A Magical Christmas (16 page)

“Jordan!” she called.

“Eat shit, Christie!” he yelled back.

“Jordan, I need help!”

But her brother was up ahead of her. He couldn’t hear her any longer.

Or he was ignoring her.

“Jordan, you are a worthless pile of snot yourself!” she muttered to herself, then stared firmly at the horse. “I’m getting on your back, whether you like it or not. I’m the human; you’re the horse.”

She tried to calmly mount Shenandoah one more
time, mentally reminding herself over and over again that she had to let the horse know who was boss.

The horse knew.

Oh, yeah.

The horse was boss.

No matter how quickly, how firmly, or with what determination she moved, the horse moved as well.

“Fine! Fine, you stupid creature! We’ll just stand here and stare at one another!” she snapped.

A breeze whispered around her.

The others were so far gone that she couldn’t even see them anymore. The trail was well-marked, of course.

And it was daylight.

Kind of.

It was green daylight.

She was alone.

No, no… they were just ahead of her.

She turned around. The breeze was growing colder. The afternoon was growing later.

Darker.

Fog was beginning to rise from the ground. The wind stirred, swirling around. It was very cold on her neck. Sending chills down her spine.

It was the breeze.…

Or was it the cemetery?

The cemetery she all but stood in now.

Going in circles with the horse, she had come
closer and closer to the scattered tombstones, angels, death’s-heads, and grim reapers.

“Please, horse, please…” she whispered.

Then she suddenly stood stock-still.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t scream.

She couldn’t even gasp out a sound.

The air had been swept cleanly and completely from her lungs.

For within the green mist of the graveyard, a man suddenly rose.

Rose from the ground, straight out of the mist, standing directly in front of one of the tombstones.

Rose…

Rose out of the ground.

Dusted himself off…

And turned to her.

C
hristie never screamed. She passed out cold—a fact that later worried her. Screaming in the face of danger would be a far better thing than simply succumbing to it.

When she opened her eyes, he was leaning over her, and she might well have screamed then, for he was so startling a figure. He wore a Union slouch hat—she knew what it was right away, having been dragged through at least a dozen Civil War museums by her father. He was perhaps twenty at most, extremely good-looking with deep, very dark eyes and collar-length tawny hair.

His voice, when he spoke, was low and husky.

“Hey, are you all right? I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t startle me; you scared me half to death.”

He was real, flesh and blood, dressed in a dark
blue wool uniform, with a wonderfully handsome navy cloak around his shoulders. He helped her sit up, and she swallowed down her last impulse to scream.

“But are you all right?”

“Fine, fine!” Christie croaked. “Fine,” she said again, finding a firm voice at last. She shook her head, staring at him. “It just looked as if—”

“Ah!” he said, smiling as he looked back toward the angels and headstones just feet from them.

“It looked as if you crawled right out of that grave.”

“I was just resting,” he told her. He flashed her a quick smile.

“Where—where did you come from?”

He pointed toward a large bay horse she hadn’t noticed before. It was ambling around the stones, plucking up the tufts of grass that grew around a number of them in defiance of winter.

“You rode here?”

He smiled. “Mmm. I take it you’re staying at Oak River Plantation?”

She nodded.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“But are you enjoying yourself?”

She laughed and admitted, “Well, yes. So far.”

“It’s quite remote,” he commented.

She smiled shyly, and nodded again. “Very remote.”

He rose suddenly, abruptly, realizing that she was still sitting on the cold ground and he had been leaning over her—preventing her from rising. He helped her to her feet, brushing pine needles from her hair and clothing. Then he stepped back, not at all awkwardly. He looked her over from head to toe, dark eyes alight with a mischief that brought a smile to her lips. Oh, God, she was flirting. She didn’t mean to be flirting. This guy was very good-looking, and she was glad to find a friend near her own age here—okay, so he was probably more of an adult, but…

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Christie. Christie Radcliff.”

