her? She could hardly credit it, but he certainly appeared to.
"When do we light the candles?" she asked to get her mind off of the subject.
"Not now," Asher replied, with a wary glance at the tree. I'm afraid of what you might do."
"Tomorrow, Mama," Kate said. "Tomorrow night, before Santa comes."
"If he comes. You two still have a whole day to be good."
"I can do it," Kate cried exuberantly. "I know it"
Danny rolled his eyes, returning to his usual removed demeanor now that the crisis had passed.
"Show me," Rose said. "Go wash up for dinner, the both of you. Your hands are black from that tree/'
Rose waited until they were gone, and turned to Asher.
"Mr. Asher, I have a favor to ask you."
He lifted his brow. What did she want from him? "Go ahead."
"Tomorrow, when you go into town, will you stop in at the store for me?"
"What do you need?"
She dug in her pocket, and withdrew a carefully knotted handkerchief. "Just a little something extra, for the children. I thought maybe a harmonica for Danny. A little doll or a book for Kate." She held out a thin dime and nickel. "That should suffice."
"Oh, let me, Rose. I can't take that."
Her left brow shot up, something he was beginning to recognize as a sign of displeasure. "No indeed. That would be wrong, and I can afford this. Between this and whatever Santa Claus brings, that should be plenty."
"Hmm. Rose?"
"What?"
He looked around stealthily. "There is no Santa Claus, you know," he whispered. "I believe you're supposed to take care of that."
She laughed softly, and pushed at his shoulder. "You fool. I know that. I guess you didn't know
"Know what?"
"The church arranges it. Somebody— usually George Critcher— dresses as Santa, and goes from house to house, all through the town. All the children get something. It's really very exciting for them, and that way, no child in town is without a present."
"I didn't know that. Critcher?"
"He's very good. Reverend Quigley arranges it all. For a lot of the miners' children, it's all the Christmas they've ever had."
"I didn't know," he repeated. "I guess I should have contributed something."
"Hard to do, when you never go to church," she pointed out. "Now, give me a hand up, and let's see if I can't manage to get supper on without falling to pieces." She smiled up at him. "Thank you again for the tree. I could just sit and look at it all night."
"Hell, why don't we? Let's eat in the dining room. I'll fire up the chandelier, and we'll make a party of it."
"Why not?" she agreed. "That'll be fun. I can take off my apron, and sit in that elegant chair, and look at that beautiful tree, and pretend I'm a great lady."
"Rose," he said softly, laying a strong hand on her shoulder. "You are."
Chapter Six
Rose stood on the kitchen porch, staring up at the sky. It was Christmas Eve. It always amazed her that no matter where she was, no matter how poor or unhappy she had been, she was always able to feel something extraordinary on this night.
There was always some point that she was able to steal away, and look at the sky, and believe in miracles.
It was easy this year. She was warm, and her children had enough to eat. Their Christmas Eve dinner had been served at a beautiful table, off of porcelain dishes with bouquets of spring flowers painted around the edges. There had been food to spare, beautiful pork roast and bowls of hot apple sauce, and green beans speckled with bacon and soft potatoes.
The house was full of the smell of gingerbread cookies and Christmas cake bursting with walnuts and raisins, and also the scent of the magical tree, shimmering in the soft yellow lamplight.
A miracle.
And Asher. Though they had not spoken one word about the f
uture, she could feel a promise hovering in the cinnamon-and pine-scented air between them. All through dinner, whenever she looked up, his eyes were on her, pale and bright in the tan of his face, and he would smile. It was a bemused smile, a little puzzled, as though he was not sure exactly how this wonderful feeling was growing between them, or why.
She understood his expression perfectly, for she felt it on her own face, whenever she smiled back.
It seemed another miracle. But on such a night, she could believe in them. She tipped her head back, and stared into the ink-dark sky. The moon was almost full, its silver light glowing through mist. The pines around the cleared land were silhouetted perfectly black against the indigo night, and stars shimmered randomly, appearing and disappearing between the shifting, moonlit clouds.
Rose marveled that this was the same moon, the same stars that had shown on Bethlehem. And suddenly she knew that miracles existed.
"Mama? What are you doing out here?"
