((Another collaborative effort with Meriwether family! Huge thanks to Jem!))
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"Welcome, welcome, Landers family!" Joh said, cheeks snapping red from the cold as he opened the heavy oak door and ushered Brianna, her father, and her mother inside the ancient house with a skirl of snow. After stamping boots, removing coats, and bringing baggage into the cold foyer, the two families exchanged warm handshakes and greetings. Jem's mother, Susan, passed around hot mugs of cocoa as the new arrivals warmed themselves gratefully in front of the fire, in a fireplace large enough to roast an ox.
"This is quite a find, Mr. Meriwether," said Brendan, his neck craning to looks about the large room before smiling brightly at his host.
"Call me Joh," he returned with a smile bright enough for toothpaste advertisements. Brianna eyed Jem's father with a mixture of admiration and trepidation. Could he really be in his nineties? she thought. Jem had to be kidding. His father looked no older than a well-kept forty. But his mother--
Susan had engaged Alison Landers in a talmudic discussion of Christmas traditions and had already cajoled the other woman into stringing cranberries, popcorn, and orange slices onto long pieces of string. Cornelia was sitting near her mother's knee on a footstool, her scowling face relaxed, occupied with her own needle and string. Brianna looked from mother's hands to daughter's. Although Joh looked like a well-kept forty, his mother looked like one of the 'ladies who do lunch,' that gaggle of women in their sixties who, through careful regimens of botox, pilates, and plastic surgery hand managed to hang on to a veneer of youth, but with hands and necks that told the truth. Cornelia's small, crooked fingers looked young next to the brittle knobbed talons of her mother. She has to be in her fifties, at least, she thought. Which would make sense.
Jem's arm, which had been around her waist from the moment she'd stepped in the door, gave her a squeeze. "Shall we?" he asked.
"Shall we what?" She looked up and saw her father and Jem's father staring at her expectantly. She smiled and shook her head, laughing quietly. "Sorry. I was miles away."
"A tour of the house," Joh said. "Would you like one? There's some history here, and it can take a little getting used to getting around if you don't know the layout."
"Oh!" she stood, and Jem rose with her like her shadow. "That'd be great!"
Cornelia carefully handed her mother an incredible string of artistically arranged cranberries and cinnamon sticks. "I"m going too."
"Right then! Let's start at the top, near the children's playroom," Joh said.
"So tell me . . . Joh, does this house belong to your family?"
"It might have, once, but that's a long time gone. The Meriwethers settled in Amsterdam before they came over to the promises of the New World's city on a hill. This house was built by the Wright family, who married cousins of ours in the seventeen-hundreds. Of course, it has switched hands a few times since then, and now it's kept up through donations from the state historical society. We make annual donations, but the house isn't ours. We're guests here just as you are. Here we go!" At the top of a long flight of stairs, Joh threw open a door and allowed the others to precede him into the wide gabled attic. The room smelled a little musty, but was warmed by the central chimney and there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. Four white-quilted cots rested under the wavery-glass windows, and a collection of antique children's toys stood in meek, expectant clusters on the shelves.
"Hellraiser meets Velveteen Rabbit," Cornelia muttered, eyeing a huge rocking-horse dolefully. Brianna and Jem both rolled their eyes, saw each other doing it, and then grinned at each other. And yet, Brianna had to admit, that it was sad. These ancient toys, with no children to play with them ever again, these little white beds with no children to sleep tucked warm inside them--
"Look," said Joh, pointing out the windows. "You can see the sea from here."
The view of the sea reminded Bri of Connor's Bay, the little town that had once been home to Seacliff High School. Leaning softly against Jem, she turned away from the memories and followed Joh across the room. From the windows on the other side, a view of a dark forest, a black scrim of a pond, and snow falling in thick soft flakes onto the landscape below.
The other rooms were inspected in due course, and Brianna was glad that Joh had taken them on the tour early. It felt like they walked miles. A wing for both families, with soft beds in thick-walled rooms and the reassuring sight of central heating. Her room was tiny and high, with a cast-iron bed and wallpaper of faded primroses. Joh showed her a catch in the back of the immaculate closet that led to the children's attic. "This was probably the governess' room, or the room for the children's nurse. It connects to the back stairs and the attic." He locked the secret door and handed the key to Brianna's father with a conspiratorial smile. He took it with a laugh.
There was more, far more. A library with shelves of ancient, bound books and some folios under glass. A kitchen with a mangle, of all things, and an old-fashioned washtub. The kitchen they'd use, reassuringly with well-stocked modern refrigerator and ovens. Pantries stuffed full of food. A sitting room with fat horsehair chairs. A music room. It all began to swim together in Brianna's head, until they went once more, this time down a large staircase, into the room where Alison and Susan were continuing to string Martha Stewart Christmas garlands with shining needles and thread. "It's a ballroom," Brianna said, seeing the room entire from the top, the parquet wood floors covered over in islands of heavy warm rugs, tall screens dividing the large space into something more comfortable and homely.
"Yes, the grand reception room of the house. See, there's even a space for our Christmas tree. We'll go out and cut one this afternoon."
"I want a big one," Jem said covetously, looking at the large open space and giving Brianna's waist another squeeze.
"Oh, ten feet, at least!" Joh looked around. "We seem to have lost Cornelia."
"She's in the library," Jem murmured. "She said she'd come down in an hour for lunch."
"My daughter, the scholar," Joh said, his smile suddenly not wry. They descended the staircase and resumed comfortable places near the fire.
"It's going to be a perfect Christmas," Jem said with a happy sigh. He looked at Brianna. "I'm really glad we could all spend it together."
Returning the adoring look, Bri nodded. "Me too."
God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen
Moderator: Student Council
-
Brianna Landers
- Posts: 334
- Joined: Fri Jun 22, 2007 8:31 am
- Location: Quad #14
-
Brianna Landers
- Posts: 334
- Joined: Fri Jun 22, 2007 8:31 am
- Location: Quad #14
Re: God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen
The weather later that day was simply perfect. A gentle breeze came in off the water, nothing like the gusts that threatened to cut through you in the coldest winters. Soon after lunch, Brianna, Jem, and Cornelia along with their parents, were pulling on their heavy coats and wrapping their woolen scarf around their necks. The snow which had been falling steadily all day, lent an other-worldly look to the wooded area behind the house.
"That," Joh said as he stepped forward, pointing with a hacksaw in his hand, "is where we will find our perfect tree." Grinning, he turned to the three teenagers with them. "Go on. Lead the way."
Before Bri could even say a word, she found her hand in Jem's as he quickly moved forward down the path into the forest. The cold air filled her lungs as she laughed, stumbling a little to keep up with Jem. The low hanging branches brushed against their shoulders, leaving little white tracks of snow dusting them. A little red bird hopped out of tree at their passing and chirped loudly. Bri was sure this was something she'd seen on a Christmas card once.
"Daddy," Cornelia said quietly, tugging on her father's sleeve. "Could I fly?"
Joh looked at his daughter, nonplussed. "Hm," he said. "Yes, but don't show off. Remember not everyone can."
"Goodness gracious me," Alison said, watching Cornelia skim the ground, toes occasionally digging small furrows in the snow. Her wide green eyes turned on Joh, a mixture of shock and curiousity sparkling in them. "Can all of you fly?"
"Only with a strong tailwind," Susan demurred, watching her daughter hover like an overgrown dragonfly around the edges of the path, investigating here and there. "We encourage the children to restrain themselves in company. Sometimes their gifts can make others resentful or surprised. And none of us wants you to feel uncomfortable."
"Hmph," said Brendan, adjusting the rope that held the sled on his back. "It's fine by me." He shared a small smile with his wife. "Our Brianna isn't exactly ordinary either." He slipped his arm over Alison's shoulders, turning to watch his daughter as she scanned the trees with Jem.
"Do you want to fly?" Brianna asked Jem point-blank, watching him look at his sister with a tucked-in smile.
"I"m saving my strength," Jem said, still not looking at her. "Someone's going to have to haul the tree back, and I'm betting the lot will fall to me."
