To Pat and childhood. A Christmas Story And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. ~Luke 2:10-11 It's strange that words of faith will often come to you when all else fails. The blows now didn't hurt. Anna saw them as in a film — grainy and hard to distinguish — in slow motion, but without physical pain, just emotional anguish. She knew she was going to die here in the snow, with her Christmas shopping shattered around her, mixed with her own blood. The only thing left was trying to protect what was most important to her. Her eyes caught the twinkle of a broken tree ornament reflected in a street light. It looked like a single star in the cold blackness that was closing around her. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him... And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed into their own country another way. ~Matthew 2:10-12 Charlie watched from the shadows of an alley. The gang was kicking the shit out of her. Her only crime was she was wearing the same coat as Charlie. Hood up against the snow, they hadn't realized that for the last few minutes they had been tailing the wrong person. Charlie had thought herself out of options until she'd seen the woman in the same coat come out of a store and start down the street. All Charlie had to do was pull her own hood up, get close to the woman, and then disappear into an alley. The street rats had fallen for the switch like the dumb asses they were. A police siren wailed in the distance, and like rats from a ship, the dark figures ran, leaving a trodden scar in the snow. Charlie waited to see if they would come back. Snow formed a new layer of skin over the scar. Nothing. Charlie moved from the alleyway and crossed the nearly empty parking lot. It wouldn't hurt to go through her purse to see if she had any cash. Charlie looked around, picked up the purse and turned to go. A muffled wail froze her to the spot. She looked at the beaten woman, her blood frozen to the side of her mouth. She looked dead. The faint wail came again. Charlie frowned, looked around once more, and then knelt by the body. She used her hands as a shovel to roll the woman over. Beneath her was a baby. The damn woman hadn't fought back because she was protecting her baby beneath her. And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any: that your Father also which is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses. -Mark 11:25 Charlie poked the small bundle, and the faint wail came again. When the woman moved slightly, her hand tightening around her baby, Charlie jumped in surprise, and looked into a battered face. "P-please, save her. You can. Please," the woman whispered, through lips cracked and bleeding. Charlie stared. There was nothing to say. She'd saved her own hide by going another way. She hadn't known about the baby. Bad things happen. "Please," the woman begged again. "That your car?" Charlie asked. "Y-yes, t-the Ford," the woman managed to say through chattering teeth. "Gimme the keys," Charlie demanded. The woman tried to move, but pain lanced her face. "C-can't move my arm. T-they're in my pocket. Please, please help. D-don't let her die. Her name's C-Chelsey. C-Chelsey Hilman." "Shut up," Charlie responded, digging in the woman's pocket. She pulled out a small Bible and tossed it aside, reached her hand in again, and came out with the car keys. She picked up the purse and unlocked the car, tossing the bag in on the passenger's seat. Then she went back and bent to take the kid. The woman held on. "Let go." "W-where are you t-taking her?" the woman asked, her voice wobbly with the cold and shock. The figure leaning over her was blurred into three. The street light, a yellow ball behind, cast the stranger's features into darkness. "I'll leave her at the hospital," Charlie snapped, pulling the child from the battered woman, and carrying her at arms length to the car. She placed her on the floor on the passenger's side so she didn't fall off the seat. Charlie had a vague idea that kids could be squirmy. She didn't want to be caught with no dead kid. Charlie didn't have a license, but she had driven vehicles since she was a teen, hot-wiring them, and driving them around to the nearest chop shop to sell for parts. She got in, closed the door and turned the key. The engine started right away. Cold air blasted from the heater. The baby gave a little wail again. Charlie looked out the window. The woman was lying still, her eyes open and staring back, tears now frozen on her face. Charlie's breath frosted the window over, and she turned away to put the car in gear. The car had barely moved forward, when Charlie braked, put the car in park, and got out to walk back to the figure in the snow. This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. ~John 15:12 "Don't you fucking well die on me. You got that," Charlie ordered, grabbing the woman under the shoulders and dragging her to the car. The woman didn't answer, her scream of pain muffled by the bloodied hood that had fallen over her face. Charlie read about her