by S. E. Akers
By the time I pulled up to Samuel’s house, Katie’s demeanor had turned as frigid as the weather. I’d felt the storm kicking up back at Deskin’s grocery store. I couldn’t blame her. It was Christmas, and she was without her entire family. I’d only had the best half of mine stripped from me. My amethyst would be of little help. Healing her parents’ grief had taken a toll on its powers. All of its blissful effects would be weak at best until it was recharged in a salt-water bath overnight.
Considerately, I asked, “Purse or neck?”
“Neck, I guess,” Katie grunted. After I overlooked the crabbiness of her tone, I grabbed my bags and hopped out of the car, praying the evening wasn’t headed downhill from here. I was ready for a steamy cup of cocoa by the fire, but a part of me secretly wanted to drown my head in the eggnog.
I was taken aback when I stepped onto his front porch. Straightaway, I gave my feet a few angry swipes on the coarse mat. Even he had a wreath on his front door. I shook my head and rolled my eyes, still mulling about how ashamed Daddy would be at me for not hanging ours. After giving Samuel a few courtesy taps, I turned the brass knob, thankful of the metal’s magically inherent, lock-picking trait.
“Knock, knock,” I announced as I entered the dimly lit house and headed for the living room. Samuel lifted himself up in his recliner when he saw me. His smile illuminated the entire room.
“There’s my girl,” Samuel announced. I sat my load down on the floor and hurried over to give him a tender though cautious hug. “I’ve missed seeing you.”
“Me, too,” I agreed. “I’m just glad you’re out so I can go back to bothering you whenever I feel like it.” That triggered a warm laugh. “Let me take this stuff to the kitchen and get to work on our drinks.”
“Go right on ahead, honey. I’ve been lookin’ forward to this for weeks,” my surrogate father insisted.
As I headed for the kitchen, I realized Katie hadn’t officially told me to tell Samuel, “Hi”. I went ahead and took the liberty. “Katie says, hi,” I fibbed. “And Merry Christmas.”
“Hello, Katie,” Samuel hollered out, loud enough for her to hear. “Merry Christmas, and I’m wishing you an even better New Year,” he added on an encouraging note.
“Yeah right,” Katie mumbled.
“She said, thank you,” I replied swiftly with a smile, glossing over her jaded response, and made my way to the kitchen.
Despite being tasked with preparing the beverages for the first time, it was the silence coupled with Katie’s mood that was the most challenging. Once the chocolate had melted thoroughly into the milk, I started on the eggnog.
“You are such a liar,” Katie charged out of the blue, just as I opened the carton. Alarmed by her statement, I accidently ripped the top, forcing a large creamy glob to shoot out of the now spoutless carton.
“What are you talking about?” my paranoia asked, fearing the worst.
“I didn’t say ‘hi’ to Samuel…That’s all,” Katie replied. “I may be helplessly trapped in here, but please don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Fair enough,” I conceded as I cleaned up my mess. “But why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t feel like it, okay?” Katie said. “Not tonight anyway.”
“I understand,” I assured her as I opened the other carton I’d bought and dumped it into a large bowl.
“You should,” Katie zinged casually. I overlooked her jab and grabbed the whiskey from out of the cabinet. This was something I was going to have to deal with, but for “how long” was what truly worried me.
“Don’t be stingy with mine,” Samuel hollered into the kitchen. I eyed the bottle of Maker’s Mark in my hand and appeased him with an added lengthy pour. After a thorough stirring, I ladled some into his favorite, “Nothing’s Finer than a Miner” mug, and topped it off with a dash of nutmeg. It wasn’t his made-from-scratch recipe, but it would have to do. I hunted through his cabinet of mismatched cups until I found the one I had my heart set on. There it was, hidden in the back. I poured my frothy cocoa into the fancy glass and pewter stein that Samuel had picked up at a beer brewery in Richmond years ago, the same container he served my drink in, year after year.
“How are you holding up?” Samuel asked as I handed him his drink.