"This is so . . . traditional," Brianna blurted out. Except for the flying girl, that was. "It's like . . . a Hallmark Christmas special. Snow? A fire with actual chesnuts roasting? A tree we're going to actually cut down? I have to tell you, Jem, I like it, but there's something . . . weird about it too. Is this what your family does for Christmas? It's like something from the Martha Stewart catalogue. I keep waiting to wake up."
"I think my mom and dad wanted to make sure everything is perfect. We don't usually celebrate Christmas, Bri. We get presents, and we have a nice dinner, but usually we're out on the water, somewhere not in any country, Cornelia and Dad having some sort of fight . . . I like this better. Even if it's a Potemkin Christmas, something clipped out of a fancy magazine." He took her mittened hand in his and they followed their family deeper into the woods. Somewhere Cornelia was chirping, "It's here, I found it, this is the one!"
* * *
"So," said Jem, cheeks pink with exertion and cold, when they'd finished bringing the tree inside, bound and prone like a murder victim. "Where are we setting it up?"
"And decorating!" said Brianna enthusiastically. Everything was falling in place and Bri could feel the Christmas spirit begin to take hold. It was like she was a child again, waiting anxiously for her turn to carefully place an ornament on the prickly branches.
"We've talked it over," said Alison, putting a kettle near the fire and laying out mugs. "The three of you are getting a hot drink and a warm piece of rumcake, and then you're going out to play for an hour while we finish wrapping your presents."
Cornelia let out a little grumble, but her father shushed her. "At the rate the snow is falling, you'll be glad to have had a chance to play. Tomorrow we may be snowed in."
Like it or not, the three of them were bundled outside the door in short order. "We must be getting some really good stuff," Jem said, lightening the mood. He nibbled at his cake, which steamed in his mitten.
As she pulled her low ponytail tighter, Bri nodded over at Jem. "Knowing my parents, yeah. Be glad it was just an hour. They used to send me out shopping with Jennifer for the entire afternoon." She caught herself watching Jem, smiling as he wrapped his scarf around his chin. She shook herself from her thoughts as Cornelia stepped between them, rubbing her arms. "What do we want to do?"
"I think I saw a pond over near the clearing." Jem pointed in the general direction, out off the edge of the forest. "I think it was frozen over. How do you ladies feel about ice-skating?" He grabbed a couple pairs of simple skates from under the wooden bench on the porch, holding them out to the girls with a grin.
"I love that idea." Quickly Bri took the skates from Jem's hand, letting the sun reflect back on the house as she draped the tied laces over her shoulder.
For her part, Cornelia simply nodded, taking hold of the skates that her brother handed her. She followed them like a ghost, thoughts inscrutable, easily ignored.
It didn't take long before they found themselves on the edge of the frozen pond. Jem strapped on his skates and told the girls to stay back off the ice while he tested it. Cautiously he slid out further and further, quiet as he listened for the tell-tale cracks and groans of the ice. After criss-crossing the pond a couple times, he slowed to a stop in front of Bri who had just finished fastening her skates. With a flourish he bowed and took her hand, leading her out on the ice, slipping an arm around her waist again.
Cornelia watched, waiting until she was sure they were lost in their own world before quietly removing her skates and moving back down the path. All Mrs. Landers had said was to go out and play. Never to stay with the lovebirds. She let her feet leave the ground and skimmed over the snow like a bird. There was something calling her, drawing her deeper into the forest, surely as if she'd had a rope around her waist. She followed the call, ear cocked up off her shoulder, listening. Something was there. The path widened on a little clearing, an iron gate. Beyond the frosted bars, gravestones worn by time, covered over in a soft blanket of snow. She stepped forward, looking at a holly tree in the middle of the plot, fruitless and naked.
* * *
Skimming along arm in arm, ankles aching, Jem didn't know what time it was when he noticed Cornelia was missing. He dug his toe into the ice, stopping his momentum suddenly, and pulled on Brianna's arm.
"What is it?" she said, gasping.
"Don't you hear it?" He shook his head and listened, closing his eyes. Brianna heard nothing. The silence of snow covered everything. It might be a dead world in the middle of nowhere.
"Cornelia!" Jem shouted suddenly, then cupped a hand over his ear to listen. In the complete silence of the winter afternoon, his voice didn't even make an echo. Jem scrambled with his skates, ripping them off his feet. He ran, feet slipping, bowling him over once. Like Cornelia, he forgot about walking and skimmed over the ice, hovering. "Cornelia? Cornelia!"
They found her a few minutes later. She looked like an angel standing there in the snow, Brianna thought, thick flakes of white frosting over her cap and shoulders, eyes wide and moist. She was staring up at the limbs of a great holly tree in the middle of a tiny cemetery. Brianna shivered, feeling the uncanniness of the moment. Jem approached his sister carefully, calling her name gently before putting a hand on her shoulder, the way one wakes someone caught in a nightmare.
"I'd like to go in now," Cornelia said, teeth chattering. Tears spilled out of her eyes. Jem got on his knees and took off her gloves, chafing her hands in his own. Then he picked her up, as if she were a paper doll.
"Will she be all right?" Brianna asked, biting her lip, feeling useless.
"She'll be fine, let's just get her back to the house." He shifted Cornelia in his arms. "She gets these little episodes sometimes. It's normal for her. But I want to get her warmed up. Get her gloves for me?" Brianna bent and picked them up. She looked at Jem, with his sister in his arms, looking up at the tree. He seemed frozen in place, as contemplative and catatonic as his sister had been minutes ago.
"Jem?" Brianna said sharply, not liking it one bit.
A face leered at him, red and congested with blood, the neck limp, swinging from the branches of a holly-tree. One hand raised itself accusatively at him. He let out a yelp when Brianna touched him, and she yelled in surprise. "Can we go in now?" Brianna said, almost in anguish. "It'll be dark soon."
"And they mostly come out at night. Mostly." Cornelia's voice was muffled by the collar of her jacket. Brianna laughed, almost hysterical with relief.
"What WAS it?" she demanded. Jem's arms were full but she took one of Cornelia's hands in her own, and was grateful when she wasn't rebuffed.
"Nothing," said Jem with a tone of finality. "I thought I saw something, but it was nothing."
"Don't let's tell Dad, okay, Jay? Please?" She wriggled, sliding down from her brother's arms and walking between them, hands in one of theirs. Jem seemed reluctant but, looking at the two little women beside him, relaxed and nodded. "Okay. But no more going out alone for you. I mean it!"
Together they walked back to the house, to normalcy. And Brianna mused on inchoate fears she couldn't voice.
"That," Joh said as he stepped forward, pointing with a hacksaw in his hand, "is where we will find our perfect tree." Grinning, he turned to the three teenagers with them. "Go on. Lead the way."
Before Bri could even say a word, she found her hand in Jem's as he quickly moved forward down the path into the forest. The cold air filled her lungs as she laughed, stumbling a little to keep up with Jem. The low hanging branches brushed against their shoulders, leaving little white tracks of snow dusting them. A little red bird hopped out of tree at their passing and chirped loudly. Bri was sure this was something she'd seen on a Christmas card once.
"Daddy," Cornelia said quietly, tugging on her father's sleeve. "Could I fly?"
Joh looked at his daughter, nonplussed. "Hm," he said. "Yes, but don't show off. Remember not everyone can."
"Goodness gracious me," Alison said, watching Cornelia skim the ground, toes occasionally digging small furrows in the snow. Her wide green eyes turned on Joh, a mixture of shock and curiousity sparkling in them. "Can all of you fly?"
"Only with a strong tailwind," Susan demurred, watching her daughter hover like an overgrown dragonfly around the edges of the path, investigating here and there. "We encourage the children to restrain themselves in company. Sometimes their gifts can make others resentful or surprised. And none of us wants you to feel uncomfortable."
"Hmph," said Brendan, adjusting the rope that held the sled on his back. "It's fine by me." He shared a small smile with his wife. "Our Brianna isn't exactly ordinary either." He slipped his arm over Alison's shoulders, turning to watch his daughter as she scanned the trees with Jem.
"Do you want to fly?" Brianna asked Jem point-blank, watching him look at his sister with a tucked-in smile.
