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

by Mimi Barbour

  “How could you tell?”

  “Just a feeling I got, of a weakness underlying your inherent vigour. Please do stop. We can return to the house so you can have a lie-down.”

  “You’d give up your visit to the orphanage for me?”

  “Of course, you great ruddy idiot. You’re very important to me.”

  “I guess I am. Without me, you’d be what? A homeless spirit floating around, scaring people?”

  “I didn’t mean it in that sense. Behave yourself. And quit being such a tease.”

  “Apart from a slight headache, I feel fine, Abbie. But I do appreciate your offering. I’ll rest for a short while and join you later.”

  Maybe he was acting like a sentimental fool, but her picking up on his medical history and caring about his health made up for all the times he’d felt put out at having his life disrupted. Good thing he’d closed off before she discovered all the chinks in his armour, the sappy spots he normally kept off limits to everyone except his mother.

  ****

  The orphanage resembled a hive of activity. The four- and five-year-olds were colouring various images of Christmas angels destined to be attached to the classroom walls, while the Sisters were trying to keep the toddlers entertained with making pretend holiday cookies from plasticine. A smaller group was crowded together, sitting in tiny chairs around a nun who was creating a beautiful crèche to put on display in the church foyer. As she worked, she told the little ones the story of baby Jesus’ birthday.

  Marcus approached the nun closest to the entrance and found himself whispering, “Hello, Sister. My name is Marcus Chapman. I’m a friend of Abbie’s, and I wondered if I might spend some time with the youngsters this afternoon?”

  The short woman wearing black looked up and smiled. She had a protruding chin, or maybe it only looked so, over the stiffness of her habit, but when the beauty of her smile caught his attention, nothing else in her face seemed to matter. Her voice came across as being overly loud even when using a normal tone. “Why, Mr. Chapman, any friend of Abbie’s would be more than welcome. Please, do come in and meet the children.” So saying, she took his hand to shake and, without letting it go, pulled him toward the craft table full of plasticine. “Please call me Sister Agnes.”

  The mention of Abbie’s name appeared to work a miracle. All the children stopped what they were doing and peered around him as if they expected her to pop out and yell, “Surprise!” When nothing happened, they turned to him. One cherub, who’d managed to sneak a chew out of some of the pink dough—it showed between her teeth—raised her eyes to him and pulled on his sleeve. “Sir? If you’re a friend of hers, do you know where our Abbie is?”

  “Hmm. What should I tell her? I’d say, from the bold gleam in her eye, she’s a midget copper on an investigation into a missing person case.”

  “Isn’t she wonderful? Her name is Elsie, but she hates the name. Says no one would want to be called by two different letters. Wants everyone to call her Cece.”

  “But isn’t it still two letters?”

  “Yes. But you see, they’re the same ones, so it doesn’t count.” They both said the last sentence in unison and the humour of it brought a huge smile to Marcus’ face.

  Seeing this softening, the children gathered around. Cece, not one to be ignored, pulled on his sleeve once again.

  “Can you tell Abbie to come home? I miss her like the devil.”

  “Cece swore, Sister.” The chubby boy who overheard and then blabbed evidently took enjoyment from being able to tittle-tattle.

  “I only said ‘devil,’ Sister. It weren’t a swear word. I don’t ever say words like ‘bloody ‘ell’ or ‘bugger’ like ‘e does.” Her tiny finger pointed at the red-faced snitch.

  “That’s quite enough, children. Mr. Chapman is here to visit, and we wouldn’t want him to think we have no manners, now, would we?” Fighting a smile, the nun shuffled the children back to their places. “How about you all show the gentleman what talented children you are and make him special cookies? He’ll be our judge and will choose the best one, so get to work.”

  Taking his arm, she led him off to the colouring area. Here the older ones were deeply involved in bringing their individual angels to life. Marcus pretended to critically survey each treasured work of art until one small lad covered up his as he approached.