He swept his hat from his head and bowed deeply. “How do you do, Christie. Christie Radcliff. I’m Aaron Wainscott. And now that I know your name, let’s see what else I can tell you. Umm… you’re here with your folks. You’re not terribly pleased to be here with your folks because it’s Christmastime and you should be with your friends. Ah… a special friend. Are you engaged to be married?”

Christie laughed. “You must be joking. I can’t even get my folks to acknowledge him.”

“Ah, but to you, he’s very important. It’s quite serious.”

“And I’ll be eighteen before too long.”

“And you think that will solve everything?”

Christie frowned. “It will give me my independence.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and his look was just a bit superior then.

He couldn’t possibly have been more than three or four years older than she was, and she resented his air of patronizing maturity, no matter how cute and charming he might be.

“The heart is never really independent,” he said.

“No, but when the heart and the mind have made the right choice, being an independent age is important,” she assured him with firm dignity.

His lashes lowered over his eyes, then he looked toward the gravestones once again. “Well, Christie, I can tell you that even being right doesn’t always mean you’re going to feel good about your choices.” He looked at her again.

Christie arched a brow to him. “You’ve got great parents, Aaron. I can’t imagine fighting with either of them.”

“That’s because they’re not your parents. But trust me, turning your back on people you love isn’t the answer. Compromise is the better way. Understanding is best.”

“Oh?” she queried. “And what dire mistake did you make? I mean, you and your folks must get along, since you’re here. I take it that you grew up at your parents’ own Oak River Plantation?”

He smiled. “I did. But I left Oak River Plantation. And the circumstances weren’t good. And now… well, sometimes you don’t have the time to make things up the way you’d like to.”

Christie was puzzled by the depth of emotion that seemed to dwell beneath the lightness of his speech.

“It’s Christmastime, and you’re here,” she told him softly. “With your folks.”

“It’s Christmastime, and I’m here,” he agreed. “I’m always home for Christmas. Hey, I guess you’d better get going. I hear them calling you,” he said.

“I don’t hear—” she began, but then she did. She heard her mother’s voice.

Concerned.

“Mothers!” she sighed.

He laughed, and whistled. To Christie’s chagrin, Shenandoah meekly trotted over. “Let me give you a hand,” Aaron Wainscott said, and smiling again, he helped her up. “Go on, catch up,” he told her.

Seated atop Shenandoah, she looked down at him. “Why don’t you come ride with us?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Can’t right now.”

“Will you be around?”

He offered her a crooked grin. “Well, I’ll be in this general vicinity tomorrow. And I’m always at the Christmas Eve dance.”

“The dance?”

He nodded gravely. “We have a huge ball every Christmas Eve, and everyone comes. You’ll enjoy it. But if you want to talk… ride out tomorrow,” he invited.

Christie nodded. She heard her mother calling again, and started Shenandoah moving along the trail.

Julie, her face drawn with concern, was riding toward her. “Christie, sweetheart, are you all right?”

“Of course!” Christie said. She felt slightly embarrassed; Jesse Wainscott was riding right behind her mother. She felt like a small child. She forced a smile for their host, thinking all the while that she should have recognized his son right away—they looked incredibly alike. “I just met Aaron, Mr. Wainscott.”

“Ah!” Jesse said.

“Aaron?” Julie queried.

“My son,” Jesse told her.

“Oh,” Julie murmured. “How nice. How old is he?”

“Twenty,” Jesse said.

“I tried to get him to join us,” Christie said.

“But he couldn’t,” Jesse told her.

“Right.”

“Well, we should get on,” Jesse said.

“Perhaps we should look for your son—” Julie began.

“He’ll be around,” Jesse said firmly. “We need to be getting on back. Darkness comes quickly here.”

They started riding again. Julie fell back next to Christie. She glanced at her daughter speculatively.

“Is he attractive?” she whispered to Christie.

“Very,” Christie assured her.

Christie could almost see the wheels turning in her mother’s mind.
Get Christie interested in another boy. Let her see that the sun doesn’t rise and fall on Jamie Rodriguez
.