"I"m saving my strength," Jem said, still not looking at her. "Someone's going to have to haul the tree back, and I'm betting the lot will fall to me."
"This is so . . . traditional," Brianna blurted out. Except for the flying girl, that was. "It's like . . . a Hallmark Christmas special. Snow? A fire with actual chesnuts roasting? A tree we're going to actually cut down? I have to tell you, Jem, I like it, but there's something . . . weird about it too. Is this what your family does for Christmas? It's like something from the Martha Stewart catalogue. I keep waiting to wake up."
"I think my mom and dad wanted to make sure everything is perfect. We don't usually celebrate Christmas, Bri. We get presents, and we have a nice dinner, but usually we're out on the water, somewhere not in any country, Cornelia and Dad having some sort of fight . . . I like this better. Even if it's a Potemkin Christmas, something clipped out of a fancy magazine." He took her mittened hand in his and they followed their family deeper into the woods. Somewhere Cornelia was chirping, "It's here, I found it, this is the one!"
* * *
"So," said Jem, cheeks pink with exertion and cold, when they'd finished bringing the tree inside, bound and prone like a murder victim. "Where are we setting it up?"
"And decorating!" said Brianna enthusiastically. Everything was falling in place and Bri could feel the Christmas spirit begin to take hold. It was like she was a child again, waiting anxiously for her turn to carefully place an ornament on the prickly branches.
"We've talked it over," said Alison, putting a kettle near the fire and laying out mugs. "The three of you are getting a hot drink and a warm piece of rumcake, and then you're going out to play for an hour while we finish wrapping your presents."
Cornelia let out a little grumble, but her father shushed her. "At the rate the snow is falling, you'll be glad to have had a chance to play. Tomorrow we may be snowed in."
Like it or not, the three of them were bundled outside the door in short order. "We must be getting some really good stuff," Jem said, lightening the mood. He nibbled at his cake, which steamed in his mitten.
As she pulled her low ponytail tighter, Bri nodded over at Jem. "Knowing my parents, yeah. Be glad it was just an hour. They used to send me out shopping with Jennifer for the entire afternoon." She caught herself watching Jem, smiling as he wrapped his scarf around his chin. She shook herself from her thoughts as Cornelia stepped between them, rubbing her arms. "What do we want to do?"
"I think I saw a pond over near the clearing." Jem pointed in the general direction, out off the edge of the forest. "I think it was frozen over. How do you ladies feel about ice-skating?" He grabbed a couple pairs of simple skates from under the wooden bench on the porch, holding them out to the girls with a grin.
"I love that idea." Quickly Bri took the skates from Jem's hand, letting the sun reflect back on the house as she draped the tied laces over her shoulder.
For her part, Cornelia simply nodded, taking hold of the skates that her brother handed her. She followed them like a ghost, thoughts inscrutable, easily ignored.
It didn't take long before they found themselves on the edge of the frozen pond. Jem strapped on his skates and told the girls to stay back off the ice while he tested it. Cautiously he slid out further and further, quiet as he listened for the tell-tale cracks and groans of the ice. After criss-crossing the pond a couple times, he slowed to a stop in front of Bri who had just finished fastening her skates. With a flourish he bowed and took her hand, leading her out on the ice, slipping an arm around her waist again.
Cornelia watched, waiting until she was sure they were lost in their own world before quietly removing her skates and moving back down the path. All Mrs. Landers had said was to go out and play. Never to stay with the lovebirds. She let her feet leave the ground and skimmed over the snow like a bird. There was something calling her, drawing her deeper into the forest, surely as if she'd had a rope around her waist. She followed the call, ear cocked up off her shoulder, listening. Something was there. The path widened on a little clearing, an iron gate. Beyond the frosted bars, gravestones worn by time, covered over in a soft blanket of snow. She stepped forward, looking at a holly tree in the middle of the plot, fruitless and naked.
* * *
Skimming along arm in arm, ankles aching, Jem didn't know what time it was when he noticed Cornelia was missing. He dug his toe into the ice, stopping his momentum suddenly, and pulled on Brianna's arm.
"What is it?" she said, gasping.
"Don't you hear it?" He shook his head and listened, closing his eyes. Brianna heard nothing. The silence of snow covered everything. It might be a dead world in the middle of nowhere.
"Cornelia!" Jem shouted suddenly, then cupped a hand over his ear to listen. In the complete silence of the winter afternoon, his voice didn't even make an echo. Jem scrambled with his skates, ripping them off his feet. He ran, feet slipping, bowling him over once. Like Cornelia, he forgot about walking and skimmed over the ice, hovering. "Cornelia? Cornelia!"
They found her a few minutes later. She looked like an angel standing there in the snow, Brianna thought, thick flakes of white frosting over her cap and shoulders, eyes wide and moist. She was staring up at the limbs of a great holly tree in the middle of a tiny cemetery. Brianna shivered, feeling the uncanniness of the moment. Jem approached his sister carefully, calling her name gently before putting a hand on her shoulder, the way one wakes someone caught in a nightmare.
"I'd like to go in now," Cornelia said, teeth chattering. Tears spilled out of her eyes. Jem got on his knees and took off her gloves, chafing her hands in his own. Then he picked her up, as if she were a paper doll.
"Will she be all right?" Brianna asked, biting her lip, feeling useless.
"She'll be fine, let's just get her back to the house." He shifted Cornelia in his arms. "She gets these little episodes sometimes. It's normal for her. But I want to get her warmed up. Get her gloves for me?" Brianna bent and picked them up. She looked at Jem, with his sister in his arms, looking up at the tree. He seemed frozen in place, as contemplative and catatonic as his sister had been minutes ago.
"Jem?" Brianna said sharply, not liking it one bit.
A face leered at him, red and congested with blood, the neck limp, swinging from the branches of a holly-tree. One hand raised itself accusatively at him. He let out a yelp when Brianna touched him, and she yelled in surprise. "Can we go in now?" Brianna said, almost in anguish. "It'll be dark soon."
"And they mostly come out at night. Mostly." Cornelia's voice was muffled by the collar of her jacket. Brianna laughed, almost hysterical with relief.
"What WAS it?" she demanded. Jem's arms were full but she took one of Cornelia's hands in her own, and was grateful when she wasn't rebuffed.
"Nothing," said Jem with a tone of finality. "I thought I saw something, but it was nothing."
"Don't let's tell Dad, okay, Jay? Please?" She wriggled, sliding down from her brother's arms and walking between them, hands in one of theirs. Jem seemed reluctant but, looking at the two little women beside him, relaxed and nodded. "Okay. But no more going out alone for you. I mean it!"
Together they walked back to the house, to normalcy. And Brianna mused on inchoate fears she couldn't voice.
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Brianna Landers
- Posts: 334
- Joined: Fri Jun 22, 2007 8:31 am
- Location: Quad #14
Re: God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen
"Those kids are up to something," Brendan said, eying the silver and gold heads of their children. The tree was magnificently decorated, strung with layers of lights, hung with a burden of popcorn and cranberry garlands, gingerbread cookies, and a gilt star at the top. "They came in from playing looking like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths."
The children in question were still engrossed in their Monopoly game. They'd bankrupted their parents an hour ago. Judging by the piles of faux banknotes neatly lined in front of her, Brianna was winning, but the other two weren't out yet. As promised, the light snow had turned into a storm, and thick flakes pelted the windows with scratching whispers.
"I agree. Brianna and Jem are a little too old to sneak around at night peeking at presents, so it must be something else." Alison folded a smile into her face, and reached for her husband's hand, with a romantic twinkle in her eye. The Meriwether boy was so charming and handsome, her own daughter so fresh and lovely. Seeing them there, even now, seeing their fingertips touch under cover of firelight, made her remember her own youth. Brendan squeezed back.
"You don't think they're planning on having a little tryst while they're here?" said Susan, looking mildly alarmed. "Joh, have you talked to your son?"
