'Tis the Season: A Collection of Mimi's Christmas Books

by Mimi Barbour

  “Sorry to be a bother, Father, but there was a slight accident outside.”

  “Bother, Father—you do have a way with words.”

  “Stop interfering.”

  “You’re yelling!”

  Abbie had to giggle when Marcus’ sigh had the vicar’s eyes opening so wide his fake Santa glasses tumbled from his face.

  Fast as sludge, the vicar bent past his stuffed tummy, picked them from the carpet, and put them back in place. Finger pointed in Marcus’ direction, he warned, “Look here, young man. I’ll ask you once again. What have you done to Abbie?”

  “I didn’t ‘do’ anything. I fell asleep on your bench out front, and she woke me when she started to fiddle around with some blasted burnt rose bushes. When I turned to see where the racket came from, she slipped and fell and hit her head. I couldn’t wake her up, so I’ve brought her here to you. You are her boss.”

  “How in the world did you know she works here?”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  She enjoyed Marcus’ discomfort, and how he fidgeted from one foot to the other before answering.

  “Well, of course, she told me.”

  “So you carried on a conversation with her.”

  “Yes, before she conked out. We talked about the plant, and she asked me to help her cover it with some bags she’d brought with her.”

  The vicar’s head nodded slowly. “I see. She mentioned the snow might damage their fragile stalks. I never realized she’d decided to deal with it. But then, it’s just like her. Can’t stand to see anything hurting, even plants.”

  “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” Marcus’ sarcasm rattled her. She sensed him enjoying her discomfort as it flowed between them.

  While talking, the vicar bent to check Abbie for a bump. His arthritic fingers explored gently and found nothing at the back of her head. He tried to loosen the long ponytail she always wore to the side, but his fingers couldn’t undo the elastic.

  “Son, could you untie her hair so we can search the rest of her scalp? To fall so hard that she’s lost consciousness, you’d think there’d be some kind of a wound.”

  Discomfort Marcus couldn’t hide rolled around inside for Abbie to endure quietly. He didn’t need to tell her to say nothing. She sensed the warning and conceded, smirking just a little.

  “Ow! That hurt,” she bellowed. He jumped away from her, his fingers entangled in the long strands. Laughter, teasing and slightly malicious, eased the tingling awareness his gentle touch had generated. She scoffed, “You pinhead. I can’t feel anything.”

  Then she sensed the grimness as he turned to the vicar. “Do you have a pair of scissors? I can’t seem to free her hair either.”

  Reaching to the jar full of utensils on his desk, the vicar moved the pens aside and found exactly what Marcus had requested. He passed them over.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “Fine, but you have to promise to behave.” He held the shears threateningly and waited until she agreed. Then he carefully snipped the elastic band and stepped back for the vicar to resume his search.

  The old man looked up, concern etched on his features. “Here it is, right on the top of her head, which is rather strange, don’t you think?”

  “Hmm, that is odd.” Marcus was acting the innocent. Not sure of his abilities, she hoped he could fool her boss, who periodically surprised one with his astuteness.

  “She’s obviously out cold from some kind of trauma, and since this is the only wound, it must be the culprit. We’ll have to call an ambulance. Can’t imagine how long they’ll take to get here in this weather. Mind you, once Frank at the fire department knows it’s Abbie, they’ll get here if they have to hitch up the old sleigh.”

  “Who’s Frank?”

  “He’s an idiot.”

  “He’s her sweetheart.”

  “In his dreams.”

  She felt him smile before it even reached his features. “Are they engaged?”

  “No, not yet. But Frank is determined to beat out the rest of the competition.”

  Her aside brought another smile to his face. “Silly man stalks me. And ‘no’ doesn’t seem to be a part of his vocabulary.”

  “Then by all means, we must call Frank for his help. If we can get her to the hospital, I’m sure they’ll be able to bring her around. I’d hate for poor Frank to be worried about his sweetheart.”

  “Not funny and not nice.” This time the frustration all came from her. She powered it up and loved it when he rubbed his stomach.

