by Beth Trissel
Horace lifted his hand in acknowledgement. “We shall await your coming, Reverend.”
“Sounds officious,” she whispered, and pointed at the orangey-pink hue in the sky, visible through the glass panes on either side of the front door. “Sunset soon. We’ve got to get out of here. I’m not psyched about staying the night.”
He raked back his newly colored chestnut hair. “Like being in an apocalypse.”
“Probably feels that way to them with the war. Think how dark it will be after sunset. Candles may be rationed.”
“Not to worry. I’ve got my mini H. P. flashlight.” He patted his coat pocket.
“Harry Potter’s not period, even if it looks like a pen,” she said automatically.
He shrugged. “I don’t care. At least we can see.”
“Yeah. Might need a light in the darkness, especially if our mighty leader remains unreachable.”
“It would serve him right to get stuck here,” Stan muttered.
“He’s bewitched, I hasten to remind us, before we strangle him. And therefore not fully responsible for his words and actions.”
“Or lack thereof,” Stan said with his dry wit.
“True. He didn’t do a darn thing to aid us.” She remembered quite well.
“I didn’t sign on for this. Not without combat pay.” Stan softly hummed a snatch of ‘Double Trouble,’ from The Prisoner of Askaban, ending with the famous Shakespeare quote. “‘Something wicked this way comes.’”
“Or lies upstairs,” she whisper-sang.
He bent his head nearer hers. “We can’t sneak up there and zap a dying woman. And by we, I mean you. I don’t stand a chance against the demon goddess of wind and fire, or whatever the hell she is.”
“That’s the whole confusing thing. This poor sick girl guise is totally unlike the Helen force we encountered. Even if Ignus were on his game, he’d have one heck of a reckoning with this she-devil.”
“I’m not counting on much help from Zombie Boy.”
Avery groaned. “He’s not going to act normal while she’s got her claws in him. What will it take to break her hold?”
“A magical potion we haven’t got, an all-powerful wand…” he trailed off.
“There is far more to Helen than we know.”
“Agreed. Chins up. We’ll think of something.” His optimism sounded forced.
“Right. We got this.” She faked an upbeat tone. “Just wish we had backup, like Mrs. Burke, or even Guy. Ignus is just so—”
“Useless?” Stan supplied.
“Maybe if we click our heels together three times it will take us back to the future.”
“We’ll riddle this out, Avery. The Helen thing is like a prism. We’re not seeing our way clearly yet. We’ll get there.”
“Sure. Not much escapes your powers of discernment.”
“Or yours,” he said, buoying her.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She laid her hand on his arm. “There’s something you should know. Mrs. Burke said you also have a special gift, beyond intelligence.”
He stared at her. “You mean, like magic?”
“Yeah. I think that’s exactly what she meant.”
“How is it possible, when I don’t have a clue?”
“I didn’t know I could whistle up the wind at breakfast,” she pointed out. “Better discover whatever it is fast, before I’m knitting socks for you while you’re off in the army.”
“Not gonna happen. I’ll add this to the puzzle pile I’m working on.”
“Okay then. What now?”
He covered her hand with his warm gasp. “We join the others, and take it from there. See where my superhero skills lie. Come on, Wonder Woman.” Tucking her arm through his, he escorted her up the hall in gentlemanly Victorian fashion.
How naturally this role came to him, and how pleasant it was, despite everything, to be treated like a lady who truly mattered to this particular gentleman. They entered the parlor, so familiar and yet not. This morning seemed ages ago and a world away. Weirdly, it was, and yet they were still in the same house.
Stan nudged her. “There he is, the wizard that was.”
Ignus sat perched on the edge of an upholstered chair, his gaze turned toward the stairs. It was probably all he could do not to bolt to Helen’s side immediately. Even in his distracted state, he must realize he ought to visit with these people first.
“Paste on a smile and prepare to dispense Christmas cheer.” Stan’s breath was warm against her ear.
“Yes. Of course,” she said in hushed tones. “Whatever we can give these suffering souls on this sad Christmas Eve, we should, before facing our herculean challenge.”