“Well, let’s see. Daddy’s gone. My mom and sister ditched me. Charlie and Naomi gave me a camera and scrapbook with instructions to ‘make new memories’, and…I took away Ron and Julia’s grief today.” Samuel’s mouth fell open. He knew the repercussion of what healing them meant. “As good as to be expected…I guess.”
Samuel glanced at my pendant. “Why did you do that?” he mouthed silently.
“That’s what she wanted for Christmas,” I replied noiselessly as I slumped back in my chair. I didn’t see the need to tell him the real reason. The topic of “suicide” didn’t sound like it would make the best Christmas Eve fireside chat.
Samuel thought pensively for a moment and asked, “No good presents?”
I caught his gist. “Nope,” I grumbled as I thought about my two missing ingredients. “I guess I’m on the Naughty-List.”
We sipped on our drinks silently until they were empty. “Here,” I announced as I reached for his dry mug. “I’ll get you a refill.” I paused in the doorway and turned back around. “Samuel, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, honey,” he said with a gentle tone, feeding off the sorrow in my voice.
“How many Christmases did it take for the empty feeling inside you to wane?” I asked grimly while I stared at the flames rolling along the logs and reminisced about past holidays.
“I’ll let you know when it happens,” Samuel replied with the hint of a misty gleam in his eyes.
After a quick attitude adjustment in the kitchen, I emerged with a more positive outlook (at least the appearance of one). Not wanting either of us to sit around a fire, weepy-eyed over departed loved ones, I felt a pressing need to change the subject.
“How about you?” I asked as I served up round two. “Anything new? Any visitors come calling yet?”
“No,” Samuel said nonchalantly as he pushed something flat and white under the coffee table with his foot.
I pointed to the box still peeking out. “What’s that?” I asked. Samuel looked like he’d just eaten a five-pound bag of Sour Patch candy.
Samuel grunted. “Oh, that Miss Marion brought it by last night. I was just glad one of therapists ran that crazy woman off. They told her that I needed some rest. And I did…from her.”
“I’m sure she’s not that bad,” I chuckled as I reached into the box. I held up the soft & fuzzy, hunter green sleeved wrap. “Awww…She got you a Snuggie. How sweet.”
“That’s the only thing of hers that these arms are gonna be slippin’ their hands in and around!” Samuel scoffed.
“Sound’s like someone’s missing some Christmas spirit,” I teased and shook my finger. “Here,” I said as I pulled out his present. “Hopefully you’ll like my gift, sourpuss. Maybe turn that frown upside-down?” Samuel ripped off the paper and opened the box. Slowly he pulled out Daddy’s old stainless-steel thermos. He remained quiet as he stroked its edges, smiling gently at each and every little dent and ding. “Charlotte was going to throw it out, but I thought you might want it.”
Samuel’s eyes began to glaze. “We shared many a cups of coffee out of this thing…and a heck of a lot more good times.” Samuel stroked the shiny container thoughtfully. “Thank you, honey.”
“You’re welcome. I couldn’t think of a more perfect person to give it to.”
“I feel bad not having something for you to unwrap. But just so you know, I’m planning on making something for you,” Samuel revealed with a crafty grin.
“Don’t even think about stepping one foot in your workshop until the doctor clears you to go back to work. I mean it,” I stressed sternly. “You need your rest.”
Samuel brushed me off with a wave as he downed his last swig of nog and
then swiftly shook his glass. “Be a dear and fetch me another,” he commanded in an over-the-top, sickly sounding voice. “You know, I would get it myself, but I need my rest.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I replied as I snatched his glass.
Just as I’d returned from the kitchen with Samuel’s third eggnog, there was a loud “knock” on the door. We looked at each other, both of us at a loss. I crept over to the entry and peeked out the window. I threw Samuel a staggering look before I opened the creaky front door.
“Hello,” I greeted the familiar woman, trying to restrain my giggles. “Please, come in,” I said with a curt wave as I fully extended the old wooden door. I turned to Samuel. “Samuel…you have company,” I announced with a straight-face. He about fell out of his chair when the love-struck nurse from the rehab center came strolling through the front door. “Ms. Marion, right?”
She nodded. “You remember me?” Ms. Marion asked.