  The old-fashioned black phone anchored to the wall appeared barely functional. It must have been one of the first models ever made. As the vicar approached it, he removed his fake whiskers and hat first. Then, peering over the half-glasses perched on his nose, he lifted the handle to his ear and dialled the number.

  “Frank, it’s the vicar here. We have a bit of an emergency. Looks as if our Abbie has taken a fall and is unconscious. We need—Yes, she’s breathing. We nee—Oh, yes, I have her on the sofa, covered with a blanket. Look, we ne—”

  “Does he ever let a person finish a sentence?” Marcus couldn’t stop the thought anymore than he could stop blinking.

  “Why would he, when he knows everything?”

  “One of those, eh?”

  “Yep!”

  Pushing his hand through his sparse grey hair, the old man hung up and turned to face Marcus. “They’ll be here as soon as they can—Ahh! Now look at that. I’ve forgotten to ask your name, in all this excitement. I’m Father Witherby, the vicar here in Bury.”

  Marcus took the outstretched hand and shook it carefully, having seen the arthritis in the old man’s fingers. “I’m Marcus Chapman, newly moved into the neighbourhood. But please call me Marcus.”

  And I’m impressed with your thoughtfulness, she decided secretly. Too many times people overlook the vicar’s poor hands and force him to endure a hearty handshake. Being such a gentle soul, he normally smiles and bears the discomfort.

  The vicar pointed to the sofa. “My assistant, Miss Abigail Taylor.” He walked over to where she lay and brushed her mass of hair away from her face. His expression softened. “The best little helper I’ve ever had here at the vicarage. She’s like a whirlwind, into everything, and never stops until she’s satisfied.”

  “Into everything…I can certainly believe that.”

  Her snort, inelegant and dismissive, got him in further trouble.

  “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea.” The vicar, believing he’d made the rude noise, answered quickly. “Abbie is special. Everyone loves her because she cares about them, and they know it. She’s always helping the people of my congregation with one thing or another and never scolds or harasses them. She’s loving and cheerful all the time, and if anything serious were to befall her, the whole town would be in mourning.” He moved over to the window, opened the drapes, and looked out at the world of white.

  Abbie, alert and watchful, waited for Marcus to say something spiteful or to tease her, but he said nothing, simply contemplated. Respect for the worried man, and concern, seemed to be the bulk of his feelings, and she appreciated his benevolence. After all, the ammunition to tease could have evened their score. Maybe there was more to him than she’d first thought.

  Never before had she judged a stranger so quickly or so harshly. Her philosophy was to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, to like them until they proved unworthy. Her reaction to Marcus Chapman worried her. Just maybe she’d been too hard on the poor man, considering his biggest mistake was to try to help someone. Then, without any choice, he’d ended up having to share his body with that person.

  Marcus, awed by the rare storm outside, stepped closer to the window, next to the vicar. Huge flakes drifted past and fell to the thickly coated ground, dropping from the sky as if drawn like magnets to the white blanket below. The covered trees and bushes around the manse had become odd shapes, glittering white statues, and created a world where magic seemed to have sei
zed the moment. Lights outside intensified the coverlet of twinkling diamonds sparkling so delightfully.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Some would see it as a blizzard. But me? I see it as a gift from the gods.” The exclamation shot straight from her heart to his. Since she didn’t think he was the type to raise his hands to his cheeks when overcome, she guessed her habit had prevailed.

  Annoyed, he put them in the front pockets of his trousers and nodded. “Yes. It is lovely, but dangerous to get around in. I do hope your friend Frank can make it here soon. My mother will be very worried that I haven’t returned home. I told her I was only going for a short walk.”

  “You live with your mother? How old are you?”

  “Don’t be silly. We reside at the same residence, which I’ve recently bought and had renovated into two separate suites. Her furniture hasn’t all arrived, so she’s staying with me until it does.” He undid the zipper on his sweater, the room’s heat finally acknowledged. “I only meant to be gone a short while. She’ll be frantic.”

  “I’m sure the vicar will be happy to let you use the phone to call her.”

