Home in Time for Christmas (12 page)

There were spaces that resembled ragged paths that led between much of the chaos. Mona had made her way to the far back; Melody followed her, nearly tripping over a huge elk head—the prize of some hunter who had lived in the house long ago.

“Mom! What are you doing?”

Mona had been intent on her task, whatever it was. At the sound of Melody's voice, she let out a shriek. She had just opened one of the old trunks; it fell shut with a slam.

“What? What's going on? Why are following me?” Mona demanded indignantly.

“I'm not following you,” Melody protested.

“Yes, you are, you're following me—that's exactly what you're doing!” Mona said.

“I…well, I thought you might need help. It's time we
should be heading on out, so I just thought you might need help with something up here,” Melody said.

Mona shook her head. “You don't need to follow me around like a puppy.”

“Mom—”

“It is time to go. Let's just go,” Mona said.

“But what were you looking for?” Melody asked. “Nothing.”

“Mom, you had to have been—”

“You know, Melody, it is my attic. My house, and my attic.”

“Well, of course, but—”

“Let's just get going. I can dig around in here tomorrow. I was just looking for some old books. Honestly, time flies. Years ago, I meant to seriously dig into all the treasures that came with this attic, and time goes by, and you haven't done half the things you planned. Anyway, let's not be the last to arrive. I hate to be the first, but I do like to arrive in a kind of socially timely manner.”

Mona moved to get around Melody, balancing with her hands on her daughter's waist, since the paths were hardly wide. It was also a crafty way to keep a hand on Melody and steer her back out of the attic.

“Mom, seriously, what are you up to?” Melody asked her.

“When I'm ready, I'll tell you—and not before,” Mona said stubbornly. “Come on, let's get going. You don't want any of those Wiccans getting their hands on Jake when the band takes a break, eh?” Mona asked.

“Will there be anyone there besides Wiccans?” Melody asked worriedly.

“Oh, yes. Christians. And our Jewish neighbors, and
new Muslim folk in the area, Hindus, Confucians—I don't know! Everyone is invited. Invited to buy tickets. This is America! Land of the free—and the capitalists!”

Melody smiled. “Good. Maybe we're safe.”

She let her mother breathe a sigh of relief as she gave in and headed down the attic stairs ahead of her. Mona followed quickly. “Are you wearing your cape? How beautiful, darling.”

“Yes, I'm wearing it. I truly love my cape, Mom. Thanks. I don't get the chance to wear it that often.” She smiled suddenly, giving her mother a hug.

“Keith, George!” Mona called.

Neither replied.

From the rear window of Keith's room—which they could see from the upstairs hallway—they saw a giant flash of light appear across the backyard.

“Oh, God!” Melody gasped with horror. “Was Dad out in the lab?”

They looked at one another and tore for the stairs, racing down quickly and knocking into each in their hurry to make it out the back door.

George was there, outside his laboratory, in the yard. Keith stood across the grass from him. There was nothing burning at all.

“What was that?” Mona demanded.

“Dad?” Melody said.

“It was a wave. Or a frequency. A frequency combined with a wave,” Keith said.

“And what did it do?” Melody asked.

“It…flashed,” her father said.

“It flashed in only one place,” Keith reminded him.

George looked over at Mona and flushed. “Yes, only one place. Right around the old well.”

It looked as if her father thought that the explanation might just mean something to her mother. What, she had no idea. The old well had been covered up for years before they had moved into the place. It was rather charming; the stonewall base could still be seen, and every owner had kept up the old arborlike structure that curved above it, where, in spring and summer, ivy crawled and flowers bloomed.

She wondered how her father had created the waves and frequencies that he had somehow mated, then saw that there was some kind of machine that resembled a fog machine near Keith's feet and another just behind her father.

It looked as if they were playing at being Ghostbusters; they were only missing the outfits.