"He's promised to be a gentleman," said Joh, sitting upright in his chair, slowly folding over the leaves of a great book in his lap. "It must be something else." He looked up and gave Alison a look of appreciation. She felt a tingle rise up her spine as those sea-gray eyes moved over her, then pressed her husband's hand again warmly. She looked over at her daughter again, saw young Jem winding a lock of her golden hair around his finger, drawing her daughter in to a kiss that was warmly returned. She wanted to avert her eyes, didn't want to intrude upon this private moment between them, and felt something unwind in herself, a golden ribbon of tension and fear. Brianna loved this boy, and he loved her. At this time a year ago, she'd been afraid that her daughter was broken beyond repair, that her trust was irrepairably broken. Ruined, that was the word. An old word, and a cruel one. Not ruined for someone else, ruined in herself. It didn't seem possible this was the same girl, returned to her, precious, healed.
"We'll keep her well chaperoned," said Joh. "I'm unfashionably old-fashioned. Jem's room opens up on ours. There will be no sneaking around on my watch. Although . . . " his eyes moved over to the three young people, seeing the delight Jem and Brianna were taking in each other. "They are sweet together." He gave his wife a fond look.
"We should put Nell to bed," Susan murmured. "She's almost asleep right now."
"Excellent notion. 'Children nestled all snug in their beds.'" Joh put his book aside. "Visions of sugarplums. Son? Time to put games away and sleep."
Jem frowned in disappointment. But he was tired. He and Brianna yawned almost simultaneously, and Cornelia was drooling on the hearth cushion.
* * *
Brianna shivered as she undressed in the coldness of her room. The heat was on, and she's accepted the gift of a hot brick wrapped in flannel with incredulity when Susan had given it to her. But she was glad to have it now, to help her warm up under the covers. It was like something out of Laura Ingalls Wilder. She threw on her nightgown quickly, and pulled on a new pair of socks, and turned to the old wavery mirror to brush her hair. The bedclothes, caught in the trailing hem of her gown, knocked the brick to the floor. She reached down to get it and stubbed her toe on a piece of flooring that had come up from the impact.
Oh, great, she thought. I broke the house. And it's an antique. Bending down, she lifted the floorboard, to see if it would go into place. Later it would seem like more than a series of coincidences, and she would be certain the it jumped into her fingers, as if it had been waiting there for centuries, just for her, a small portrait, one that fit in the palm of her hand, of a handsome man with dark moustaches. She blew gently, dislodging ancient dust. Charles, written in a spidery, faded ink on the back of the gilt wooden frame.
The small bed frame creaked as Bri pulled the blankets over her lap, the picture still in her hand. She leaned back against the pillows and ran a fingertip over the frame. The edges of the picture were aged, brown and cracked with time, but the portrait itself maintained it's brilliant color. The man in the frame was obviously young, no older than twenty, and though there was no date, his attire looked to be colonial. And well off at that. His dark hair was pulled back off his forehead and his blue-grey eyes stared back out of the oils, seeming to focus on Brianna.
She was drawn in by the face in the painting, her thoughts playing over who he might have been. Her only clue was the name so lovingly written on the back. Quietly, she set the portrait on her bedside table, lingering it once more before dimming her lamp and settling under the quilt. He was important to someone. Whoever had lived in this room so long ago. One question crept into her mind as she drifted off. Why was it hidden?
She relaxed into the soft mattress, the brick pleasantly warming against her feet. She fell into sleep like it were a dark pool.
"Ophelia," a mouth whispered in her ear. "Ophelia, Ophelia."
"Charles," she whispered back, feeling his hands pressing the ribs of her corset into her chest, stealing her breath. His whiskers tickled deliciously at her neck and she embraced him, kissed him, waking only in surprise, because the kiss wasn't like Jem's. It was a stranger. She sat straight up in bed in shock, eyes darting around the room, arms up to push away the intruder. Her pulse still raced from those stolen kisses.
She flopped back down, gritting her teeth. If she were going to have a sexy dream, why couldn't it be about Jem? She wiggled her toes against the warm brick and threw back the bedclothes. She'd never get back to sleep without a warm drink. Time for some sneaking. She wrapped her robe around her, stuffed her feet into slippers, sparked the ornamental beeswax candle in its colonial lamp, and crept down the darkened hallways to the kitchen.
To her surprise, there was a light on there. She snuffed the wick and opened the door carefully. Poking her head in, she scanned the room quickly. Not seeing anyone she set one foot on the wooden floor, followed by another. She was halfway across the room when she realized she was holding her breath, her hands still shaking from the strange occurrence upstairs. As she let out the air in her lungs in a quick sigh, she heard a floorboard creak behind her. She spun quickly, eyes wide and searching, her voice quietly pleading. "Who's there?"
"Bri?"
Bri's eyes darted from side to side, her breath catching in her throat. There was something familiar about the voice, something that usually brought her calm and happiness. "Jem? Where..." Just in front of her, the silver-haired boy materialized out of thin air, his own grey robe belted tightly over dark blue flannel pants. Bri yelped before she could put a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. "Jem! Don't scare me like that! I thought you were a ghost!" A laugh escaped her lips as she dropped her hand to her chest, steadying her breathing. She felt like a fool and probably looked worse. She smiled at Jem, her mood brightening in the light and warmth of the kitchen and the company. "What're you doing down here?"
Jem held up a plate in one hand, piled high with warm and golden pancakes, and a bottle of syrup in the other. "I couldn't sleep. So I came down to cook something. You know, calm down a little bit." He set the plate on the counter and opened the cabinet above him, retrieving another plate. As he transferred a small stack of buttered pancakes, he glanced over his shoulder. "What about you?"
Bri rubbed the back of her neck, clearing her throat. How to describe what she had experienced? Could she explain what had happened without sounding crazy? "I couldn't sleep either. Just a new room. Is there enough for me?"
Jem passed his plate over and grabbed another fork.
As the warm food filled her belly, Brianna decided she had been very silly. It was just the old house and the portrait and her afternoon with Jem dancing around in her head. They simply joined in her head to create something from a romance novel or a sappy historical chick flick. No need to let it get to her. She relaxed and they ate in silence.
"I had a bad dream," Jem said suddenly, staring at the empty plate. "I dreamed someone was falling and I couldn't catch her in time."
"Was it Cornelia?" she said, gripping her fork.
"No." He kept looking down through the plate as if it could tell him.
"Was it me?"
"Don't I wish. I love dreaming about you. But no. I don't think so." He picked up his plate and let it fall into the sink with a clatter.
"Who was it then?" Bri's ears turned a little red at the mention of Jem dreaming about her, but thankfully he didn't notice. Or was tactfully silent about it.
Jem shrugged and took Bri's empty plate, depositing it in the sink atop his own. "I don't know. It's probably nothing. Like you said, sleeping in a new place can be a little hard. Don't worry about it." He sighed and shook his head. "Come on. Let's get you back to your room before Cornelia shows up and rats us out to our parents." He took Bri's hand and lit the lamp she had brought with her, flipping the lights of the kitchen of as they slipped out the door.
Bri stayed close to him as they climbed the stairs and crept down the halls, the boards groaning quietly underfoot. As beautiful as the house was in the day, the dark made it unsettling, even scary. The storm outside only added to the effect. And yet Bri felt safe with her hand clasped tightly in Jem's. As they stopped in front of her door, she turned and kissed him softly on the cheek. She opened her door, letting light flood the hall momentarily. Looking back over her shoulder at the pale boy in the hall, she smiled. "Good night, Jem."
As her door closed, the egdes of Jem's vision wavered, blurrying the wooden door before him. He blinked and saw that the door was open again. But it was not Bri who looked over her shoulder at him. A beautiful young woman, her long brown hair braided down her back and warm hazel eyes beckoned to him, leaning against the door. She wore a simple long dressing gown, handsewn with lace trim along the hem. The light from the candle in her hand lit up her face, showing the happiness and adoration displayed there. Her whisper echoed quietly in his head. "Good night, Charles."
Then, as soon as it had come, the vision had passed and Jem was once again standing in the dark hallway, staring at Bri's door. His breath had quickened and he realized he was crossing his arm tightly across his chest. Just the storm, he thought. The cold drafts of the house chilling me. Nothing more. As he quickly made his way to his own room, he could have sworn he heard a name on the wind.
"Ophelia."
