A Magical Christmas

by Heather Graham

  But it wasn’t empty. She could hear Jon’s voice.

  Along with Clarissa Wainscott’s soft tones.

  “You do enjoy the law?” Clarissa inquired.

  “I love the law,” Jon said.

  “But you’re not happy with what you’re doing now?” Clarissa asked.

  Jon’s laugh brought Julie up short. It had a rueful and more than slight note of bitterness to it.

  “I hate what I’m doing now.”

  “But every man is entitled to the best defense—”

  “That money can buy,” Jon finished for her, and Julie found herself standing very still on the stairway, listening.

  Eavesdropping, not really meaning to do so, yet somehow thinking it was important to hear what Jon had to say.

  “The law is beautiful when the law works,” Jon said. “It’s even beautiful when you’re fighting to make it work. But it’s true, I don’t like what I’m doing now at all.”

  Halfway down the stairs, Julie could just see her husband, leaning forward slightly, hands prayer-fashion as he tapped his chin with his fingers and watched the fire. “I loved the D.A.’s office. It wasn’t perfect. It was far, far from perfect, actually. My desk was always a mess, piled high. But…” He shrugged, smiling a little. “I was good. I was really good at what I did. Cops are always taking a bad rap, but I worked with some good cops. And every once in a while, everything fell into place. The cops were right on the money, the evidence was sound and we managed to present it in the clearest way possible, and the law was good. God, I just hate it when I’m racking my brain to get a sleazebag off!” Jon shook his head, lifting his hands, letting them fall back again. “Every man is entitled to a defense, and God knows, innocent men and women do wind up in court, but hell, I never seem to be asked to defend the innocent ones. I get Bobo Vinzetti and his attempted pizza murder.”

  “Why did you change jobs?” Clarissa asked him.

  Julie wished she couldn’t see her husband’s face quite so clearly. In the firelight, the planes and angles were clearly defined; there was a look both somehow hard and somehow a little hopeless about his features.

  “Money,” he said softly after a moment. He shrugged. “Money. Three kids to get through college. Clothes. Food. House payments, you know.”

  “But you and your wife both work, don’t you?” Clarissa asked. “Surely your incomes…” Her voice trailed away. “I’m sorry, it’s truly none of my business.”

  “No, no, I started this conversation. I suppose we could get along. Julie’s a realtor. She loves houses, and I don’t think she even knows how good she is at her job. People don’t have to ask many questions about her properties twice; she investigates it all to the hilt. We’d probably be all right, but no matter how good Julie is, real estate is chancy. Of course, one good sale can put us pretty far ahead. It just seems that everything has gotten so expensive lately. I don’t remember it being so bad when I was a kid.”

  “Times do change,” Clarissa murmured. “Maybe you and Julie need to change a little, too.”

  “It’s sad sometimes, frustrating. I mean, life on paper looks just about perfect for us, and it should be. We’ve got three healthy kids, and God knows, with all the terrible diseases and accidents that can hurt children, I think sometimes that I should be a happy, grateful man just for the kids alone. And I am. I do know enough to be grateful for what I have, which makes it more frustrating—” He broke off, then laughed ruefully. “It makes it all the more frustrating to be miserable when I have a job, a roof over my head, food, great kids, and a paid electric bill. It’s just that… well, you know, sometimes you get caught up in the rat race and then just lost within it.”

  “That’s true,” Clarissa agreed. “It’s quite easy to get caught up in the events around you. But then again, maybe if you took some time… a step back, a step away, you’d see your way through. Naturally, you and your wife both need to take a good look at things.”

  “Naturally,” Jon said.

  Julie wondered if Clarissa Wainscott heard the way in which Jon said the single word.

  Naturally.

  He didn’t say a word against her; only she could possibly hear and understand the edge to his voice.

  He didn’t say that life was expensive because his wife liked her house and car and intended to send all three of their children to the best colleges.

