Melody moved closer in, as well. “College student, probably,” she said.
“One goes to college for that occupation now?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “No, no. Her outfit is modern—daring, especially in winter. But I don’t think she’s a hooker. Sorry. I believe the term hooker came from the Civil War—Hooker’s girls. Never mind. I don’t believe she’s a prostitute. That’s called a minidress. She’s got the youth and the body for it, looks pretty cute.”
“Ah. I’m sorry—it wouldn’t be considered decent at all in my…world,” he said.
“Thank God you didn’t fall to earth on Miami Beach,” she said.
He gazed at her, refraining from asking her about Miami Beach. She was glad—a waitress warmly clad in corduroy jeans and a turtleneck sweater came to the table. Melody opted for a totally fattening Kalhúa and hot chocolate, and Jake said that he’d have the same.
The waitress had just moved away when Jake came to his feet, a frown on his face, his posture defensive. Melody felt fingers come over her eyes and a teasing voice said, “Guess who?”
She grabbed the hands and quickly drew her brother around to introduce him to Jake, ruing the fact that Keith had already made it home. She really needed more time to figure out something to do about Jake.
“Jake,” she said quickly, “this is my brother, Keith. Keith, Jake Mallory.”
Keith was a good soul. Sure, he’d been a pain-in-the-ass baby brother at times, playing the usual stupid pranks like leaving the saltshaker lid on loose and going off into gales of laughter when she wound up with a white mountain on her French fries. But he had matured into a good-looking young man with an open mind, an easy humor and not much in the way of a temper. She thought of him often as a little mini-me of her father, because they were so into science. He had finally learned the difference between a Monet and a Picasso for her sake, and for him—and her father—she had tried to understand the basic concepts of physics. As a brother, he was coming along nicely. They both loved a lot of the same music, and that had always helped them along.
“How do you do?” Jake asked politely.
“Good, thanks. Jake, nice to meet you.” Keith drew up a chair and straddled it, grinning. He looked at Jake. “My mom and dad are all agog over you. Tearing their hair out. They don’t think they’ve met your parents. They used to be sure they knew everyone around here. And they’re still convinced that you’re related to Melody’s—er—friend Mark.”
“I don’t believe I’m related to Mark. Your parents are charming,” Jake said simply.
Thank God. He was getting better.
“So, you two met at school?” Keith asked.
“College,” Melody said. Soon enough, she’d get good at the lie.
“Did you order drinks?”
“Hot chocolate with Kahlúa,” Melody said.
“I’ll go order the same. You’re not on one of your diets, I take it?” he asked Melody.
“No, I’m not on a diet,” she said, glaring at him.
Keith grinned at Jake. “Oh, wait, that’s right. Melody and my mom never go on diets. They go on lifestyles.”
“Keith!” Melody said sharply.
He shrugged.
“I’ll seek out the young woman who took our order,” Jake said, standing and walking toward the bar.
Keith looked at Melody. “You are such a liar.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve obviously forgotten that I came and hung around your college dorm every chance I could get, falling in love with all the ‘older’ women around you. I would have met this guy. Who is he?”
She stared at her brother. “You didn’t meet everyone.”
“Who is he?” Keith repeated.
She hesitated. “I hit him.”
“What?”
“I hit him on the road. Keith, he’s…he’s having some kind of mental block. He isn’t hurt, unless I did do him some serious brain damage. I—”
“Wait, back up. You hit him. You socked him in the jaw?”
“No!” Melody said. “I was driving and I think I hit some black ice. I hit him.”
“And you didn’t get him to a hospital?”
“No, he didn’t want to go. Hey, I didn’t hit him hard. And I just didn’t know what to do. I panicked.”
“You hit someone, you get them to a hospital,” Keith chastised.
“But—he was, he wasn’t behaving normally.”
“Great. All the more reason not to bring the guy to a hospital.”
