Eight Christmas Eves
Rachel Curtis
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Rachel Curtis. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Contents
First Christmas Eve
Second Christmas Eve
Third Christmas Eve
Fourth Christmas Eve
Fifth Christmas Eve
Sixth Christmas Eve
Seventh Christmas Eve
Eighth Christmas Eve
First Christmas Eve
eleven years ago
Big flakes of snow were starting to fall.
Helen watched as they landed on the pavement, on the sleeve of her puffy red coat, on the messy braid hanging over her shoulder, and on Niko’s closed eyelids as he lay stretched out on the side of the road beside her.
The snowflakes melted immediately on the road, and they disappeared into the two inches of snow that already covered the grass. They melted slowly on her coat sleeve, though, and they didn’t melt at all on her hair.
She watched the flakes for a long time—until she heard a car approaching on the otherwise empty road.
Thinking it was the ambulance coming, she stood up. She ignored the queasy feeling from moving so fast and stepped out closer to the road so she could see it drive up.
It wasn’t an ambulance. It was a fancy silver car—the kind they drove in movies. Disappointed, she sighed and wiped a trickle of blood off her cheek.
Niko was Mr. Mac's driver. He was always nice to her. He made jokes and called her Ginger because of her strawberry-blond hair. The ambulance needed to come soon to take care of him.
“Hey,” a voice called out unexpectedly. The silver car had stopped when she’d turned away, and a man was getting out. “Hey, kid. What happened? Are you hurt?”
Helen soberly eyed the approaching man. He was dressed up, and he had brown hair and almost a beard. She didn’t know him. “The car flipped over. Niko is hurt. He broke his leg and hurt his head.”
The man had started to jog over when he’d noticed Niko sprawled out on the side of the road. “Fuck,” he breathed, kneeling down beside him and glancing over at the upturned car in the ditch. He reached for his phone.
Helen knew that wasn’t a word you were supposed to use, but it seemed to reflect her own feelings at the moment, so she ignored it. Instead, she said, “I already called 911. I’m not stupid. They said they were coming.”
The stranger turned back toward her, his eyes widening in surprise. “That’s good, kid.”
She didn’t mind being called ‘kid’, since he seemed to mean it in a nice way, and she felt vaguely pleased by his words, like he’d complimented her. The truth was that, when she’d first crawled out of the flipped car and seen how hurt Niko was, she’d been absolutely terrified. And she’d cried a little when she tried to help him get out of the crushed car.
She didn’t tell the stranger that she cried, of course. She wouldn’t tell anyone.
“Hopefully, they’ll get here soon. He looks pretty bad,” the man said, leaning down over Niko and reaching a hand out as if he were checking for a pulse. “How did you get him out of the car?”
“He was awake before. He wanted to get out so I helped him. I think it hurt so bad he fainted.” Helen had thought at first he’d died, but then she’d seen he was still breathing. She was glad. She didn’t want Niko to die like Mr. Mac had.
“Probably.” The man focused on her face, and his expression changed. “You’re hurt too. You’re bleeding.”
“Not too bad. I just bumped my head when the car flipped over.” Helen rubbed at the aching spot on her head and came away with blood on her hand. She shrugged. “And my stomach hurts from the seatbelt.”
“Well, the ambulance will be here soon to take care of both of you.” He glanced from Niko and back to her. “You called him Niko. He’s not your father?”
“My father is dead. Niko is the driver.”
“Okay.” The man straightened up and rubbed his hair for a minute. “It’s freezing out here. Do you want to sit in my car until the ambulance comes? At least you could get warm.”
Helen frowned. “I don’t get into cars with people I don’t know.”
The man made a strange face and muttered, “Good point. Well, I’ll wait here with you.”
“You don’t have to,” she told him, going back to sit in her spot on the damp road next to Niko. “I’m okay by myself.”
“I’m not going to leave a hurt kid by herself on the side of the road with an unconscious man. I’ll wait with you. I’m Cyrus, by the way.”
“Cyrus?” Helen asked, peering up at him. The snow made everything seem really bright, including the man’s face. When he nodded, she added, “Cyrus is a strange name.”
“Probably. But it’s still my name.”
Helen thought about this for a moment and decided he was right. She nodded her approval.
Cyrus let out a breath of what sounded almost like laughter. He had a nice face, even though he looked kind of scruffy with the almost-beard. His eyes were a pretty color of blue. “Are you going to tell me your name?”
She looked at him seriously and shook her head.
“I guess you don’t tell strangers your name either, huh?”
“Right.”
“Can you at least tell me where Niko was driving you?”
“To Clarksburg. My new guardian lives there.”
“Your new guardian? What happened to your old guardian?”
“He had a heart attack and died.” She didn't mind saying it. She was a little sad, but she hadn't even cried when Mr. Mac died.
Cyrus’s expression changed, grew more serious. “And your mother?”
“She died too. Same as my dad. I was only six then.”