The children in question were still engrossed in their Monopoly game. They'd bankrupted their parents an hour ago. Judging by the piles of faux banknotes neatly lined in front of her, Brianna was winning, but the other two weren't out yet. As promised, the light snow had turned into a storm, and thick flakes pelted the windows with scratching whispers.
"I agree. Brianna and Jem are a little too old to sneak around at night peeking at presents, so it must be something else." Alison folded a smile into her face, and reached for her husband's hand, with a romantic twinkle in her eye. The Meriwether boy was so charming and handsome, her own daughter so fresh and lovely. Seeing them there, even now, seeing their fingertips touch under cover of firelight, made her remember her own youth. Brendan squeezed back.
"You don't think they're planning on having a little tryst while they're here?" said Susan, looking mildly alarmed. "Joh, have you talked to your son?"
"He's promised to be a gentleman," said Joh, sitting upright in his chair, slowly folding over the leaves of a great book in his lap. "It must be something else." He looked up and gave Alison a look of appreciation. She felt a tingle rise up her spine as those sea-gray eyes moved over her, then pressed her husband's hand again warmly. She looked over at her daughter again, saw young Jem winding a lock of her golden hair around his finger, drawing her daughter in to a kiss that was warmly returned. She wanted to avert her eyes, didn't want to intrude upon this private moment between them, and felt something unwind in herself, a golden ribbon of tension and fear. Brianna loved this boy, and he loved her. At this time a year ago, she'd been afraid that her daughter was broken beyond repair, that her trust was irrepairably broken. Ruined, that was the word. An old word, and a cruel one. Not ruined for someone else, ruined in herself. It didn't seem possible this was the same girl, returned to her, precious, healed.
"We'll keep her well chaperoned," said Joh. "I'm unfashionably old-fashioned. Jem's room opens up on ours. There will be no sneaking around on my watch. Although . . . " his eyes moved over to the three young people, seeing the delight Jem and Brianna were taking in each other. "They are sweet together." He gave his wife a fond look.
"We should put Nell to bed," Susan murmured. "She's almost asleep right now."
"Excellent notion. 'Children nestled all snug in their beds.'" Joh put his book aside. "Visions of sugarplums. Son? Time to put games away and sleep."
Jem frowned in disappointment. But he was tired. He and Brianna yawned almost simultaneously, and Cornelia was drooling on the hearth cushion.
* * *
Brianna shivered as she undressed in the coldness of her room. The heat was on, and she's accepted the gift of a hot brick wrapped in flannel with incredulity when Susan had given it to her. But she was glad to have it now, to help her warm up under the covers. It was like something out of Laura Ingalls Wilder. She threw on her nightgown quickly, and pulled on a new pair of socks, and turned to the old wavery mirror to brush her hair. The bedclothes, caught in the trailing hem of her gown, knocked the brick to the floor. She reached down to get it and stubbed her toe on a piece of flooring that had come up from the impact.
Oh, great, she thought. I broke the house. And it's an antique. Bending down, she lifted the floorboard, to see if it would go into place. Later it would seem like more than a series of coincidences, and she would be certain the it jumped into her fingers, as if it had been waiting there for centuries, just for her, a small portrait, one that fit in the palm of her hand, of a handsome man with dark moustaches. She blew gently, dislodging ancient dust. Charles, written in a spidery, faded ink on the back of the gilt wooden frame.
The small bed frame creaked as Bri pulled the blankets over her lap, the picture still in her hand. She leaned back against the pillows and ran a fingertip over the frame. The edges of the picture were aged, brown and cracked with time, but the portrait itself maintained it's brilliant color. The man in the frame was obviously young, no older than twenty, and though there was no date, his attire looked to be colonial. And well off at that. His dark hair was pulled back off his forehead and his blue-grey eyes stared back out of the oils, seeming to focus on Brianna.
She was drawn in by the face in the painting, her thoughts playing over who he might have been. Her only clue was the name so lovingly written on the back. Quietly, she set the portrait on her bedside table, lingering it once more before dimming her lamp and settling under the quilt. He was important to someone. Whoever had lived in this room so long ago. One question crept into her mind as she drifted off. Why was it hidden?
She relaxed into the soft mattress, the brick pleasantly warming against her feet. She fell into sleep like it were a dark pool.
"Ophelia," a mouth whispered in her ear. "Ophelia, Ophelia."
"Charles," she whispered back, feeling his hands pressing the ribs of her corset into her chest, stealing her breath. His whiskers tickled deliciously at her neck and she embraced him, kissed him, waking only in surprise, because the kiss wasn't like Jem's. It was a stranger. She sat straight up in bed in shock, eyes darting around the room, arms up to push away the intruder. Her pulse still raced from those stolen kisses.
She flopped back down, gritting her teeth. If she were going to have a sexy dream, why couldn't it be about Jem? She wiggled her toes against the warm brick and threw back the bedclothes. She'd never get back to sleep without a warm drink. Time for some sneaking. She wrapped her robe around her, stuffed her feet into slippers, sparked the ornamental beeswax candle in its colonial lamp, and crept down the darkened hallways to the kitchen.
To her surprise, there was a light on there. She snuffed the wick and opened the door carefully. Poking her head in, she scanned the room quickly. Not seeing anyone she set one foot on the wooden floor, followed by another. She was halfway across the room when she realized she was holding her breath, her hands still shaking from the strange occurrence upstairs. As she let out the air in her lungs in a quick sigh, she heard a floorboard creak behind her. She spun quickly, eyes wide and searching, her voice quietly pleading. "Who's there?"
"Bri?"
Bri's eyes darted from side to side, her breath catching in her throat. There was something familiar about the voice, something that usually brought her calm and happiness. "Jem? Where..." Just in front of her, the silver-haired boy materialized out of thin air, his own grey robe belted tightly over dark blue flannel pants. Bri yelped before she could put a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. "Jem! Don't scare me like that! I thought you were a ghost!" A laugh escaped her lips as she dropped her hand to her chest, steadying her breathing. She felt like a fool and probably looked worse. She smiled at Jem, her mood brightening in the light and warmth of the kitchen and the company. "What're you doing down here?"
Jem held up a plate in one hand, piled high with warm and golden pancakes, and a bottle of syrup in the other. "I couldn't sleep. So I came down to cook something. You know, calm down a little bit." He set the plate on the counter and opened the cabinet above him, retrieving another plate. As he transferred a small stack of buttered pancakes, he glanced over his shoulder. "What about you?"
Bri rubbed the back of her neck, clearing her throat. How to describe what she had experienced? Could she explain what had happened without sounding crazy? "I couldn't sleep either. Just a new room. Is there enough for me?"
Jem passed his plate over and grabbed another fork.
As the warm food filled her belly, Brianna decided she had been very silly. It was just the old house and the portrait and her afternoon with Jem dancing around in her head. They simply joined in her head to create something from a romance novel or a sappy historical chick flick. No need to let it get to her. She relaxed and they ate in silence.
"I had a bad dream," Jem said suddenly, staring at the empty plate. "I dreamed someone was falling and I couldn't catch her in time."
"Was it Cornelia?" she said, gripping her fork.
"No." He kept looking down through the plate as if it could tell him.
"Was it me?"
"Don't I wish. I love dreaming about you. But no. I don't think so." He picked up his plate and let it fall into the sink with a clatter.
"Who was it then?" Bri's ears turned a little red at the mention of Jem dreaming about her, but thankfully he didn't notice. Or was tactfully silent about it.
Jem shrugged and took Bri's empty plate, depositing it in the sink atop his own. "I don't know. It's probably nothing. Like you said, sleeping in a new place can be a little hard. Don't worry about it." He sighed and shook his head. "Come on. Let's get you back to your room before Cornelia shows up and rats us out to our parents." He took Bri's hand and lit the lamp she had brought with her, flipping the lights of the kitchen of as they slipped out the door.
Bri stayed close to him as they climbed the stairs and crept down the halls, the boards groaning quietly underfoot. As beautiful as the house was in the day, the dark made it unsettling, even scary. The storm outside only added to the effect. And yet Bri felt safe with her hand clasped tightly in Jem's. As they stopped in front of her door, she turned and kissed him softly on the cheek. She opened her door, letting light flood the hall momentarily. Looking back over her shoulder at the pale boy in the hall, she smiled. "Good night, Jem."
