Postmark Christmas

by Katie Bachand

  Her head kept its back and forth motion, reinforcing her denial. “Okay then, I should probably get going, I’ll just–” She tried to find a way out of the snow bank and realized she was blocked in by Harris, “step aside.” She tried to maneuver around him but he didn’t move.

  “Sorry, I don’t recall getting your name,” Harris said, unmoving.

  “Oh, right. I don’t think I said it.” Harlow tilted her head and tried to think back to all of the rambling she’d done in a surprisingly short amount of time. “Ah, Harlow. Harlow Hill. Nice to meet you.”

  At her forward motion he stepped back. He wouldn’t have let her go so easily but he quickly realized if he wouldn’t have moved she would have stepped right on him.

  Harlow slid and shuffled a little bit as she hit a slick spot of sidewalk hidden by the fresh snowfall and caught herself with her arms and legs wide. When she got her balance she stood and turned back to him, and pulled down her scarf.

  “It was nice to meet you, Harris. Have a Merry Christmas.” She smiled at the handsome man she left behind and meant every word. And, she thought, having to forget about the letter she’d never get back, now she’d head home to take Lisa’s advice. She’d make some Christmas magic all by herself.

  Harris repeated her words, “Have a Merry Christmas.” As they were the only words he could get himself to say.

  When he’d seen her face, he realized the young enchanting girl from the photos had grown into a beautiful and stunning woman.

  Her eyes and face were the shape of almonds and her lips were full and pink. Her blue eyes popped on her creamy skin that had the faint trace of freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks.

  A tiny snowflake began freezing a spot on his nose and was enough of a startle for him to shake his head and pull himself out of the trance.

  Huh, he thought, walking back to the SUV that was still running. Harris slid into the driver seat and picked up the envelope. He pulled out the letter, started to read, and looked at number one:

  1. Find the perfect Christmas tree and decorate it

  “The perfect Christmas tree? That’s impossible,” Harris said to himself. Everybody knew there wasn’t one perfect tree. It all depended on style, tree-taste, and smell.

  He’d have to go a different route.

  Harris folded the letter and stuffed it into the envelope. He put his car in drive and drove to the nearest tree nursery.

  CHAPTER 9

  The boots, hat, gloves, and jacket were left in a heap by the first-floor door. Harlow was on a mission and didn’t have time to deal with petty things like keeping a tidy house. Until tonight, she thought as she stared back at the mound, when she’d come back and pick it up. If she didn’t, it would haunt and nag at her mind until she did it. So she stopped, turned back toward the mess, and picked everything up.

  Harlow hung her jacket and scarf, stashed her hat and gloves in an old wooden storage bench, and moved her boots to rest on the tray next to the door.

  She hated to acknowledge the satisfied feeling. Her parents’ insistence on keeping a tidy house was loathed as a child, but she had to admit now – even when she hated picking up and putting away – the house was more enjoyable when it was clean. Walter and Vivienne Hill had successfully molded her into a tidy adult. They’d insisted a well-kempt home allowed the history to be preserved, and of course, the beauty of it to take center stage.

  Harlow marched up the stairs to the first floor sitting room and opened the old record player. She fingered through the pile of records that sat beside it and pulled out Frank, Dean, Bing, and all of the other Christmas records she could find. Harlow placed Bing’s Merry Christmas vinyl on the record player, and let the same White Christmas song her parents had listened to when they danced echo throughout the house.

  Harlow moved from window to window and opened the drapes that had been closed the night before. With each opening it framed a new picture of the outside snow.

  She paused and turned, then looked at the expansive house. This task called for a little strategy.

  There were big boxes downstairs that held all of the decorations for the basement, first, second, and third floors. It also had the artificial trees for the fourth and fifth floors.

  Then there was the attic. The attic had the remainder of the decorations for the fourth and fifth floors. Those would be easier to get down but maybe less important in terms of floor decoration.