How tangled they both were in the web that was Helen. “What have I gotten us into?” she lamented.
“Sometimes you choose a certain path, only to learn, in reality, it chose you. An old Irish saying,” he said quietly.
“But you knew the danger and came anyway.”
“For you.”
This only added to her guilt, also her appreciation of him. He assisted her to the couch. After she was seated, he retrieved the carpet bag and lowered himself beside her, the most natural place for him to be.
Mrs. Butler offered them a smile shadowed with sadness. “What are you two whispering about?”
Stan didn’t hesitate. “Wedding plans, ma’am. A little out of place, perhaps, in these hard times.”
A lace-edged handkerchief came into use, and she dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, no. You mustn’t think that. Life and love go on. They must, or we have no tomorrow.” Her gaze touched on the children seated before the hearth with a picture book.
Ignus swiveled his head at the pair. “Matters are proceeding rather briskly, aren’t they? The engagement was a bit of a shock, with me assuming you were only good friends.”
Avery was speechless, while admiring Stan’s quick cover for their covert conversation. She was also surprised Ignus noticed them, especially her, at all. He almost seemed jealous. Bizarre.
“Many wed at the first blush of love these days, Mr. Burke. It may be the only happiness they enjoy.” A tremulous thread ran through Mrs. Butler’s gentle rebuke.
“Forgive me, dear lady.” At least he had the grace to apologize, and not argue with the grieving widow.
Poor woman. Wretched war.
A white-capped girl in brown plaid skirts and an apron carried a tall blue pitcher into the parlor. She walked to the table Avery hadn’t noticed pushed against one wall. An embroidered cloth was in place, and a china punch bowl and crystal glasses. She poured the creamy-yellowish liquid into the bowl and ladled the eggnog into glasses. Her skirts weren’t as full as Mrs. Butler’s, and she seemed of humbler background. She also couldn’t be more than seventeen.
Horace gestured at the girl. “Miss Anne Philips is staying with us and helping in the house. She’s one of many evacuees seeking refuge in Staunton. Please help yourselves to the eggnog. I’m sorry we don’t have more refreshments to offer you. The holidays are meager this year.”
Avery reached for the bag Mrs. Burke had stuffed full. “They are about to improve, sir.”
Chapter Six
Avery winked at the children and fished in the carpetbag. “Let’s see what we have for you.”
Heads swiveled, and all eyes were on her.
Sleet hit the parlor windows, and wind whistled through the cracks, ample justification for retaining her hat and coat. The outfit beneath it was even worse fashion-wise for the eighteen sixties, plus she hoped they weren’t staying long. The guys also wore coats, hats parked on their laps. Suits intended for nineteen eighteen, give or take a year, wouldn’t fit this era. Their pointy shoes had received arched glances.
She and Stan hugged the couch, while the family clustered in seats close to the warm hearth. Ignus perched near the door ready for a quick exit to Helen. The children sat cross-legged on the floor by the fireplace, dressed like miniature adults.
Althea, three,
had ringlets and was adorably puffy in a black and white striped dress and forest green jacket over multiple layers. Able, four, was buttoned into a gray jacket and pants. Both wore stockings and high-top leather shoes. The muted tones of their clothes showed respect for the departed without putting such small people into stark black. Victorians were big on proper mourning attire, Avery had learned from a TV show about Queen Victoria.
Anne waited at a respectful distance from the others, quivering with excitement. The war had forced her into the role of servant. If the Burke’s had more help, they were out of sight. They owned no slaves, a documented fact.
Cups of eggnog suspended in midair, milky rings around mouths shaped like O’s, the children watched her withdraw several of the colorful tins Mrs. Burke had thoughtfully packed. The festive containers rattled promisingly. She held one in each hand and extended them to the wide-eyed pair.
“Oh, Mama! Presents!” Squeals resounded in the parlor. The avid duo set down their cups and shot out small fingers to clasp the gifts, then hesitated. They lifted worried eyes to their mother, probably fearful of disturbing the household huddled in the shadow of death.
To Avery’s relief, Mrs. Butler’s pale pink lips curved in an expression of genuine happiness.