  “Timothy, why are you hiding your picture? I’m sure Mr. Chapman would like to see what a fine colourer you are.”

  The girl sitting beside Timothy spoke up. “He’s ashamed because he didn’t colour his angel proper. I told him they only wore white gowns, and he wouldn’t listen.” She smirked and pointed to his work. “His angel has a green gown.”

  “But Sister, white isn’t really a colour, is it? Green is much prettier, and it’s my favourite. I wanted my angel to have a pretty dress. Abbie said I could. She said we all have more than one shirt to wear, so why couldn’t the angels?”

  Before anyone could dispute his logic, Abbie chirped in, using Marcus’ voice. The children didn’t recognize her, but something in the tone soothed. “Of course angels can have more than one dress. After all they’re girls, aren’t they, and girls like lots of different colours. If I were an angel, and could make magic happen, I’d have lots of gowns to choose from.”

  The nun looked perplexed, but nodded at Marcus. “I do believe you’re right, Mr. Chapman. It makes sense to me.”

  Marcus grinned when he spied Timothy sticking his tongue out at Sally, but he soon stifled it when Sister’s hand gently covered the offender’s mouth.

  While they spent the next hour going from group to group, Marcus felt Abbie blossom, and he began to understand how much she loved this place.

  Because of her insistence, they ended up in the nursery. Before he knew what she intended, she had him picking up the one baby who was making such a racket that it hurt his eardrums. He didn’t know who was more shocked—himself or the Sister. Cuddling and shushing followed, all without his full cooperation or even his approval. Thankfully, as soon as the child heard Abbie croon, albeit with his deeper tone, the crying stopped. With a snuffling sigh followed by a tiny whimper, the babe nestled into his arms, closed his eyes, and dropped off.

  “Thank you, Jesus.” The chubby little nun in charge of the nursery whispered to him once she felt certain the child slept. “Only Abbie had the touch with this little one. We’ve tried everything to get him to settle down since she’s been in hospital. We all miss her so. Pray God, she gets better and comes home soon. Until then, since he seems to have taken to you, might we coerce you into becoming a regular visitor either until Abbie gets better or until Nicholas ‘ere grows out of whatever problem he suffers from?”

  Marcus left Abbie in charge of his arms, but he took back his voice. “What do the doctors say?”

  “Nothing wrong with ‘im. He’s got a bit of the colic, true, but they say he’s belligerent because he’s that attached to our Abbie. When she’s around, he behaves very well, indeed.”

  “Now do you understand why it’s necessary for me to be here, Marcus? Nicholas has become so important to me that knowing he frets when I’m not here is hellish, and I hate it.”

  Why people describe feeling sad as having the blues, he’d never know. To him, the grimness that shifted from Abbie to him seemed more like a horribly dull grey.

  Chapter Ten

  “Marcus, surely you aren’t going to the hospital again tonight. I realize that you’re concerned for this girl, but really! You hardly know her, and I do have something I wish to talk to you about.” Madeline looked particularly fetching in her purple satin caftan trimmed with silver. She carried two small goblets in her hand and passed one over before she resumed her place across the table from him.

  “We’ve been together throughout dinner, and you’ve spent the whole mealtime chatting about your day. What more could you possibly have to talk about?”

  “I hate it when you try to rush me this way. I had it all fixed in my he
ad that we would spend a lovely evening together and discuss our—well, our expectations of life here in Bury, shall we say.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please, Mother, get to the point.”

  “Marcus, shush! She’s beating around the bush because whatever she has to tell you is important.”

  “Sorry, old girl. I’m being insensitive. Please take your time.” “As long as it’s in this century.”

  “Shush!”

  “You know how much I love Bury, and how important it is for me—for us—to settle into the neighbourhood. Yes, I know you do, dear.”

  He didn’t nod, but then again she only saw what she wanted to see, so he let it go.