  Oh, God, was she that selfish?

  No, no, she had never wanted things; she had never craved or desired objects just for the sake of having them. What he had said had been the truth; they had both gotten caught up in a lifestyle. It had never seemed so bad.

  Well, not to her.

  Because she was happy in real estate

  She liked what she did. She liked the people she worked with; they were wonderful. And in all honesty, especially lately, she’d been so bitter toward Jon that it would never have occurred to her to wonder if he was happy with what he did or not.

  He never talked to her about his work.

  He was talking to Clarissa Wainscott. Spilling his heart to a stranger who ran a guest house. A woman he’d met only yesterday.

  Right. Well, wasn’t she so bitter because he’d done more than talk with another woman before? Because she’d lost something that she’d taken completely for granted? Trust.

  Yes.

  But…

  She should have asked him about work. Now and then. She had wanted so desperately to make a major sale. Not because she had to make a sale. Because she wanted to make a sale. To show him that she could, to show him what she was worth. Well, she had made her big sale and nothing had changed. Besides, it had been the security offered by his job that had given her the luxury to develop her real estate career.

  And now she was finally seeing what he was really thinking and feeling.

  Because he was talking to another woman.

  What did you expect when you’ve been all but throwing the man away? she asked herself.

  Because, because, because… what was left when trust was gone?

  Did she really have the right to be so furious? Maybe his logic made some sense.

  Maybe her pride was just so wounded she couldn’t stand it.

  And he wasn’t paying for his sins.

  He was paying for her pride.

  No, she had a right to be angry, she told herself. Yet standing there on the stairway, she was suddenly so miserable that she wanted to crawl beneath something.

  She didn’t have to crawl beneath anything. All she had to do was slink on back upstairs. She could pretend to fall asleep, and they’d all leave her alone. And the kids would come in, and dinner would be served. And the night would be pleasant, filled with delicious things to eat and the tantalizing, sweet smell of the mulled wine in the air.

  Clarissa Wainscott’s soft, pleasant laughter…

  Her children, talking, laughing as well.

  All the warmth.

  Without her.

  It didn’t matter. She needed to be alone. She suddenly felt as if she were going to cry, and she didn’t even know what she was going to cry about.

  She turned to head back up the stairs. But she’d barely taken a step before she heard her name called.

  “Julie!”

  Julie spun around.

  Clarissa was at the foot of the stairs, smiling up at her with genuine enthusiasm.

  “Julie!”

  Clarissa had a way of saying a name that made it sound as if she were absolutely delighted to see you.

  “I was beginning to think that my husband had lost you all in the forest! How was the ride? Beautiful, I hope. Not too cold?”

  “No, no, the day was great.”

  Jon was up now, too, a mug of the wine in his hands as he stood at the foot of the staircase, looking up at her. He looked nice, she thought. Handsome in a crimson sweater and jeans. Hair half brushed back, half falling over his forehead.

  “The kids?” he inquired just a bit anxiously.

  “Th
ey did great.”

  “Ashley?”

  “Ashley rode Midget. She did very well.”

  “Where is she?”

  “At the stables.”

  “Ashley is still out—”

  “With her brother and sister.” Julie glanced at Clarissa. “They were braiding Midget’s mane. Your husband told them it would be fine.”

  “My husband is an excellent horseman,” Clarissa said. Her tone was proud. Her smile was just a bit tremulous. “You had a nice ride, I imagine? Jesse knows these woods like the back of his hand.”

  “He was wonderful with the children, Clarissa.”

  Clarissa Wainscott nodded. “He would be,” she murmured softly.

  Oddly, Julie found herself clearing her throat. “I assume the kids will be back to the house soon.”

  “You needn’t worry about them. They’re perfectly fine on the property,” Clarissa assured her. “Well, excuse me for a moment, will you? I’ve got a few things to see to in the kitchen. Julie, come down; the wine is my specialty.”

