by Mistletoe
"Really?"
"You bet. But, Danny, love isn't like a bowl of sugar. It doesn't just run out. There's plenty for everyone. Enough to go around, and then some. Your mother can love Kate, and you, and me. And I can love all of you, and still love Emily. Hell, I don't love her any less just because she's gone. But I can still love your mother, just as much. The same way you'll love your dad. Forever. That's just how it works. It doesn't run out, it doesn't go away."
"Yeah, but sometimes it hurts."
"It sure as heck does," Asher agreed, then he grinned. "But not as much as your mother's going to hurt us if we don't get back." He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his gold watch.
It had been almost an hour since he had left,
"Come on, Dan. We've got to get moving."
Danny looked back across the graveyard at James Shanahan's grave, sad but dry-eyed. He nodded.
"We've got to stop by Doc Tunbridge's. There's a baby on the way for Christmas."
Chapter Eight
"Rose!" The kitchen was empty, and his voice echoed through the house. "Rose?"
Her cup of tea sat half empty on the table.
"You sit by the fire and warm up," he ordered Danny. "I'm going to talk to your mama."
He thundered up the stairs, his heart racing. "Rose?"
He threw open the door to her room. Kate slept peacefully, still wearing her red mittens.
He closed the door. "Rose?"
"In here. Your room."
"You gave me a turn—" he stopped, horrified.
She looked awful. Her face was stark-white, gleaming wet with sweat, her hair hung like dark seaweed to her shoulders. Her eyes were glazed.
"You found him?" Her voice was very small, and uncertain.
"Oh yes, you bet I did. He's downstairs."
She let out an audible sigh.
"Doc's on his way. Everything's going to be fine."
"I'm sorry… I took your bed. I didn't want to wake Katie."
"That's fine. That's fine." He took his coat off, and threw it at the chair. "Do you need anything?"
She nodded, and then suddenly an incredible spasm of pain contorted her face. She rose to her knees, and clutched frantically at the footboard of the bed.
"Oh,Rose, Oh,hell…"
Then, just as quickly, it was over. She stayed where she was, her hands still and white against the dark wood of the bedstead, and drew in a long, shaking breath.
'Tell Danny to stay downstairs," she said quickly- "And… oh,no."
He couldn't bear to look at her face. Instinctively, he reached beneath her arms, supporting her, his heart wrenching as he felt her body tighten and heave.
She went limp, gasping.
"Oh, holy hell, Rose."
"Don't swear. In the bottom drawer of my dresser, there are some blankets…"
"I'll get them." He tried to ease her back against the pillows, but she cried out, and he felt her body twisting again. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
It seemed to go on forever.
"There. There. Lie back now."
She let him rest her against the pillows. She closed her eyes, her face still, her lashes dark against her white face, and he tried hard not to think of Emily.
"Hurry," she said softly. 'Tell Danny, and then comeback, fast."
He hurried. He thundered down the stairs and told Dan to stay there, thundered back up, and burst into his room just in time to see her weathering out another pain, her small face contorted in pain like he'd never imagined.
"Doc's on his way," he repeated. "He's on his way. I'll go check—"
"Don't you dare leave this room" she cried, her eyes flying open. "The baby's here. Right now. Do you hear me?"
He froze. Her eyes blazed at him like the fires of hell. He wouldn't have left that room if the house were burning.
"You said hours"
"I was wrong, you son of a bitch." She certainly still had spirit.
He took a deep breath. She wasn't going to die. He wasn't going to let her die. that was his Rose, no matter what she'd just sounded like, and she was going to live through this.
"All right, honey. I'm staying Just tell me what to do."
He stroked her forehead, and she gave a long, terrible sigh. "Cold fingers." she whispered. "That's good."
Good. He'd done something right.
"Lift my back," she cried suddenly, in a harsh, pained gasp.
And then he was praying, hard and humbly and silently, lifting her shoulders forward and letting her fingers grip the skin of his hand so hard that he wondered if she would break it.
"Now!" she cried, her head arching back, and tears of pain coursing down her white cheeks. "Now!"