“So now you’re going to your new guardian in Clarksburg?”
“Yeah.”
Cyrus didn’t say anything. Helen was glad. She’d heard so many people say they were sorry, say she was a brave girl, say that things would get better soon that she couldn’t stand to hear them anymore. All those words were empty and silly.
He got down and sat on the road beside her. Didn’t say anything.
“You don’t think the car will blow up, do you?” she asked, gesturing toward the black car turned upside down in the ditch beside the road.
“I don’t think so.”
“They always blow up in movies.”
“But that’s in movies, and we’re far enough away anyway.”
“But I have a sweatshirt in the trunk that was my dad’s. I don’t want it to explode.”
He peered at the car and said, “We couldn’t get into the trunk right now to get it, anyway. The car is too mangled. But I think it will be okay.”
“Okay.” She brooded over the thought for a little while, though. She’d never cared for dolls or stuffed animals, but she slept with her dad’s sweatshirt every night. She’d be heartbroken if it blew up.
Cyrus stretched out his legs, getting more comfortable on the road.
“You’ll get your nice clothes dirty,” she said, when she realized his black pants were getting wet from the pavement.
He gave a half-shrug. “No big deal.”
She hugged her stomach where it was hurting and tried not to shiver. She was getting cold, but she wasn’t going to say anything about it. She’d said no when Cyrus offered to let her sit in his car. “Where were you going?”
“I was going to Clarksburg too. M
y dad usually stays there over the holidays.”
“Where does he normally live?”
“In D.C.”
“Do you always come see your dad at Christmas?”
“Yes.”
“What about your kids?”
Cyrus frowned. “What kids?”
“Don’t you have kids?”
“No, I don’t have kids.”
He seemed a little annoyed, so Helen felt bad for the question. Maybe it was a sore spot. “Does your wife want kids?”
“I’m not married.”
“Oh. Why not? Don’t you want a family?”
“Maybe. Later on. How old do you think I am?”
“You’re not old?”
“I’m not even eighteen!”
“Oh.” Helen stared at him in surprise. “I thought you were a lot older.” All the men she knew who had beards and dressed up like him were old.
His lips pressed together tightly. “Evidently.”
She peered at him for a minute, but decided he wasn’t really mad at her. “Why are you dressed up if you’re not old?” Teachers always tried to tell her that questions like that were rude, but she just had never cared. If she had a question, she asked it.
He shrugged again. “My dad likes people to dress appropriately for Christmas dinner.”
“Oh. Why are you named Cyrus?”
“My dad likes ancient history. Cyrus conquered an empire a few thousand years ago.”
“Does he want you to conquer an empire?”
He made another huff that sounded almost like laughter, but not quite. “A business empire. Maybe.”
She didn’t really understand that, so she just ignored it. “Where do you live?”
“D.C. I go to college there.”
Helen was about to say something, but a shiver caught her by surprise and she made a silly chattering noise with her teeth.
Cyrus pulled off his long black coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was nice and warm. He had a gray dress shirt and a soft black blazer on, so she hoped he wouldn’t be too cold without his coat.
“I’m ten,” she told him, thinking it was only fair since he’d told her how old he was.
“Are you? You look a lot younger. I thought maybe you were just six or seven.”
She made a face at him, horribly offended by this slight to her age and dignity. Then she saw his mouth turn up a little, and she realized he was teasing her. She stuck out her tongue.
She wasn’t sure what he would have said in response, since she just then heard the long-expected sirens.
The ambulance had finally arrived.
* * *
Helen’s new guardian lived in a big stone house that was almost like a castle. She loved it right away.
She’d gone in the ambulance to the hospital and had her head bandaged. A doctor had told her she would be fine. Niko was all right too, although he was still in the hospital getting his leg fixed. All of her stuff was stuck in the car, which was going to get towed away.
The only thing she cared about was her father’s sweatshirt. She really hoped it was all right.
At the hospital, she had explained to the police who she was and where she was going. A little while later one of them drove her out to the big house, and a friendly housekeeper had shown her to her room. It was a very nice room with a pretty bed and a big window, but whoever had fixed it up had thought she liked frilly dolls and stuffed animals. There weren’t even very many books.
She shrugged it off, though. Mr. Mac had fixed up a girly room like this for her at first too, and she’d gradually gotten rid of all the stuff she didn’t want and filled it with stuff she did.
She’d met Mr. Owen when she’d first come into the house. He was tall with gray hair, and he’d peered down at her like she was a curiosity as he’d said hello. She wasn’t sure what she thought about him yet.
She stared out her window and liked the look of the woods beyond the wide lawn. She would explore it as soon as she could, when it stopped snowing. She also wanted to look around the house, and she decided she didn’t need to wait for that.
She looked into dozens of rooms, but all of them were boring. Then she finally got to a huge library with a big fireplace and stained glass windows and cool-looking stairs that led up to more books and an absolutely enormous Christmas tree.