  “Well, the vicar and I have come up with a wonderful idea for a special celebration to be organized for Christmas Eve. We talked for a long time, and Father Witherby mentioned that because his parishioners have helped the Sisters with the children at the orphanage so much this past year, he thinks he can talk the bishop into allowing those children to come and perform a nativity for us at the church hall. It has the largest seating in the village, and would be the most sensible choice.”

  “What a wonderful idea! The children will love it.”

  “Not just the children, I’d wager.”

  “It’s very important to me that the night be successful. If we can organize proper advertisement, we can get people from all around to come. Think of the money it’ll bring to the church and the orphanage.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so? I can have someone in my office organize posters and any kind of advertisements you want. You know you can count on me, dear. Now, I must go.” He rose, only to have his mother point at his chair.

  “Sit. There’s more.”

  He lowered himself and peered closely at the fidgeting woman. She has something up her sleeve, he thought, something he wasn’t going to like at all. “No! Whatever you have cooked up in that diabolical head of yours, the answer is no.”

  “But Marcus, you would make a wonderful Joseph. It’s for such a good cause.”

  “Stop that infernal giggling.”

  “You told me you missed my giggles. And she’s right. You’d make a marvellous Joseph.”

  “By all that’s holy, I will not be talked into this, Mother. Take pity on me. I have a business to run, and, as it is, everything at the office is way behind. Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll find you a Joseph, one who’ll be far better at the part than I will.”

  “Oh, Marcus, I did have my heart set on you—”

  “Well, just unset it. Tell me where and when you want this paragon, and I’ll have a perfect candidate there for you and the vicar.”

  “Yes, dear, all right.” She turned away, a picture of despair. Little did she know that he caught her ensuing gleeful expression in the mirror she now faced.

  “Why, she’s a shyster.”

  “Isn’t every woman?”

  “No! Well—not always. You would have given her what she wanted without the theatrics. Wouldn’t you have?” She added the last part after he huffed.

  “What do you think?”

  His grin stayed in place while he trudged into the dark night, plodding through the heavy snowbanks all the way to the well-lit hospital. Abbie buzzed, trying to work out the answer to his question. He had no intention of enlightening her. Let her figure it out for herself.

  After he’d stamped off the slush, he stopped by the nurse’s desk to inquire about Abbie.

  “Good evening, Nurse. I’ve come to visit Abigail Taylor. Have there been any changes in her condition?”

  “She’s the same, sir. There’ve been lots of visitors, and her room is bombarded with flowers, but, sadly, she hasn’t moved whatsoever.”

  Marcus thanked the nurses and walked slowly toward where his little friend lay in her hospital bed. Hmm, that’s funny. The door is closed. Must be the doctors are examining her, or the nurses are in there. He loitered around outside the room until his patience wore thin. Then he peeked through where the curtain didn’t quite cover the glass. “What the…!”

  He slammed into the room and grabbed the scruff of the fellow who’d had his hands all over her. He shook him like a dog would shake a rat before the killing. “Hello, Frank. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Oh, Marcus, stop it. He wasn’t hurting me.”

  “No, but he had his hands on you. Therefore, I’m going to break his neck.” His intentions must have been reflected in his expression, because Frank blanched and visibly began to sweat.

  “Let go of me. I’ve done nothing. I’m a paramedic. All I did was check her heartbeat.” He looked at Marcus and added, “I swear.”

  “I saw you touching her chest.”

  Frank’s pallor whitened and his voice rose. “I did no such thing. I checked the pulse rate in her neck, is all. And I might have held her hand. But I’ve a right. She’s almost my girlfriend.”

  “She is not your girlfriend, and you have no rights. Do you understand? I don’t want you coming here and bothering her again. Now get lost.” He gave the other man a shove that, inadvertently, had him smacking his head on the door. Frank winced and rubbed the spot with one hand, while with the other he pointed his finger toward the enraged man.

  “You’ll hear from me lawyer, ya big brute.” He swung the door shut behind him, but the slam never happened, due to the automatic closing mechanism kicking in.

  “My hero…” She sighed dramatically.