Somehow, through some ancient instinct he never really understood, Joshua Asher moved around to face her, and without hesitation, reached out and brought a baby into the world.
A headful of dark hair was cradled gently in the palm of his hand, and then a tiny shoulder.
"It has a face," he whispered— which he would later recall as one of the most idiotic things he could have said— and it seemed amazing to him. It was a perfect rosebud of a face, perfectly miniature, its expression so calm, eyes tightly shut and mouth held closed, as if disapproving of the rough entry into the world.
And then another shoulder appeared, Rose gave one more heart-stopping cry, like a wild creature, but it didn't bother him, and suddenly he was bent over a perfect human being, little arms quivering, tiny legs drawn up.
"She's a girl," he said, and his voice sounded a million miles away. "Rose? She's a girl."
For a moment he couldn't move, so stunned was he by the sight of this miniature human being in his own hands. Then he heard, for the first time in his life, the joyous cry of a baby girl announcing to the world that she was here, and alive.
He lifted his head and looked at Rose. Her eyes were huge in her face, but there was color there, too, a healthy pink flush spreading across her cheeks.
She held out her trembling arms, collapsing back against the pillows. "Oh. Oh, Ash… give her to me."
"There we are. There she is." He was suddenly afraid to move, afraid of dropping her, afraid of the snuffling kitten noises she made, afraid of the cord that still linked her to her mother. He laid her in Rose's aims as carefully as if she was made of glass.
"Oh, littlest baby," Rose whispered, and he found it amazing, the way her arms held the child so perfectly, so easily. She pulled the sheet up around the tiny, wet body, and touched the little face with one finger. The child opened her eyes, and seemed to stare at her mother with a calm accepting expression, as though to say, "Oh. There you are."
"You did it," Joshua Asher said.
"I didn't have a choice," she answered softly. "Oh, she's beautiful. Oh, look at my angel."
"Is that her name?" he asked.
Rose looked up at him her great dark eyes shining. "What? Angel? It may as well be."
He heard the sound of a horse approaching "Doc's coming"
"Fine." He had never heard her voice so soft, or seen a face with that particular tranquility. It was astounding A few minutes before, she had been a wild creature, sweating and wild-eyed, and now she was Rose again, that quickly.
Starry eyed and pink cheeked, and beautiful. His Rose.
He bent and smoothed the hair off her face, kissed her forehead, and went downstairs. The sun was rising Danny came racing from the kitchen, his face white.
"Is she…" he looked helplessly at Ash, and couldn't finish.
"Fine, She's fine, Dan. I'm no doctor, but they both look good to me."
The boy sagged with relief. "I heard the baby."
"Her name's Angel* I think."
"Hmm. Well Kate oughta like that."
"And you better pretend to."
"Here comes the Doc!" the boy announced, and opened die front door.
"Good morning, Daniel. Merry Christmas. Ash."
"Little late. Doc."
The white-musta
ched man raised his eyebrows as he removed his bowler hat. "Am I? Well, well. Babies have minds of their own. I take it everything went smoothly?"
"Smoothly?" Ash felt as if he'd been laid in the road and a herd of cattle let loose to run back and forth over the top of him. "Everybody lived."
"Can't ask for better than that. What do we have?"
"A little girl. Lots of hair.*'
"Show me to her. Take a look-see, count those fingers and toes."
Relieved to hand the responsibility over, Ash started up the stairs.
"Whoa there," Doc said. "Almost forgot. You
"No, sir." The boy's face wrinkled. "Leastways, not that I know."
"Hmmm. Found this. Has your name on it." The doctor produced a small red package, tied with white yam. "Must've fallen out of Santa's sleigh, eh?"
It was wet, the ink on the name tag was running, but there it was. Danny's Christmas present had miraculously returned.
Shocked, his small face full of wonder, Dan accepted the package. "Thank you, sir."
When Asher found him at the kitchen table, he was smoothing his fingers over his new mittens, smiling at the gray wool, a striped stick of candy hanging from his mouth like a cigar.
