The Christmas Company

by Alys Murray

  “You know you want to…”

  Another step forward. Both of her feet were on the log now, only a foot or two above the iced-over water, but enough to worry him. Her smile curled upward. She thought she had the upper hand; she believed he would follow her straight out over the river, bending to her will. Clark’s fear kept him rooted to the spot even as his heart pounded against the cage of his chest, trying to escape and run straight for her. Across the river, the song of the cardinals—he assumed they were cardinals, at least—taunted him.

  “I don’t—”

  Another step. She spread her arms out for balance.

  “You’re going to miss all the fun,” she promised in a singsong cadence.

  “You’re going to be cold,” he countered.

  Another step. The heel of her boot narrowly missed a gap in the wood and his heart narrowly missed two beats. Her steps were small, cautious, and though she no longer looked at him, he would be willing to bet his fortune that she was smirking.

  “You sure you don’t want to join me?”

  “Hey,” Clark warned, this time moving forward in step with her. He kept his hands out in front of him in a show of surrender. Approaching her as if she were a wounded animal, he mentally begged her not to move another muscle.

  “Just a little bit closer…” She crooned.

  Clark halted in place. So that was her game. Trickery. He was not going to cross those logs. Games and sneaking around wouldn’t work anymore than bribery or pleading would. Instead, he turned away from the river and headed for the path straight home.

  He wasn’t actually going to go home, of course. He just needed her to think he was so she would be inclined to follow him. Two could play at her game.

  “I’m not doing this. You won’t pressure me.”

  His reverse psychology failed. A huff from behind him told him so.

  “Fine! I’ll just go by my—”

  A crack. A piercing scream. A rush of water. Three sounds wrapped up in one cymbal crash of noise. Clark spun on his heel.

  “Kate! KATE!”

  But Kate was gone. She’d fallen. Broken the ice sheet. And the river—still only a second ago—now rushed away from him. Taking Kate with it.

  He didn’t think twice. He didn’t have to. His body acted for him. Without a moment’s hesitation, his powerful legs crossed the muddy ground and he dove head-first into the frigid water. It stung, a million frozen daggers cutting into his skin.

  He crashed beneath the surface. His eyes opened, but the water was so black and cold he could neither see anything nor feel anything but pain. Slamming them closed again, he stretched his arm out before him. Once. Twice. His body shoved the water aside, searching for the one thing he needed to save. His lungs ached for air. His skin screamed from the cold. Currents pulled him, dragging him away, but he urged his muscles forward. He opened his eyes once, then twice, but besides the stinging this action caused him, he couldn’t see a thing. He was swimming blindly, praying with every motion that he’d somehow find her. He had to find her.

  Finally, his hand touched something warm and solid. Or, he tried to. Her body revolted against him, thrashing and shoving wildly as she fought to struggle towards the air above them. Gripping her by the waist, he swam upward, fighting with strained muscles to struggle against the punishing current. Everything was cold. Everything was painful. But he couldn’t dwell. Thought vanished, leaving only the primal. It shoved him onward even when he wanted nothing more than to quit. Survive. Save her and survive. But with each passing second, her body grew more and more limp, and she fought less and less…until one cruel moment when she went still and slack in his arms.

  “Ah!” He gasped when they finally hit the air. He drank it in, coughing and choking and spluttering. Kate returned to life, too, though not as violently as he. As he pushed their way crosscurrent to the river’s dirty bank, Clark watched Kate’s limp head barely suck in air. Her entire body shook with shivers, but at least she was breathing. Her eyes fluttered enough to tell him she was conscious. A small, desperate relief.

  Clark moved quickly. They needed to get back inside. No time to waste, not when he’d been so supremely stupid. Every second they wasted not moving towards the house was a moment she wasn’t getting the care she needed. Wordless and shivering himself, Clark scooped Kate into his arms, bridal style, and set his eyes on the peak of the house poking out from just over the trees in the distance. They left the clearing and the river behind, but not before he picked up Kate’s coat, the one she’d discarded before her expedition across the log bridge.