“Nowhere near as attractive as Jamie,” Christie said pleasantly; then she couldn’t help but smile at her mother, “Still, I did enjoy meeting him.”

Julie smiled ruefully. “Good. Too bad he wouldn’t come with us. And how strange. I wonder…” Her voice trailed away.

Christie leaned toward her. “You wonder if maybe the Wainscotts may not be somewhat dysfunctional, just as it seems we are?”

“All families have their problems, Christie.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

Christie shrugged. “But even when the Wainscotts aren’t together, it seems…”

“What?”

Christie shrugged, remembering what Aaron had been telling her. Understanding was best, he had said. Not just independence.

When she turned eighteen, she’d have the legal right to tell her parents to go to hell. But was it something that she really wanted to do?

Sometimes, yes.

When they were so pigheaded.

“Even when the Wainscotts aren’t together, what?” Julie repeated.

“I think they love one another,” she said. Then she felt awkward. She hadn’t meant that she didn’t love her mother. It was just that the obstacles in her family all seemed immense. No one understood anyone else. They all just lived separate lives.

And waited.

For what?

Time. Time to take care of all the ills among them.

“Ashley’s up there kind of alone,” she muttered, feeling her mother’s eyes on hers. She couldn’t express anything that she was feeling.

She nudged Shenandoah and moved on ahead.

As she did so, she had to smile. Ashley. That little rascal. She was laughing at something Jesse
Wainscott had said. Her laughter was fresh and light and real.

It sounded like silver bells and almost made it feel like Christmas.

It was a different kind of vacation, because they didn’t just dismount from their horses and go running back to the house for cocktail hour or hot cocoa.

Jesse showed them all around the stables, pointing out where saddles, blankets, and bridles went, and where brushes and grooming equipment were kept.

He gave Julie a hand, showing her how to brush down her horse, then went on to Christie and Ashley.

Julie had to admit to being a little bit surprised by the task—it was a bed-and-breakfast, but she’d rather assumed there might be more help about—but after five minutes of brushing her horse, she discovered that she was talking to the animal. Soothingly.

And the grooming movements, repetitious, physical, slow, were somehow as soothing as the ridiculous sound of her own voice. In her own little stable with her own fairly large horse, she realized that she was happy. No distant sound of traffic could be heard; she could hear her kids—each with
his or her mount—apparently enjoying the task as much as she was.

Ashley and little Midget were having one hell of a conversation. Ashley, who carried on with her dolls frequently enough, had no difficulty at all carrying on quite a dialogue with a creature that at least snorted in reply now and then.

Julie smiled, listening, and finished brushing Strawberry. The roan tossed her head and gazed at Julie with her big brown eyes, as if contemplating her with curious concern.

Julie patted her neck and came out of the stall. Darkness had fallen; she didn’t see Jesse Wainscott anywhere, but she could hear the children still busy in the different stalls.

“Ashley?” she called.

“She’s with me, Mom,” Christie replied.

Ashley giggled.

“We’re braiding Midget’s mane,” Ashley told her.

“I don’t know if Mr. Wainscott would appreciate that,” Julie warned.

“He said it was okay,” Jordan said, sticking his head out from the last stall, where the kids were together now with Midget. Jordan wasn’t braiding; he’d doled out grain, and now he was just sitting in the hay in the corner, watching his sisters.

“Well, I’m going up to the house to take a bath,” Julie said.

“Sure, Mom,” Christie said.

“Come back soon; you’ll need to wash up for dinner.”

“Right,” Christie said.

“Don’t forget and leave Ashley out here alone,” Julie said.

Christie eyed her. “Mom, I won’t.”

“I’ll be with them both,” Jordan informed her.

Julie nodded and turned to leave them at last.

She was glad to see her offspring getting along so well together.

Yet it was strange to feel…

As if they didn’t need her at all. As if they could be complete with just themselves.

“Much better than them fighting like cats and dogs,” she muttered aloud as she headed back for the house.

And still…

A heaviness weighed her down. A guilt.

They had banded together with one another because their parents were so miserable they had no other choice.