Indeed, they had both opted for black, and looked rather handsome, she thought. Her father had on a long cape, much like Melody's own and purchased in Salem as well, while Keith was wearing something that looked more like a Georgian frock coat.

She was suddenly grateful that Mark wasn't due until tomorrow.

She could just imagine what he would have to say about her crazy family.

“Do you need to…zap it again?” Mona asked.

George shook his head. “No, no…we need a bit more experimentation. That's all.”

“And how? What kind of experimentation?” Mona asked.

“There are many different theories that can be tested,” Keith said.

Melody suddenly felt as if they were all speaking a foreign language, and she was not in any way in on the secret.

“What's going on here?” she demanded.

“I'm experimenting—I'm always experimenting,” George said, looking at her quizzically.

Maybe she was wrong.

“We should get going. Really,” Keith said, clearing his throat.

“Yes, yes, of course. Girls, get your coats,” George said.

Melody was still suspicious, but she was anxious to get back to the castle. The concept of Jake with one Wiccan was scary, much less the dozens that would be there.

Then again, what could be weirder than her own household?

As they arrived at the castle grounds and were directed to park, Melody saw the huge tree that stood on the snow-covered lawn just before the cliffs that rose in back.

“The Christmas tree is actually an old German tradition, right?” she murmured to her father.

“Yes,” George said. “The first ones apparently showed up in several towns at the same time, in front of guildhalls, I believe. There's a German church record of one being erected in the mid-1500s.”

“Ah, but there was big trouble regarding trees for many years and in many places,” Mona said. “Some of the stricter church folk back then saw them as a pagan symbol. The time of our Christian holidays revolves around the ancient dates of the Roman Saturnalia and winter solstice of the Druids,” Mona said.

“There are angels on the tree,” Melody noted.

“Ah, because we all pray there are really angels watching over us, don't we?” Her mother said. “The tree goes with the castle. The folks who run the castle had the tree decorated. Let's head on in.”

They found themselves entering in a throng of people. As they walked, Mona and George responded to friends and neighbors who hailed them. Melody and Keith knew most of them, but not all, and so they were introduced. As they neared the entry, they could hear the band playing within, an Irish ballad at the moment.

“Mona!” The Wiccan hostess at the door—dressed similarly to Melody, but in a fuller black skirt beneath her sweeping cape—greeted her mother affectionately.

“Peggy!” Mona said, hugging her fiercely. “How's the shop going? Well, I hope. You know my husband, George, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Peggy said, studying George. He must have given her his “medium—what about rare and well done” joke at some time.

“And my children are home for the holidays,” Mona said. “My daughter, Melody, and my son, Keith. Please meet Peggy Winston, our official hostess for the evening. And high priestess, of course.”

“Of course,” George said solemnly. Apparently, he meant to keep his good-behavior promise for the evening.

“A pleasure,” Keith said.

“Nice to meet you, Peggy,” Melody assured her.

“Well, come in, come in, it's all going beautifully. Wonderful band, eh? Oh, you have a family friend playing in it tonight, right? The very handsome young man
who is new to the group said that he's a guest staying with you,” Peggy said.

“Yes, yes,” Melody replied for her mother. “Oh, no, I believe we're blocking the path. Jake is a doll, a good friend, an old friend. From Boston. He didn't always live there though. We really should let you greet your other guests. He's a historian. Amazing fellow. We should move—”

Keith sent an elbow into her rib cage, catching her hand and leading her on in.

“Boy, are you slick!” he whispered to her.

“They've already been talking to him,” Melody said, alarmed. “We'd better get in front of the band.”

“You go get in front of the band. Now that we're out of the house and I can no longer smell Mom's herbal concoction, I'm starving. I'm off to find the food.”

“Traitor!” she told him.

“Yes, but a hungry traitor.”

He waved a hand and left her. She made her way downstairs to the open area where the band was playing.

