The Christmas Locket

by Barbara McMahon

  That dream popped like a bubble.

  She was wearing sweats, on her hands and knees, washing down the dirty baseboard. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes as she worked. There was nothing romantic or sexy about it, but just looking at her sparked a flare of desire. The thought that she no longer cared enough about him to fight for their marriage hurt. He had to find a way to ignite the flame that once blazed between them.

  Chapter Five

  Zach was driving her crazy, Caitlin thought as she surveyed the clean bedroom, glad to see how nice it looked. Even with the windows bare, it looked much better than when they’d started.

  Zach had worked as hard as she had. Which was causing problems. She’d believed by now he’d give up and wander away to do something else. But he’d surprised her. He hadn’t complained once. Hadn’t tried to get out of anything, from carrying the dirty curtains outside, to washing each tiny pane of glass in the tall windows.

  Every so often she’d felt his gaze on her. It took all her self-control to keep from looking back. She swallowed hard. She didn’t want that tingling awareness when he was near. She certainly didn’t need the memories of them together in happier times crowding her mind, of the love that had flowed, the laughter shared. How long ago that seemed.

  This was now. Nothing changed with his arrival, except to throw her into confusion. She dare not believe in happy endings again. She'd only be disappointed.

  “That’s that,” he said. “Anything else left here?”

  She looked around, loath to leave the task. What would they talk about without the room’s work between them? She was too tired to start another room today, yet dreaded having to make conversation. Why couldn’t he just leave?

  “It looks nice,” she said. “Thank you for helping.”

  “It’s what husbands do,” he said.

  “Stop it, Zach. That’s not going to change my mind. You’re here for how long before being gone another six months or longer? If you really wanted to change things, you’d start with your job.”

  “Or you could quit your job and come with me,” he said.

  She looked at him in disbelief. “I have no desire to go to war zones or spend my life traveling around after you. I did that twice. You were rarely there and I was far from home and friends. I want a home to be a refuge each night to return to. I like the furnishings and the artwork I chose. I’m not a nomad and have no intentions of becoming one.”

  “I’m not a nomad. I have a home.”

  “No, Zach, you have a place to stay when you’re in Washington.”

  Caitlin gathered up the dirty dust rags and reached for the vacuum. She’d put it in the next room for tomorrow’s work. Then she wanted to take a quick shower and get rid of the sixteen layers of dust that she’d accumulated during the cleaning.

  Looking at Zach, she was surprised to find his expression thoughtful. She’d thought he’d come back with an instant reply, but for once he seemed to be thinking about what she said. And if he followed it through, he’d know she was right.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower and then make something for dinner,” she said.

  “Early for dinner,” he commented.

  “We didn’t have lunch and I’m starving.”

  “Go take a shower. I’ll clean up after you’re finished,” Zach said. “Unless you wish to share the shower?”

  The devilish gleam in his eyes caused Caitlin’s heart rate to kick into high. She was not going to give into temptation. She couldn’t foresee a future where as former lovers they got together from time to time for old times’ sake. The break had to be clean and sharp. And final.

  “I’ll hurry and try not to use all the hot water,” she said and turned and fled.

  Caitlin put together sandwiches and heated some soup for dinner. It wasn’t fancy, but was plenty for the two of them and would have to do. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone with her culinary skills. She was used to making do with abbreviated meals because she didn’t feel like cooking at the end of the day when it was for herself alone.

  They ate at the kitchen table. Caitlin was careful to set their places as far apart as practical. Zach said little, digging into the food like a starving man. She realized that except for the coffee he’d made that morning, he’d had nothing to eat all day. She felt guilty and tried to squelch the feeling. Let him fend for himself. But saying it to herself didn’t work. She should have offered him something earlier.

  “We can look for the Christmas decorations when we finish,” he said a few moments later.

  “You’re serious about decorating?”

  “Don’t you want to?” he asked.

  Caitlin thought about it for a minute. The house would seem more welcoming if decked out for the holiday. “I guess. I don’t know what Aunt Sally might have. And I didn’t bring any of our ornaments.”

  “Is there an attic?”

  “Just a small one. My guess is the decorations would be stored in the cellar with everything else from the last two hundred years.”

  “That’s some cellar.”

  “I remember going down there when I was a kid and being scared silly. There are cubicles and narrow passageways making it like a maze. Furniture and boxes and old trunks are everywhere--and cobwebs. Aunt Sally once said the family never threw anything away. I believe her. I guess if she had decorations that’s where they’d be, but exactly where is anyone’s guess.”

  “So we go exploring.”

  Caitlin wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but her curiosity was roused. Aunt Sally must have decorated at the holidays, yet Caitlin would never know the significance of any of the ornaments. She wondered if her aunt’s collection contained any very old baubles or if any had had special meaning to her.

  She regretted not spending any Christmases with the elderly woman. She should have insisted Aunt Sally spend the last several Christmases with her. Each time she’d invited her, Aunt Sally had given an excuse. Hadn’t she been lonely spending the holiday alone?

