It Happened at Christmas

by Christen Krumm

  “You good, Cain?” Hank’s breath tickled her ear sending shivers down her spine and stealing her ability to speak.

  She nodded against his shoulder, causing more spluttering from Ralph. She straightened, ready to continue her walk down the stairs even if she had to have an awkward death grip on the railing next to her. But instead of moving aside and letting her risk falling again, Hank put his arm around her waist, letting her lean on him for the remaining steps.

  Ralph stepped up to refresh her hair from the fall as Tara touched up her makeup.

  “Oh, I got makeup on you,” Murphy brushed at the spot on Hank’s once-pristine, black jacket.

  “Apparently, that isn’t a problem,” Hank replied as Ralph rubbed at the spot with some sponge immediately soaking up the makeup spot.

  Madison draped a fur wrap over Murphy’s shoulders and slipped a clutch into her hand. With well-wishes offered by everyone inside, Hank and Murphy stepped outside into the cold.

  “Your carriage awaits, Madam Cain.” Hank chuckled, still assisting Murphy down the steps, muttering something about how he remembered the first time they met and there was no way he was letting her attempt stairs in those heels.

  As Murphy slipped inside Hank’s already warm car, she just prayed that the night wouldn’t end how Cinderella’s had.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Even though Murphy had been to the Harrington house multiple times over the past two weeks, there was something about this night that felt more magical. Maybe it was because she had decided to completely embrace her role—even if it was only going to be for tonight. Tonight would be the last night. For real this time.

  As soon as they walked in the door, Hank shot Murphy an apologetic look as he was swept away by his mother who was prattling on about Grandpa Jack still being in house slippers and pajama pants. Murphy found herself standing in the calm before the storm. She could hear the lifeblood of the party, the hired help, streaming through the halls, putting last touches on the decorations.

  She found herself making her way to Tripp’s room walking on her tiptoes to keep from wobbling so much. The dark silence was comforting. Plopping down in a chair only thinking it was a bad idea in her dress after the fact, Murphy heaved a heavy sigh.

  Tonight, Tripp sported a bright red Santa hat, which Murphy was sure was courtesy of Grandpa Jack, or maybe Hank. Either way, it brought a smile to her face. Leaning over, doing her best not to completely crumple her dress, she straightened the hat on his head.

  The door clicked opened almost causing Murphy to fall completely on the bed. Emmaline would never forgive her if she ruined the dress before the party. Grandpa Jack came tumbling in, fingers tangled in the strings of his bowtie at his neck.

  “This confounded thing,” he muttered stepping into the ring of light the lamp close to Tripp’s bed gave off. Heaving a sigh, he fell into the seat next to Murphy. “I give up. I think Tabitha will have my head, but I cannot get this thing tied right. Is the open neck thing a look?”

  Murphy swallowed a giggle. “Come here.” Straightening, she reached over and expertly tied the bow tie, fingers remembering from when she would fix her father’s tie. He, much like Grandpa Jack, was hopeless when it came to tying bow ties. “What happened to Hank?”

  “Oh, there was a catering emergency that Tabitha couldn’t deal with. Mmh, don’t that beat all,” Grandpa Jack said, looking down and cross-eyed as Murphy finished. “Where’d you learn how to tie a tie like that?”

  “My father was a piano player.” Murphy tugged on each ends of the tie and gave it a final pat. “And he was pretty hopeless at tying his ties for formal performances.”

  “Does he still play?” Grandpa Jack asked slumping down in his chair.

  Murphy cleared the lump from her throat. “No. He died seven years ago.” Almost to the day, she left off.

  Grandpa Jack turned bright red and stammered through an apology, patting her arm.

  “You look especially dashing tonight,” Murphy quickly changed the subject.

  “Thank you. I can clean up pretty good when the occasion calls for it. You look exquisite. Do you think you could save a dance for an old fart like me?”

  Dancing? There was going to be dancing at this thing? Murphy swallowed before telling Grandpa Jack he could have all the dances he wanted. Maybe if she danced with him, she wouldn’t be tripping over her feet all night.

