A Magical Christmas

by Heather Graham

  Jon chose a pair, then walked down to the pond area. He found a tree stump to sit on, slid off his boots and laced on the skates. They were a fair fit, nice and snug.

  Two steps out on the ice, he fell flat on his rear and slid along on it for about ten feet. He came to a halt, feeling like an idiot. Then he started to laugh. Well, what did he expect? He should have practiced skating again at a rink, where they had rails along the sides of the ice for inexperienced skaters to hold on to. He was on a pond.

  But he could do this.

  After a few failed tries, he came back to his feet. He balanced himself, and took a few tentative glides. It felt okay. He started to move along the ice in greater sweeps. The movement became natural and comfortable, and then it felt wonderful. He closed his eyes, feeling the cool air on the pond and the warmth his body created against it. His muscles felt great.

  It was fun to play. Of course, it would be more fun if he weren’t by himself.

  He thought he heard laughter. He opened his eyes, looking along the pond where the moonlight glistened upon the ice. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw couples skating together on the ice. Men in high hats and frock coats, women in long woolen gowns, carrying fur muffs. Laughter seemed to fill the air again.

  He blinked. The silence of the night came around him again. He was alone on the ice. He whirled in a deep circle, then paused.

  He wasn’t alone. Julie had come to the ice. She was seated on the stump where he had changed his shoes for the skates.

  “Christie! What is it?” Clarissa Wainscott demanded worriedly, hurrying up the staircase toward her. In the darkened hallway, the woman moved with hauntingly beautiful grace in her period costume.

  “Mrs. Wainscott, my folks aren’t here. My brother—my brother—” Her brother might be dying; she needed to admit the truth. “My brother does drugs. He usually just smokes a little pot, but he’s got some friends who have gotten him into pills as well and he’s—he’s in bad shape.”

  Clarissa Wainscott moved past Christie quickly, turning on the light as she stepped into the room and going to Jordan’s side. She felt his forehead, then opened his eyes one at a time.

  “We’ve got to get him up,” Clarissa said.

  “We need an ambulance—”

  “I think we can handle this all right. An ambulance—an ambulance would take forever. We’ve got to get him moving right now. Help me. Once we get him up, I’ll get something in him to purge his stomach.”

  They shouldn’t have been in the boonies, Christie thought. They needed an ambulance badly. Her brother was heavy. Getting him up wasn’t easy.

  But Mrs. Wainscott did it. She had Jordan on his feet. “We don’t want him to choke,” she warned Christie.

  “Is he really alive?” Christie asked worriedly. He was slumped between them. His eyes weren’t open and his complexion was pasty white.

  “He’s alive, and honestly, he’s not quite so bad as you think. Jordan!” she said, slapping Jordan’s cheek. “Walk, now. Your sister is with you; walk!”

  Then Clarissa Wainscott told Christie she’d be right back, and Christie was left with her brother.

  “Jordan, I’m going to kill you!” she told him tearfully. Then she shook him. “Don’t you die. Don’t you die! Don’t you dare die on me; I’ll tear you right to pieces if you do!” She thought about the irony of her words and nearly started laughing.

  “Please, Jordan, don’t you die on me! I can’t take Mom and Dad alone; you can’t do this to Ashley. Jordan, please!”

  He spoke to her at last. “Movin’, Christie. I’m movin’. Walking…”

  His feet were beginning to find the floor on their own. He was still an incredibly heavy burden.

  Then Clarissa was back with them. She offered a steaming cup of something to Jordan. “Drink this, now, Jordan. Take a few sips.”

  She managed to get some of the hot liquid through his lips. He looked dead again for a second, then he suddenly came to life, gripping his stomach. “Bathroom!” he gasped, and on his own, he made it there.

  Clarissa followed behind him, then stood at the sink, dampening towels to clean Jordan up when he was finished emptying his stomach. Christie just stood in the center of her brother’s room, feeling helpless.