  Invisible needles stabbed him as his wet skin met cold air. He could only imagine what Kate was going through. Her now pale body almost convulsed in his arms, though she kept the slightest of grips on his neck. The pressure provided him a small modicum of relief. As long as she touched him, he knew she wasn’t under.

  The forest that scared him so deeply as a child now served as mere window dressing. Nothing mattered but getting her home. As he walked, he tried to keep her awake. What little warmth he felt in her body slipped away with every step he took.

  “All right, Kate. It’s all right. We’re gonna get you home and take care of you. I promise. I just need you to stay awake and stick with me, okay?” he muttered incoherently, not that it mattered. The words weren’t important. He spoke to give her something to hold onto…and to keep his mind off of the fact that he let her get hurt. She could freeze to death or get hypothermia or lose her legs and it would be all his fault. All because he didn’t want to sit around a warm fire and sing Christmas songs.

  With one hand, Clark maneuvered the coat his hands until he was able to pull out the cell phone from her pocket.

  “Kate, what’s your password?”

  “No password,” she mumbled, her head curling into the space between Clark’s shoulder and neck. Her breath tickled. At least it hadn’t lost its heat yet. Her phone lit his face, clearly asking for a password. Did she not want to give it to him, or was she so out of it she thought she didn’t have one? Clark wracked his brain. He couldn’t stop his walking and he needed help. He couldn’t help her alone.

  Then it came to him. And he pressed four numbers. They granted him access. 1-2-2-5. December 25. Christmas Day. She really did love Christmas as much as she claimed. During their tour yesterday, Michael informed him that the nearest hospital was in the next town over, meaning even the fastest ambulance would be miles behind someone who lived in town. They’d never make it in time to save Kate. He needed someone who could help. And he needed them fast. Making quick work of the damp phone screen, he clicked the first name he recognized. The voice on the other end of the line answered in one ring.

  “I knew you’d come around! Want me and Michael to pick you up—”

  “Do you know a doctor?”

  “What? Who is this?”

  “Emily, there’s been an accident. Kate needs—”

  “Woodward? Is that you?”

  “Kate fell into the river trying to cross this log bridge and she needs to see a doctor.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “I don’t know, but I need your help.”

  “Michael’s a medic.”

  “Come to the house as quick as you can.” She didn’t respond. Desperation coursed through him. “Please.”

  “We’ll be there in ten.”

  Clark could only hope ten minutes would be fast enough. Michael’s medical expertise was their only hope. He hung up and continued his journey.

  When the tree line broke, Woodward House loomed into view. Clark, who had until now been walking as fast as his legs would allow, pulled into a dead sprint. Kate’s hold on his shoulders had loosened. He was losing her to unconsciousness. Terror replaced his blood. The color evaporated from his world. He pressed onward into the house and upstairs to the first bathroom he could find. Shoving open
the door with his shoulder, he entered and placed Kate on the counter, letting her body slacken against the wall. Her eyes slipped closed. They no longer fluttered. Clark fought the urge to vomit.

  “Hey, hey, I need you to listen to me.” He tapped her hand, perhaps a little harder than necessary. It twitched, a good response. As he continued to speak, Clark spun the bathtub faucet. A small chain—part of the ancient plumbing system in this house—needed to be pulled for the shower, but as the water heated up, Clark reached for the nearest towel and tried to figure out what to do next as he frantically rubbed the barely-conscious woman dry. He couldn’t leave Kate in the shower alone. She’d drown. Waiting for Michael the medic would take too long. Kate needed warmth now.

  With great care, Clark lifted Kate off of the counter, carried her to the steaming shower, and stepped inside with her, fully clothed.