“How wonderful, my dear ones,” she encouraged. “Santa made it through the union blockade after all. We weren’t certain he would. But Reverend Guthrie and his friends helped him find a way. Isn’t it splendid?”
“Yes! Thank you, Santa’s helpers,” the two chorused.
Their outpouring moved Avery. “We’re glad to help.”
Stan appeared more touched than she’d ever seen him. “Santa embodies the spirit of Christmas, sorely needed in these dark days.”
“Yes. He does.” Ignus seemed thoughtful, his obsessive attention straying from Helen for a moment. He vacated his chair and joined Avery and Stan on the couch.
Horace’s gloom lightened. “A fine Christmas you three have brought us, cousin. Ida will be pleased when she steps downstairs and sees this, and we must mail a tin to David.”
“Of course, and several for his fellow soldiers.” Ignus slanted his gaze at the door. “And we’ll take a peppermint stick up to Helen. I mean, Miss Burke.”
Horace lowered his head, likely to hide his emotion. “I thank you. She may still gain some enjoyment from it.”
“Happy to do what we can.” Avery quaked at the thought of contact with the young woman. Period. Molding her face into cheerful lines, she handed tins to Mrs. Butler and Horace and set extras on the end table for family, friends, and comrades.
She beckoned to Anne. “Come and get yours.”
The flushed girl stepped near and held out a work-worn hand. She gladly slipped a tin into her chapped fingers, making a mental note to pass her the rose water lotion and lip balm from her purse. The emollients might heal her reddened skin.
How bleak the holiday would be for these people without Ignus’ mom. Avery felt like Santa, and emptied her bag of everything except the bottled water and energy bars. She concealed the modern snacks beneath a gray wool scarf.
“Now, Mama?” Able and Althea asked, clutching their tins.
Mrs. Butler nodded at her rapt children. “Everyone has one, so yes. Go ahead and open yours.”
Eager little fingers pried off the lids. Assorted nuts, dried fruit, and old-fashioned peppermint sticks were nestled inside artfully crimped white paper. These simple treats were greeted with heady excitement, as if at the richest treasure. How unspoiled they were.
“Smell that?” Their mother inhaled the minty fragrance scenting the air. “Peppermint makes it truly Christmas. Only eat one stick a day, my darlings, so it lasts.” She insisted on the newcomers each having a piece and smiled at Anne.
The quiet girl glowed, her hazel eyes alight. She looked almost pretty and would be with some fixing up and less toil.
A lot of licking commenced, each taste savored. Murmurs of gratitude circled the gathering. The children were enraptured by the candy, and adults showed more appreciation than expected. What might they do if she’d handed out chocolate, declare they’d ascended to heaven?
Mrs. Butler’s joy at their happiness shone in her lovely face. “You may each have a handful of the nuts and fruit after you’ve finished this marvelous treat. Such bounty. We cannot thank our visitors enough.” She scrutinized the gift bearers. “How did you come by such provisions?” she asked in hushed tones. “Our shops are down to pins and thread on the shelves.”
There could be only one answer. “Santa,” Avery said. “We’ll make true believers of you yet.”
Her listener nodded wonderingly. “I think you may.”
Fortunately, Mrs. Burke had anticipated period challenges by packing the edibles in tin containers lined with paper to fit into various eras without arousing suspicion. Mrs. Butler welcomed the embroidered, lavender scented handkerchiefs she’d included, and promised to reserve one for Ida. Anne was given her own. Other relatives were remembered and handkerchiefs laid aside. Avery parted with them all and hoped she didn’t wind up later needing the cloth to stem a wound or something. She still had the medical kit.
“What’s this?” She wasn’t miming surprise when the lumps at the bottom of the expanding bag turned out to be toys. Mrs. Burke must’ve packed more items than she’d realized.
How perfect. She could hardly believe it when she unveiled a china doll with glass eyes that opened and shut, glossy curls, and a frilly dress. She held it out to Althea. “This must be for you.”
“Oh my.” Mrs. Butler blinked at tears and covered her mouth.
