All I Want for Christmas

by Jenny Hale

  At the top of the stairs, she could hear clicking at the end of the hallway, so she walked toward Nan’s sewing room. The door was only open a crack. Gently, she opened it wider.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said.

  He stopped typing, slipped off his glasses, and turned toward her.

  “Are there any more logs for the fire?”

  He clicked a few more keys before looking at her again. “Are we out?”

  “There weren’t any at the back door. Have you put the logs somewhere new?”

  He leaned on his elbows, rubbing his eyes. “No,” he said.

  “Are you all right?” She walked into the middle of the room, concerned.

  “I’m just behind. It’s no one’s fault, but I have to get this done today.” He swiveled around in the chair to face her and smiled. “There might be some salvageable wood under a small tarp behind the servants’ quarters building.”

  “I’ll get it. You can finish your work,” she said.

  He looked down for a moment, consideration on his face. “I’ll try to get to a stopping point in a second and then I’ll get you the wood.”

  Leah grinned. “It’s fine. I can get it. How many times do you think it was just me and Nan up here?”

  He smiled back. “But I’m here now and I like chopping and collecting the wood. It’s not something I’ve been able to do much, living in the city.” He turned back toward his computer. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a second,” he said, typing madly as he spoke.

  Leah quietly let herself out and closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  The servants’ quarters building was a small brick structure at the back of the long yard, quite a walk from the main house. Nan had used its undersized rooms as a museum, displaying old photos and memorabilia in glass cases, although she’d never finished the actual restoration of the building. She’d gotten help from private donors to fund it, and it was on her to-do list. As a lover of history, Leah had spent a lot of time there, learning about life at Evergreen Hill during its time as a tobacco plantation.

  The plantation had originally belonged to the Truman family in the eighteenth century. Tobacco was the heart of Virginia back then; the climate was ideal for its growth, and, by the eighteenth century, it was one of the primary cash crops in the state, along with cotton. Victor Truman made his income in the tobacco trade, but he died with no descendants and the house fell into disrepair. Nan had told her once that Lydia said her parents could barely afford it at the price they’d gotten it, but it was so magnificent in its grand but understated way that they’d decided to sink every penny they had into it, including a large family inheritance.

  Leah, glad that her ankle was hurting less today when she walked, trudged through the snowy yard and stopped when she reached the servants’ quarters. When the building came into view, her mouth dropped open. A tree had fallen on the roof of it, crumpling the slate shingles like gingerbread cookies. Her heart pounded as she wondered how long the items inside had been exposed to the elements. Temperature and humidity levels had to be controlled or the artifacts could be damaged beyond repair.

  She slipped the key into the lock and opened the door to assess the situation. The trunk of the tree was wedged in the corner of the room; water damage on the wall had caused the paint to peel. The glass cases were still intact, dusty, the original wood floors not swept. With the radiators off and a gaping hole, plugged only by the tree, in the ceiling, it was just as frigid as it was outside. Leah could feel her pulse pounding in her head as she frantically checked the items.

  She used the sleeve of her coat to clean the top of one of the cases, revealing a preserved dried tobacco leaf, two hand-carved smoking pipes, and a small tin cigarette case. Her breath dissipated into the icy air in front of her. She ran her mitten along the entire case and then clapped her hands together to remove the dust. There was a small plaque describing the first tobacco planted by Europeans in 1609, and the struggles they had. The items in that case seemed to be okay, although she wouldn’t really know until she’d had someone inspect them.

  She checked the next case. All the artifacts in that one had belonged to the Truman family. She peered in, checking the color of one of the work shirts Victor Truman had used in the fields, the dark yellow stains of tobacco still evident. It seemed okay. She checked the teacup that had belonged to his aunt, Mildred Truman, the delicate flowers as pristine as the day they were painted. Her eyes moved along the items frantically—a brooch and a hair comb worn by Victor’s mother, white gloves with the Truman initials next to the button clasp, a small pair of spectacles. All the items would need to be checked over, but they seemed okay.

  The next case, this one larger, had samples of the wood that had been used in the house, remnants of the old ships. Accompanying it was a plaque with the history of the ships that had sailed from England to Virginia in those early days, detailing the hardships they faced crossing the Atlantic and the trade routes they’d taken. The other relics were also things from those early days—the original blueprint of the house, drawn by hand and sketched on yellowing paper, the edges worn completely away, the first tobacco seed bags that had been found on the property and preserved, an example of one of the stones used in the foundation, imported from England as ballast and sold in the New World, and a brick from the brick supply that made up the structure itself, cut and molded in the American colonies.

  The last case was devoted completely to farming tobacco—tons of sketches showing the original plot of the land, maps of the shipments that were made, and information about farming techniques such as curing the leaves from the rafters of barns. She remembered Nan telling her how every single tobacco plant had to be checked every day because tobacco fleas would infest them. It was a meticulous effort to harvest tobacco, but the crop in Virginia was one of the sweetest, and reaped a solid income for those who could do it. London was importing millions of pounds of it every year, just from Virginia, so Mr. Truman covered every square inch of the property with tobacco crop. Leah could smell the sweet aroma in the wood there. It still lingered in the structures that had held the harvest.

