Home in Time for Christmas (17 page)

“Melody?”

“You are like him in appearance, but not him. You are…you. And that's what it is with all of us, I suppose. There's truly chemistry, or perhaps it's in the mind, or…both. I…I don't know,” she told him.

“But you do care about me?” he asked her. He had moved a little closer.

She sat very still, afraid to move herself. This was the twenty-first century, but…

“It breaks my heart that you will leave,” she admitted.

“Truthfully, it breaks my heart, as well. But…there are other things in the heart and soul. It would kill me to leave my sister alone,” he said. “I would hate myself.”

“And in time, hate me,” she whispered.

“I could never hate you. Just myself.”

Keith was coming at three. There just wasn't that much time.

“I wouldn't want that for you,” she told him, and the words were painful. “When we ask someone to be what they can't, or expect something out of them that they can't give…it's just wrong. And I…care for you all the more because I know how much you care about your sister. And you've made me see that my brother is as fantastic a gift as my parents. I understand. It's just…not fair, I suppose, but if there were such things as wishes, I would wish that we could find a way.”

“To be together?”

“Forever. Or a lifetime, at the very least,” she said.

It seemed that her blood and limbs were screaming. As if she were reaching out to an astral being,
begging him to come closer, to touch her, take her into his arms.

“Forever and ever,” he whispered.

And then, he did.

He held her, and the world was warm. He kissed her, and the world was a strange heaven of simple existence. When he might have drawn away, she whispered that it was the twenty-first century, and she knew that she had to let him go.

But not then.

She wanted to know him. And remember him.

She wanted to know him very well, and remember all of him.

They laughed. There were pillows and blankets, and a place to bury themselves beneath them.

They didn't have forever.

Only a few hours.

Outside, the day was beautiful. Cold, but beautiful. Snow on the ground, and the evergreens blanketing the forest. The world was far away, and in the little hunting lodge, it might have been anytime, any place, where two souls met, where a man and a woman fell in love.

Time still ticked away.

M
ark Hathaway sat in a wing-back chair, staring at the flames in the hearth.

He was still, he believed, in shock.

But he was feeling better.

Serena had ladled out some of the stew cooking over the fire and it had more than met up to the promise of the aroma. He was sated, and warm.

He'd pinched himself a dozen times. He'd set his hands near the fire, and felt the heat.

It was all real. It wasn't a dream or an alcohol-induced nightmare.

Serena was real. And she was handling the shock of this situation with far more aplomb than he.

Then again, she was the witch who had caused it all, wasn't she?

But she was so beautiful. And matter-of-fact. And she'd had a talent for making him feel as if he were at home here. It did ease it all somewhat.

“That was one of the finest meals I have ever eaten. Thank you,” Mark told her.

She glanced up. She was seated across the room from him, a cloth-bound journal in her hands.

“Thank you,” she said, blushing prettily. “I have my
own herb garden, and we preserve our vegetables, you know. The meat is fresh. Hank Janey from just down the road brings me deer meat and fowl. There was a skirmish in the war in which Hank's boy was almost killed, and Jake leaped on him just in time, bringing him down before the ball whizzed by. So Hank looks after me now. I love to cook. And sometimes we go out ourselves for fish. Fishing I enjoy, and the fresh fish is so good. And I'm prattling on and on, and I need to find a solution to this dilemma.” She turned her attention back to the book. But she looked up at him again. “It hasn't been that long, but it does seem that the hostilities have been going on forever. Before the war, life here was beautifully pleasant. My brother has an office just upstairs with a wonderful writing desk. It looks out over the fields and the forests. Of course, Jake was often in Boston on business, but I know the neighbors so well. I have gone into Boston myself, but I prefer to stay home and I don't believe there will be any more fighting here—though, God knows, the British have the might and the power. We just have our lives and our freedom to be thinking about and…oh, dear Lord, I'm doing it again.”

She looked so distressed that Mark stood up and walked over to her and then hunkered down by her side. “The Americans are going to win the war. And, believe it or not, in the decades that lie ahead, the Brits and the Americans will become allies against much more horrible forces in the world.”

Serena studied his face, then smiled at him. “Do people change?” she asked.

“Yes, and no. Social customs change. What's right and wrong changes. But do we still need to survive, do
we seek out love and family, good friends and warmth? Oh, yes.”