  “Not possible. Our line hasn’t been set up yet.”

  Just then the vicar swung from the window and moved back to settle himself next to Abbie. “I just remembered. I must check her pulse. Frank said to keep a constant watch and report if anything changed. My problem is that I’m not too sure how to count it properly. Can you perhaps look after this chore, Marcus?” Fussing with the blanket, the vicar patted her cheek and then moved to the seat across from her to make room for Marcus to settle on the sofa.

  Never before had she wished for beautiful features framed by luxurious curls instead of a plain little face surrounded by her kinky, flyaway hair. Looking through his eyes, she accepted that beauty wasn’t her strong point. At least he seemed satisfied she still lived. A blessing, she supposed.

  A jingling sound caught everyone’s attention, and the vicar hurried to open the door, fumbling with the catch. “You did bring the sleigh, Frank. I wasn’t sure old Nelly could pull it in all this snow.”

  “They ploughed the roads as far as the gate a short while ago, though you’d never know it. A couple of the lads walked alongside to shovel if necessary. Once they heard about Abbie, there were a lot of volunteers.”

  Though Frank was a small man, he seemed to fill the cozy room and take up all the space. His red cheeks shone, as did his big brown eyes. The hat he’d pulled down over his ears always reminded Abbie of a beaver, and it made her smile.

  “Frank, this is Marcus Chapman, newly moved to Bury. He saved Abbie and brought her to me after she fell and knocked herself out.”

  Pushing his way toward Abbie, past the two-man barrier, Frank acknowledged the greeting with a terse hello, while ignoring Marcus’ outstretched hand. “Has she moved at all, Father?” He put his hand on her forehead and then checked her pupils. Satisfied, he prodded her head until the vicar spoke.

  “The only wound I found is in a strange place, on the top of her skull, but it isn’t very large, and I can’t understand how it could cause her to lose consciousness. We’ve checked her vitals as best we could. ‘Course I’m no expert, but it seems to me she’s just peacefully sleeping.”

  “Ain’t normal, Father. Can’t say as how I’ve ever seen this happen before.”

  “Oh, I have. A while back, an American fellow collapsed right by the same bench. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with him until Dr. Andrews stepped in and took over the case.”

  “A psychiatrist? Why would anyone choose his quackery? A person’d have to be crazy to go see him.”

  Marcus couldn’t resist. “Stands to reason, don’t you think?” His scorn wasn’t lost on the wily old man if his grin, quickly covered up, was anything to go by. Frank paid no attention.

  “I warned you. He’s a know-it-all.” Abbie agreed with Marcus’ derision.

  “I don’t care if he’s the biggest jackass in town, as long as he gets us to the hospital.”

  “I’ll be taking her now, Vicar. I’ve called the hospital to expect us, and they’ve held back the doctor on call from leaving. Can you pass me her jacket?”

  The old man handed over the coat and fussily folded the afghan no longer in use. Marcus watched as Frank began to stuff her lifeless arms into the heavy navy garment while letting his knuckles rub furtively against her chest as he worked to do up the toggles.

  Quickly Marcus shoved him to the side, forcing him to move away or fall. “Let me.” Then he took his place and carefully did up the fancy buttons himself.

  “Thank you, Marcus,” she said, a catch in her voice.

  “You’re welcome.” A grim tone in his.

  Frank’s face darkened, and his hands clenched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he waited until Marcus stood, and then he sidestepped him and scooped the girl into his arms, calling to the vicar as he headed to the door, “Can we borrow the blanket, Vicar? We’ll need something to cover her on the trip.”

  “Certainly, my boy, certainly.” The vicar held out the afghan, only to have Marcus snatch it before Frank could.

  “Thank you, Father. And thank you so much for your hospitality. If I may, I’ll check back as soon as we know something.”

  Delighted, the older man smiled. “Please do, Marcus. Come back to visit anytime.”

  Frank blocked the doorway with Abbie snug in his arms. “Where do you think you’re going? I have no time to deliver you anywhere. We’ll be heading straight to the hospital.”