“But…he was in costume. Revolutionary-period clothing. He thinks he was a soldier. He—he says the last thing he remembers is that he was being executed, hanged, in New York City. He had a sister or half sister or stepsister or someone who was a witch and said some kind of curse—and he wound up on the road. Then I hit him.”
Keith just stared at her for several seconds. He blinked. “Oh, great. You are making no sense. He thinks he fell to earth from the past, and still—you didn’t take him to the hospital!”
“He didn’t appear to be hurt.”
“You obviously gave the fellow a concussion.”
“I don’t think so.”
“He—he could be crazy.”
“Well, that’s obvious!”
“Right. So this is getting better and better.”
“He needs our help. Somehow, he has to realize who he really is.”
“Since when was your degree is psychology?”
“I brought him home. I—I think his real memory will come back.”
Her brother arched a brow skeptically.
“Look, Keith, he must have a job as a costume interpreter or something.”
“In costume, huh. You think?” he asked sarcastically.
She glared at him. “He believes his own role right now. Quit judging me.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“He needs our help.”
“Our help?”
“My help. I always helped you!”
Keith stared at her amazed, then started to laugh. “Okay, I’ve brought home a trillion puppies and kittens. But not a crazy.”
She stiffened. “What about the pole-dancing stripper?”
“Hey, she knew where she worked.”
“Keith, look, he’s nice, he’s pleasant…I’m hoping that some normal time will help bring back his memory.”
“And you think anyone is going to have ‘normal time’ at our house?” Keith asked dryly.
“That’s not fair,” she accused him.
“So. You hit him, he’s in costume, thinks he’s a soldier, and you bring him home to feed him and warm him up. This isn’t the same as what I did.”
She glared at her brother. “You are not at all amusing.”
“No, but you are in some weird water here, sis.”
“Keith, stop it. I’ve kind of got a problem going here.”
“Maybe you do,” he said. His eyes were bright with amusement as he moved closer to her. “What do you think he’s saying to the bartender? She’s pretty cute, too.”
“Oh, God, I don’t know!” Melody stood up. She sat down. “Keith, go check on him. I don’t want to look like a jealous idiot. Go on, get him back over here.”
Keith shrugged, grinned, and then did as she asked. He walked to the bar and set a hand on Jake’s shoulder and said something to him. The pretty bartender laughed at whatever was exchanged, and added the last cup to a tray that their waitress came to take. She led the way back to the table and, much to Melody’s relief, Jake and her brother followed.
Melody picked up her cup and drank, barely aware that the chocolate concoction was hot.
“Sweetie, if you want to swill something, it really shouldn’t be hot chocolate. Beer is best for swilling, wouldn’t you say, Jake?”
“I suppose it’s a proper beverage for hefty consumption,” Jake said.
“He knows who you think you are,” Melody said.
“I know who I
am. My name is Jake Mallory,” Jake said.
“And you were at the end of a hangman’s noose?” Keith said.
Jake seemed very tall and straight. “That is the absolute truth,” he said quietly.
“And you know nothing that’s happened since the American Revolution?” Keith asked.
“Only what your sister has been kind enough to tell me,” he said sincerely.
Keith stared at Melody. “Huh.” He grinned suddenly. “Well, I know what we should do after dinner.”
“What?” Melody asked dubiously.
“A DVD glut.”
She cast her head to the side and smiled slowly. “History and pop culture.”
“Excuse me,” Jake said. “A DVD glut?”
Melody groaned. Her brother began a scientific explanation.
“I see,” Jake said.
Keith rose. “Time for dinner. I came to fetch the two of you. Can’t be late for Mom’s nouvelle cuisine.”
“We’re having stew, I believe,” Melody said.
“Whatever,” Keith said. Then, “Stew? Oh, no. God knows what she puts in those Crock-Pots.” He grimaced. “She thinks she has powers.”
“So Melody said. Maybe she does,” Jake said.
“Forget it, forget it,” Melody said, rising. “My mother does not have powers. Please, don’t go encouraging her to think that she does! Come on, let’s get home.”