  So, she decided, she’d start with the basement, first, and second floors. And, she thought, she’d add her bedroom on the fourth floor to the list. She could hardly expect herself to fall asleep at night without the glow of a Christmas tree. She was making herself a magical Christmas after all.

  There was a “servants’ entrance” at the back of the basement. Seeing as her family had hated the idea and everything it stood for, they started using it as storage.

  Harlow stood, staring at the monstrosity of boxes lining walls and piled high, one on top of the other. The sight was enough to discourage even the most motivated of Christmas enthusiasts.

  But this was more than motivation. This was desire mixed with determination. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – be stopped. Christmas would be magical – regardless of the sore leg muscles and sweat that would drip from her brow.

  When she’d found them, Harlow gripped the sides of the first box and wide-armed it to the base of the stairs and looked up. The box read First Floor. That’s doable, she thought, then trudged up.

  By the time she had six of the seemingly endless mounds of boxes distributed to their respective floors, she was grateful when the doorbell rang. Harlow rolled up the sleeves of her oversized blue button-down, tightened the hair in her high pony, and swung open the door, letting the freezing air breeze a welcome draft over her body.

  “Hi, how can I help you?” she asked the man who was standing with his back to her, his body slowly spinning in a circle. He was taking it in, she thought. It wasn’t an uncommon reaction to standing on top of the stone steps of The Hill. More than once when she’d opened the door she’d been greeted with a back or a bewildered profile taking in the property.

  When he turned, his smile and his eyes held a bit of shock and awe. It was the only thing that kept her from melting, even in the frigid cold.

  “Hi.” Harris leaned back and broke eye contact to look the length of the house in both directions. When his stare came back to her he asked, “Remember me?”

  It was Harlow’s turn to smile. “I do. Should I be worried that you followed me home?”

  “Ah, no, or, I don’t think so. Unless you still want your Christmas wish back? Then I can leave.” Harris thought about the deal his dad had given him, “But I don’t really want to leave.”

  “My Christmas wish?” Harlow looked down, searching, then looked up, the realization hitting her as she asked the question. “You are the one that got my letter?”

  Humiliation for the letter and the episode they’d had at the Christmas postbox had her head falling back and her eyes rolling.

  Her actions allowed him to regain a little of his composure. Harris didn’t want to think it was the most attractive bout of embarrassment he’d ever seen, but it was hard to push the thought away.

  “So, your Christmas wish. I figured there’s no possible way I could pick out the perfect tree, so I went for a wreath instead and figured we could go find a tree together. But,” Harris’ eyes stole another look at the house, “I didn’t realize you had more than one door. Five of them, actually. Sets. Five sets of doors.”

  “Ten,” Harlow corrected absently, and continued to explain as his face registered the news. “The floor below.” She explained as if she’d been asked the details of the house her entire life and had it memorized. “They aren’t identical, but there are matching doors below us. Anyway–” she took a minute to take him in and to analyze the situation.

  She could turn him away and forget all about her letter and go on through the holiday season doing exactly
what she’d set out to do – embark on her own magical Christmas experience – or? Or, she repeated to herself, thinking on the alternative.

  Harlow took in the beautiful wreath he’d brought to her door with bright red berries and crispy brown pinecones bunched in threes, and the thoughtfulness behind it. And, it was true, finding the perfect tree was hard.

  “The wreath is perfect,” Harlow decided. “And the one you brought is beautiful. Do you want to come in?”

  “Just like that?” Harris was shocked it had been that easy. How often does a beautiful red-head take your words for what they were and invite you into their Victorian mansion?

  Harlow thought about it, but it didn’t take long. “Yes. Just like that,” she confirmed, moving aside to let him through.

  “Okay,” Harris said, sliding sideways through the door with the wreath pressed against his body. When he entered he was hit with Dean Martin bellowing Winter Wonderland and nearly gasped.

