by Beth Trissel
Returning to the chest, she drew out a fox stole and draped the luxurious fur around her shoulders. She didn’t like the idea of wearing the hides of animals, but it had been ages since the poor creature met its end, and the warm stole was a link to the past, all-consuming to her now.
Further rooting beneath the layers of vintage clothes led her to a wooden music box, on the top a picturesque scene of Venice and couples enjoying gondola rides. She turned the small key in the lock and wound the box, releasing the unlikely strains of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” into the cold attic. She’d expected Braham’s or some classical air. But then, hadn’t this song been popular during the Great War?
The tinkling sound from the antiquated box seemed somehow appropriate for the old-fashioned love song. Images flowed across her mind’s eye of Edward presenting the box to Claire and her pleasure in it, especially at a time when music wasn’t so easily come by as it was now with radio and record players. What a quaint song, from a vanished age.
Thinking herself alone, Bailey startled when a male voice joined in, singing, “When the silv’ry moonlight gleams, Still I wander on in dreams…”
She turned to see Eric emerge into the attic, more of a challenge for him to negotiate the steep steps with his leg. He steadied himself with his cane and continued in a strong baritone, “You, alone, my heart can cheer; You, just you…”
Her heart caught at the beauty of his voice and the emotion she sensed behind the words he sang. He limped over to where she waited in the great hat and stole, and stopped in front of her. The tenderness in his gaze unmistakable, he finished with the song, “Keep the love-light glowing in your eyes so true. Let me call you Sweetheart, I’m in love with you.”
Not trusting herself to speak, she whispered. “You can’t see my eyes.”
A faint smile at his lips, he lifted the hat from her head and set it on the stool with the dress. For a tremulous, heart pounding moment, he gazed into her eyes, her very soul, and she could scarcely breathe. Leaning on his cane with one hand, he cupped his other to her cheek. All her feelings for him swelled at his touch and a tremor of anticipation ran through her. Bending his head, he gently covered her lips with his, the softest brush at first, enough to send a thrill rippling through her middle. He deepened his kiss, pressing her mouth with tender passion. Such heated exhilaration, far beyond anything she’d ever known.
The stole slipped to the floorboards as she circled her arms around his neck, kissing him back as she’d never kissed any man or boy before with heart, body, and spirit. And if he asked for all three, she’d give them to him. But did this kiss mean to him what it did to her? Did he, could he, bear the depth of feeling for her that Edward had borne Claire? The bond between those two had been the shining standard of true love.
Was such a heartfelt romance even possible in this modern age? After all, the world was much changed. Had it truly altered, though, in the ways that really mattered? Bailey only knew as long as she lived, she didn’t want to kiss any lips other than Eric’s. Did she dare to hope he felt the same?
He slowly released her mouth, reclaimed her lips several more times until she was breathless, then kissed his way over her cheek and nuzzled behind her ear. Goosebumps flushed over her skin and she held to him until they both leaned on his cane for support.
He laughed softly. “You’ll knock us down.”
She smiled up at him shakily. “As long as we go together.”
“What a thump that would make. Send Ella running.”
“She can’t get up here anymore. The attic is Ella proof.”
“What a wonderful thought.” Eric held Bailey against his chest and buried his face in her hair. How long they stood like that she couldn’t say. Then his lips hovered at her ear. “You are so beautiful.”
She shivered at his ticklish whisper and her delight in his declaration. “Really?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Not until now.”
“You must not have been listening before.”
“But what about all that other stuff you said? I mean, I know you don’t approve of me—at all.”
“You’ve had a rough time this year. You can do better. Will do better.”
“Tell me you have every confidence in me and you’ll sound like my father giving one of his pep talks.”
“Not at all what I intended.”
“I don’t suppose Claire was ever scolded. She was probably perfect.”
“Pretty much,” Eric agreed.
Bailey pulled back and punched him on the arm.
He chuckled. “You come near enough.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
He gave her one of his melting looks. “How goes your quest? Find any hidden gifts up here yet?”
“No. But I really like that green dress. Do you think it would be all right if I wore it to the Christmas Eve party? Edward said he wanted me to have the clothes in the trunk, but…” she trailed off at the bemusement in Eric’s expression. “I’m sounding peculiar again, aren’t I?”
“That or you have the most unusual way of claiming an inheritance.”
“I didn’t mean—it’s what Edward said—”
“In your dream.”
Eric didn’t add, “or drug induced hallucination,” but she knew he was thinking it. “Don’t you believe a connection with the past is possible?” she pressed.
“A portal in time?”
“Yes.”
He smoothed a tendril at her forehead and trailed his fingers across her cheek. “You are the strangest girl.”
“And you’re standing in the attic with me.”
“Not the one looking for a mysterious gift.”
“But if you were?”
He considered. “I wouldn’t look up here. Ella already searched every corner eons ago when she was a spry young thing.”
“If it was in Edward’s room or the one he shared with Claire, he or Ella would have found it. And Ella searched the house. Where would you look?”
Eric shrugged. “I’m not certain.”
“You may think I’m crazy, but it matters.”
