Mist on the Meadow (10 page)

“Your feet must be freezing. And no gloves,
either? What were you thinking running out into the snow like
that?”

Marissa gave Wolf a smirk. “You’d think I was
five years old.”

Her mother harrumphed and walked back inside.
“Only when you act like it,” she said.

Max snickered and Marissa rounded on him. “I
don’t see you wearing any boots or gloves either, buddy.”

Max held up his hands. “Don’t take your bad
mood out on me.”

Marissa’s father handed them each a glass of
Liebraumilch as they walked into the family room.

In the time Wolf and Marissa had been gone,
Angela and Derek had seemed to come to an arrangement. Cozied up
with the sailor, Wolf guessed Angela wouldn’t get any sleep before
she boarded the plane to Phoenix in the morning. Yep. He’d read her
right.

“Anyone care for another piece of Marissa’s
büche while we open gifts?” her mother asked.

Right. Drug-laced cake. How else could one
bite have clouded his judgment so easily? Wolf wanted to keep his
wits about him. “Not for me, thank you.”

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he
checked the display. Aunt Corrine. “Will you excuse me for a
minute?” he asked. “It’s my aunt.” He stepped into the kitchen and
answered the call.

“Wolf, we need to be together this year more
than ever,” she said. “Please come for dinner tomorrow.”

“Aunt Corrine—”

“No excuses. Your grandmother would not be
happy to know the two of you are arguing over her estate, or the
business, for that matter. I’ll be expecting you.”

Wolf peeked around the wall at Marissa in the
family room. He could invite her. Return the favor. And find out
how she knew what was going on at Harper Electronics.

“Do you mind if I bring a guest?” he
asked.

“Please do,” she said. “I’ll expect you
around 11:00. And Wolf, thank you for not being stubborn.”

He was stubborn, all right. Wolf disconnected
the call and returned to the family room. There would be time
enough to find out what Marissa knew tomorrow. Tonight, he wanted
to feel Christmas.

Wolf resumed his seat in a folding chair
beside Marissa.

Mrs. Maitland retrieved gifts from under the
tree and passed one to everyone in the room. Wolf held a package
with his name and blinked at the brightly colored paper. They were
good people, the Maitlands, to welcome strangers into their house
for the holiday. He was reminded of how much his Christmases had
changed since his parents had died.

“Open it,” Marissa said quietly.

Wolf nodded and peeled back the wrapping.
Inside the box, he found a pewter ornament in the shape of a
Christmas tree, hand-painted and topped with a heart.

He should have followed his grandmother’s
wishes and decorated the big tree. Yes, he was stubborn, and now he
wished he wasn’t. “Thank you,” he said with a break in his voice.
Wolf looked around the room. All the men had received similar
ornaments while the women had received blown-glass ornaments.

“It gives me an excuse to visit the
Christkindlmarket every year,” Mrs. Maitland said. “I love that
kind of stuff and I don’t have room enough on our tree
anymore.”

Angela leaned over and kissed Mrs. Maitland’s
cheek. “It’s beautiful. Thanks, Mrs. M. Pretty soon I’m gonna need
a bigger tree, myself.”

The thank-yous continued and Wolf took the
opportunity to extend his invitation to Marissa. He leaned toward
her. “I’d like to repay you for your hospitality, but I’ll warn you
ahead of time that my family won’t measure up to all this,” he said
quietly. “My aunt asked me to invite you to our dinner tomorrow.”
Marissa didn’t have to know he’d requested the invitation. “Will
you come to dinner with my family tomorrow?”

Marissa squeezed his hand. “Sure.”

Hex sprang into the middle of the room and
threw discarded wrapping paper into the air. He leapt and chased it
around the room and then stopped in front of Wolf. With a chirp of
a meow, he nuzzled Wolf’s hand before he pounced at a bow.

Like he’d done last Christmas with Wolf’s
grandmother.

Damn. Cute. Cat.

* * *

Wolf followed Angela and Derek’s lead when
they announced they were leaving, separately, but at the same time.
Wolf was pretty sure they wouldn’t be separated for long.