Althea was too overcome to make a sound but reached for the doll with touching reverence and hugged it to her chest. “Santa remembered what I wanted most,” she whispered.
Avery choked up. Even Stan grew misty-eyed. Ignus looked on with a strange expression, as if puzzling over alternate life forms. She gestured at the bag and let Stan hand the carved wooden horse with a flowing mane and tail to Able. His small jaw dropped. Ignus drew out a brightly colored top both children could enjoy spinning. Their happiness knew no bounds.
Horace blotted his eyes on a wide white cloth. “It’s as though you all came from someplace else.”
Doubtful he meant Lynchburg. Probably not the time to mention the future…
“It’s too much, Miss Dunham,” Mrs. Butler protested, tearfully. “You must save some tins and toys for other needy souls.”
She lifted the bag, doubly surprised to find it bulky with more of the same. “No fear. We have some left.”
Plenty, actually. She shot a questioning look at Ignus, who seemed unprepared.
“Mom is an increaser, or used to be,” he said under his breath.
Did this mean she’d placed a spell on the pack to make it refill by magic? Avery thought Helen had stripped Mrs. Burke of her powers. Maybe only in regard to following her missing husband, not in everything. The pack wasn’t nearly as empty as it ought to be after the many things she’d dispersed.
Stan’s expression hinted at bafflement. “The bag that keeps on giving.”
“It truly is like Santa’s pack.” Mrs. Butler dabbed her eyes with the new handkerchief. “We’ve witnessed a miracle here this evening.”
Horace blew his nose with the sound of a trumpet. “I believe so.”
“Near enough.” Stan shook his head as if to wake himself from a dream. “God works in wondrous ways.”
“Indeed.” Hat in hand, Ignus got to his feet. “Now, we must pay a visit to Helen. Miss Burke,” he amended.
Stan rose and drew Avery with him. “We will leave you to enjoy your gifts and eggnog. Anne, might you show us the way?”
She ducked her capped head and set her gifts aside.
Their host stood. “The chamber is tight, but you three will readily fit. Send Ida down to us. Anne may return if she likes, or remain.” He gave a bow. “Thank you again for the wondrous cheer you’ve brought our sad home this sacred eve,” he said,
his dignity and regal bearing reminiscent of one of the three kings, or wise men, who visited the Christ Child.
They would all need wisdom for what lay ahead, both those remaining here, and the travelers passing through.
Ignus shook his relation’s hand. “You are most welcome. We shall be on our way after we’ve seen your niece.”
This was a relief. Avery feared he wouldn’t budge from the era as long as Helen remained. What was he planning? Something, for sure.
“It’s dark soon. How will you leave?” Horace waved at the draped windows. “I saw no coach waiting.”
“We made preparations for our departure,” Ignus assured him, grasping the silver knobbed cane.
Stan clasped the big man’s paw. “Take care of yourself and your family, sir. And may God bless this home.”
“Thank you, Reverend, Miss Dunham.” His voice was thick.
A rustling of skirts, and Mrs. Butler rose. “You will never know what your coming has meant to us.”
Ignus smiled in the pierce-you-through-the-heart way he had. “We may. From the family.”
“True.” Tears sparkling, she fluttered the handkerchief. “Pray let us know where you are staying so we may write.”
“The future is uncertain, as are the parts we each have to play,” he said more gravely.
“Quite right. Our ministry continues, dear lady.” Stan bowed, picked up his hat and the carpet bag, and took Avery’s arm. Clearly, he was prepared to depart at any second.
So was she, and gave an encompassing wave.
“Send my best to Cousin David when you write. I promise he shall return to you from the war alive and whole.” Ignus spoke without a shred of doubt.
Horace leveled heavily creased eyes at him. “I pray so. We all do. How can you possibly know?”
“Intuition.”
More than that. He must be familiar with the fate of these ancestors. This big man wasn’t his cousin but a grandfather, several greats back, and the likely builder of this house. Horace’s soldier son, David, was a step nearer, relation wise, to Ignus.
Anne glanced at them with eyes dappled green and brown like light spilling through the forest canopy, the same remarkable effect as the young wizard’s. “If you will come this way.”