  “That’s it! You’re out of here. The thought of him or anyone else coming in and taking advantage sickens me. What kind of friends do you have?”

  “You were too angry to really pay attention. Frank was telling the truth. He didn’t—as you so indelicately insist—take advantage, Marcus. He’s a decent bloke, when you come right down to it. I do trust him. So stop being theatrical. And promise me you’ll apologize the next time you see him. I won’t have you bullying my friends.”

  “I will not! Just the thought of anyone laying their hands on your lovely body without your consent sickens me. The faster we get you back to yourself, the happier I’ll be.”

  “Do you really think I have a lovely body?”

  He felt his temper fade and the heat in his gut lessen. A different sort of feeling was now overtaking the nausea he’d experienced when he’d first entered the room. Hot waves of emotion suffused his hardening body to the point of discomfort. A surge of the euphoria he’d gotten hooked on lately drenched his insides, filling him with passion.

  “Yes. Not only your body. You—are lovely. Your heart and your spirit.” He opened up the gates and let her feel some of the overwhelming sensations that thinking of her produced inside of him, sensations of ardour and intense desire.

  “Oh, Marcus. I do adore you.” When the two opened spirits combined, they flashed so hot he was forced to sit. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the palm, his tongue licking the inside teasingly.

  “Dr. Andrews better have the answer, or, I swear, we’re off to London and the best they have there. I want you back inside your body—the sooner the better.”

  “Are you so impatient to get rid of me?” She teased, but just a little.

  “No. I’m impatient to truly meet you in person.”

  “I hope you like me.”

  “Darling girl, I’m way past liking.”

  ****

  A stalker utilized the opening in the curtains that Marcus had peered through earlier. His sneaky mother couldn’t sit home another evening and wonder another minute. She needed to see Abbie Taylor for herself, this paragon of virtue. The one that so many loved—including, it seemed, her son, if she was judging his actions correctly. Seeing as how he’d just kissed the girl, she had to accept that his emotions were indeed involved.

  Oh-oh! He was leaving. She waited around the corner until he’d left the vicinity, and then she slipped into the room. As she approached the bed, a warning rang in her head, like a sixth sense, a knowing that had
her hackles rising. She advanced until her slow steps came to a dead stop by the side of the bed. Abbie Taylor lay unmoving, white pillows and sheets a perfect setting to frame the oh-so-familiar, dark-haired beauty.

  “My God!” Madeline grabbed her chest and collapsed onto the side of the mattress. It can’t be! Feeling hysteria rise, she knew the truth lay right in front of her.

  A range of emotions blasted through her from disbelief, to fear, and finally to a strange kind of relief. Her eyes, check her eyes, she thought. Before she reached to gently lift the girl’s eyelids, her hands trembled so much that she first had to wiggle and shake them.

  Blue as a delphinium, the same as her father’s. Somehow she’d known it but had to be sure. What in the world must she do now? Should she reveal the secret she’d kept for years? Did she have the right to tear apart so many people’s lives?

  She whimpered, and the sound had her covering her mouth—as if it might wake up the sleeping patient. But nothing could wake her. For the last couple of days, everyone she’d met had talked about the strange happening and how the doctors found no physical evidence to account for this mystifying coma. Was it possible there was a genetic solution? Her head dropped into her hands, and she groaned.

  Madeline knew herself very well. She hated confrontation. But however uncomfortable this might make her feel, she couldn’t turn the other way. It looked as if only she had the power to right the wrong done to this beautiful girl.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Marcus, I’m frightened. What if Dr. Andrews has no explanation, either? Where will we turn next?”

  “Abbie, don’t worry. We’ll take this one step at a time. There are a lot of doctors out there we can pursue. Truth to tell, though, I do like the sound of this fellow. I’ve asked around, and everyone I’ve talked to seems very taken with him.”

  “I don’t know if I told you, but I used to know his niece, Dani. She adored him and considered him a genius. But then, she’d be slightly prejudiced, I imagine.”