  The house was a wonderland all its own, and it had nothing to do with Christmas. Just simple magnificence in size, craftsmanship, and disbelief that somebody could live in a home this extravagant.

  The urge to wander wasn’t hindered by respect or manners, it was the shock that rendered him immobile.

  Harris held onto the wreath, at first because he couldn’t move, but then because he didn’t know if he was allowed to set it on the creamy marble floors that rounded the foyer. His body turned with the curve of the floors and took it all in – or as much as he could see from his three-sixty view.

  A grand staircase boomed gloriously in the center of the room, the bottom of the steps nearly spanning the entirety of it only to trim into a smaller width as they reached the second floor. The bulky pillars that marked the end of the railings were a rich, espresso stain.

  The same wooden-style was carried throughout. It was on all of the doors, archways, corners, and – upon looking up – a breathtaking domed ceiling.

  Harlow walked over and held out her hands, a silent offering to take the wreath. She understood the brilliance of walking into her home. She loved it, but not boastfully. She loved it because of the magnificent history, beauty, and wonder that took people over and sent them into a dreamy trance. She would never get over the look of awe in the bright sparkling eyes and the bemused, amazed faces as they walked in.

  Harris had seen money. He thought he had a lot of it himself. But this? This was entirely different. This was wealth. Wealth passed on from earlier generations. Generations that lived in a different world, a different era. Where luxury was displayed, and no expense was spared even on the most frivolous of details. And she lived here. Alone.

  She lived here alone?

  Harris turned and saw her peaceful, appreciative face smiling at his. He’d nearly lost his train of thought at her adoration. “You – ah – you live here? Alone?”

  She hoped he didn’t see the twinge of sadness that fought to break free when he’d emphasized alone. Instead Harlow tried to hold onto appreciation and went for matter-of-fact. “I do. My grandparents inherited it from their parents. My parents inherited it from them. We inherited it from our parents. And I was the one that wanted to stay.”

  “We?” he asked, finally able to take a step toward the wandering he’d been drawn to since he’d entered.

  “My brother and sister. My brother moved to New York and my sister moved to Nashville.”

  Harris nodded, and mentally placed the two from the photos he’d studied. He also noted the hint of longing in her voice as she described just how far away they were from her.

  Be with the people I love on Christmas morning.

  He thought of her letter and recalled her wish. When he did, a feeling of warmth he hadn’t known was there wrapped around his heart, and for the first time in his life he had the urge to wrap someone else’s heart with it. He wondered why that was? He’d just met Harlow Hill and he was already feeling like he wanted to take away her loneliness.

  He didn’t stop taking the house in as his mind wandered. He noticed the glamour of the home, but also noticed the emptiness.

  Well, he thought, for nine – almost ten, noting the last wish was crossed out – Christmas wishes, she wouldn’t be alone. They might as well get started.

  “Where do you usually put your tree?” Harris asked, not having to try as hard as he thought he would for excitement.

  “Which one?”

  He laughed at the innocent way she’d asked and wondered just how interesting this was going to be.

  “How about the ones that you’ll see the most?” he offered, thinking she might as well get as much enjoyment out of them as possible. It was supposed to be magical after all.

  Harlow took care with her thought. “This one.” She bounced to the middle of the foyer, “The one that goes right here,” pointing to where she stood. “And, one in the living room, next to the kitchen. Well, I guess technically it’s the great room. And,” Harlow felt embarrassment when his amused eyebrows wrinkled his forehead as they lifted, “my bedroom.”

  “Okay.” Harris nodded slowly, taking in her selections.

  “Okay?” Her response was tentative as she eyed him to see his response to her over-the-top decorating demands.

  “Yes. Okay. Should we do it?” Harris asked. He didn’t want to admit it, but the excitement he felt was growing.

  “Really?” Harlow couldn’t contain herself. “You’re really going to help make my Christmas wish come true?”

  “I am.”