“Samuel and I were just talking about you.” That sure put a smile on the old stalker’s face, but Samuel’s weathered mug hardened like concrete. “What a nice surprise,” I stated as I shot my open-mouthed surrogate father a flinty, “be nice” look. Ms. Marion didn’t come empty-handed either. The cunning nurse was carrying several containers of food. “And look Samuel, she brought you dinner. How thoughtful,” I beamed.
“Yes,” Ms. Marion confirmed. “But I only brought enough for two.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I was just leaving,” I assured her and tossed Samuel a nod. “Ms. Marion, why don’t you head back to the kitchen? There’s plenty of eggnog.” I watched the elated woman trot off to the rear of the house triumphantly as I opened the front door.
Samuel clenched his fists and lightly struck the arms of his chair. “I’m gonna whip your butt,” he growled.
I looked at him from head to toe and laughed. “I’d actually like to see that,” I remarked as I smacked my back pocket, the exact spot where my invisible hilt lay, and headed out the door. “Merry Christmas, Samuel.” I popped my head back inside and mouthed discreetly, “Behave!”
Like a hunter with his weapon-of-choice ready to fire, Samuel stuck his tongue out at me.
“Save it for her,” I shot back with a crafty grin and then bolted out the door. Oh, I’ll pay for that one, I mused confidently.
“You were awfully quiet,” I remarked to Katie, mainly to trigger some conversation as I watched for patches of ice on the porch steps.
“I said, ‘Hi’… Remember?” Katie corrected with a snarky tone.
“Samuel’s just as concerned about your situati—”
“Yeah, yeah… I was rude. But in my defense, you get to actually spend time with your loved ones. It’s not the same for me. Sometimes being included isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
“I know, Katie…I’m truly sorry.” I picked up on a lot of escalating restlessness coming from her by the time I’d reached the car.
“Shi, when we get to Bea’s house, would you go ahead and tuck me in that box of hers? I’m not up to any more company.”
Like the sharp stab of a knife, Katie’s request plunged deep into my heart. I knew it had only struck my selfish desire to spend every minute with my bosom friend, but it still hurt. I also knew one unwavering fact: If it was in her head, it was out her mouth. Katie never beat around a bush. She preferred to kick straight through it or yank it up by its roots.
My guilt and regret answered for me. “Sure,” I mumbled sluggishly as I plopped down into the seat of my car. My body shook with a rumbling chill. It felt like a crevice had just opened up in the earth and it was pulling us apart, separating us precariously with nothing but distance like a perilous, impassable ravine. “Whatever you want.”
Chapter 7 — Thin Ice
Trying to rid my conscience of some pent-up guilt, I made a quick detour back home — to hang our family wreath. The thought of our house being empty over Christmas was sickening enough, but after seeing Samuel’s decorations, not carrying out at least one of our past traditions had done a painful number on me. That wreath was something Daddy and I had made together, eight years ago. I had to do it. Case closed.
The sight of our forsaken old farmhouse at night was even more depressing, but I planned on changing that. At least make it appear that a combative and spiritless family didn’t live here at least one week out of the year.
I grabbed my purse and hurried up the pristine, fluffy white steps. A frigid sensation hit me when I opened the door. It actually felt colder in here. With only faint traces of gray light beaming through the windows into the dark, lifeless house, I knew it wasn’t the adjustment to the thermostat earlier making me shiver straight down to my toes. I flipped on every light switch as I made my way up to the attic, mostly to subdue a sudden case of the creeps.
I gave the cord attached to the hidden attic steps one good tug, unfolded the wooden ladder, and clamored up its rungs, desperate to find that wreath. I searched through several containers, all marked, “Christmas Decorations”, without any luck. A wave of panic rushed over me, right along with a passing thought that Charlotte may have thrown it out. She never liked it, hated it really.
Maybe that’s why she didn’t hang it this year? In a breathless-fit, I began rummaging through any sizeable box I could find like a ransacking thief. A long sigh shot out of my lungs when I opened the last one.