  Then Mrs. Wainscott and her brother came back into the room. Jordan leaned heavily against Clarissa, groaning. She smoothed a cool, wet towel over his face.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Christie asked anxiously.

  “He’s going to be fine.”

  Jordan groaned.

  “Really?” Christie whispered.

  “Yes. He can lie down now. Stay with him; I’m going to get him something to drink.”

  “Oh, no!” Jordan protested with energy. “No, please, no more—”

  “I’m going to get you a cup of herb tea, young man, nothing awful again. It will settle your stomach.”

  Clarissa left them. Christie sat next to her brother, smoothing his hair back. Clarissa must have known what she was doing. Jordan might feel sick as a dog—which he deserved!—but his color was back.

  “Christie?” Jordan said. He sounded so young. He was young. Just thirteen. Sometimes, she thought, they tried to grow up so fast that they didn’t know how young they were themselves.

  “I’m here, Jordan.”

  Tears started to trickle down his cheeks. “I messed up big, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does Dad know? Is Mom here?”

  “They’re both still outside somewhere. And Ashley is sleeping.”

  “Man, it is Christmas!” Jordan sighed.

  Christie stopped smoothing his hair and gave his cheek a sharp little rap with her fingers. “You little fool! You just cost me ten years of my life.”

  “I’m sorry, Christie. I’m so sorry. I’m quitting, as of this minute. I swear it, Christie. Don’t tell Mom and Dad, please?”

  “Jordan, they need to know—”

  “No, no they don’t. Not now, Christie. Some other time, yes. But now… it could just make everything worse.”

  Christie stood, staring at him. “What did you bring with you and where is it?” she demanded.

  He pointed to his backpack, just inside a closet. Christie dragged it out and dug through it. She found two vials of pills. She stared at Jordan, then walked into the bathroom and flushed the pills down the John.

  “Thanks,” Jordan said.

  “Hey, it’s not just me. You’re going to have to clear this with Mrs. Wainscott.”

  “Oh,” Jordan breathed.

  They both looked toward the door because Clarissa Wainscott was coming in then with a tray. There were mugs of steaming tea on it, along with a plate of crackers.

  “This should help some, Jordan,” she said. “Christie, I thought you might like herb tea, too.”

  “Thank you,” Christie said.

  She and Jordan both stared at Clarissa awkwardly. “I think I’ll try the tea,” Jordan croaked. He swallowed some of it down slowly—and suspiciously. But the tea sat well in his stomach and tasted good.

  He took in a deep breath.

  “Mrs. Wainscott, thank you. I think you saved my life.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure it was quite so dire as all that. You would have been all right as long as you didn’t get sick in the night and choke.”

  “Mrs. Wainscott…” Jordan tried.

  Christie cleared her throat. “He doesn’t want you to say anything to our parents. I mean, if they had come in, well, they would have had to know. But they haven’t come back to the house yet. And…” Christie broke off, not sure how to go on herself.

  Jordan picked up where she left off. “Please, please, don’t say anything. It’s not that I’m afraid of being punished; it’s not that I don’t deserve it. But things are a little awkward now.”

  “Real awkward,” Christie said. “They’re most probably going to split up.”

  “But maybe not. And I don’t want them to think it’
s their fault. I mean, yeah, well, they’re fighting a lot lately, but I wasn’t trying to do myself in or anything because of them. I wasn’t trying to do myself in at all. But if they knew… well, they’d feel really guilty and the focus would all be on me, instead of them trying to work out their marriage. They’d accuse themselves, they’d start accusing each other, and they’d feel worse, and it would just all be worse, and… please. I’m really okay. I’m going to be okay. Can we not say anything?”

  Clarissa Wainscott was staring at Christie. Christie looked at her brother, reached for his hand, and squeezed it.

  “Jordan, I understand what you’re saying. But you have to think about you, too. It wouldn’t be bad if you did need help out of this.”