"You know what your mother would say now?" he asked.
Dan removed the candy, and (hey spoke in unison.
"God works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform"
Chapter Nine
"You should let me buy you a cradle," Asher said.
"Nothing wrong with a dresser drawer," Rose said. She was back in her own bed in the pink-flowered room, her hair combed and braided, and looking healthier than she had a right to.
"She deserves a bed of her own." He looked down at the baby in his arms, wrapped so tightly in a blanket that all he could see was her tiny face. "I thought blue was for boys."
"I thought she was a boy."
He peered down at the child. "Do you see how your mother is? She bullies her way into my house, steals my heart, swears at me, and makes you wear blue and sleep in a drawer."
"I never swore at you!"
"She did," he said to the baby girl, jiggling her gently as he leaned back in the chair. "She called me a son of a—"
"Asher!"
"Something like that," he said, and grinned at Rose.
She smiled back, reluctantly.
Outside, they could hear Kate's high cry of delight, and an answering whoop from Danny.
"Great merciful heavens, what are they doing out there?"
He stood up and looked out the window.
"Sledding"
"And where did they get a sled?" Rose raised her left brow.
"Oh, some dumb son of a bitch bought it for them."
"Ash! Stop it! Saints preserve us, will you ever let me live that down?"
"Nope. Not if you live to be a hundred. I'll say to my grandchildren. 'I remember the first Christmas I met your grandma, and do you know what she called me?'"
"
Rose laughed so hard that it hurt, just imagining it. "You'd better not. I intend to tell them that it was a Christmas miracle."
"It's a heck of a good Christmas, isn't it?"
"A miracle," repeated Rose firmly. "Look at that child in your arms. Is it any wonder that the greatest miracle of all started with the birth of a child? There's nothing more beautiful than a new baby."
"She's something, all right. She's beautiful."
"And Santa, dropping Danny's present in the snow? That's a miracle."
"If you say so."
"It is, Ash. There's nothing miraculous about miracles. I mean, they just don't happen to faraway people. There are miracles all around. It was a miracle that Danny stole your coat, and a miracle that the train wasn't running. It was a miracle when Santa lost the present. You see? There are miracles everywhere."
"I know it's a miracle that I met you," he finished, reaching out to touch her cheek. "And that you love me."
She snuggled back into her pillows, smiling "Miracles exist, and that's that!"
Out in the yard, Kate watched as Danny climbed the hill, pulling the sled behind him, its red runners tracing lightly over the snow.
This was the most beautiful Christmas ever. She spun in a circle, her arms out, until everything swirled around her. Sky, mountain, house, trees, sky, mountain.
She stopped abruptly, sniffing the air. Snow, and the smell of smoke from the chimneys, and very faintly, the scent of violets.
She looked up, high into the blue and rose and gold of the sunset, and for a moment, tears stung her eyes.
With a great whooping shout, Danny came whisking down the hill, snow flying up behind him, and skidded past her.
"Your turn," he shouted.
She gave a last look up into the Christmas sky. "Thank you," she whispered. "Good-bye, Emily. Goodbye."
Here Comes Santa Claus
Stobie Piel
To Isabelle Bonney and Kim Brown, because you both have brought unlimited kindness, compassion and wisdom to my life. Thank you.
Chapter One
Vale of Snow, 1890
"Either he goes, or I do. It's that simple." Ariana drew a quick breath, and realized it had been her first since she stormed into Saint Nicholas's private chamber. Her voice quavered with outrage, but the old man didn't look up from the papers on his desk. Instead, he just sighed and looked more weary than usual.
The door slammed behind her. She knew who it was without looking.
Taran stomped across the room and stood beside her, but she refused to look at him. She felt him like a dark shadow, one that towered over her because he was so much taller than she. Ariana kept her gaze pinned on Nicholas, but her chin trembled with restraint.
"Something must be done about him at once, or…"
"Or what? You've put my schedule off by weeks, Ariana, you and those small Welsh demons you call helpers." Taran sounded almost as angry as she was. His usually low, mesmerizing voice came out stilted with fury.