She stood up, walking away from him. “I'm not really a witch, you know. Well, not that anyone around here would admit to being a witch. It's nearly a hundred years that have gone by, but the horror of the Salem witchcraft trials remains. No one can begin to understand what happened, and I have never understood myself how a people who came to the colonies to escape persecution could be so intolerant of everyone else. There was a young woman living in Salem at the time who was named Aislinn Mallory. She minded her own business, and stayed far away from controversy. Her mother had been a healer in Wales, but King James had been terrified of witches, and so, all those who practiced the arts of healing with herbs, of studying alchemy, astrology and other such sciences, went mute, helping only those closest to themselves. Aislinn knew the power of many herbs, and she also knew a great deal about physics—far more than I will ever understand.”

Serena looked at Mark. He really had no idea what she was talking about, but he loved to watch her talk. Her soft accent, so slightly different, was beautiful.

“I came to live with the Mallorys when I was a young child. My parents were killed in an Indian raid. The Mallorys loved children, and had just Jake. Jake was always the finest brother. He taught me how to get around in the woods when we were children, and he was the one who taught me to read, how to play the spinet and the flute, and even how to understand what was going on around us. He writes so stirringly!”

“Really? I'm a writer,” Mark said. “Commercial
fiction—thrilling and fun, one hopes, but not exactly…stirring.”

“Jake's essays before the war brought many a man to the Colonial side,” she said proudly.

“A lot will be needed throughout the years of the war—and beyond,” Mark said. “But…I'm sorry. Aislinn Mallory lived in Salem during the trials. You grew up here…I'm losing the threads.”

“Aislinn left Salem and came here when it seemed that everyone was being arrested. The thing is, of course, the practice of witchcraft was known to be a capital offense, but those who went to the gallows were certainly not practicing any form of witchcraft. Aislinn actually was, at times. At least, in burning certain herbs, in making healing potions, it could be considered that she was practicing witchcraft. When Aislinn's husband perished during a wretched winter, she and her children moved here and bought this house. All of Aislinn's books and journals were here, and so I started reading them. I didn't understand much of the science, and so I assumed that all I was reading was more fantasy than anything else.

“But then I heard that Jake had been captured in New York City, and because of his rousing essays, he was going to be hanged as a spy, though he had been a soldier at the time. Jake has always, always taken care of me. I couldn't let him be hanged. I certainly didn't have the power to stop the British. All I had was the possibility of magic and illusion. And it was all so complicated. Aislinn believed that there was a black door in the yard here, which I believe there must be, but Jake was being hanged in New York City. Then, according to Aislinn's texts, the way that the stars, moon and planets
were aligned, the door would open at sunrise on Christmas Eve and close at sunset on Christmas Day. That seemed to give me time, at least, and she had a ritual of chants and rose petals that would bring the black door to another place. I didn't know if it would work or not—but I went to New York. And Jake disappeared from the noose. I was afraid—of course. But there was such chaos when he simply disappeared that I was able to escape, and friends got me out of the city and home. I thought that Jake would be here, but he was not.” She paused, huge blue eyes on him. “Then you appeared.”

“Your brother was trying to return. In the future, this house will be owned by a family named Tarleton. Mrs. Tarleton also finds books and diaries in the attic, apparently. I admit to thinking that they were all crazy. I was afraid that…that one of the nutty potions would hurt your brother. And though I just met him, he was very kind to me. So…Jake should have been back here.”

She nodded. “I must think of something. So, are you related to the Tarletons?”

“No. I wanted to be. I was in love with the daughter, Melody.”

“You were? No more? Did you intend to marry? I'm so sorry, did something tragic happen?”

“No, thank God, nothing tragic.” He shrugged. “She isn't in love with me. We are simply looking for different things in the world. I don't know where it all really began, but she's been trying to help your brother.”

“Hmm,” Serena said thoughtfully. “Sunrise and sunset. At sunset, I can send you back. We'll go to the well, to the door itself. I pray that I can return you safely, and bring my brother home.”

He took her hand. “We will make it happen,” he
vowed. “May I say that your brother is a very lucky man, to have such a woman for his sister.”

She flushed. Her eyes so blue, her hair so dark, and all her coloring combining to make an extraordinary picture.

He found himself thinking then that Melody should do a sketch of this woman. Her talent lay in finding the life in someone, even though she drew a flat image.

He had never really appreciated that fact, he realized, until he had looked at Serena.

“Well, you see, he would die for me, and I know it. Could I do anything less than try to make sure that he lives in happiness, as well?” she asked.

“Of course not. What do I do? How can I help?”

“You'll need some of Jake's clothing,” she said. “God knows, we don't wish to start anything among those who may be superstitious. I'm going to start with the potion. I would love some help, and I'd be delighted to show you about the basement, where we keep our stores. And the old cradles and basinets…the Mallorys always dreamed of a big family.”