As her door closed, the egdes of Jem's vision wavered, blurrying the wooden door before him. He blinked and saw that the door was open again. But it was not Bri who looked over her shoulder at him. A beautiful young woman, her long brown hair braided down her back and warm hazel eyes beckoned to him, leaning against the door. She wore a simple long dressing gown, handsewn with lace trim along the hem. The light from the candle in her hand lit up her face, showing the happiness and adoration displayed there. Her whisper echoed quietly in his head. "Good night, Charles."
Then, as soon as it had come, the vision had passed and Jem was once again standing in the dark hallway, staring at Bri's door. His breath had quickened and he realized he was crossing his arm tightly across his chest. Just the storm, he thought. The cold drafts of the house chilling me. Nothing more. As he quickly made his way to his own room, he could have sworn he heard a name on the wind.
"Ophelia."
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Brianna Landers
- Posts: 334
- Joined: Fri Jun 22, 2007 8:31 am
- Location: Quad #14
Re: God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen
It was a perfect Christmas Eve; the snow had covered the house over completely, but the turkey was defrosting in the kitchen and presents had appeared under the tree. With nothing to do outside, Cornelia and her father had discovered an old phonograph and a stack of old records. In the evening, they held an impromptu dance, Jem and Cornelia awkwardly showing off steps learned from their ballroom dancing class, Joh and Susan retracing the music of their courtship, and even Alison and Brendan performing a few remembered steps of the Electric Slide to tinny jazz songs. They changed partners frequently, the families becoming less physically awkward, although Cornelia only danced to a song occasionally.
Alison found Joh's attentions discrete and welcome. Every move he made was calculated and invisible, but she felt a tingle when he put his hands on her body, in a waltz, and knew it was almost deliberately inflicted. "I was once the Playboy," Joh murmured quietly, closing the distance between them, making Alison catch her breath. "I've since given up all my wicked ways."
"All?" said Alison, coquettishly. "It seems to me you're still wicked enough." She turned her eyes to her husband, dancing with their daughter. Brianna's eyes sparkled as she looked up at her father with perfect trust. And Susan, dancing with her son, her movements graceful and light.
"Allow me to cut in?" Brendan asked. Joh nodded graciously and, reaching out, took his daughter's hands in his. Cornelia flushed, body moving clumsily, short where her father was tall, awkward where he was graceful. He said something quiet to her, and her feet rose from the floor until she hovered in her father's arms. They were alike, Alison could see. The little Meriwether girl might never be a beauty, like her mother, but she wouldn't be plain. Her face was closed, and she was pale, but as she moved in the air her face began to shine like a star. Happiness transforms us, Alison thought, and looked at her daughter dancing with her suitor, a bright smile adorning her face. Cornelia was as unlike Brianna as night was to day, but that same look of happiness transformed them both.
"Ophelia, Ophelia, I love you." The press of dancers concealed them. Here, in his family's ancient house, a glimpse of them together might be caught by disapproving eyes, but only glimpses. His thumbs moved on the bare flesh of her shoulder, into her sleeve, where the gauze of her green scarf had slipped. She was wearing her hair carefully arranged, honey-brown tresses lightly dusted with powder, and her modest earrings glimmered against her neck. He ducked his face forward and kissed her warm flesh, felt the blood beat in her veins, felt her flush under his mouth. The scents of beeswax candles burning in the sconces, evergreen boughs hanging sweating in the ballroom heat, other bodies crushed around them, all went away. There was nothing but her, no other woman but her.
"Charles," she whispered back, for his ears alone. "Oh, Charles." Her face took on that look of gentle sorrow. He'd seen it in her face before, the first time he had proposed marriage to her. "Marriages are not made for love, you romantic man. Marriages are made for contract. And my family has forbidden you." She'd worn that look again when he'd proposed a second time, languid with spent passion, her contractual value broken. She'd pushed the sweat off his naked brow and refused him again.
"Marry me, Ophelia," he said, for the third time, the last. This time her eyes welled with tears. "I must say yes," she said, hiding herself in his arms. "I am with child. I must marry you or be forever shamed. But do you still want me, Charles, now that I can't run away from you any more?"
His hands crushed down hard on the green silk of her dress, making her gasp with pain. "Do you love me, Ophelia? Do you love me?"
That look of sorrow and pain, kindled to anger, to passion. Her body burned bright with beauty. "No, Charles. Don't be a fool."
"Jem?" Brianna wriggled in his arms. "You're holding me too tight."
He looked down at her, confused for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, relaxing his grip, rubbing his hands against her arms gently. "I was a million miles away."
"Don't go too far away, dear brother," Cornelia said, pointing one slim claw at him, sotto voce like the voice of the oracle. "This is the time of year when doors open and close, and things laid to rest come awake. You could get lost."
Jem laughed nervously and looked at his sister. "Stop trying to scare Brianna. It's not funny."
Cornelia scowled and scuffed her toe on the floor, looking over her shoulder at where the adults still danced and frolicked. She looked back at them. "Remember the graveyard yesterday. This place stinks with ghosts. And they're not interested in me." Her eyes bored down, sightless, like two black pits. "They are interested in you." Then her face lit up in a smile. "Merry Christmas! I'm going to bed." She turned on her heel and walked proudly up the grand staircase.
Bri turned to Jem, her eyes wide for a moment, before letting out a small nervous laugh. "She's a terrible tease. There's nothing here. Right?"
"Nothing but us," he agreed, rubbing his cheek against hers.
Alison found Joh's attentions discrete and welcome. Every move he made was calculated and invisible, but she felt a tingle when he put his hands on her body, in a waltz, and knew it was almost deliberately inflicted. "I was once the Playboy," Joh murmured quietly, closing the distance between them, making Alison catch her breath. "I've since given up all my wicked ways."
"All?" said Alison, coquettishly. "It seems to me you're still wicked enough." She turned her eyes to her husband, dancing with their daughter. Brianna's eyes sparkled as she looked up at her father with perfect trust. And Susan, dancing with her son, her movements graceful and light.
"Allow me to cut in?" Brendan asked. Joh nodded graciously and, reaching out, took his daughter's hands in his. Cornelia flushed, body moving clumsily, short where her father was tall, awkward where he was graceful. He said something quiet to her, and her feet rose from the floor until she hovered in her father's arms. They were alike, Alison could see. The little Meriwether girl might never be a beauty, like her mother, but she wouldn't be plain. Her face was closed, and she was pale, but as she moved in the air her face began to shine like a star. Happiness transforms us, Alison thought, and looked at her daughter dancing with her suitor, a bright smile adorning her face. Cornelia was as unlike Brianna as night was to day, but that same look of happiness transformed them both.
"Ophelia, Ophelia, I love you." The press of dancers concealed them. Here, in his family's ancient house, a glimpse of them together might be caught by disapproving eyes, but only glimpses. His thumbs moved on the bare flesh of her shoulder, into her sleeve, where the gauze of her green scarf had slipped. She was wearing her hair carefully arranged, honey-brown tresses lightly dusted with powder, and her modest earrings glimmered against her neck. He ducked his face forward and kissed her warm flesh, felt the blood beat in her veins, felt her flush under his mouth. The scents of beeswax candles burning in the sconces, evergreen boughs hanging sweating in the ballroom heat, other bodies crushed around them, all went away. There was nothing but her, no other woman but her.
"Charles," she whispered back, for his ears alone. "Oh, Charles." Her face took on that look of gentle sorrow. He'd seen it in her face before, the first time he had proposed marriage to her. "Marriages are not made for love, you romantic man. Marriages are made for contract. And my family has forbidden you." She'd worn that look again when he'd proposed a second time, languid with spent passion, her contractual value broken. She'd pushed the sweat off his naked brow and refused him again.
"Marry me, Ophelia," he said, for the third time, the last. This time her eyes welled with tears. "I must say yes," she said, hiding herself in his arms. "I am with child. I must marry you or be forever shamed. But do you still want me, Charles, now that I can't run away from you any more?"