He gave the family obligatory hugs, including
a kiss on the cheek for both Mrs. Maitland and Marissa. His hand
lingered in Marissa’s. He wanted to take her home, to unwrap her
like he’d unwrapped his ornament. To spend the rest of his
Christmases waking up to her ribbons of red hair and twinkling
sapphire eyes. Smarter to go home alone, away from the emotional
triggers that accompanied Christmas gatherings. Alone, he could
analyze his responses logically, rationally. Or ignore them
altogether.

Six inches of fresh snow waited for the
plows. Progress through the streets was slow. Wolf curled his hands
tightly around the steering wheel.

Thirty minutes later, he let himself into
Harper Manor. Big, empty Harper Manor.

Wolf set his new ornament beside the tabletop
tree in the parlor. He should have put up his grandmother’s
Christmas tree.

As much as he didn’t want to be alone
tonight, the women he knew he could call to warm his bed wouldn’t
help. Not this time.

Marissa had ambushed him, like the flu. He’d
never anticipated his reaction to her and now she infected every
thought, made him ache with the need to touch her and, like the
flu, she possessed the potential to cause serious damage.

Wolf sat down at the piano to release his
heightened emotions. His hands moved across the keys without
conscious effort, the same way they had so many times over the past
eleven years.

* * *

Uncle Balt stared out the window like a kid
waiting for Santa Claus. Marissa rested her hands on his shoulders
and he reached up to pat one.

“Have you had a nice evening,
Liebling
?” he asked.

“This has been a different kind of
Christmas.” She took a seat beside him.

“I can see that you’re troubled. I hope you
aren’t worried on my account.”

“I am. And I’m worried for Wolf.” She glanced
around. “And everything else.”

Hex raced across the room and jumped into
Uncle Balt’s lap. The cat looked up at Marissa while he kneaded
Uncle Balt’s legs and purred loudly. Uncle Balt absently scratched
Hex’s ears.

“It does not rest with you to solve the
world’s problems, or even those of everyone around you. My dear
Marissa, don’t be sad for me because it is my time. Celebrate the
time we’ve had together. Please.”

“But there’s so much I still need to know.
You can’t dump this curse on me and die.” Marissa covered her mouth
with her hand.

“It is not a curse. It is a legacy. How you
use your gift is up to you, and I don’t know what else I can tell
you that you don’t know inherently.”

“Tell me about the büche. About the muffins
at the café,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Becky and Noah, they said something about me
drugging the muffins. I didn’t. And tonight. I saw the effect the
büche had on everyone at the table. I didn’t do anything
different.”

“But you are different, eh?” He raised his
eyebrows. “And baking, this is something you love. Something you
put your heart and soul into, yes? Is it so unusual that people
appreciate your baking skills?”

“Until the police shut me down and test my
food for drugs.”

“You know they won’t find any. Don’t fret,
Liebling
. It is not so unusual that food produces such a
reaction in people. You’ve perhaps heard the phrase ‘comfort
food’?”

“It seems I’ve taken that phrase to a whole
new level. Tell me about Wolf. You said I had to help him.”

Uncle Balt nodded. “And so you shall.”

“But how?”

“Perhaps you’ve already begun to help
him.”

Marissa rolled her eyes. “Please tell me. I
don’t know what to do.”

“I am not a
Kundiger
. That is the
legacy of the women,” he said.

“Then how did you know? About Wolf, I
mean.”

Uncle Balt studied the cat in his lap while
he stroked Hex’s fur. “I overheard them talking in the café. His
grandmother wrote you into her will.”

Marissa rose to her feet. “What?” Her pulse
pounded in her ears.

“Not by name.” He held up his hands. “She
told him he required the assistance of a
Kundigerin
.”

So it hadn’t been a coincidence that Wolf
followed her outside after dinner. He needed her help. So much for
mutual attraction. Most likely one-sided. Again. And the future she
sensed with him was probably only long enough to satisfy his
grandmother’s wishes.

“I don’t like the look on your face,” Uncle
Balt said.

“I suppose I misread my impressions of him.
The büche probably clouded his judgment, don’t you think? All he
really needs are my services as a
Kundigerin
.”

Uncle Balt leaned forward. “Did you tell
him?”

Marissa shook her head. “I’m not supposed to.
Isn’t that what you told me? I’ve already learned the
consequences.” She placed a hand to her midsection in remembered
pain.