  “Christie, I swear to you, I’ll never touch another pill or roll another joint as long as I live,” he vowed, and he meant every word he said. “And when it’s right, I will tell Mom and Dad. I promise.”

  Christie looked at Clarissa. “I think he’s going to be okay. I think he means it.”

  “Your folks really do have a right to know,” Clarissa said.

  “I’ll tell them on my own, within the next few weeks, honestly,” Jordan told her. She was watching him intently.

  Finally, she nodded. She looked at Christie and smiled. “We’ll trust you.” She stood. “You need some sleep. Tomorrow your stomach will be sore, but I don’t think you’ll suffer any other symptoms. This time, you’re going to be all right.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Jordan promised.

  “He does mean it,” Christie said again.

  Clarissa nodded. “Well, then, I’ll leave you two to watch out for one another.”

  “Mrs. Wainscott?” Jordan asked as she started out of the room with a whisper of silk and the scent of violets.

  “Yes?” she asked softly, turning back.

  “Maybe we could not mention this to anyone. Maybe—maybe could your husband not know about this either?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m afraid that maybe he won’t trust me so much. And maybe he won’t let me be around the horses again.”

  She smiled. “He will. If I tell him it’s okay.”

  “Will you do that?”

  After a moment, she nodded. “Yes. I’ll do that. Good night, now.”

  With that, she left him. Jordan closed his eyes. He felt Christie put another cool cloth on his head. It felt so good.

  “Christie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  “Christie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You really don’t suck as a sister. And I’m sorry if I’ve given you a hard time over Jamie. I really do like the guy. And I owe you big. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Christie?”

  “I’ll, umm, probably never say this again, but you should know that… that…”

  “What?”

  “I love you, Christie. If Jamie had been the type who’d hurt you, I’d want to beat the pulp out of him, even if he is older and bigger.”

  He sensed his sister’s smile.

  “I love you, too, you little rugrat. And you scared the shit out of me tonight.”

  She hit him in the shoulder.

  His head rattled. He groaned.

  “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she charged him.

  “Never,” Jordan vowed.

  Never, never, never.

  “Hey,” Jon said, startled to see his wife. “Want to come and skate?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not very good.”

  “I can help you.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m… afraid,” she admitted.

  “I’d be by your side.”

  “Thanks,” she said. But she made no move to come out on the ice. He stretched out a hand to her, arching his brows. She smiled, but still refused to move.

  “How’d you know I was here?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t. I thought I heard—” She broke off with a shrug. “I thought I heard people for a minute. Laughing, talking. I thought they’d be skating and that I could watch them for a while. I followed the sound and came here. I must have imagined it.”

  “Maybe not. I thought I heard something, too. Maybe there were people here. There have to be neighbors somewhere. There are neighbors; I know it. I talked to a couple of guys this afternoon.” He stared at her for a minute. “Julie, do you want a divorce?”

  She appeared startled by the abrupt question.

  “I—I don’t know what I want anymore.”

  “That’s fair,” he told her.

  “Maybe I do know what I want,” she murmured.

  “Oh?” He skated over to her, taking a seat beside her on the stump.

  She gave him a rueful half smile. “I want to be Clarissa Wainscott.”

  “What?”

  She shrugged. “You seem to like her. She’s perfect. She always looks gorgeous; she lives this traditional Christmas of hers perfectly.…”

  Jon reached for her hand, curling his fingers around hers. “Julie, I didn’t do anything, did I? I mean, honestly, you’re not jealous of her, are you?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not in that way. I just envy what she has.”

  He arched a brow. “The house?”

  Julie shook her head again, smiling. “It’s something intangible.”

  “Maybe we could find it,” Jon suggested slowly.

  “Maybe,” Julie agreed.

  The night was really beautiful. Crystal clear and not too cold. The moonlight was shimmering down upon the ice in glowing ripples. For the first time in forever, it felt good to be together. Julie looked very beautiful, and vulnerable, and he thought back to the time when they had met, when they had fallen in love. And he bent his head to kiss her.