His hands crushed down hard on the green silk of her dress, making her gasp with pain. "Do you love me, Ophelia? Do you love me?"
That look of sorrow and pain, kindled to anger, to passion. Her body burned bright with beauty. "No, Charles. Don't be a fool."
"Jem?" Brianna wriggled in his arms. "You're holding me too tight."
He looked down at her, confused for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, relaxing his grip, rubbing his hands against her arms gently. "I was a million miles away."
"Don't go too far away, dear brother," Cornelia said, pointing one slim claw at him, sotto voce like the voice of the oracle. "This is the time of year when doors open and close, and things laid to rest come awake. You could get lost."
Jem laughed nervously and looked at his sister. "Stop trying to scare Brianna. It's not funny."
Cornelia scowled and scuffed her toe on the floor, looking over her shoulder at where the adults still danced and frolicked. She looked back at them. "Remember the graveyard yesterday. This place stinks with ghosts. And they're not interested in me." Her eyes bored down, sightless, like two black pits. "They are interested in you." Then her face lit up in a smile. "Merry Christmas! I'm going to bed." She turned on her heel and walked proudly up the grand staircase.
Bri turned to Jem, her eyes wide for a moment, before letting out a small nervous laugh. "She's a terrible tease. There's nothing here. Right?"
"Nothing but us," he agreed, rubbing his cheek against hers.
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Brianna Landers
- Posts: 334
- Joined: Fri Jun 22, 2007 8:31 am
- Location: Quad #14
Re: God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen
OOC Disclaimer: This particular post is brushing up against the edge of our PG-13 rating. Therefore those with weak hearts or stomachs, please consider yourselves warned.
Otherwise, enjoy!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"So, what did you want to show me?" Jem asked, as Brianna closed the door to the attic nursery. He looked around the abandoned room as if it could tell him.
"Me," she said, turning to face him and drawing her sweater off her head. She looked him in the eyes, as nervous as a deer in the woods, and started to unbutton her shirt.
Christmas day had been pretty much glorious from beginning to end. The pile of presents was avariciously devoured, wrappings strewn over the floor in red-and-gilt ribbons of carnage. Jem had received two presents which vied with each other as best of all. The first was his father's old cape, cut down and tailored to fit over his shoulder. "I wore that cape in the First Rikti War," Joh hand said as Jem ran his hands over its silken measure. "I imbued it with certain protective spells, and it served me well. I notice you don't wear a cape on your uniform. I wanted you to have this one." And the other present, of course, was the one he had asked for from Brianna, something she'd made with her own two hands, a pocket sewn with crude but careful stitches. He had taken it up immediately and pinned it to his breast like a badge. And he'd given Cornelia a wicked-looking black book full of demonic folklore of the Rogue Isles, which was far more interesting to her than it should be to any fourteen-year-old girl, but Cornelia was Cornelia. For Brianna, a pair of high-heeled open-toed shoes with glittering straps.
She was wearing them now, toes peeping out from the cleft in her shoes, half-naked in front of him. This was a gift he hadn't anticipated. He really didn't know what to say. "You're beautiful," he managed to say, when there was so much else he really wanted to say. Like "thank you," or "I want you," or "I don't know what I should do." In the past there had been nothing really to say to the girls who got naked for him as a prelude to something else. He stopped thinking about what was supposed to come next and just concentrated on what was happening at the moment. His heart hammered in his chest like it was beating to get out of his ribcage. "I don't kn--"
"Shh," she said, holding her finger over her lips. "You're following my lead, remember?" She pulled his sweater over his head and helped him peel his t-shirt off his chest. She trembled in the cold air, eyes suddenly full of doubt. "I don't know what to do," Brianna said, forlorn.
"It's okay," he said. "We have all the time in the world to figure that out." He beckoned her forward with one hand, and she closed the distance between them, until they were touching skin to skin. "Don't be afraid," he said. His breath and his body warmed her. And it wasn't that the fear went away. It was still there, quietly telling her to run, but she looked at him, and knew him. She knew his feelings for her as surely as she knew her own for him. She knew that he would never hurt her or take advantage of her.
She knew that she wanted this. Bri had worked so hard to get to this point. She had decided to try for the next step when Jem had invited her family to the house for Christmas. While her parents made arrangements, Bri had worked on her courage, her confidence. And now that she was here, it felt right. It felt unfamiliar and comforting and exciting and scary all at the same time. She pressed her lips to his shoulder as her fingers trailed across his back, tracing little pathways along his spine. "I don't want to make love. Not yet," she murmurred. "Is that okay?"
Jem sighed heavily through his nose, mouth buried on her shoulder. "That's okay," he said. "I'll keep that in mind."
* * *
You must meet me, the note said. At the pond. At noon. You must tell me what you mean to do.
Charles crumpled the hastily-penned letter into a ball and threw it in the trash. He had every intention of meeting her. But the injury she'd done to his pride meant he'd be late. Let her be punished with worry.
"Dad," said Cornelia, tugging on Joh's sleeve. "I need you to look at something for me. Please? In the library."
"Cornelia, you're supposed to be dressed. Why--"
"It's important, Dad! Please. I've been seeing funny things and I need you to tell me something!"
"All right, fine, as long as it doesn't take more than a few minutes. Mr. Landers and I have to shovel the walkway before we get iced in." He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her to the library.
Cornelia had picked the lock on one of the display cases. The illustrated folio that discussed the history of the township, which had been open to a page of a pretty illustration of the house in the 1700s had been flipped a few pages. Cornelia pointed, but did not touch, a small paragraph. Joh read.
A Mister Charles Lancaster, who was thought to have caused
the death of his betrothed, Ophelia Wright, upon finding her
dead by drowning in Wright Pond, took himself to a male
holly-tree and hung himself by the neck, confessing himself a
murderer. After the suicide's body was taken down, local
legend suggests the tree died, leaving the female tree bereft
and without flower. The small parcel of land surrounding the
tree was donated to the municipality as a burial place for
criminals and the poor. The specter of Mister Lancaster is thought
to haunt the area around Lancaster House to this day, begging
God for forgiveness and release.
"I know it's true," said Cornelia. "I've seen Charles Lancaster." Joh opened his mouth to protest, evasive. Cornelia plowed ahead. "Dad. Listen. I've seen him. And I think J. Elias has, too."
Joh paused in midbreath. He closed his mouth, and reread the paragraph, then looked at his daughter. "Do you know where your brother is?"
* * *
"It's an intriguing offer," said Susan, smiling with repressed laughter as she sipped from her glass of sherry. "I can't say yes or no until I talk it over with Joh." She put down her glass, inebriation making her honest. "I'm still in love with my husband. Funny, after thirty years, that I can still say that. I never thought, when I was Jay's age, that I'd be happy spending Christmas Day in the kitchen cooking enough food for two families. I, too, had my wild years and wicked ways."
Alison touched her glass to Susan's, making them ring. "To wicked ways and elder days," she said. "Do we need to baste the turkey now or should we have another drink first?"
* * *
At noon. She had said to meet at noon. Ophelia pulled her wool shawl tighter around her shoulders. The sun had started to sink in the western sky, painting the clouds a pink and orange that reflected off the snow. Where was he? Had he simply decided not to come?
She tried to banish the thoughts from her head and scanned the horizon in the waning daylight.
Bri buttoned the last couple buttons on her jacket and stepped out of the door, closing it quietly behind her. Her skin still tingled from her time with Jem and she felt like she should be sizzling in the cool air. Her long blonde hair flew around her face in the light wind. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of pine and snow. This Christmas could not have been more perfect. More wonderful.
Charles? Where are you?
Bri's eyes snapped open again, searching the trees behind the house. She was sure she'd heard a voice. A woman's voice. Hesitantly, she put one foot in front of the other, moving further and further into the trees. Deep inside her, something stirred, pushing her onward, silencing her fear and uncertainty. She had to find this person, even if she didn't know why.
The trees stopped and Bri stepped into the clearing. The same pond she and Jem had skated on just two days ago. The snowfall from the previous day had begun to cover the edges, dusting the ice, making the small surface seem even smaller. It was here. Whatever it was that drew her out of the house wanted her here.
And the ice broke under her feet.