  Mr. Truman had spent every day in the fields. He never married; people said that he was married to his money. She remembered thinking, as a girl, how sad it would be to go through life with no one. But now, wiser, she thought she understood him a little better.

  “I wonder when this happened,” David said from behind, causing her to jump. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He walked up beside her and peered up at the tree. “I told you I’d help you. You shouldn’t be in here with that ankle. It could be dangerous.”

  “I think it’s fine.” She checked the items closer to the damage again, and they all seemed to be in good shape, but it didn’t squash her worry.

  “From outside, the tree looked as though it were dead. I wonder if the snow just got too heavy for its brittle limbs.”

  “I hope it hasn’t been like this very long. These items are priceless.” She wanted to spring into action to take care of it before it caused any further damage. She knew it was an unplanned expense and would require some time to coordinate the removal of the items and their repair, but Leah felt like a protective mother. Then she remembered that this was David’s burden now, and he was planning to knock all these buildings down. The thought settled heavily in her stomach. “That wall’s in bad shape,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he agreed with a huff of breath, and he looked up at the tree.

  Maybe he wanted to demolish the building, but surely he knew the importance of all of these artifacts? “We’ll have to get these items transported to the main house before anyone messes with that tree,” she said, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he might bulldoze the structure. She cleaned off another case with her sleeve and beckoned him over. “Look at these,” she said, trying to get him to understand how important the story of this place was. She tapped the glass above the exhibit of a satin baby blanket; presumably
the one Mrs. Truman had wrapped a baby Victor in the day he was born. Beside it was a white dress, his christening gown. This wasn’t just a tree damaging a building. It was a narrow escape from losing pieces of history.

  He leaned forward to view its contents. “You know, I remember this,” he said, peering down at a picture of Mr. Truman. “My grandmother told me that this man didn’t live extravagantly like many thought. He had to turn his profits back around to the farm to fund it. He was dirty, his hands worn and calloused. He wasn’t a gentleman at all.”

  “I know. It’s so odd, isn’t it?” she said, relieved that he had some knowledge of the history here. “It’s such an odd thing, because the house itself, with the hundred-year-old oak trees outside, the James River in front of it—it seems every bit a gentleman’s retreat.

  “His life was a far cry from the house’s existence now, though.” Talking about the house’s history—one of her favorite topics—was relaxing her a bit. “In its height of business, when I was in high school, there were parties and weddings rivaling Gatsby. Champagne would flow faster than the river. It was an amazing atmosphere—candlelit lanterns, white gauzy fabrics on outdoor tables, games of polo in the fields. It was something to see.”

  As she swam out of her memories of it, she focused on David, her dreams slipping away with the reality of the situation. He was looking at a painting of someone in the Truman family—maybe an aunt. Nan had searched all over Virginia to find relics of the home’s owner. She’d found this one in an estate sale. It was a bust painting of a woman, her black hair parted perfectly down the middle and secured at the back, a subtle smile on her lips, her green eyes direct, her posture rigid. “We called her Aunt Ellie,” she said. “We didn’t know her name; it’s written on the back, but the first name is smudged and it could’ve been Elizabeth, Elsie—we don’t know. I decided to call her Ellie and it stuck. We were pretty sure it was a family member because there’s another painting in the main house that looks just like her.”

  “That makes total sense now,” he said. “I used to sneak butterscotch candies up to my room.”

  “I remember that,” she said, grinning at the thought.

  “One time Nina caught me. She pointed to the painting by the stairs and said, ‘Aunt Ellie’s watching. She tells me everything.’ Then she winked at me. I still remember it because I felt so guilty. After that, I hid them in my pockets and scooted around the corner of the stairway away from that woman in the picture. I was terrified of her,” he said, laughing.

  Leah laughed right alongside him. “She got that from me! That woman in the painting always scared me. I thought she was watching me. It looks like her eyes follow us. I still don’t like to look at it. It creeps me out.”

  “I don’t look at it either. Maybe we should move the other one in here! Get it out of the house.”

  They both stood together in the freezing cold of that room, Leah glad that they could have that memory together. David was smiling just slightly, the gesture reaching his eyes and causing them to squint a little, revealing evidence of laughter in the small lines at the corners.

  “Let me show you where that wood is. I brought the wheelbarrow so we can take it back up to the house. Then we’ll make some calls to have the relics moved to a safe location and get this tree off the building.”

  She nodded, plowing through the thickness of shared experiences in the air between them, and followed him out, her ankle only aching just slightly from standing so long. Then, David grabbed the wheelbarrow and she plodded through the snow to the back of the building where there was an enormous pile of wood, hidden beneath a blue tarp that was covered in snow.

  David lifted it off, shaking it out, and set it aside on the ground. “The wood is dry,” he said, as he grabbed a log and set it in the wheelbarrow.

  Leah helped, dropping a few logs in.

  “I’ve got it,” David said, but she insisted she could help.

  “Do you still like butterscotch candies?” she asked while they filled the wheelbarrow.