  “I’ve tried it; it’s delicious.”

  “Try more,” Clarissa said, her smile curling as if with some inner secret. “It gets better and better with each sip. Jon, draw your wife another mug, enjoy the fire. I’ll be right back with you.”

  She left them, heading off to the kitchen.

  And for the first time in years and years, Julie found herself feeling just a bit unsettled.

  She was alone with the man she’d been married to for almost all of her adult life. The man she lived with day after day. And he was, in a way, a stranger who had just shared a more personal conversation with the mistress of Oak River Plantation than he had shared with her for a very long time. She was surprised to realize that she was a little breathless. And that she wanted to hear him talking to her as he had been talking to Clarissa. She wanted him to talk, and she wanted to listen.

  She wanted something back that she had lost, but that might still be there. She wanted to touch him, and be touched in turn.

  Anger was a very cold emotion, she realized. She had lived in the chill of it for a very long time. She knew suddenly what she wanted for Christmas.

  She wanted to be warm.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So…” Jon murmured, lifting his hands just slightly, awkwardly. “You really did enjoy the ride.”

  Julie came down the stairs to the parlor area. “I really did enjoy the ride. How about you? How was your day?”

  “Uneventful,” Jon said. “I walked. There’s a beautiful little pond nearby, completely frozen over. I walked all the way around it and back.”

  “Nice,” Julie murmured.

  She had brought her empty wine mug down with her. Jon took it from her. “I’m supposed to be refilling this, I think.” He walked toward the fireplace and the kettle. “You do want more?”

  “Please.”

  He refilled her mug. Julie felt oddly as if she were conversing politely with a stranger, looking for casual things to say. “The wine is very good.”

  “Very,” he agreed. “Everything here is good.”

  “Yes, it is. It was a good idea, coming here. The children are having a really good time. I heard them laughing this morning and…” She shrugged. “The ride was wonderful. The horses were beautiful; the landscape here is out of this world.”

  “And Jesse Wainscott must be far better company than that which you’re accustomed to.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing more than exactly what I said. They’re both wonderful people.”

  “Jesse—and his wife, of course.”

  “Right,” Jon said.

  “She seems to be very easy to talk to,” Julie said.

  “Yeah, she is,” Jon admitted. But then, it seemed that he was determined to avoid a quarrel. He smiled. “But we were just talking about life in general, and it seems you can get bogged down in that discussion easily. Tell me more about the ride. It must have been more interesting.”

  “Oh… well, like I said, it was really wonderful. The trails are beautiful; the air is perfect. We met the Wainscotts’ son today—or at least Christie did.”

  “Oh?”

  “In the cemetery.”

  “The cemetery?”

  “There’s an old family graveyard in the most marvelous green copse.”

  “And he was just hanging around in this cemetery?”

  Julie smiled. “I think he’d been riding, too, and he’d happened to stop there.”

  “So did he join you for the rest of your ride?”

  “No, but I think he made something of an impression on Christie.”

  Jon arched a brow. “Really? I wonder if he’ll be at the Christmas Eve party.”

  “The party?”

  Jon nodded. “There’s a big party here. Everyone comes. I met a couple of oddball neighbors outside. They assured me that they came every Christmas Eve.”

  “Well, that should be fun.”

  “A very traditional costume ball, so it seems.”

  Julie smiled. “Wouldn’t a traditional costume ball be Halloween?”

  “Not here. This is an old-fashioned Christmas, remember.”

  Suddenly, they heard the sound of the front door banging.

  “Ashley?” Christie called.

  “Mom, Dad!”

  “It was your fault!” Christie told Jordan.

  “Mine? You’re the one who yelled at her and told her that she did braids like a retard!”

  Julie stared at Jon, then raced for the foyer whereJordan and Christie, red-faced and frightened, were staring at one another, hurling accusations.

  “Both of you stop it and tell me what happened!” Julie demanded.