  “There you are.”

  Both Murphy and Grandpa Jack looked up as Hank came into the room.

  “Sorry, Grandpa Jack, to leave you like that. The caterer brought white snapper instead of red and apparently mother thought it was unacceptable. It’s all worked out now.” He came to a stop next to the chairs, hands in his pockets. “Your girl looks stunning tonight, eh brother?” Hank raised his eyebrows at his brother’s silence. “I know my brother’s being a little bit of a jerk, but I know he’d totally agree with me if he would just wake his stubborn butt up.”

  Murphy felt her face warm and hoped the light was dim enough to hide the reddening of her face.

  “You got that right, son. Beautiful inside and out plus she’s an expert at tying this ridiculous contraption.” Wrinkled fingers tugged at the would-be noose around his neck.

  Hank winced. “Thanks for saving my bacon, Murphy. Mother would probably have a stroke if Grandpa Jack came to dinner with no tie.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of, we need to start heading that way.”

  “Oh, good. I’m starved.” Grandpa Jack stood up, hands on his belly.

  Murphy stood up and made it two steps before she felt her ankle roll. Hank reached out, steading her. Standing up, she tugged her dress at the bodice, making sure everything was where it should be. “Seriously, these shoes!” Why, with all the shoe possibilities, did Emmaline have to choose five-inch heels?

  Hank bent over and pulled up the hem of her dress.

  “What are you doing?” Murphy asked, steading herself on his back as he tugged off first one gold heel followed by the other. The wood floor was ice on her bare feet, but it was nothing to the heat she felt from his hand on her ankles. He stood up, breaking the contact, heels dangling from his fingers.

  “These are not shoes, Cain, they’re stilts. Why do you women insist on wearing them?” He held them at eye level as if they were about to jump off his finger and stab him in the eye.

  Murphy crossed her arms over her chest. “Give me back my shoes.”

  Hank was already shaking his head. “Oh, no. Cain, if I give these things back you’re either going to hurt yourself or someone else.”

  “I can’t go out there barefoot.” Murphy tried reaching for the shoes, but Hank held them out of her reach before tossing them across the room.

  “Sure, you can,” he shrugged. “That dress is long enough no one will ever know. The plus side being that you won’t fall flat on your face. So really, I’m like your knight in shining armor.”

  Murphy shook her head as she took Hank’s offered arm.

  “Come, m’lady, dinner awaits.”

  At some point, the Harrington’s dining hall had been transformed into a Christmas wonderland. Murphy had to keep her mouth from dropping open at the sight of the thirty-foot tree stretching from the floor to the ceiling. The entire tree twinkling from the thousands of strands of lights hung from the branches. She felt like she had just stepped into Hogwarts at Christmas.

  Unlike the morning of the awkward brunch, the people to chair ratio was perfect. Murphy noticed even the chairs from around the outside of the room had been brought to the table. For a fleeting moment, Murphy’s stomach clenched. Would someone from school be here? Would they recognize her? She quickly scanned the faces of the people in the room, racking her brain for memories of anyone saying anything in the past few weeks about going to this particular party. Her stomach unwound itself when she didn’t immediately notice anyone she knew.

  Hank led Murphy to her seat, hand at the small of her back, shooting sparks up her spine. Murphy was
seated between an older woman wearing a tiara — was she a princess? Queen? Or did she just like to be that fancy — and Grandpa Jack who shot her a wide grin when Hank pushed her chair in and disappeared to find his seat.

  “I’m really glad you’re sitting next to me,” Grandpa Jack leaned in, whispering to Murphy. “There are three forks next to my plate, as many spoons, and two knives. I’m not sure which is for which.”

  She only just noticed the number of silverwares. Three goblets — one filled with ice water, condensation already forming on the outside of the glass. She had started an etiquette class when she first arrived Iverson that went over which spoon to use for which course, but once she became a ward of the school, it was academic classes only. She thought she remembered the order of things — at least enough to make it through dinner. Hopefully enough to make it through dinner. She gave Grandpa Jack what she thought was more of a smile than a grimace, but she wasn’t sure.