  The dim bulb over the bottom of the cellar steps didn't provide much illumination when they started downstairs sometime later. Caitlin propped the kitchen door open and let Zach lead the way. When they reached the cement floor, he looked around in disbelief.

  “We should have brought a flashlight,” he said.

  “There’s lighting throughout, just not very bright. I don’t know if the wiring can stand it, but I’d like to replace every bulb with a brighter one.” She found the old light switch and flipped it up. Throughout the cellar lights went on, throwing deep shadows among the items stored there.

  “Spooky,” she said with a shiver.

  He laughed and reached out to take her hand. “I’ll protect you from the bogeyman.”

  She snatched her hand back. “I can take care of myself.”

  As if to prove that, she stepped to the right and started down one aisle. There were boxes and boxes stacked shoulder high. None were labeled. If they had to look through each one, they could be here all week.

  The thought of clearing the cellar was mind-boggling. Caitlin studied the items as she walked along. There was no way she could clear this area during the holiday break. It would take days to go through things. There seemed to be furniture enough to furnish another house.

  She wandered down one aisle and over to another. The light cast odd shadows. She ran her fingertips over some of the tables, coming away dusty. There were old chests and armoires, chairs and tables. A cradle.

  She stopped at that and rocked it gently, imagining a baby of her own nestled snugly asleep beside her own bed. The cradle looked old, with hand carvings on the headboard and foot board. The wood was burnished from years of use.

  She moved on, opening a drawer here and there, lifting the lids of some of the boxes—clothing from an earlier era, books long forgotten, mementos from ancestors long gone.

  She lifted one lid of a very old trunk and saw lace and silk. To one side a small leather-bo
und book. She took it out and opened it. It looked like a journal of some kind.

  “I found them,” Zach’s voice sounded from a distance.

  “I’ll be right there.” She tucked the book under her arm and closed the trunk. She’d read through it later. Maybe it belonged to one of her ancestors.

  “Call again so I can find you,” she said.

  “I went left from the stairs. You went right, so I’m probably directly across the cellar from you,” he said.

  She followed the sound of his voice and rounded a corner and found him standing in an open area, two boxes of Christmas decorations opened at his feet.

  “There’re more,” he said, pointing to the stack at his right.

  “Let’s take them upstairs and see what we can use.” She reached for the closest box and the journal dropped to the floor.

  “What’s that?” Zach asked, reaching for it.

  Caitlin scooped it up. “It looks like a journal or something and I thought I’d read it.”

  His hand dropped. “Family history?”

  “Maybe.” She put it on top of the box and lifted both. “I’ll take these upstairs.”

  Zach stacked another two boxes on top of each other and followed.

  Two more trips and all the boxes of decorations had been brought up to the dining room and put on the large table. Caitlin placed the journal away from the boxes--for some reason not wanting to share that with Zach. Time they broke ties, not made them.

  “We need a tree,” he said, pulling out a string of lights. “Your aunt must have had a tree each year, and a large one to boot if the number of strings of lights is any indication.”

  “We don’t need a tree.”

  “Sure we do. I know just the spot in the living room where it should go, in front of the two windows on the front wall,” he said.

  Caitlin knew where he meant. Shifting the furniture would center the tree as the focal point of the room.

  It would be festive and more like Christmas with decorations and a tree. She loved Christmas. But to share it with Zach felt awkward. She wouldn’t have bothered on her own. Why should she decorate because he came home unexpectedly?

  “Maybe I’ll see about getting one tomorrow,” she said reluctantly.

  “We’ll go together. Let’s cut one at a tree farm,” he suggested.

  Caitlin looked at Zach with surprise. The one Christmas they’d spent together, they’d picked up a tree at the Boy Scout lot. As she recalled, she’d done most of the decorating, he’d been on the phone with the news bureau.

  “I don’t know if they have any tree farms around,” she said. Nor did she want to get the tree with Zach. It was bad enough having him here, she certainly didn't want to do things that would build memories. Even if he didn’t agree at this moment, he would soon have to acknowledge their separating was the best thing.

  “I’ll check.” He pulled out his phone and tapped it a couple of times. “No wifi here?”

  “I doubt Aunt Sally ever felt the need. There's no computer either.”

  “I have bars,” he said, tapping again.

  Caitlin hadn't planned on doing anything requiring Internet access over Christmas. She planned to call Abby on Christmas Day, but beyond that, she'd hoped to be off the grid and focused on cleaning the house.

  “Where’s Windsor Drive?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “The exchange is the same as this one, so it can’t be too far away. We’ll call in the morning and get directions,” Zach said, making a note of the phone number. “The website says it’s open seasonally, which has to mean now. And they open at ten. Shall we go there before tackling the next bedroom?” he asked.

  Caitlin felt a shiver of awareness go through her at his tone. She wanted to turn and run away from the powerful attraction the man held for her. If she gave in, he’d only leave her with more regrets.

  Could they have done things differently at some stage of their marriage?

  She looked back at the decorations, many wrapped in tissue paper to protect them. A premonition shook her. She shouldn't be going on any Christmas tree search with Zach. Either she wanted to end the marriage or not, and doing things together wasn’t ending their relationship.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Why not?” he asked, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

  “I don't think it's a good idea.”