  Harlow tried to keep the jitters from jumping out but she couldn’t hold it in. She ran toward Harris and flung her arms around the stranger that was answering her Christmas wish. Happy tears welled in her eyes as she relished the warmth of the hug he’d wrapped around her in return, and for the Christmas memories she’d be able to live once again.

  CHAPTER 10

  The blizzard was over. The snow had stopped and the winds had slowed to quick, soft bursts that whisked the loose powder into glittery swirls. But what had remained was a white cloak of wonder that draped over the forest green of pine. It turned the tree nursery into a woodland wonderland.

  They’d examined, compared, measured, analyzed branch sturdiness – and had an apple cider, hot chocolate, and mini-donuts.

  An hour later they high-fived after picking out the perfect, fat Balsam Fir for her bedroom. One that would smell of deep, fragrant pine. They had leaned left, right, and circled a wide, long bristled Scottish Pine, perfect for hanging hundreds of ornaments on its sturdy branches for the great room. And they’d navigated through snow and needle-covered paths toward a sign that told them they’d find the trees over twenty feet tall if they followed the path lit by garland-adorned lantern lights.

  “A twenty-foot tree?” Harris asked just to make sure she wasn’t going a little holiday crazy.

  “At least,” Harlow deadpanned. She wasn’t joking, nor was she going crazy. “It’s an elegant, massive space. It deserves a tree that has a like description.”

  “How do you expect to get it inside the house?” he asked slightly worried about the top of his SUV and the two other trees that were already claiming the space. And, he thought, his manhood as he would try and struggle something that huge into place.

  “They’ll bring it to us.” Her words were simple and she didn’t give his question a second thought. She simply continued along the path, walking beneath the arbor that would lead them into the giant forest of trees.

  “They’ll bring it to us. Of course, they will,” Harris mused to himself. “Why wouldn’t your twenty-foot Christmas tree be delivered? Completely normal.” Then he followed her, as he had no choice but to pick out an elegant and massive tree.

  They weaved and wandered while they looked the trees up, down, and around.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Harlow asked as she stopped and gracefully grazed her hand across one of the trees pokey needles. “And the smell.” She breathed in, inhaling the wonderful pine. “It’s my earliest
Christmas memory.”

  Harris didn’t interrupt, he just watched her lids gently close over the glistening dark blue her eyes had taken on as day turned to night, and listened.

  “I remember feeling like I was going to burst I was so excited. I couldn’t sit still. My mom told me I looked like a rocket ship about to launch into space.” Harlow stole a look at Harris and grinned, not embarrassed at the recollection, but innocent in describing her youthfulness. “Vincent and Harriett, too. It was our favorite night. More even than Christmas morning. We were going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house – The Hill – for the Christmas party,” she explained, circling the same tree. “It was more than magical. It was enchanting. The whole house turned into a dream. A Christmas Eden. Golds and silvers seemed to burst like starlight, and cranberry reds and emerald greens danced as I would twirl circles in every room.”

  Harlow grabbed Harris’ hand and spun beneath it, lost in her story and enchanting him as he imagined she was enchanted in her memory. He listened to her laugh as she spiraled away from him and wondered if he’d ever felt that happiness.

  “Gold carts with mirrored trays held punch and eggnog in crystal bowls, and silk-clothed tables held savory meats, elegant sides, and more Christmas desserts and treats on silver platters than any child should see.”

  Harlow paused and looked down, and let a sweet curl twist her lip upwards, “But even with all of that, what I remember most of all is the way the beautiful tree smelled of pine and fresh winter snow.”

  Harris moved to her, wanting to take her hand as she stood, but he resisted and his body stopped next to hers as she looked up to him, then to the tree.

  Of all the memories, he thought, the extreme stimulation of senses she experienced as a child – and that he could almost feel in her telling of them – her favorite was the way the tree smelled. Something she could have done with her eyes closed. It was his turn to look down and smile at the innocence.