She closed her eyes to resist the temptation to look at him. Looking at Taran always had the effect of confusing her. "I had every reason to disable your current production."
"By the most demonic means you could think of. Painting tiny gowns on my soldiers! And you did it because you're jealous, competitive, and a fiend."
this wasn't the first time he'd called her that. Ariana whirled so fast that her long, dark hair spun over her face. She jabbed it aside and glared up at him. Her lips parted for speech, but no words came. By all the saints, he was handsome. Never once could she look at him and not be stirred. His hair was blacker than hers, and his eyes, an impenetrable brown tinged with a far-off, earthen warmth.
Her gaze drifted unwillingly down from his face to his body. It was so strong, so perfect. Curse you for having this effect on me! She forced her gaze from his broad shoulders and powerful arms. The sight invoked too much confusion, and too much memory. How could one night hold such devastating power so long after it was over?
His full, sensual lips quirked upward at one corner. If he dared mention her attraction… "What? Surely you can hurtle some retort back at me, Ariana. Or was sabotaging my studio enough?"
Nicholas still hadn't looked up. A twinge of nervousness stabbed at Ariana. Perhaps she had gone too far this year. Much could be excused in these last days before Christmas. Much had been excused in years past, after all. But a quick glance told her the old man's chin beneath his white beard seemed set.
She forced a tight smile, which soon gave way to anger. "Sabotage is a strong word, Taran. I had no choice but to stop your current production…" As she spoke, her voice grew tremulous with rage. "I had to stop you, you black-hearted barbarian, because you had obliterated my lovely dollhouse with those marauding Huns you call toys!"
Yes, her voice was raised to excess and she was shaking her fist. Realizing the aggressive nature of her posture, she straightened her fingers and shoved her hands behind her back.
Taran appeared remorseless.
"It is true that my testing period went somewhat awry, but since one of your small dollhouses made its way from your workshop into mine, I assumed it was a cast-off— and best made use of."
Her fist flew from behind her back and she shook it at his jaw. "It was no cast-off! It was flawless in every way! And it wasn't in your workshop, it was in the doorway of mine."
She trembled with anger. In all her lifetime before being invited to serve the legendary toy maker, Nicholas, she had never known this kind of passionate anger. Things had been different, simple. She had lived in Wales, had been the daughter of a renowned carpenter and had traveled with him from village to village in a time when the English monarchs were taking power over her people through bloody warfare. But watching her father, Ariana had learned to make small replicas of the homes he built, and found her greatest joy in presenting these as gifts to children of war ravaged families.
The devastation she had witnessed inspired her courage, and when she was twenty-three, Ariana defied her father, staying behind in a Welsh village to free children held by the English. She freed the children, but had been taken captive herself— and there, when faced with brutal execution, Nicholas had appeared and offered her a life in his service. It seemed he recruited helpers from those who had shown great courage and compassion.
Ariana treasured this life, and the chance Nicholas had given her, and she found it strange that any other emotion might dampen her gratitude. But she trembled with anger on a daily basis; she seethed with passion. Now, all the honor and courage of her lifetime in Wales had been cast to the wayside because she hadn't the strength to ignore a tall, strong-bodied barbarian.
They had been at odds since they met. She had arrived well after Taran had established himself in the Vale of Snow and had already ingratiated himself with Nicholas. She knew his story— in the first days of her arrival, it had thrilled her when she first heard the tale. When his village was overrun by an army of marauding Huns, Taran had sent all his soldiers and all the villagers into the hills to safe hiding. But to delay the pillaging army, Taran had ridden alone to forestall them, giving his people time to evade the attackers.
His people survived. Not a soldier was lost. But Taran had been surrounded, fighting until the last of his strength ebbed. Broken in body, his soul defiant, a storm rose up, clouding his attackers. And there, Nicholas had appeared to him, offering the same choice he would later offer to Ariana. Assured that his people were safe, and mat his own life was ending, Taran had accepted.