“And what about you?” he asked.

“Of course, I have my dreams,” she said.

 

Keith arrived at the house in the woods at exactly three o'clock.

Melody stepped into the car, trying to behave completely normally, and resisting the temptation to cry and cling to Jake.

She could not hang on to him.

She understood. And the fact that he felt he had to go back was part of the man's personality, the very reason she admired him so much.

She was determined to be rational.

“Do you think that Mark is really all right?” she asked anxiously.

“I'm assuming Mark wound up where I was supposed to wind up,” Jake said. “And if he's with Serena, he's all right. Of course, she probably accosted him upon arrival demanding to know what he had done with me, but Mark is an intelligent fellow, and I'm sure he'll have been able to explain. Well, at least, as best as anyone can possibly explain.”

It didn't take long for them to reach the house. When they arrived, Brutus and Jimmy greeted them with madly wagging tails. Mona called out from the kitchen.

“Lunch is on. Or supper. Or whatever. It is Christmas Eve, and we're having ham and turkey and all the trimmings. Come along, children. George is about to carve,” she said.

They trooped back to the dining room. Melody walked over to her mother and gave her a huge hug. The table was set beautifully. The turkey had been prepared perfectly, and was golden and gleaming in the center of the table.

“Mom, this is a fabulous spread. Thank you so very much.”

“Well, it is Christmas Eve, come what may,” Mona said. She hugged Melody in return. “And we've just got to get Mark back here, and then Jake….”

Melody could have sworn that her mother sniffed. That she was holding back tears. No one wanted Jake to go.

“Hey, please, folks, this isn't like an—execution,” Jake said. “It's Christmas Eve, just as you said. And somehow, by the grace of God, I'm here with you, and
you all are the embodiment of Christmas spirit, so…let's eat!”

He took his place at the table. The others did, as well.

“The winter sunset comes quickly,” George murmured.

“Let's say grace,” Mona suggested. “And no, Keith, you don't just get to say grace and have that be the end of it!”

“I'll go,” Melody said. “Heavenly Father, thank you for this meal. Thank you for my brother and my parents. Thank you for bringing Jake into our lives, for the time that we had with him. It makes us realize that every minute we have with one another is precious. Please help us bring him home in time for Christmas, and please, make everything right with Mark. Amen.”

She looked up. Her whole family was staring at her. Her mother suddenly burst into tears.

“No, no, Mom!” she said.

Mona shook her head. “I'm all right. I'm all right! I promise. Okay, George, carve, please. Keith, pass the sweet potatoes.”

“I'll take the peas, please,” Jake said. “Mrs. Tarleton, thank you. What a delicious meal.”

“Hey, would you be having turkey at home?” Keith asked him.

“Some kind of fowl, probably,” Jake said. “Of course, it would depend. The last months, I was with the army. Army food is not good at all.”

“Well, that never improved,” George said. “I spent time in Nam. Oh—does he know about Vietnam?” George asked, looking at his children.

“Full Metal Jacket,”
Jake said. “Keith tried to catch me up on history. Sad thing is, we more or less went war by war.”

“But good things happened, too,” Melody said. “We had amazing characters rise up during the course of history. Mother Teresa, Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King—

“And you saw
The Defiance,
” Melody continued. “Just plain old people—living off the land and not known for their heroics—turn around and save the lives of hundreds through sheer will. Human nature is what it is, but there's so much good in it! This isn't a bad age in which to live. Okay, so maybe we're all afraid now and then that someone is going to go mad and touch a nuclear button and the whole thing will blow up. But it's an exciting time, too, the world is still trying to solve the differences in peoples, and the world seems so small now that it must happen.”

“I like the world,” Jake said. “That's never been in question.”

The meal went on. Turkey and all the fixings. Pumpkin and blueberry pie. The sun began to fall in the western sky.

It was day, but George turned on all the Christmas lights.

Hand in hand, Melody stood with Jake in front of the house as he stared at the colors of the twinkling lights, and admired them.

They were still there, standing in silence, when Mona said it was time.

They all retired to back of the house, near the well.

 

She could aim! Good God, could the woman aim!

Mark felt the snowball crack him dead center in the chest.

“Minx!” he accused Serena. He reached down to form a snowball. The snow was beautiful, soft and new. It hadn't been rendered to pure slush by the tires of a zillion cars.

Another snowball hit him before he could even form his own. This one off his left shoulder.

“Hey!” he protested. He had snow in his hands, at least. He ducked his head and went running for his enemy, knocking Serena down into the snow and dropping his small snowball upon her.