He looked long into her eyes. “You’re not crazy, Bailey. It would be easier to explain if you were. But as you’re intent on finding a hidden gift, I heard there used to be a secret passage at the back of the closet beneath the stairs in the far hall.”
She cocked her head at him. He seemed in earnest. “Are you serious?”
“Utterly.”
“But it’s not there now?”
“Not unless it was boarded up. The closet’s a dead end now. Ella might know more.”
“Ella always knows more.”
Eric closed warm fingers around Bailey’s hand. “Before you take a sledge hammer to the closet and upset the household, please come downstairs and help me decorate the tree. Old John cut a pine from the woods and set it up in the living room.”
“And then we take a sledge hammer to the closet?”
Eric answered her question with a kiss.
Chapter Six
“All the way to the top.” Scaling the stepladder beside the aromatic pine, Bailey stretched out her hand to place the magnificent star at the utmost height, ten plus feet off the floor. “There!” She smiled down at Eric triumphantly, her eyes luminous, adorably Scots in her tartan skirt…with no idea how powerfully she affected him. The saying, “fell in love” made perfect sense to him now, though on an instinctive level he felt he’d known her forever.
Masking just how much that unnerved him, he saluted her from the ornate gold sofa made in the style of a fainting couch and leftover from days of old, as was most everything else in the house. “Mission accomplished, Ma’am.”
She returned his salute. “Yes sir, Captain Burke. Now for the rest of the tree.”
She scurried down the ladder and sifted through the box of ornaments Ella had left on the marble top coffee table. Some of the glass balls predated Eric’s childhood and one of the angels originated
in the previous century. At their right, the lofty evergreen exuded the fragrance of oranges and Christmases past.
Choosing a red velvet bow, Bailey fastened it around her ponytail. “What do you think?”
“The perfect compliment to the décor.”
She ran her appreciative gaze over the room. “It’s a Christmas wonderland.”
The fire in the hearth crackled cheerily, fresh greens and holly festooned the mantel in between the clock and porcelain figurines and the ancestral portrait of the lovely lady who hung above it, hair up on her head, creamy shoulders displayed above her mid-nineteenth century gown. Greenery decorated every piece of antiquated furniture, and a mistletoe ball hung in the doorway between the living and dining room. Wrapped presents spread over the wide piano, their bright bows glinting in the light.
“I wasn’t at Maple Hill last year,” she said.
“Neither was I.” This festive scene was as far removed from the hard slog through treacherous rice paddies as anything could be.
Eric thought of that hot, humid Christmas in Nam, the mess tent full of homesick Marines, and the jolly lieutenant who’d played Santa Claus to cheer the troops and the injured. All those sweat-soaked and at times bloody days seemed another lifetime ago, but Eric had the leg to show for his efforts and a half dozen medals. A pang ran through him at the memory of the buddy he’d carried to safety who lost both his legs. At least he’d lived. The second man Eric went back for didn’t survive his wounds. Despite all the hardship, though, he missed those friends still living and gone, and the camaraderie he’d left behind. A part of him always would.
Bailey touched his shoulder. “You’ve gotten somber on me. What are you thinking?”
He met the question in her eyes. “Nothing I want to talk about. Ever.”
A sense of understanding passed between them, and she didn’t press him. Some things were just too raw to discuss.
“Upset about me taking over your job?” She asked instead.
He appreciated her attempt to lighten the mood; he was easily drawn into dark introspection. Normally decorating the tree fell to him, and the sense of loss at yet another thing taken away caused the familiar pain. He summoned a smile. “Traversing that ladder is an obstacle course I can forego this year. Besides, watching you is more fun.”
“I’m creating a vision of glory.”
“You have your work cut out for you. That pine isn’t the most beautiful tree in the world.” Gaps showed here and there among the branches. “But that’s not a qualifying attribute in the evergreens Old John selects. It’s stately enough and most importantly, big.”
“Right. Back to work.” Bailey snatched a gold ball and darted up the ladder to suspend the fragile sphere from a green bough. Up and down she went carrying an assortment of baubles and angels.
Eric hung ornaments on the branches within his reach, then helped her rearrange the ladder. She was off again. “You’re like a chipmunk the way you get around that tree.”
“Chip and Dale?”
“Or Alvin.” Though she looked anything but rodent-like.
She puffed up her cheeks, chipmunk style, and released her breath in a whoosh. “My voice isn’t high enough.”
He sat down on the couch. “Try inhaling helium.”
“Is that what they do on the cartoon?”
He smiled. “No, they speed up the tape. You really think the man doing those voices is sucking in helium for every line?”
“Guess not.” She launched into her rendition of The Chipmunk Song, “Christmas Don’t Be Late”, by Alvin and The Chipmunks as she climbed up the rungs.
He chuckled. “American Bandstand is waiting for you.”
…And so, it seemed, was he, although he hadn’t realized. A line of poetry ran through Eric’s mind. The best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry, or to quote Scottish poet Robert Burns, “Gang aft a-gley.” He hadn’t intended to involve himself with Bailey, quite the reverse. Yet, here she was reaching into the recesses of his heart as though he’d carved a place for her.
She sang the refrain, increasing her pace with the high-pitched tune.