  “Not to worry. I live close by there and can easily make my way home after I find out about Abbie. I feel responsible for her, somewhat, and wouldn’t dream of leaving her now.” He didn’t elaborate that the fear and sadness seeping into every pore of his body hammered at his conscience, and he could no more ignore that than he could ignore any hurt or helpless soul.

  Without another word, he stepped out in front of the fireman and jumped into the seat now damp from the cover of snow. He bent over and motioned for Frank to pass him her body and, after a slight hesitation and an encouraging agreement from the vicar, the angry man lifted her up and took his seat across from them, then leaned down to pick up the reins.

  “Thank you, Lord.” Her heartfelt words echoed in his mind.

  “You can just call me Marcus.” He grinned when she groaned.

  ****

  Once they’d arrived at the hospital and consulted the doctors, Abbie couldn’t believe it when Marcus, without any fuss whatsoever, accepted their lack of diagnosis. As her spokesperson, he’d been somewhat assertive at the beginning, she had to admit, but not nearly enough to suit her. She knew she could be full on, sometimes, but only after her endless patience wore thin. Why she’d let him stop her from ranting her frustration to the blokes in white, she didn’t know.

  “I don’t understand the doctors around here. Or why they haven’t figured out what’s wrong with me. Have they run all the available tests?”

  “Abbie, quit fussing. I’m sure they’ve done everything they can up to now.”

  “I wish I knew more about the normal procedures for coma patients. Surely, at one time or another, they’ve come across other cases like mine?”

  “Can’t say for sure. They’re assessing your condition, so you have to give them time.”

  “Hang on, Marcus. I want to get back to my normal life. I have a million things to do before Christmas. I can’t be lying here in a hospital doing nothing.”

  “I’m sorry, Abbie. I’ve done all I can for now. Look, we’ve been here for hours. I have to get home before Mother calls the police and declares me a missing person. She’s a bit high-strung and doesn’t deal well with difficulties.” Her humming in his head made him add, “We can return tomorrow and check again.”

  Seeing herself clad in a hospital gown, all hooked up to the various breathing apparatus and medical paraphernalia, made her sigh but also concede. Although she didn’t suppose it was going anywhere, leaving her body was dif
ficult. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry for being so selfish. Your mother shouldn’t be left to worry any longer.”

  Chapter Three

  “Marcus, finally! Figured I’d have to send the coppers to drag you out of your office kicking and screaming. I know you’re not anxious to have me stay with you, but really! You could just tell me to go, rather than disappear.” The woman who floated into the foyer sounded slightly annoyed and wholly mischievous. Her fake American accent irritated the hell out of him, and she knew it. That it was very apparent probably meant she wanted to pay him back for his negligence.

  Her strawberry blonde hair, dyed, of course, and done up in a bouffant style suitable for a much younger person, nevertheless seemed to suit her bubbly personality and accentuate her charm. The long, bright green caftan covering her slim body shimmered from the gold threads running rampant throughout the wild pattern. Not only did the shade of the garment harmonize with her eyes; the glitter resembled the sparkle in her riveting gaze.

  “Oh, Marcus, your mum’s delightful.” Abbie couldn’t stop the gushing words.

  “She’s daft. She’s been in America for the last ten years and loves to torment me with her slang every chance she gets. She calls it being witty. I call it maddening. Drives me around the bend.”

  “But…”

  “But, I try. Trust me, it’s not easy. But I do try.”

  “Hold it, buster. I’m inside here and can feel your emotions. You love her dearly, so don’t put it on with me.”

  “I suppose. But she does drive me batty, always after me to smell some silly roses or read inspirational poetry, trying to help me find my inner soul or whatever. She calls it adding culture into my life, and I call it pure lollygagging. I really don’t understand her most times.”

  “Hello, Mother. I’m sorry to have worried you, but it was unintentional. Seems I fell asleep on the bench in front of the vicarage, and then I… Yes, well, then I had to seek shelter with the vicar for a little while to wait out the storm.”

  “First, why would you have fallen asleep on a bench, for heaven’s sake, when you have a perfectly good bed here at home?”