  The shower, like the rest of the house, showed its age. Glass and gold couldn’t have been more out of fashion; the pipes groaned from the sudden use of the hot water. Clark only saw the woman in his arms. He placed her on her own two feet, but held her close, almost as if they were dancing. The hot water washed over them in a steaming, restorative rain storm. Please be all right, he silently begged her. Please, please, please be all right. He counted her heartbeats against his chest, marking each one as a victory, a sign she could make it through this.

  Slowly, Kate’s chattering teeth stilled. Her body ceased its convulsions. She looked up at Clark with an expression of half-awake awe, her heart hammering against his chest.

  “You…” She trailed off. “You…”

  Clark wanted to pull the rest of the words from her mind. What was she trying to say? Did she hate him for letting her fall down through the ice or love him for bringing her back or despise him for standing in the shower with her, even if they were fully clothed?

  He would never find out. The bathroom door slammed open, revealing a red-faced Emily. Steam practically shot out of her ears, though Michael followed behind with level-headed stoicism.

  “You!” Emily’s voice ricocheted off the tiled bathroom walls. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m trying to help her.”

  “Help her? I think you’ve done enough. Now, go.”

  A protest shoved its way to the front of Clark’s brain. He abandoned all thoughts of confrontation. As much as he hated to admit it, Emily was right. He put Kate in a terrible position and let her fall. If he stayed, the chances of him screwing it up even further only grew.

  “Of course. Thank you for coming to help.”

  Awkwardly, he changed places with Emily. He walked his soaking wet body straight out of the bathroom and past Michael, without another word. The only thing he could do now was get himself cleaned up and wait.

  About twenty minutes, a shower and a fresh set of clothes later, Clark found himself pacing outside of her bathroom door. He heard no sound, but it didn’t deter him. He’d wait as long as he needed to see her, to make sure she was all right.

  He didn’t know how long he paced before a door down the hallway opened, revealing Emily. She hugged an oversized sweater to her chest.

  “Is Kate all right?”

  “She’s fine. I borrowed some old pajamas from a drawer and put her to bed. Is that okay?” When Clark nodded, Emily glanced over her shoulder to make sure the bedroom door from which she emerged remained closed before leveling her uncertain expression at him. “Listen. I gotta talk to you.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t like you. I mean…” She rolled her eyes. A sigh blew rough between her lips. “I didn’t like you. But Kate said you saved her from the river, is that true?”

  Save. Clark knew how to destroy things. Subsidiaries and businesses. He knew how to dismantle them and sell off the parts. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable being described as a man who saved anything, much less a woman’s life. Much less Kate’s life. He wasn’t worthy of the distinction.

  “She fell and I went in to get her,” he said, diplomatically.

  “And carried her all the way here and did everything you could to make sure she was all right?”

  Clark merely nodded. Slumping back against the nearest wall, and disturbing an ancient painting of Clark’s third great uncle Horace in the process, Emily released a long, low sigh of contradiction, not that Clark blamed her. He’d ridden into town, insulted everyone she knew, and gotten her friend almost killed. Him saving her life didn’t change or negate the other facts of their interactions. But he did save her life.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank you. Kate sees something in you I just don’t. But I’m glad she was right.”

  “What does she see in me?”

  “…She sees a good man somewhere inside of you. I thought she was crazy, but maybe she’s onto something. She’s got a good eye for that sort of thing.”

  It went entirely without saying that Emily thought Kate’s idea of Clark as a good man didn’t hold up to much scrutiny. He could accept that. He hadn’t exactly been a good friend to anyone in this town; he deserved their ire, at least where Kate was concerned. Everyone here held her in such high regard. If he failed her, he failed the town. If he saved her, they didn’t mind him quite so much. Before he could respond, Michael emerged from the door, backpack haphazardly slung over his shoulder.

  “How is she? Can I see her?” Clark asked.

  It was one thing to know someone was all right and quite another to see them with his own two eyes. Kate’s cold, unresponsive body haunted him; her smile could cure the sickening fear humming beneath his skin.