And the ice broke under her feet. A flaw in the ice like the flaw in her heart, the cold water killing her breath, drawing her down deeper. Her fingers at first clawing at the floes of ice above her, pounding against it for release, then disinterested, looking up, marvelling at the play of light through that thin scrim of frozen water, blue and purple and green, all the colors of the water. When her breath stopped, she didn't mind. The pain and the panic were distant things, unrelated to her.
"Brianna!" Jem screamed, pulling his body out flat, watching her go down. He reached for her, and his hands caught in the golden fronds of her hair. He hauled her out of the water, screaming for her the whole time, calling her back, uselessly, to her frozen body. His mouth worked on hers, this time not in love, but in desperation, coaxing the breath back into her body, pressing against her chest to find her heartbeat.
But it was no use. She was dead. And it was his fault.
Otherwise, enjoy!
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"So, what did you want to show me?" Jem asked, as Brianna closed the door to the attic nursery. He looked around the abandoned room as if it could tell him.
"Me," she said, turning to face him and drawing her sweater off her head. She looked him in the eyes, as nervous as a deer in the woods, and started to unbutton her shirt.
Christmas day had been pretty much glorious from beginning to end. The pile of presents was avariciously devoured, wrappings strewn over the floor in red-and-gilt ribbons of carnage. Jem had received two presents which vied with each other as best of all. The first was his father's old cape, cut down and tailored to fit over his shoulder. "I wore that cape in the First Rikti War," Joh hand said as Jem ran his hands over its silken measure. "I imbued it with certain protective spells, and it served me well. I notice you don't wear a cape on your uniform. I wanted you to have this one." And the other present, of course, was the one he had asked for from Brianna, something she'd made with her own two hands, a pocket sewn with crude but careful stitches. He had taken it up immediately and pinned it to his breast like a badge. And he'd given Cornelia a wicked-looking black book full of demonic folklore of the Rogue Isles, which was far more interesting to her than it should be to any fourteen-year-old girl, but Cornelia was Cornelia. For Brianna, a pair of high-heeled open-toed shoes with glittering straps.
She was wearing them now, toes peeping out from the cleft in her shoes, half-naked in front of him. This was a gift he hadn't anticipated. He really didn't know what to say. "You're beautiful," he managed to say, when there was so much else he really wanted to say. Like "thank you," or "I want you," or "I don't know what I should do." In the past there had been nothing really to say to the girls who got naked for him as a prelude to something else. He stopped thinking about what was supposed to come next and just concentrated on what was happening at the moment. His heart hammered in his chest like it was beating to get out of his ribcage. "I don't kn--"
"Shh," she said, holding her finger over her lips. "You're following my lead, remember?" She pulled his sweater over his head and helped him peel his t-shirt off his chest. She trembled in the cold air, eyes suddenly full of doubt. "I don't know what to do," Brianna said, forlorn.
"It's okay," he said. "We have all the time in the world to figure that out." He beckoned her forward with one hand, and she closed the distance between them, until they were touching skin to skin. "Don't be afraid," he said. His breath and his body warmed her. And it wasn't that the fear went away. It was still there, quietly telling her to run, but she looked at him, and knew him. She knew his feelings for her as surely as she knew her own for him. She knew that he would never hurt her or take advantage of her.
She knew that she wanted this. Bri had worked so hard to get to this point. She had decided to try for the next step when Jem had invited her family to the house for Christmas. While her parents made arrangements, Bri had worked on her courage, her confidence. And now that she was here, it felt right. It felt unfamiliar and comforting and exciting and scary all at the same time. She pressed her lips to his shoulder as her fingers trailed across his back, tracing little pathways along his spine. "I don't want to make love. Not yet," she murmurred. "Is that okay?"
Jem sighed heavily through his nose, mouth buried on her shoulder. "That's okay," he said. "I'll keep that in mind."
* * *
You must meet me, the note said. At the pond. At noon. You must tell me what you mean to do.
Charles crumpled the hastily-penned letter into a ball and threw it in the trash. He had every intention of meeting her. But the injury she'd done to his pride meant he'd be late. Let her be punished with worry.
"Dad," said Cornelia, tugging on Joh's sleeve. "I need you to look at something for me. Please? In the library."
"Cornelia, you're supposed to be dressed. Why--"
"It's important, Dad! Please. I've been seeing funny things and I need you to tell me something!"
"All right, fine, as long as it doesn't take more than a few minutes. Mr. Landers and I have to shovel the walkway before we get iced in." He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her to the library.
Cornelia had picked the lock on one of the display cases. The illustrated folio that discussed the history of the township, which had been open to a page of a pretty illustration of the house in the 1700s had been flipped a few pages. Cornelia pointed, but did not touch, a small paragraph. Joh read.
A Mister Charles Lancaster, who was thought to have caused
the death of his betrothed, Ophelia Wright, upon finding her
dead by drowning in Wright Pond, took himself to a male
holly-tree and hung himself by the neck, confessing himself a
murderer. After the suicide's body was taken down, local
legend suggests the tree died, leaving the female tree bereft
and without flower. The small parcel of land surrounding the
tree was donated to the municipality as a burial place for
criminals and the poor. The specter of Mister Lancaster is thought
to haunt the area around Lancaster House to this day, begging
God for forgiveness and release.
"I know it's true," said Cornelia. "I've seen Charles Lancaster." Joh opened his mouth to protest, evasive. Cornelia plowed ahead. "Dad. Listen. I've seen him. And I think J. Elias has, too."
Joh paused in midbreath. He closed his mouth, and reread the paragraph, then looked at his daughter. "Do you know where your brother is?"
* * *
"It's an intriguing offer," said Susan, smiling with repressed laughter as she sipped from her glass of sherry. "I can't say yes or no until I talk it over with Joh." She put down her glass, inebriation making her honest. "I'm still in love with my husband. Funny, after thirty years, that I can still say that. I never thought, when I was Jay's age, that I'd be happy spending Christmas Day in the kitchen cooking enough food for two families. I, too, had my wild years and wicked ways."
Alison touched her glass to Susan's, making them ring. "To wicked ways and elder days," she said. "Do we need to baste the turkey now or should we have another drink first?"
* * *
At noon. She had said to meet at noon. Ophelia pulled her wool shawl tighter around her shoulders. The sun had started to sink in the western sky, painting the clouds a pink and orange that reflected off the snow. Where was he? Had he simply decided not to come?
She tried to banish the thoughts from her head and scanned the horizon in the waning daylight.
Bri buttoned the last couple buttons on her jacket and stepped out of the door, closing it quietly behind her. Her skin still tingled from her time with Jem and she felt like she should be sizzling in the cool air. Her long blonde hair flew around her face in the light wind. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of pine and snow. This Christmas could not have been more perfect. More wonderful.
Charles? Where are you?
Bri's eyes snapped open again, searching the trees behind the house. She was sure she'd heard a voice. A woman's voice. Hesitantly, she put one foot in front of the other, moving further and further into the trees. Deep inside her, something stirred, pushing her onward, silencing her fear and uncertainty. She had to find this person, even if she didn't know why.
The trees stopped and Bri stepped into the clearing. The same pond she and Jem had skated on just two days ago. The snowfall from the previous day had begun to cover the edges, dusting the ice, making the small surface seem even smaller. It was here. Whatever it was that drew her out of the house wanted her here.
And the ice broke under her feet.
And the ice broke under her feet. A flaw in the ice like the flaw in her heart, the cold water killing her breath, drawing her down deeper. Her fingers at first clawing at the floes of ice above her, pounding against it for release, then disinterested, looking up, marvelling at the play of light through that thin scrim of frozen water, blue and purple and green, all the colors of the water. When her breath stopped, she didn't mind. The pain and the panic were distant things, unrelated to her.
"Brianna!" Jem screamed, pulling his body out flat, watching her go down. He reached for her, and his hands caught in the golden fronds of her hair. He hauled her out of the water, screaming for her the whole time, calling her back, uselessly, to her frozen body. His mouth worked on hers, this time not in love, but in desperation, coaxing the breath back into her body, pressing against her chest to find her heartbeat.
But it was no use. She was dead. And it was his fault.