She peered around for a while, deciding this was her favorite, and finally pulled herself away to go downstairs.
She didn’t see anyone, and she wondered if Mr. Owen had left to go somewhere. She found the housekeeper in the kitchen, and the nice lady said Mr. Owen was talking to his son in the front parlor.
“I didn’t know he had a boy,” Helen said, perking up a little.
“Cyrus, his son, is in college.”
“Cyrus is Mr. Owen’s son?”
When this was confirmed, Helen hurried in the direction the housekeeper had indicated. She reached a closed door and was about to open it, but then she heard voices and stopped to listen.
“Damn it, Dad, this is ridiculous! Why the hell did you agree to be this girl’s guardian?” That voice sounded like Cyrus.
“Mackenzie was a friend of mine. He was a distant relative of her father, and he took on her guardianship when her parents' died four years ago. Mackenzie specifically requested that I take on his responsibilities when he died. Why should I refuse?”
“Because you’ll be utterly incompetent at it. She’s just a little girl. You have no idea how to take care of a girl.”
“She has a nanny who takes care of her. I guess the nanny has some vacation days at Christmas, but she’ll be coming out next week. I believe little Miss Coleman is an independent child who is used to being left to her own devices. I’m certainly as capable as Mackenzie of being her guardian.”
“Just because she’s used to it doesn’t mean it’s in her best interests. What are you going to do with her?”
“She’ll be in school, and her nanny can pick up the rest of the slack. Would you prefer I let her take her chances with the foster system? She’s already ten. It’s not an age where children are likely to be adopted into loving families.”
Mr. Owen’s voice was cool and distant. He sounded very smart. Helen could hear it in his voice.
Cyrus, on the other hand, sounded very mad. “Why the hell would Mackenzie think you’d be a good guardian? Didn’t he know a woman to leave her with, someone who might have a few maternal feelings for the poor kid?”
“It’s a unique situation. Miss Coleman is an heiress now. Mackenzie bequeathed to her his entire fortune. It will be held in trust for her until she’s twenty-one. He was very concerned about her being taken advantage of by a guardian who would misuse her inheritance.”
“So why did he assume you wouldn’t want her fortune?”
“Her fortune is substantial to most people, but it’s a pittance compared to mine. I have no use for her money. Mackenzie knew that.”
“You have no use for her at all. Are you planning to just go about your business as usual and ignore her existence?”
“I’ll ensure she’s taken care of and that her inheritance is preserved for when she’s old enough to claim it. That’s the extent of my responsibility. She has a nanny to coddle her, if she needs it.”
“This is absolutely insane,” Cyrus muttered. After a pause, he added, “It’s Christmas Eve. Did you plan anything special for her?”
“I bought a gift for her. It’s over there.”
There was the sound of footsteps and then some rustling she couldn’t identify.
Then Cyrus burst out angrily, “A Renaissance dagger? You got a ten-year-old girl a Renaissance dagger?”
“It’s a woman’s dagger. Made to be hidden in a dress. It’s exquisite.”
“She’s ten! She won’t even be able to play with it. It’s too dangerous.”
“She’ll appreciate it when she gets older.”
“Damn it, Dad. I really think you’ve lost your mind, and that po
or kid is going to suffer for it.”
His voice seemed to get closer, and Helen realized he was about to leave the room. She scurried across the hall and ducked into an open room so he wouldn’t see she’d been listening.
She heard him stomp down the hall and then heard the main door of the house slam as he left. She went to the window and watched as he got into his fancy silver car and drove away.
She felt flustered and upset from overhearing the conversation, but she wasn’t quite sure why.
She’d liked Mr. Mac well enough, but he’d never tried to be a father to her. It sounded like Mr. Owen would be the same way. That was fine with her. She liked Sally, her nanny. Otherwise she was used to taking care of herself. She didn’t want someone to try to boss her around anyway.
She didn’t know why Cyrus was getting so mad about it.
She wished he hadn’t left without saying goodbye. She’d liked him. He’d seemed nice.
But it was no big deal. People either left or died. She was used to it.
She did some more exploring—finding a basement packed full of fascinating knick-knacks that would take her weeks to investigate. Then she ended up in the TV room, where she found a huge collection of movies.
It was Christmas Eve, so she started to look for one movie in particular.
She searched the collection for about ten minutes, kneeling on the floor sticking her head into the cabinet so she could scan the back rows.
“Hey, kid,” a voice came from behind her.
She was so startled by the unexpected voice that she jerked in surprise and hit her head on the shelf of the cabinet.
“Don’t scare me like that,” she said grumpily, rubbing her head as she turned around to see Cyrus standing in the doorway.
“Sorry,” he said, with that look in his eyes that meant he was secretly laughing. “What are you looking for?”
“A movie,” she said sharply, since that should have been obvious. “I thought you were gone.”
“Not for good.”
“You were mad,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. She was glad to see him, but he was holding something behind his back, and she didn’t know what it was or why he was here again.
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