Keith had brought his car. He encouraged Jake to ride with him, telling him that he could explain the workings of the vehicle much better than Melody might ever manage. She decided to let the two of them go—there was nothing that Keith didn’t know already, so whatever Jake said to him, it wouldn’t matter.
She reached the house first and Keith and Jake pulled in right behind her. Other than the fact that his hair was long—easily understandable, if he made his living as an historic interpreter—Jake looked as if he belonged right where he was.
That was good.
Oh, Lord, she was beginning to fall for his fantasy!
She shook off the thought as she headed for the house. Before she reached the door, Brutus was howling out a welcome. She entered the house quickly. One good thing about Brutus—no one would ever come sneaking up on the house. Brutus was louder than the most obnoxious doorbell ever created.
Wheels for legs did not prevent the basset from having a tail that wagged so hard it was like being whacked when it hit ya.
“Lovely!” her mom called, coming from the kitchen. Now she looked like Stevie Nicks in an apron. “Dinner is on.”
“Yeah? So what’s in it? Eye of toad and leg of newt?” Keith teased.
“Oh, you!” Mona protested, giving him an affection tap on the shoulder. “Don’t you dare go scaring our guest!”
“I’m not scared,” Jake assured her.
“She does add all her own herbs,” Keith warned.
“We’re having stew. Beef stew. And I’m afraid, other than the herbs, the ingredients are store-bought,” Mona said. She brightened. “But I do buy only organic.”
Jake looked at Melody.
“She loathes the idea that food might have pesticides in it,” Melody explained.
“She’s quite right I guess,” Jake said.
“And quite expensive,” George Tarleton said, joining them in the living room.
“Dad, you might want to find a lint brush. You’re wearing more of Cleo than Cleo wears of herself, I think,” Melody pointed out.
“Oh, yes, well, excuse me, I’ll find the lint brush,” her father said.
“Come into the dining room, sit, sit,” Mona encouraged.
The dining room was probably the most traditional room in the house—the large dining table and chairs were early American, as were the buffet and china closet. The back wall offered a bay window with a built-in bench seat that looked out over the lawn, and it was enhanced by warm, deep blue cushions and handsome throw pillows. There was a fireplace in here as well—the house boasted eight—and at Christmas, more than any other time, Mona kept the fires burning. She was also a huge fan of scented candles, so the room smelled deliciously of stew and spices.
Jake paused in the doorway, breathing in. His eyes scanned the room, and she thought once again that she saw a look of pained nostalgia on his face that couldn’t be feigned.
She felt her heart going out to him, and then she was irritated with herself. She just had to pick up a crazy who was completely charming, dignified and capable of somehow seducing her into his fantasy. He’d been in costume—the man was an actor, in a way. She had to keep remembering that.
“Sit, sit, Jake. I swear, there’s nothing at all wrong with my cooking, my children like to torment me,” Mona said. “George, will you get the iced tea from the refrigerator?”
Melody, Keith and Jake had taken their seats as they had been told. When Mona moved, Jake rose. She set her hands on his shoulders to stay seated when she rose to help her husband get the drinks.
“What do you want to bet it’s green tea?” Keith asked, feigning a whisper.
“I heard that. Green tea is excellent for you. A billion Chinese who have far longer life spans than we do cannot be wrong,” Mona said.
“Green tea is lovely, Mom,” Melody said, kicking her brother’s shin under the table. “Don’t get her going,” she mouthed.
“I heard that, too!” Mona said, sweeping back around the table with a large tureen of stew. She set it down with a flourish while her husband got the glasses. “And it’s all right because I’m so happy just to have you home for the holidays—and to have our new friend, Mr. Mallory, here, as well.” She sat. “Keith, dear, will you say grace, please?”
“Grace,” Keith said softly, and grinned.
“Oh, honestly, Keith, it’s hard to imagine that you’re a student going for a Ph.D., darling, you can be so juvenile at times.”
