by R.L. Naquin
doorways. Everywhere I looked, my gaze landed on something beautiful. The piles of stuff were gone, and only a small percentage remained. Maurice could have gone overboard, but he hadn’t.
“Oh, Maurice.” I stepped inside and unbuttoned my coat, trying to see everything at once. “It’s so pretty.”
He moved behind me to pull off my coat and take my scarf and gloves. “Do you like it? I was worried.”
“I love it.”
“We helped!” A small voice drifted from the other side of the couch, and Molly’s littlest, Abby, hopped from the floor to the armrest. A few seconds later, Molly popped into sight, then was joined by Aaron and Fred, her two older boys.
“Happy Wintergreen, Zoey!” Aaron said.
Fred nodded and smiled, a bit more subdued than his younger siblings. “We brought the bunny fluff,” he said. “Would you like to help us?”
“Bunny fluff?”
Molly waved me over. “It is our tradition. This time of year, there is often less of the things we need. We celebrate Wintergreen to remember to be grateful for the things we do have rather than worry for the things we do not.” She directed me toward a basket filled with fluffy white down. “Rabbits share their undercoat with us so we will not be cold when winter takes hold. For the festivities, we decorate with it.”
Molly and the kids each took handfuls from the basket and tucked it between branches and pine needles. I took a little and placed it here and there, but mostly I watched the kids. Their laughter blew the last of my grumpiness away, and I laughed with them when they jumped from branch to branch like little birds, stuffing bunny fluff into the greenery.
When they were done, it looked as if we’d had a light snow in the living room.
“My turn!” Maurice appeared beside me with a grocery bag. “Reach in and grab one.”
I craned my neck to see inside. “One what?”
He snapped the bag shut. “No peeking. Just pick.”
I crooked an eyebrow. If something alive squirmed inside, harmless or not, I’d have to pop him. But if I couldn’t trust Maurice, I couldn’t trust anyone. I held my breath so I wouldn’t scream if something startled me, then plunged my arm into the bag.
My fingertips brushed pieces of fabric. I fished around until I found an especially soft piece and drew it out.
The ugliest hand-painted tie I’d ever seen dangled from my hand. A trout with wonky, mismatched eyes leapt from a stream as a bear chased him. I rubbed the fabric. “Silk?”
“Now, tie it in a bow and make a wish,” Maurice said. “If you wish hard enough, Saint Cedarchip might grant it.”
“What?” I stared at him.
“Oh, my gods, Zoey! Hurry before the magic runs out! Tie it, quick!” His face wasn’t nearly as distressed as his voice pretended to be.
I tied the men’s neckwear into the best bow I could muster, considering it wasn’t meant to go in that shape, then closed my eyes for nearly a minute.
I opened one eye. “Okay, now what?”
He took the tie from me and arranged it on the tree in a cloud of bunny fluff. “Now we have hot cocoa. Duh. Sit, sit, sit!” He gave me a small push into my favorite chair. “Wait here.”
While I waited, there was a tap on the window, so I wandered over to see who it was. I pushed the curtain aside, and Iris’s big grinning face stared back at me. I opened the window.
“Hey, Iris. The tree is gorgeous. Is Fin gone?”
Iris snorted and made chuffing noises I didn’t understand.
Molly hopped to the sill and sat with her legs crossed. “He says the man is gone and will not return. Iris has a souvenir for you.”
Iris held out his enormous, hairy-backed hand. A gold shamrock lapel pin glittered in the soft light. Iris chuffed again, this time with laughter.
I winked and took the pin from him. “How about we make it a new tradition, Iris?” I scanned the room for the right place to show off the leprechaun’s lost luck. One of the red velvet bows had fallen from the back of the tree, so I pinned the shamrock to the center of it, then stuck it on the frame over the front door.
“Christmas luck for all who enter or leave,” I said.
“Sit, sit, sit!” Maurice brought a tray of mugs filled with steaming hot chocolate and placed it on the coffee table. Someone knocked on the back door, and he tilted his head. “Sara and Riley aren’t due for another few hours. Are you expecting anyone?”
I shook my head. Frothy whipped cream clung to my upper lip, and I licked it away.
Maurice returned to the kitchen and came back with three teenagers in tow.
“Blessed Feast of Llyr!” Owen said.
Rhys waved a square basket in the air, and the smell of fish wafted across the room. “We brought the blessing creel. Do you have a big pot for the crabs?”
“I’ll clean the fish!” Brynn snatched the basket from her brother and skipped into the kitchen.
I settled in my chair and sipped my cocoa. The brownie kids hopped from branch to branch, rearranging bits of fluff on the tree. Maurice directed the selkies in the kitchen while they cooked up the fish and shellfish they’d brought.
Behind me, Molly and Iris chatted in grunts and chuffs while she wove the hair around his face into braids, then attached tiny silver bells below his chin.
So many different traditions. So many different holidays.
“Hey.” Maurice knelt next to me with a small cardboard box in his hands. “I thought you might like to add this stuff.”
I reached for the flaps on the box, then frowned, hesitating. “Where did you get this?”
“From the garage. I was looking for an extension cord.”
My heart squeezed in my chest. I knew the box. A lot of Christmases had come and gone since I’d last seen it.
I pulled the flaps open and peered inside. My blobby, clay nativity scene was long gone, but the baby Jesus remained. It didn’t look like a baby Jesus, but I knew what it was supposed to be. Small as it was, it still felt heavy in my hand. One of Dad’s fancy paper snowflakes, heavily creased, unfolded to reveal the elaborate shapes he’d cut from the pages of my Nefertiti report. I shoved aside a few ribbons and half-used candles to get to the wad of paper at the bottom. I peeled the paper away and found mom’s hand-painted china cup in gold and red and green.
I took those three things, forgotten over the years but no less precious, and put them all on the mantle. I tucked some bunny fluff around them to keep them safe.
Wiping away a stray tear, I turned to face my family.
“Happy Wintergreen Saint Cedarchip Feast of Llyr.” I squeezed Maurice’s hand.
“Merry Christmas, Zoey.” He kissed my cheek. “What did you wish for when you tied your Saint Cedarchip bow?”
I sighed, content. “Nothing. I didn’t wish for a thing.”
###
About the Author
Rachel’s head is packed with an outrageous amount of useless Disney trivia. She is terrified of thunder, but not of lightning, and sometimes recites the Disneyland dedication speech during storms to keep herself calm. She finds it appalling that nobody from Disney has called yet with her castle move-in date.
Originally from Northern California, she has a tendency to move every few years, resulting in a total of seven different states and a six-year stint in England. Currently, she’s planning her next grand adventure. Rachel has one heroic husband, two genius kids, a crazy-cat-lady starter kit, and an imaginary dog named Waffles.
She doesn’t have time for a real dog.
Hang out with her online:
Website: https://www.rlnaquin.com
Facebook: https://facebook.com/rlnaquin
Twitter: https://twitter.com/rlnaquin
Blog: https://www.rlnaquin.com/blog/
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