  “Not as much as I used to. Why?”

  “I was just… wondering if you liked the same things you did as a kid. Do you still watch baseball?”

  “Yes,” he smiled. “Can you imagine a kid like me losing interest?” He clapped his hands together and grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow, lifting the back of it to push it across the yard.

  Leah laughed. “Not really. Not a kid as crazy about baseball as you were. I think you wore a different baseball jersey every day.”

  “I remember a lot about you.”

  He was five years older than her, and Leah suddenly felt embarrassed at all the things he probably remembered. He’d seen her in diapers, playing make-believe in her princess dress and pink glitter heels. He’d seen her that time she’d refused to take a bath and had run naked down the stairs. “Really? What do you remember?”

  “I remember picking blueberries with you in the fields out back. You kept wiping your fingers on your shirt, and by the end, it was full of purple streaks. You were probably only four. You loved it.” He smiled at her.

  Leah swallowed. “I don’t remember.”

  “How about the time you climbed the tree with me and you couldn’t get back down? Do you remember that?”

  “Oh, yeah! I’d forgotten about that! You stayed up there with me and helped me, branch by branch, until I made it safely to the ground.”

  “We waited in the middle for ages. You were too afraid to go any further. I thought my hands would cramp, I was holding on for so long, but you didn’t feel like you could go, so I had to wait until you’d spent enough time on that branch to feel comfortable enough to take a chance and move again.”

  “You were so patient with me.”

  “I liked you. You were always kind and so happy all the time.”

  Leah tried to calm herself as she looked at him. He was right. She was happy all the time back then. Growing up, she’d thought she had endless opportunities in front of her, the whole world at her fingertips. And was that Leah really gone? Life had hit her hard a few times, but she’d always gotten back up, dusted herself off, and tried to do the best she could. Surely she could do that now. After all, she was about to get a huge chunk of money, enough to completely turn her life around. Couldn’t she get excited about that and just enjoy her last Christmas at Evergreen Hill?

  When they got to the house, Leah tried to help unload the wood but David refused to let her, telling her that she needed to rest her ankle. Against his wishes, she did grab a couple of logs, bringing them in while he had an armful. It was the best she could do, and she wasn’t going to just stand there and do nothing.

  They tossed the logs onto the fire and took off their coats, the warmth making her shiver.

  “I’ll need your help figuring out who to call to transport the items into the house,” David said. “We can put them in the ballroom for now.”

  “And we’ll need to find a company who specializes in historical properties to do the repairs.” She wasn’t going to mention that she remembered his wish to knock down the building. And it had occurred to her that there would be laws about maintaining historical buildings, never mind actually demolishing them. Maybe he wouldn’t get his way on this point. Even still, she waited to see how he responded with a pattering heart.

  “One thing at a time,” he said. Her heart dropped, but she picked herself up. It wasn’t her house anymore. It wasn’t her business.

  Chapter 12

  By the next evening, Leah was exhausted from moving furniture in the ballroom and coordinating with the local historical society to transport the items into the main house. She’d insisted on helping them actually move every piece, although she couldn’t move the heavy ones due to her ankle. It had taken all day, but the servants’ quarters were finally emptied and she could breathe a sigh of relief now that the items were secure. Whatever happened with the servants’ quarters, Leah could make sure the artifacts went to a safe home. She’d spoken to
a woman from the historical society who’d been positive the local museum would be very interested in acquiring the entire collection. Leah had made a note to tell David.

  The smell of potatoes and gravy pulled her into the kitchen, where she found David.

  “I’m making you dinner,” he said. “I know you must be tired. And you’ve got to get your weight off that ankle.”

  “It’s not so bad today.” She sat down and propped her leg up on another chair. It was still a little swollen. She’d been so focused on caring for the relics that she hadn’t stopped to realize how much she was using her ankle. It was twinging a bit, but it seemed to be much better.

  “I’ve got a roast in the crockpot and I’ve made biscuits, green beans, and potato casserole with cheese.” He wiped his hands on the kitchen towel and pulled a bag of peas from the freezer. With a smile, he came over and placed them on her ankle, his hands lingering tenderly. It was just a second, but she’d caught it.

  “Really, I’m okay,” she said, surprised at how many dishes he’d prepared.

  “I wish you would’ve just let the company move everything. They’re professionals, you know.”

  “I know, but they don’t have the emotional attachment to them that I do, and I worried they wouldn’t take the same care that I would.”

  “Well, they’re all safe now. You can relax and eat.” He poured a glass of wine and brought it over to her. “I’ve checked the networks and It’s a Wonderful Life is on tonight. I thought perhaps you’d like to wind down a bit and watch it with me.”

  Suddenly, the memory of him juggling those onions came back to her, and the lightness in her chest that she’d felt when she’d laughed at him then did too. “I’d love to,” she said, taking a drink of her wine. And she meant it.

  “How was your day?” she asked while he made them each a plate, the warm, buttery aroma heightening her awareness of hunger. She hadn’t allowed David to help move anything, promising him she’d be fine and the team was with her, knowing he had to work.