The castle was real, having been brought to the States from Europe by a millionaire. It was Gothic in appearance with a treasure trove of antiques, though many had been taken to safety for the evening. The paintings and statues were gone, so nothing could detract from the beige stone walls and marble of the architecture. The band set up on a level just two steps above the main floor, while flanking staircases brought the guests up to the level above, where drinks were being served, and the balcony, open to the night, could be ambled. Melody noted that there were signs advising guests that there were mediums present, those who read cards and
palms, tea leaves and crystal balls. They were advisers, so the signs claimed—and their services were an extra charge.

There were already lines leading to the rooms where the various readings were taking place.

She knew, of course, that Jake couldn't be seeking any Wiccan counsel at the moment—he was onstage playing.

She wove her way through the crowd of people, dressed mostly in Gothic capes, but some in Christmas finery as well, and made it to the stage.

Jake was playing violin at the moment. His eyes were closed, as if he was feeling the music. She marveled at his talent, and was startled when she discovered that her brother was behind her. “Hey, they were holed up all winter with no television, no Wii, no Movies On Demand. Kind of cool to think about, in a way. Folks learned instruments, read and probably even talked to one another,” Keith said.

“He's really good, huh?” she said a little wistfully.

Keith smiled at her. “Yeah. Mozzarella stick?” She remembered he had gone for food; he carried a plate.

She shook her head, her eyes still on the band.

Jake's eyes opened then. And they were on her.

She smiled, and he smiled in return.

The band leader announced a break at the end of the tune. Jake set his instrument down and hopped to her level. He greeted her setting his hands on her shoulders and pulling her close a moment for a kiss on her cheek. He shook her brother's hand.

“So, you folks have made it,” he said, sounding happy.

“Yes, it's not always easy actually getting my entire family out of the house,” Melody told him.

He nodded, and glanced at her brother. “Mind if I take Melody for a walk?” he asked.

“No, dude, go for it,” Keith said.

It was evident that Jake was learning. He didn't question the word
dude.

“Where are we going?” Melody asked him.

“Just out beyond the balcony. It's so beautiful. If you're warm enough. We'll stop for mead.”

“They have mead?” Melody asked wryly.

“Yes, of course, and it's very good. And I'm quite in awe of the whole place. There are so many people here. People in all colors. And they are so varied in their nationalities, or origins. They all get along with one another so pleasantly.”

“It's not always sugar and roses, I promise you,” she said, but then she grinned. “You should see New York City. You can hear dozens of languages in a one-block walk.”

“Fascinating.”

His hand on the base of her spine, he led her up the stairs to a table covered in black and decorated with black roses—tied with little ribbons of red and green. There were several women working behind the table, passing out plastic glasses of warmed mead. They accepted two, and Melody found herself proud to hear Jake complimented for his playing, and prouder still to hear his humble thanks to all.

Then they moved through those hovering around the bar and headed to a door that led them out to something that was a mixture of a balcony and a rampart.

The night was beautiful. Stars were abundant above
them, and though it was cold, the breeze was gentle. The castle sat upon cliffs that looked out over the water, and they were bathed in the colorful lights from within and soft glow of natural light from above. Jake looked out with a joy and wonder at the night that seemed to touch Melody all over again. The world itself seemed to be new through his eyes. So many things she took for granted were miracles to him.

Perhaps it wasn't so odd that he should expect another miracle.

Real, or created in the magic of the mind.

“This wasn't here, you know,” he said. “I see places, and they have changed, and yet they are the same. Some of the old houses…your house. My house.”

He looked at her. The breeze was just lightly moving his hair. Apparently, the band had brought their own forms of Gothic uniform for the night, for he was in snug-fitting black jeans and a black poet's shirt.

He was compelling. Striking in the sculpture of his face, and in coloring, and yet far more seductive because of the light and laughter in his eyes, and the warmth that seemed to suffuse from him.

He set his mead down on the edge of the brick wall, then did the same with hers. He took her hands suddenly, drawing both to his lips. He kissed them fervently and gently, then met her eyes again. “Thank you.”