  She leapt up. For a moment, he thought that she was going to strike him, that she was angry. But she wasn’t angry, she was staring at him with her eyes wide and frightened. “Jon!”

  “What? What?”

  “There’s something wrong.”

  “With what?” he demanded incredulously.

  She shook her head a little wildly. “I don’t know.

  I just had an awful feeling. There’s something wrong. We’ve got to get back to the house.”

  “Julie—”

  “I’ve just had this awful feeling that something is wrong with one of the children. We’ve got to get back.”

  She raced by him. He wrenched the skates off, hopped into his boots, and came racing behind her.

  The house seemed to be empty when they entered it. The downstairs area was lit only by a hall light and the dying embers of a fire in the drawing room. Julie was halfway up the stairs before Jon even closed the door. Once again, he raced after her.

  The downstairs was not empty. Clarissa Wainscott sat before the fire, staring at the paintings on the wall. She watched the Radcliffs race by. Without bitterness, she envied them for the years that lay ahead of them, the laughter they might share in the future, happiness, even tears, life.

  Then she looked outside, to the cold and the snow. And she consoled herself with the beauty of the scenery. She looked across the room. “My love, almost Christmas Eve!” she whispered.

  It was amazing. Christie had just gone into her own room when the door burst open and their mom came into Jordan’s room. She came to such a dead standstill that his father crashed into her when he arrived a few moments later.

  “Julie, I think he’s sleeping,” Jon said softly.

  But Jordan’s mother walked over to him. She touched his forehead, and his arm. He kept his eyes closed, waiting.

  His mom sighed with relief. “He’s breathing,” she whispered. Then, “The girls!” she said.

  She burst into the next room. Jon followed. But Christie and Ashley were curled together once again. Jordan could hear his mother move to the bedside and touch them as well.

 
“Julie, everything’s all right,” his father said.

  “I could have sworn that something was wrong!” she said.

  Apparently, her tone disturbed Christie, because Jordan could hear his sister speaking then. “Mom?”

  “Christie, is everything all right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Ashley’s been fine?”

  “Sleeping like an angel. Mom, what’s the matter?”

  “I—I don’t know. I was just so worried suddenly that something was wrong with one of you.”

  “Well, Jordan had a stomachache, but Mrs. Wainscott made him some herb tea.”

  “Jordan was sick?”

  “Nothing major.”

  Jordan hadn’t realized that he had opened his eyes and sat up until he saw in the darkened room that his father was standing in the doorway between the two rooms, watching him.

  His dad walked over to him then and sat at the edge of the daybed by Jordan’s feet.

  “You okay, son?”

  “Yeah, Dad, sure.”

  Jon nodded. “If something weren’t okay, you’d tell us, right?”

  He felt like a spineless jellyfish. “Right,” he lied. Except it wasn’t really a lie. He was going to talk to them about the things he’d gotten into. Just not now. He wasn’t going to spoil Christmas for everyone.

  It was unnerving the way his parents seemed to be some kind of aliens with strange antennae regarding their children. It was spooky, the way they’d come crashing back in here.

  “I love you, Jordan,” his father said. Jon leaned over him and kissed him on the forehead. Jordan suddenly felt the urge to hug his father.

  “Good night,” Jon told him. Jordan saw that his mother had come back in his room as well.

  “Honey?”

  “Yeah, Mom?”

  “You feel better now?”

  “I can’t tell you how much better I feel.”

  Julie knelt down by the daybed, feeling his forehead, looking at him worriedly.

  “Mom, I’m fine.”

  She nodded, stood, and walked to the window, looked out at the snow.

  “Well, I guess we’ll let you sleep then,” Jon said.

  Jordan knew that his father was watching his mother, but Julie didn’t seem to notice. She still seemed perplexed and worried.