He laughed at her clowning then cautioned, “Easy, you’ll—”
She lost her footing near the top of the ladder. “Fall!” he finished, clambering to his feet. He flung out his arms and caught her as she tumbled backward, narrowly missing the coffee table. With her clutched in his hold, he collapsed back onto the couch. “Whew—that was close.”
She gasped, “Your reflexes are still fast.”
“So is my pounding heart. I might have missed.”
She turned her face against his chest and sighed. “No. I believe I’ll always be safe with you.”
“I wish I could assure that.” What was he to do, keep watch over her to see she stayed out of trouble?
Even if that were possible, she’d come to resent him, already did in some ways. For them to have any shot at a life together they had to respect each other. Not him eyeing her like a delinquent in danger of falling back in with the wrong crowd. She wasn’t a kid anymore, but a young woman, granted a highly unusual—
Meg’s entrance into the room broke into Eric’s thoughts. Her brows arched as she took in the spectacle of Bailey on his lap, clasped in his arms. He shifted his precious burden to one side and explained. “She fell off the ladder.”
“Thank heavens you caught her. We don’t need a trip to the hospital now.” Meg paused in front of a glass cabinet stuffed with curios, framed photographs, and old books. In her tweed skirt and blazer, she looked every bit the proper lady of the house. She seemed agitated and pressed her fingers to her forehead. “The weatherman says we’re in for more snow tonight and tomorrow. I’m not sure many will be able to make our party.”
Eric met this news with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he’d looked forward to greeting family and old friends; on the other, he was just as glad to keep Bailey to himself. But that was selfish. “What a shame,” he offered.
The lines at Meg’s forehead deepened. “Yes. I’d wanted everyone to see you.”
“Some other time.”
“When? People are so busy this time of year with other engagements and they resume their lives soon after Christmas. And you’ll be back in law school at the University of Virginia unless you take that desk job in Washington, won’t you?”
“Probably,” though gladness didn’t fill him at the thought.
Meg fixed her eyes on Bailey who’d gone quiet. “Your folks won’t make it up from Richmond if the roads are bad. They can’t risk being stranded with the children.”
“That’s all right. I understand.” But her voice was flat.
Eric weighed the dispirited look in Bailey’s eyes where moments before there’d been fun and warmth. She must be far more attached to her family than he’d realized. “I’ll take you to see them as soon as the roads are plowed. My ’64 Bel Air’s parked in the garage, but we can get it going again. That car has a powerful engine.”
She gave him a half smile, but made no reply.
Meg studied her anxiously. “Don’t worry. We’ll still have a good time. The nearest neighbors will come, and Tucker assures me he’ll make it.”
Eric bit back a less than enthusiastic reply. “In that old van? He’ll get himself stuck and I’ll have to pull him out of a drift somewhere.”
“No. He said he’s on his way ahead of the storm. Should be here later this afternoon.”
Eric blew out his breath. “Great. Arriving early.”
Meg frowned. “I thought you’d want to get together. You two used to be close.”
“When we were kids.”
“But you had so much in common.”
“That was before Tucker became a flower child. It’s like he joined a cult.”
A mulish look tightened Bailey’s expression. “Being a hippie doesn’t make him hare Krishna or a moonie.”
Meg wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Oh, I don’t think he’s joined up with any of t
hose groups.”
“That we know of and there are other gurus out there promising enlightenment. Drugs and cults seem to go hand and hand with this craze. Even the Beatles, whom I also like, sat at the feet of the Maharishi this year.”
Bailey made no denial. “Even so, many hippies are perfectly nice.”
“And weird.”
She eyed him reproachfully. “That’s been said of me.”
“No, it’s not the same at all. You haven’t cast aside every value ever instilled in you.”
“Not all of them have either.”
“That’s what anti-establishment means, Bailey. It’s the definition of the term and the hippie creed.”
“Maybe so. But you aren’t even willing to give your cousin a chance.”
Meg offered her assurance. “I understand your concerns, Eric, but I’m sure beneath all that hair and strange mannerisms you’ll find he’s still the same old Tucker.”
Eric didn’t particularly want to look. Not only would Tucker likely not appreciate the sacrifice he and so many made in Nam, he’d probably stone him, or pelt him with flowers. The culture war was as real in its way as the one raging in the field. But with the pleading in Meg’s eyes and the censure in Bailey’s, what choice had he but to try and get along?
“Very well, I’ll give Tucker the benefit of the doubt.” Until he proves himself utterly unreliable.
And so it begins, Eric thought, sensing he was about to undergo the battle between good and evil, and he knew exactly what was at stake. Everything. Bailey.
****
Fragrant steam rose from the mug of cocoa in Bailey’s hand and the stove’s warmth radiated to where she and Eric sat at the homey table. The comfort in the snug kitchen was doubly welcome on this raw day. What little light the afternoon held was fading beyond the window and increasing clouds promised snow. Come to think of it, the sun hadn’t shone since her arrival at Maple Hill, but light filled her soul earlier today with Eric. If only she knew what his intentions toward her were for the long run. Maybe he was in the habit of kissing girls and making them feel wonderful…