Danny stuck his head out of the back door, and she held her arm out to him.
He stood awkwardly, allowing her to hug him for a moment. He was growing. She felt a stab of longing for the little boy he had been, who had come to her for hugs and kisses as easily as he breathed
"Looking at the stars. Thinking about Christmas."
"You always do," he said. "Remember Silver City?"
She laughed softly. How old had he been— maybe five or six? They had stood together in the night, outside of their canvas tent, and looked at the stars. And then the singing had started, Christmas carols rising into the frosty night.
He had asked if it was angels. She hadn't had the heart to tell him it was the drunken women in the whorehouse down the hill. She had let him believe what he wanted.
"I remember."
"You're wearing Dad's coat," he said, fingering the fraying sleeve,
"I don't have another, do I?"
"Do you miss him?"
She was silent. "Not in the same way you do," she finally answered, honestly.
"Would you marry Mr. Asher?"
"If he asked me, which he hasn't. Yes. Yes, I would."
"I hope he doesn't," Danny said, his voice husky. "I don't want him to."
"I'm sorry for that. But life could deal us far worse. And I don't want to hear another word about it, and that's that."
Her son was silent for a moment. Finally, "Mr. Asher and Kate want you to come in. They want to light the candles on the tree." He shrugged off her arm, and yanked the door open, stomping back into the kitchen with the awkward, noisy gait unique to eleven-year-old boys, as if they hadn't yet learned to manage the size of their feet.
She sighed, and cast a last, longing look at the sky. Oh, Danny. Don't spoil this for me.
She wondered if she was hoping for one too many miracles.
"Are we ready?" Asher held the match up, and looked to Rose for approval.
A bucket of water stood ready with a mop in it, just in case. Kate bounced on the edge of the sofa, her braids bouncing off her shoulders in rhythm, almost trembling with excitement.
"Oh yes! Please!"
"Oh, maybe we should wait." Grinning, he went to put the match in his pocket.
"Don't tease," Rose ordered, laughing.
"Oh, all right. If you're sure."
"We're sure," Kate cried.
Slowly, ceremoniously, he struck the match. He lit one candle, then another, working from top to bottom. Slowly, the fir came to life, its beads and ornaments shimmering and twinkling like stars.
Kate and Rose let out simultaneous sighs of pleasure at the sight, and they looked so alike with their dimpled smiles and dark eyes glowing that it made Joshua smile.
Danny sat alone in the chair by the fire, his face pale and his eyes mingling snow and resentment. He looked very dark in the shadows, as if the Christmas light touched only those within its enchanted circle.
"Danny!" Kate danced up to him, and tried to take his hands. "Look! Look at our tree? Isn't it beautiful?"
He shook her off and shrugged.
Confused but undaunted, Kate persisted. "Come and look! Why aren't you happy? Santa's coming Oh, what do you think he's bringing?"
"There isn't any Santa." The words burst out, from some dark, sorrowful and ugly place deep within him.
Rose whirled around. "Danny."
Usually, that would have been enough. But there was something in him, some lonely, bitter sorrow that none of them seemed to feel or understand— heck, none of them tried to understand. He was shut out, the orphan in their midst, and it was eating him alive. He wanted to strike out, to ruin their happiness.
"There is" Kate stated, softly, her voice quivering, "There is a Santa. He comes every year. He came last year, and he can come here. Can't he, Mama? Can't he, Mr. Asher?"
"He will," Rose said, in a voice that invited no argument.
"He won't!" Danny spat out, and now that the words were coming, they just kept spewing forth. "It isn't Santa, it's just dumb old Mr. Critcher, all dressed up in a red suit. He does it every year. And we know what he's going to bring; the same dumb things he brings every year. Just a few pieces of candy and a pair of old mittens that the church ladies knit. Isn't that what you got last year? And the year before?" The boy's face was red, his voice harsh. "Isn't that what everybody gets? Didn't you ever notice that the kids with money get more, no matter how good you are? Ever wonder why? Now you know! Cause it's just old Critcher with our charity candy and our church mittens, and there ain't no Santa Claus!"
Asher stood frozen, shocked by the boy's anger. Kate stood perfectly still, her little face white, all the joy drained from it. But Rose stood straight and calm, her eyes clear and steady.