He shook his head. “Then he doesn’t
know.”

“My first assignment as a
Kundigerin
,”
Marissa said quietly. She squeezed Uncle Balt’s shoulder. “I told
him things I shouldn’t know. You should have seen the way he
freaked out, and yet he invited me to Christmas dinner.”

“He wants to find out what else you know,
don’t you think?”

Marissa nodded.

Uncle Balt pushed to his feet and rested a
hand on Marissa’s cheek. “Be careful,
Liebling
, but don’t be
afraid. Rosalie? She accomplished some spectacular things.”

“My grandmother? Like what?”

He waved a finger at her. “Each one is
different. I would bet no other one could bake the way you do.”

“Yeah. So my legacy is to sell love potions
on the street,” she said sarcastically.

Uncle Balt shook his head. “It hasn’t even
been a week since your birthday. Give yourself time.”

Time was the one thing she and Uncle Balt
didn’t have. Marissa’s throat tightened. “But who else can I talk
to?”

He hugged her and whispered in her ear. “It
is difficult, not being able to share what you know. And then
another is born and you know that one day you can speak of it
again. Me? I kept a journal. Words I was not able to share with
anyone else. They are yours now, the journals and the quiet
moments. You will read them. You will understand.”

Marissa peered out her bedroom window. The
row of boxwood bushes that lined the front walk were half buried. A
foot of snow, then. The rising sun glittered off frozen ice
particles to give the fresh blanket of white a magical appearance.
That meant it was well below freezing outside.

The family tradition was to open presents
before breakfast, and Marissa still wanted to make something to
take to the Harpers. She slipped into her robe and Hex vaulted from
Marissa’s pillow to her shoulders “Ow!” she said, when he extended
his claws to hold on. Hex rubbed his head against hers and purred
in her ear as if to say he was sorry.

Marissa tip-toed down the staircase. The rest
of the family wasn’t accustomed to her early schedule. She’d have
the kitchen all to herself for at least another hour. Christmas was
a perfect day for apple bread pudding—
Ofenschlupfer
—two
batches, one for the Harpers and one for home. If Wolf’s
grandmother passed along the same German phrases, the same German
folk songs, the Harpers might appreciate the same German
recipes.

She started a pot of coffee and gathered the
ingredients. By the time she’d finished peeling the apples, her
mother shuffled into the kitchen.

“I’ve got a strata in the refrigerator for
breakfast.” Her mother poured two cups of coffee.

“I’m making dessert for the Harpers, and for
us. I figured
Ofenschlupfer
would be appropriate.” She
rinsed her hands and took the cup of coffee her mother offered.
“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Her mother gave her a hug.
“Do you want some help?”

Marissa shook her head. “I didn’t mean to
wake you.”

“Are you okay? You seem out of sorts these
last couple of days.”

How could she not tell her mother she’d
received a legacy? Marissa pursed her lips and chopped apples.

Uncle Balt had introduced her to
Ofenschlupfer
. When she and Max were in grade school, they’d
taken turns tossing the ingredients together.

Christmases wouldn’t be the same without
Uncle Balt. Marissa missed an apple and the knife nicked her
finger. She inserted the digit into her mouth and turned away from
the food, the tears she’d been holding back cascaded down her
cheeks.

Her mother was immediately beside her, one
arm across Marissa shoulders. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing.”

“The cut might be nothing, but there’s
something upsetting you. You’re thinking about Uncle Balt, aren’t
you? Did he tell you? Because he’s not telling the rest of us, but
it’s pretty plain to see.” Her mother turned Marissa and wrapped
her arms around her. “Death is a part of life.”

Marissa nodded against her mother’s
shoulder.

“What did he tell you?” her mother asked
gently.

He hadn’t had to tell her. She
knew
.
She didn’t want to trust this
knowing
stuff, and she prayed
she was wrong. “He told me not to be sad.”

Marissa’s father leaned into the kitchen.
“Well this doesn’t look like a Merry Christmas.”

Marissa broke away from her mother and washed
off her finger before she returned to her preparations. Her father
kissed her mother.

“I was wondering why you didn’t come back to
bed,” he said to her mother. “I should have known the two of you
would be in the kitchen. Merry Christmas, Rissa.”