“May I?” Jake asked.
“Well, of course!” Mona said.
Jake folded his hands and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Lord, for the food you’ve provided, for the warmth of the hearth, and the love of family and friends. May we all be home in time for Christmas. Amen.”
He opened his eyes and looked at Melody. Again, there was something in them that entreated with dignity.
People didn’t drop from a hangman’s noose to find themselves in a street almost three hundred years later.
“How very nice, Jake, thank you,” Mona said. “So, now, how was the ice skating?”
“It was nice, Mom,” Melody said. She stood to help her mother; Jake stood, as well. “I’m just passing the plates. Please, Jake, thank you.”
He’d been taught to stand when a woman stood, and it was going to keep happening. Melody made a quick job of passing the food around.
“Mrs. Tarleton, I understand that you have some wonderful books on local history,” Jake said.
“Oh, indeed.” Mona flashed a smile. “I’m simply fascinated by the mind-set of those who came before us. When they had the tricentennial of the Salem witchcraft trials, they printed up complete volumes of the proceedings, the court records, everything. It’s fascinating reading. So sad and horrible.”
“What happens in the minds of men—and women—is always fascinating,” George said. “With all the theories they’ve had regarding the hysteria, I still can’t imagine sane adults allowing those girls who accused their neighbors of being witches—some only because they used herbs to help cure sicknesses—to cause such a tragedy.”
“I quite agree,” Jake said. “Many people were killed with no evidence that they had done anything wrong.”
“Do you believe in witchcraft?” Melody asked.
“Whether I believe or not does not matter,” Jake said. “Massachusetts was a British colony, and witchcraft was illegal. Could someone really curse his neighbor’s cow with an evil eye? Most probably not. But mixing potions—even herbal potions—could be considered witchcraft and sadly, the punishment for witchcraft could be death. But I don’t believe t
hat any of those caught up in the hysteria at Salem were practicing real witchcraft of any kind. They were just caught up in a miasma of fear. There was so much of the world that was unknown and frightening.”
“Indeed,” George agreed.
Mona pounced on the words. “That’s just it, people act out of fear or ignorance. The true Wiccans were not guilty of any evil—they were part of the pagan way that existed before Christianity began to spread. And those who brought Christianity across from Europe were willing to do what was necessary to convince others to follow them. I mean, seriously, we don’t know what day Christ was born, we have settled on a day for it to be Christmas. The high holy day of All Hallow’s Eve coincided with a pagan practice that had long been celebrated. And Easter! The holiday and celebration are even named for Eostre, the Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring. The old Anglo-Saxons celebrated spring and rebirth, and the Hebrews celebrated Passover, and Christians celebrate the fact that Christ rose from the dead. Here’s my point, we are all one creation, however we choose to see our deities.”
“Mom, that’s not at all how the Puritans saw it,” Melody said.
“No, I’m afraid they weren’t at all accepting of others, and they certainly wouldn’t appreciate anyone pointing out the fact that Easter came from Eostre,” Jake said. “Mrs. Tarleton, this stew is absolutely delicious. Thank you very kindly.”
“Oh,” Mona said, enrapt with her guest. “That’s so kind of you. It’s just a Crock-Pot stew. I’m so glad you’re enjoying it! And I’m fascinated with what you’re saying, of course, because it’s just terrible to think of the wonderful and kind people who practiced old forms of medicine just to wind up burned at the stake in Europe and Scotland and hanged in England for witchcraft. They were often midwives, or people working with herbs, and as we all know now, many of the natural ingredients cured people.”
“Mom,” Melody pointed out, “just because something is natural, doesn’t always mean that it’s good for you. Hemlock is natural.”
Mona waved a hand in the air. “My dear, you’re missing the point.”
“What is the point?” Keith asked, grinning.
Melody kicked him beneath the table again.
“Ouch! Stop that,” he told her.
“What is going on there?” George demanded.
Home in Time for Christmas Page 5