She moved quietly toward the children, and took Kate's hand. "It isn't true. It isn't true, Kate."
The child looked at her mother with tear-filled eyes, and Asher marveled at her expression of perfect trust.
"It isn't true," Rose repeated. "And Danny, you should be ashamed, trying to steal happiness out from under her. You know better. And Santa Claus can hear you, and you won't get a present."
Danny was white now, but still defiant. "He can't hear me. It's old Critcher, and he can't hear me. And he'll still bring my old mittens and candy, unless you take them away."
"Daniel James Shanahan." Rose's voice remained perfectly soft and calm, but there was a gleam in her eye that Joshua Asher hoped he never had to see again. "Christmas or no, one more word out of your mouth and I will beat you like a dirty rug. Don't you ever, ever, try to steal another person's joy again. It's a cruel, ugly thing. It's wrong. And that's that."
They all stood, breathless, waiting.
Danny sank back into the depths of the chair, his eyes hot, but mercifully silent.
And then there came the sound of bells.
Soft and clear, down the drive in the cold night. Horse's hooves on the snow.
"He's here," Kate breathed, and her huge eyes, still filled with tears, turned toward the door with awe. She looked at her brother, and her expression said clearly that she was thankful not to be in his shoes.
The bells came to the front porch, and stopped.
Rose, still pale, managed a smile. "Open the door, Kate. Let him in."
The child stood rooted to the floor, trembling with excitement.
"Shall I?" Rose asked, and managed a shaky laugh. She gave Asher a quick, troubled look, and swung the door wide, letting in the cold night air.
"Santa Claus! We're so glad you could come."
It was Critcher, Asher noted with amusement, his short, robust figure perfectly suited to his red robes. His cheeks were red with cold behind his false beard, his sandy hair hidden beneath his fur-trimmed hat.
Santa Claus glanced at his boss, and turned a little pinker, but he nodded with as much dignity as he could muster, then, gave a deep belly laugh that really did sound like a proper Santa.
"Mrs. Shanahan! And Daniel and Kate! Merry Christmas! Have we been good th
is year?"
"Oh yes!" Kate came to life again, bouncing frantically on the toes of her boots, braids bouncing. "Mostly always! I tried!"
Danny, to his credit, said nothing. He lifted his chin defiantly, and went to stand by his sister. He cast a quick, sharp look at his mother and Asher. "See?" the look seemed to say, "I'll get my mittens and candy, and damned be the rest of you."
Asher wanted to give him a good whack upside his head
"Well, well. Let me see. It seems that I must have something in my bag, for two good children."
It was funny, the way Critcher was enjoying his role, acting so different from the glum, no-nonsense mine manager that Asher knew. It seemed that many things were different than he'd thought
"Now, what have we here?" A package appeared from the burlap sack, tissue paper tied with red yarn. "What does it say on that?"
"It says, "Katie Shanahan,'" Kate read, clapping her hands and bouncing again, proud to show off her reading skills. Her face was flushed with delight.
"It does indeed. You're a right smart little girl. You must be doing your schoolwork."
"I am," she said, her hands trembling. She wanted the package, plainly, but was afraid to reach out to such an exalted personage as Santa.
"Well, there you are, and Merry Christmas to you."
She accepted the package from his gloved hands, and clutched it to her heart. She held it, as if all the treasures of the world were contained within.
"And what have we got for you, young man?" Santa asked, and he looked into the burlap bag.
Asher glanced at Rose, who stood silently now, her mouth tight,
Santa frowned into the bag, and searched again.
Danny stood defiant.
"Don't worry, it's here," Santa Critcher assured them. "Just saw it, over at Swenson's. 'Danny Shanahan,' written right on it, plain as day."
He searched the bag, looking up at Rose, his face creasing with concern; then he searched again.
"It was in here," he repeated, confused, starting to sound more like Critcher and less like Santa. "I know it was. I just saw it."
Kate's eyes grew round with awe, and she looked at her errant brother with worried eyes.
"Now, don't that beat all?" Santa asked, straightening up and looking at Rose with troubled eyes. "I can't think what happened. Saw it there not ten minutes ago. And it's plumb gone. Just disappeared."