  “I think we should let her sleep. She isn’t hypothermic, thanks to your help, but she needs to stay warm and rest. She needs a little bit of peace and quiet after everything she’s been through today.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” An idea, a tentative, hesitant idea but an idea nonetheless. “Do you want to stay for Christmas?”

  The pair shared a wary look.

  “I’ll drop by tomorrow. We have some things to take care of in town.” They started to depart, but she stopped and turned before she went. “But thank you.”

  Since arriving in Miller’s Point, Clark couldn’t think of anyone thanking him. They hated him. Made snarky comments behind his back. Criticized Kate for spending time with him. No one ever thanked him until that moment.

  As it turned out, he enjoyed being liked more than he enjoyed being hated.

  Chapter Ten

  Kate didn’t know what Michael put in that hot chocolate, but it must have been stronger than morphine and tasteless as water. One minute, she shivered under the covers and warmed her hands against the walls of the steaming mug; the next, she woke from a dream (where she starred as an animated Who in one of those Grinch movies) with a slight start. As she blinked against the darkness, it took her a moment to remember where she was and what had happened. The bedroom, with its crackling fireplace and slightly dusty fixtures—no one had been in here but the caretaker for almost a year now—engulfed her with its largeness. Kate cocooned herself in the warm covers, feeling more than a bit like Alice in Wonderland after downing the shrinking potion. Her entire apartment could fit in this one bedroom.

  Against her better judgment, she had to wonder: how could a guy with a house like this be worried about money? Clark was, to put it mildly, a complete and total miser. A penny-pincher. The festival was just the visible tip of the iceberg. She’d even caught a glimpse into his car’s trunk during their trip to bring food to the families on the outskirts of town. He claimed he intended to spend one week in town, but only packed one backpack’s worth of clothes. Everything about him proclaimed his truth: money mattered, and he wasn’t going to waste a penny of it, even if those pennies might make an entire community happy.

  He had everything. But more than everything, he had nothing. Nothing of any value. Kate didn’t have a lot—she
worked for the festival because she loved it, not because the festival was paying her well—but even though she counted pennies and cut coupons so she could work in her dream job, richness filled her life. Emptiness filled Clark’s.

  Her heart bled for him.

  “No,” she muttered. “No more sitting around.”

  Admittedly, she struggled to make her heavy limbs rip the covers away and expose her body to the cold air of the old house, but she couldn’t stay in bed any longer. Her eyes flickered to the clock above the mantel. 8 o’clock. 8 o’clock gave her… She counted on her fingers… Twenty-eight hours until the end of Christmas altogether. Twenty-eight hours to change a life, to fill it to the brim with magic.

  Slipping out of bed, she marveled at the soft slouch of the pajama material against her skin. It served as a good distraction against the cold floor beneath her feet. It should figure Clark would have a massive, historical house with every modern luxury only to ignore the modern amenities like under-floor heating in favor of lighting a sooty fireplace.

  As Kate crossed the room, she caught her own reflection in the mirror. Her makeup came off in the wash, her hair remained damp after her shower, and the pajamas Emily dug up from one of the wardrobes weren’t the traditional Christmas pajamas she always wore because those were tucked in her overnight bag, which was subsequently shoved into a random closet on the first floor as Emily was in a rush to get her into bed.

  Emily. Kate paused at the door. Before slipping into the oblivion of a Seuss-themed dream, Emily gave her explicit instructions not to get out of bed until Christmas morning, citing Kate-cicle’s need to warm her bones and recover with some sleep. Kate cracked the oaken bedroom door slightly.

  “Emily?” she called.

  The house breathed in response, but no answer made its way through the halls. She cleared her throat, raising her voice lightly.

  “Emily? Are you out there?”

  Kate wanted to pretend her friend’s protective, fiery nature didn’t scare her, but that would have been a lie. This quiet, cautious check if the coast was clear was the only thing separating her from Emily’s anger at being disobeyed. Kate counted to five. Then, to ten. When no voice or heavy footsteps answered, she took her first brave steps into the belly of the darkened house.