Here it is, I assured the knots in my stomach. I smiled as I ran my fingers over one of the pinecones. I remembered gathering these in the woods with Daddy it like it was yesterday. The frayed red ribbon we had woven through the artificial branches needed replacing, but it honestly couldn’t have looked any more perfect to me. One lonely tear cascaded down my cheek as I carefully reshaped the crumpled bow. There, I thought proudly as I rose to my feet and headed downstairs with only one thing left to do.
The slam of the recessed ladder sounded like a rifle being shot. For some reason, the echoing “bang” triggered more than my eardrums as I walked down the hall. I stopped in front of my lavender-painted bedroom door. Another nauseating roll of guilt struck me, forcing me to open it against my will. I was heading to Bea’s. Everything I needed was either around my neck, in my back pocket, on my finger, or in my purse — everything except that damn lapis lazuli. She never stopped badgering me about it, demanding I keep it on me. Deep down I knew she meant well, but the reminder still hurt. After a quick biased debate, I stomped my foot on the floor and caved to my mentor’s pleas — but only because it was the holidays. I stormed into my room. I loathed even the thought of touching that daggone thing. There it was, under my bed beneath the loose floorboards, exactly where I’d expected it to be. As I snarled at the royal blue stone, a part of me wondered if Bea wanted to see it again because it reminded her of its original owner, Gahiji, a fallen love of hers. The paradox was daunting. To me, the stone was a curse. But to her, it was like my wreath — a cherished memory.
“Merry Christmas, Bea,” I remarked as I dropped it in my purse (that thing still wasn’t going on my finger) and trotted down the stairs.
When I pulled open the front door, I jerked back like a shot unexpectedly and let out a gruff, curse-fueled scream.
“What’s WRONG?” Katie demanded.
I couldn’t answer her. I was too shocked by a shadowy figure of a woman who had appeared out of nowhere and was standing on my front porch. I smacked on the light switch and went back to clutching my chest. She wasn’t charging in and didn’t appear aggressive, so I took that as a good sign.
“I’m very sorry to startle you. I ‘vas about to ring ‘zee bell,” the stranger apologized. Her curious accent rang in my head as I pondered who she was and why she was here.
“That’s all right,” I assured her after I’d finally caught my breath. “Um, can I help you?”
“Yes. I am looking for a Ms. Shiloh ‘Vallace. Is she here?”
“That’s me,” I replied, even more intrigued that this stranger was looking for me, on of all nights, Christ
mas Eve.
“Excellent,” the woman sighed oddly, like the weight of the world had just been lifted from her. She gave the outside grounds a vigilant sweep. “May I come in?”
Noting her covert demeanor and still not having the faintest clue what this was about, my gut prompted me to ask, “Exactly who are you?”
“Oh,” the middle-aged, caramel-haired woman laughed as she clicked her heels together and straightened her stance. “I am Regina Imbsweiler. I have ‘zis package for you.” The woman pulled a tiny gold and silver box out of her purse. “Beatrix instructed me to give it only to you.” Hearing my mentor’s name made me feel more at ease, though Bea hadn’t mentioned anything about any messengers who would be showing up unannounced, bearing gifts.
“Come on in,” I finally replied with a courteous wave. Ms. Imbsweiler smiled and with one broad stride, stepped inside the house. “Can I take your coat?”
“No ‘zank you, Ms. ‘Vallace. I just need to give ‘zis to you.” She extended her hand and offered me the ornate metal box. Though I was somewhat leery, I took it, mainly for a further inspection.
“Don’t you ‘vant to open it?” Ms. Imbsweiler asked, sensing my hesitation. Before I could answer, she interrupted, “I’m rather excited to see how you like it. I checked my family records and I’m ‘zee first in over ten generations to craft something as rare and extraordinary as ‘zat,” she remarked with a proud nod and pointed to the box in my hand.
“Craft what?”
“My apologizes again, Ms. ‘Vallace. I assumed Beatrix ‘vould have told you about me, but I understand ‘zee need for secrecy. I am a goldsmith, one in a long line of masters in ‘zee trade who have been entrusted with ‘zee existence of Talismans and ‘zee magic of ‘zeir stones. It is a long-standing honor for my family. Within ‘zat box you hold in your hand is your moonstone.”