  He crossed to her and turned her slowly to face him. “It’s only getting a tree, Caitlin, what can that hurt? It’s not like it’s going to change anything, is it?”

  It would, but how to explain that to him? He made it seem so innocuous, but she knew it could hold danger to her recent decision. She remembered so many of the happy times together. There had not been enough of them. In the end, Zach always left. And her heart broke a little with each departure. She needed to make this break clean, not linger, have second thoughts, or make new memories—

  “Caitlin?”

  She looked up, into once dear, familiar dark eyes. Eyes that seemed to see right down to the heart of her. Slowly Zach came closer. He leaned over her until his mouth touched hers, his lips warm and firm kissing her sweetly.

  For a heartbeat she was where she always longed to be.

  Then she remembered and pushed against him.

  “No. Leave me alone.” She broke away and stepped across the room. “I don’t want you staying here, you know that. But I can’t force you to leave. I can insist on your keeping your distance from me, however. If you won’t, then I'll leave.”

  “And go where?”

  “To Abby’s. She invited me for Christmas, I’m sure she'd be happy to have me visit.”

  And not Zach. The unspoken message was clear.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll keep my distance. You keep yours.”

  “What?” She blinked. She'd done nothing.

  “Just in case you get a case of the hots for me you can’t control,” he said audaciously.

  Caitlin wished she were closer--she’d slug him one. He could be so annoying on occasion.

  “I’m sure I can control myself,” she said primly. Reaching for the journal, she turned and headed for her room. At least she could be alone there. She had a feeling delving into the past would be safer than dealing with the present.

  “Wait,” he called.

  She paused, looking at him over her shoulder.

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “Get the tree yourself,” she said.

  She shut the door to her bedroom and climbed into the bed. It was too early to go to sleep, but she could begin reading the old book. She was tired enough to relish lying down while she did it. Bending and reaching while cleaning had strained muscles beyond their normal use.

  Caitlin covered herself with the top quilt, trying to ignore the fact Zach was downstairs going through Christmas decorations. This wasn’t a real Christmas for them, just the last one they’d share together.

  How sad. Maybe she should spend it with him. He was alone, so was she.

  But that would give him false hope. And she was firm in her decision to wrest back her life and put it on a different path.

  She lifted the journal, snuggled down beneath the covers and opened the cover. The first words sent a chill through her.

  Four days until Christmas. The handwriting was tiny, but legible. Who had written it? Caitlin looked at the inside cover, but there was no name, no indication what year it was written. The person who wrote it knew who he or she was. The writing probably had never been intended for anyone else to see.

  Caitlin couldn’t believe she was reading it four days before Christmas. How spooky was that?

  I hate this war. At last I heard Jonathan is in North Carolina. Can he return home for Christmas? I pray so. He was at the battle at Kings Mountain, clear across the state. A great distance in the snow. Still, it has been months. I haven’t heard from him since. I wish he’d send word. Or come home. Maybe he is o
n his way even as I write. I’d give anything for him to stride into our kitchen and say, come here Tansy darlin’ and give your husband a kiss.

  Was she talking about the Civil War? Caitlin tried to remember the battles of that war, but Gettysburg kept popping into mind. She’d have to look up Kings Mountain. She wished her memory of history was better.

  Mrs. Talaiferro had her boy Ben bring me some butter this morning. He repaired that loose hinge on the hen house for me. I send back some of the ham slaughtered from the hog a few weeks ago. Without neighbors helping out, I don’t see how I could manage. Farming is really a man’s job. Jonathan is so good at it. I hope he’s home for the spring planting.

  The nights are lonely. The days are so short and cold. I can scarcely go outside to gather eggs. My fingers were half frozen by the time I fed the hens and hogs. I hope Jonathan is warm. I sent him a new muffler I knitted, but haven’t heard from him in so long, I don’t know if he got it or not.

  I miss my husband. Please God, let this war end soon. Let the British be driven to the sea!

  The British! Caitlin sat up at that. Was this diary from the time of the Revolutionary War? Who were Tansy and Jonathan? Early relatives of hers? They must be if her journal was in the cellar. As Aunt Sally had always said no one in the family seemed to throw anything away.

  Eagerly Caitlin read more. The pages that followed related the loneliness Tansy felt with her husband absent. Caitlin wondered how old the writer had been, how long they’d been married. Why was there no other family mentioned? It appeared that Tansy lived alone. Would later pages reveal more? This was obviously not the first journal the woman had kept. Could she find the others? Coming to the end of the entry several pages later, Caitlin noted the next one started: Three days until Christmas.

  Closing the book, Caitlin decided to read each day’s entry as it matched her own countdown until Christmas.

  How odd to find the journal today—on the exact same day as when it was written.

  How could she find out about the Battle of Kings Mountain? That would give her an idea of what Christmas Tansy was writing about. Did Jonathan make it home in time for the holiday? She wanted to skip ahead, but refrained. It was tantalizing to have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happened next. But gave her something to look forward to.