  They whirled around and stared at her. They glanced at one another.

  The color drained from their faces.

  “Ashley… is gone,” Christie said.

  “Gone!” Julie gasped in panic.

  Jon set a hand on her shoulder. “She can’t have gone far.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and Julie shrugged off his touch. “Gone—what do you mean, gone? For how long? When did you last see her?”

  “Christie yelled at her,” Jordan said.

  “You called her a pest,” Christie told him.

  “Yeah, but you’re the one who made her cry.”

  “She cries at anything!”

  “How long has she been gone?” Jon demanded.

  Jordan stared at his father, flushing uncomfortably again. “Just a few minutes, tops, Dad. We thought that maybe she’d come in the house.”

  “We didn’t see her, but it’s not impossible,” Jon said.

  “There’s a pond on the property!” Julie said. She heard the panic rising in her voice.

  “Frozen over,” Jon assured her.

  “It’s dark away from the house. It’s horribly dark, and cold. There are thick woods. She could fall, hurt herself, start to freeze to dea—”

  “Julie, she’s only been missing a few minutes,” Jon reminded her. “Come on, Jordan—you and I will search outside. Christie, take your mother, go through the house.”

  Julie was about to protest; she didn’t need anyone to tell her what to do. She would search from now until forever for her daughter.

  Oh, God! she thought. Please don’t let Ashley’s disappearance be a punishment for us being awful people.

  Jon and Jordan left the house. Julie whirled around, so panicked she was ready to scream.

  Clarissa Wainscott, calm and dignified as always in her voluminous period dress, was there. Julie hadn’t heard her come back into the room.

  “I’m sure that she’s fine,” Clarissa said, her beautiful eyes very soft, filled with understanding. Apparently, she had heard what was going on.

  But Julie wasn’t so sure she wanted understanding: She was even a little bit irritated at the moment with the oh-so-perfect Clarissa Wainscott. “You don’t know, you don’t…” Julie chok
ed out in a whisper.

  Clarissa didn’t know what? Julie taunted herself. That she was a bad mother and she deserved to lose herdaughter? Oh, God, she’d sell chocolate from here to eternity with a smile if she could just see Ashley’s face again.

  “I know that we’ll find her,” Clarissa said with assurance. “And I’m equally certain that no one is at fault in her disappearance; children can be very stubborn at times, and they certainly do have their own minds. We’ll search the house.”

  She turned around, heading for the stairs. Julie followed her, her heart sinking.

  Her sister and brother were monsters, Ashley had determined. For a few minutes, everything had been nice. They’d been having a good time together—even Christie had loved the horses.

  Then suddenly Christie and Jordan had started fighting, and she’d tried to say something that would stop them, and they’d both lashed out at her instead.

  “Stinks, stinks!” she said aloud. She sniffed loudly, trying to stop her sobs. Wouldn’t matter, not up here. She had found her way up another flight of stairs to a dark, musty little room lit up only by the moonlight. She was far above them all, wondering just what she should do.

  Run away.

  Make them all sorry for being so mean to her!

  She sniffed again.

  “Are you all right?”

  She gasped, and almost ruined it all by screaming at the top of her lungs in sheer terror. She had thought that she was all alone with the old trunks and dressmaker’s dummies, boxes, papers, and spiderwebs.

  But she wasn’t. Yet she managed not to scream because it wasn’t anybody scary or threatening who was talking to her; it was a young girl.

  She was older than Ashley, younger than Christie.

  And like everyone else around here, she was dressed up in an old-fashioned long gown. It was dark blue, with a very fine lace collar. Her hair was dark and had been braided, and then her braids had been pinned to the back of her head. It was a very pretty hairdo.

  “I’m—I’m—” Ashley began.

  “Big brother, eh?” the girl asked wisely.

  “Big brother and big sister,” Ashley said. She drew her knees up beneath her, resting her hands on her knees and her chin on her hands. “They’re just so—mean!”