  Grandpa Jack opened his mouth to say something else but was cut off by the ringing of a bell. The buzz of the room quieted down, and Murphy heard instrumental Christmas music playing over hidden speakers. Those that were still huddled around chit-chatting found their places as servers came out carrying the first dish.

  “So, you’re the young Harrington’s love interest?”

  Murphy almost choked on her salad when the question came from the “queen” next to her. Murphy still wasn’t sure what her title was, but she most definitely seemed like a snooty queen type. She finished her bite before smiling, “Yes, Ma’am.”

  The queen sniffed. “It’s a pity Tabitha sat him all the way at the other end of the table.”

  Murphy blinked. Did she think? Hank? “Oh, no,” she spluttered. “I’m Tripp’s girlfriend.” The lie came easily but felt like mud on her tongue. Maybe she should have just let the lie go.

  “He’s in a coma. That’s a shame as well.” The queen dabbed at the corner of her mouth before placing her napkin in her lap and pushing her plate of half eaten salad away from her. A server came and whisked it away. Murphy’s too, even though she wasn’t really finished with it. Sighing she put her napkin in her lap and waited for the next course listening to the oh-hum conversations around her.

  Did everyone think she was Hank’s girlfriend instead of Tripp’s? She glanced at Hank seated across the table and four people down. He was mid-laugh yet, as if her gaze was a magnet, looked over toward her. The candlelight from the table illuminated his face making his smile seem more magical. He lifted his hand in a wave. Murphy waved back and tried to suppress a laugh as Hank turned his hands into puppets and mimicked the old man next to him who while talking to him, was looking at his plate.

  “Interesting.” The queen muttered, an amused look gracing her wrinkles.

  “What?” Murphy asked, moving her glass of water out of the way as a server placed a green looking bowl of soup in front of her.

  “It just seems that my nephew fancies you.”

  “Your nephew?” The queen was Hank’s aunt?

  “Yes. I’m Richard Harrington’s sister, Elizabeth.” She pursed her lips. “Whatever that is good for.”

  Couldn’t someone have warned her she was sitting next to family?

  “Aunt?” she mouthed to Hank, hand shielding her from Aunt Elizabeth’s gaze.

  Hank shrugged, mouthing his apology.

  “I guess I should have warned you about that one,” Grandpa Jack chuckled, then loudly whispered. “Murphy, you’re sitting next to Tripp’s aunt.”

  “Thank you, Grandpa Jack,” Murphy whispered back, doing her best not to roll her eyes.

  “This soup is so great. Are you going to finish yours?” Grandpa Jack asked.

  Murphy was still trying to catch up with the fact that she was sitting next to another member of the family and hadn’t had a chance to even taste the soup going cold in front of her. “Sure, you can have it.” She slid her bowl over, Grandpa Jack silently clapping in glee.

  Murphy didn’t miss Tabitha’s look of disapproval. How she managed to witness the exchange from her place at the other end of the table was beyond Murphy. She bit the inside of her mouth. Was it just yesterday that she had hugged Murphy and told her that she was a breath of fresh air for the family? I guess that didn’t include sharing soup at parties.

  But Tabitha’s disapproving glance wasn’t what made Murphy’s mouth feel like she had just sucked on cotton. The two girls sitting four seats down from Tabitha, sipping soup from a spoon, pinkies ridiculously extended, did. Charlotte Bane and Willow James — Claire’s best friends. Her ladies in waiting. Her goons. How had she missed them before?

  “Are you okay, Murphy? You kind of look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Grandpa Jack chuckled, as the main course was whisked away.

  Murphy nodded, moving her hands to her lap as a waiter placed a plate of sugary dessert in front of her. Creme Brûlée. One of her favorites, and she didn’t even think she’d be able to stomach a bite.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Murphy had never been so ready for a dinner to end. Every time one of the girls glanced her way, Murphy felt like she needed to dive for cover under the table. Of course, she didn’t. She was sitting next to Aunt Elizabeth, and Tabitha was shooting her looks every five minutes. Or maybe those looks were for Grandpa Jack, but either way, she didn’t hide under the table.

  After lingering over the cream brûlée, Richard had tapped on his glass, toasted the success of his wife on another spectacular party, and asked everyone to join them in the ball room for dancing. Not that Murphy was looking forward to dancing, but she figured she could use her powers of being a wallflower to make sure she side-stepped Willow and Charlotte for as long as she could. Even with all the glances they shot her, if they recognized her, the news would already be out. Their network could put social media to shame.

  Grandpa Jack escorted her to the ball room, laughing when he caught a glimpse of her bare feet and she told him Hank had stolen her shoes.

  “Dad, seriously you sound like a buffoon.” Tabitha hissed from behind them. Which only made him laugh harder. Richard pulled Tabitha away before she made too much of a scene.

  “Was that a dinner or what?” Hank, escorting Eloise, sidled up next to Grandpa Jack and Murphy.

  “That creme brûlée was to die for. Don’t you think, Murphy?”

  Murphy opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by Grandpa Jack.

  “The soup was my favorite. Hank, do you think you could get that recipe from Mrs. George for me before I go home?”

  “Sure thing, Grandpa Jack. Are we ready to dance?” Hank held his hand out to Murphy. Her stomach flip flopped.

  “Oh, no. I’ve already claimed this beauty’s first dance,” Grandpa Jack interjected, grabbing her hand and putting it in the crook of his elbow.

  Murphy turned to Hank, apologetic, but not really. She wasn’t sure her nerves could handle dancing with him.

  “Besides, you promised me a dance.” Eloise tugged on his arm. “Hank, you can’t let me be on the sidelines. I’d die of embarrassment!”

  The band had started playing an upbeat Christmas medley. Hank shrugged and allowed his sister to lead him to the dance floor. Surely that wasn’t a look of disappointment Murphy had seen.

  Grandpa Jack dropped Murphy’s arm and offered his hand, bowing at the waist. “Shall we dance?”

  Smiling, Murphy took his hand and followed him onto the floor. Four songs later they collapsed in comfy oversized chairs in a corner. Hank wandered off to find them all drinks. Grandpa Jack went in search of a snack declaring that, after all that dancing, he was hungry again.

  “Are you having a good time?” Eloise asked, plopping down in the seat next to Murphy.

  “I am. This is fun.”

  Eloise squinted her eyes at Murphy. “I’m so glad. I know you have to wish that Tripp was here.”

  “Where is Hank with those drinks? I’m parched.” Murphy deflected Eloise’s statement relieved when the younger girl turne
d to scan the crowd for her brother. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her the muddled story of saving Tripp and meeting the family, but she reminded herself that wasn’t what tonight was about. Tonight was just about having fun.

  The band kicked it up a notch with a peppy pop song. Eloise squealed. “Murph, you’d better get very un-tired right now.” Search forgotten, she stood up and grabbed Murphy’s wrist pulling her to her feet. “You are totally dancing with me to this song. Right now.”

  The girls passed a baffled Hank balancing four glasses of ice water. Murphy shrugged when he asked where they were going, allowing herself to be pulled along. No thinking. Just doing.

  Eloise led her out to the middle of the dance floor. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, but Eloise had her hands above her head and was singing at the top her of lungs to the song. Without looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to them or if anyone cared, Murphy joined in. She danced as if no one was watching.

  The band played off the girl’s energy and the next five songs were upbeat. Murphy danced until she felt like she was going to burst. She leaned over to Eloise to let her know that she was going to go to the bathroom. Eloise never opened her eyes or stopped swaying, just held two thumbs up in Murphy’s general direction.

  Murphy pushed through crowds of people, proud to say that she actually remembered where the downstairs bathroom (one of six?) was. She found this bathroom particularly weird since it had stalls. In a house. Who had bathroom stalls in a house? Murphy supposed it was because of so many parties held at the Harrington house over the years, but she still found it a little strange. She did however love this bathroom because in the middle there was a circular couch—or fainting couch or whatever rich people called them.