in the paper the next day. How she and the baby were found in a car outside the Emergency door. Charlie had painstakingly read the words one by one, moving her finger along and sounding the words with her lips, as she sat over a coffee in a cafe. The two of them were in bad shape, but they were going to make it. Good. Charlie turned to the racing results. ...Ye are they which justify yourselves before men; but God knoweth your hearts... ~Luke 16:15 It was several days later, when Charlie showed up at the hospital, holding some cut flowers that she had carried carefully on the subway. Charlie didn't like hospitals, and she wasn't sure why she had come, other than she hadn't known the woman had a baby. That bothered her. Adults took their chances in life. Sometimes bad things happen, but she didn't pick on kids. She went over to the old woman who was a volunteer at the information desk. "What room is Anna Hilman in?" "Reverend Hilman? Wasn't that awful what happened to her? Room 486, dear," the woman said, after consulting her computer screen for some time. "Yeah, a real shame," Charlie responded, without any emotion. She took the elevator up, nervously swaying back and forth on her heels. She didn't like to feel closed in. Once on the right floor, Charlie worked her way down the hall until she found the room. There were four beds inside, but only two were occupied. The first held an old woman sleeping. Her head was back and her mouth open, and Charlie could see she didn't have any teeth. Her cheeks flapped each time she exhaled in a gruff snore. The next bed seemed to be wired for sound. Bottles hung from poles and monitors bleeped. Charlie went over and stood at the foot of the bed, surprised to see dark green eyes fixed on her through swollen slits. "Don't that snoring bother you?" Charlie asked. "It would bother me a lot more if she suddenly stopped," Anna responded, her words not too clear for her jaw was stiff and swollen. "You're the woman who saved Chelsey and me." Charlie frowned. "Brought you some flowers," she answered, tossing the bouquet on the bed. "Thanks. Thanks for everything. You saved—" "I set you up. They were after me," Charlie cut in abruptly. "We got the same coat, you and me. I watched them kick the shit out of you. The paper said you are only alive 'cause the coat protected you. I just wanted you to know, I didn't see that you had that kid with you." That said and off her conscience, Charlie turned to leave. "Wait!" Anna called. Charlie turned. "You owe me. That was a really rotten thing you did," Anna managed to get out with as much of a growl as she could muster. "Bad things happen, lady. Get used to it," Charlie shot back. "You owe me," Anna repeated stubbornly. Charlie came back and stood by the bed. "So what do you want from me?" she asked angrily. Anna had no idea what she wanted. She just knew that there was something about this woman that was important to her life. It was a feeling. She looked at the lean, tall figure standing by her bed. She was not so much beautiful as she was handsome, with strong classic bones and a well toned body. She was also trouble. That was written all over her. Then said Jesus unto him, Except ye see signs and wonders, ye will not believe. ~John 4:48 "I'm new in this city and don't know anyone. I've been in Africa, working. I came back last month because my brother and his wife were killed in a car crash, and there was no one to take care of my niece," Anna explained, fighting to keep her emotions under control. "This is going to be Chelsey's first Christmas, and you're going to help me make it special." "Are you crazy? She's a baby. She's not going to remember," Charlie said in anger. "I'll remember," Anna responded stubbornly. "You owe me." "I owe you shit!" Charlie snarled, but she didn't storm out like she knew she should have. This Anna was alright. She hadn't judged or got angry; she had just stood her ground and demanded compensation for a wrong. The lady had guts. "I haven't got no place for you two. Besides, I'm bad news. You don't know me," Charlie said, honestly, but mostly in the hopes of getting the woman to change her mind. "I have my sister and husband's house until Chelsey turns twenty-one. You can stay with us and help me make it a good Christmas for her." "I'm bad news, lady," Charlie explained again, slowly so the woman would get it. "You're a gang member, I imagine. While you're staying at our house, you will not break any laws or see your gang members." "What? You're nuts. And I wouldn't be helping you; I'd have to take care of both of you." "Yes." "No." "Yes. You owe me," Anna said, drawing the line in the sand. Her eyes closed for a second against the pain. Give me strength, Father. For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost. ~Luke 19:10 "Just 'til Christmas is over, and no trying to change me or nothin'," Charlie said, a bit confused as to just how she'd ended up accepting this arrangement. Anna smiled, too tired now to answer or even keep her eyes open. She opened her hand and the dark stranger hesitated, then took the smaller hand in her own. It was a new beginning. Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. -Luke 2:14 The Christmas Tree Penny LeFleur hated her new job. It wasn't a matter of the mild depression that workers often feel, or even the frustrations of a dead end job. It was hate. She had come to the big company filled with anticipation and nervous excitement. It was the beginning of a new life for her. This was the world that the poverty and brutality of her childhood had always denied her. All of Penny's life, she'd felt like she only looked in. Now she was going to belong. But she hadn't, of course. The new outfits that she so carefully picked out at the discount store looked cheap and informal next to the expensive silk and linen suits of the other office workers. Right from the first day, it was clear to her that she was simply a token so the company could show that they provided equal opportunities to all. "This is Penny LeFleur, she's the trainee that social services sent us," the personnel manager, Gail Collins, had announced to everyone as a way of introduction. Bill Knechtel even came out and asked her at the coffee machine one morning, "What are you?" Penny had looked up startled. "I beg your pardon?" "I know you're a visible minority and a poor person that social services retrained, but what are you?" Penny had gritted her teeth and managed to answer nicely. Bill might have been blunt and rude but at least he was taking an honest interest. That was better than those who whispered behind her back or treated her with the sympathy one reserved for rabid animals or experimental rats. "I'm a Canadian. My mother was Cree and my father a French Canadian." Bill had nodded and was satisfied. Alice Beetlie was much worse. She hid her need for gossip behind a facade of concern. "Oh you poor girl. It's so wonderful that you're with us now. I want you to know that everyone here wants to help you succeed. Is it true your mother was a prostitute? How awful for you. I so admire you for having escaped a horrible childhood and making something of yourself. You're such a good role model for the poor. So many nowadays feel we should just support them on welfare. They're just lazy and have no pride." Don't lose your temper you need this job, Penny had warned herself. "My father committed suicide because he lost his job and couldn't find work. My mom worked the streets to take care of me. She did the best she could for me." "I thought you were raised in homes?" Alice asked. "My mother was beaten to death when I was twelve. Then I became a ward of the city." This news got around the office before lunch. A new record by all accounts. Penny worked as a gofer. She worked as Sean Rutley's assistant. Rutley was the administrative assistant to Kimberly Dawson of Dawson Fashions. Penny's job was to make coffee, clean up after meetings in the conference room, run things off on the copier, and do a hundred other jobs that Sean felt were below his dignity. Kimberly Dawson had only acknowledged her once. Beautiful, talented, and openly gay, Kim was always on the go. Penny, considerably shorter than her famous boss, had been almost knocked flat when Kim suddenly changed her direction while storming down the hall. "Sorry, Penny," she'd said, reaching a strong hand out to stabilize her employee before charging off. Penny stood in the hall blinking, watching the tall blonde's slim figure striding confidently down the hall. Her shock was not caused by the sudden collision, but because Kimberly Dawson actually knew her name. It was late November, some three months after the hall crash, when Penny's life once again collided with Kimberly Dawson's. She was standing beside Sean's desk finding out from him what "you are in charge of the Christmas decorations and celebration" entailed, when the outer door crashed open and Kimberly strode across the office to disappear into her own private sanctum, leaving the door open. "Did you get me an escort for tonight?" she asked from within. Sean cringed and spoke in the direction of Kim's office doorway. "Sorry, Kim, I phoned several of the model agencies and they're all booked up for the winter season. I tried a number of escort services that we've used in the past and no luck either. There are four different conferences in town they tell me. I could get you a guy-" Kim appeared at the door. "Unless he's a cross dresser he's going to look damn silly in one of my designs." It was at this point her eyes turned to look at Penny. "She'll do. If it's no problem, you're going to be working late tonight, Penny." Kim looked back at Sean. "She's a bit short, but we can manage. She has a good, slim build, and nice cheek bones, but she's going to need a lot of work. Take her downstairs for a make over. I need her for seven." With that she was gone. Sean turned around and looked at Penny's bewildered face. "Are you busy tonight, Cinderella? Because if you're not, you're about to wear the glass slippers." "What? Wait. I can't go out with her. I mean I've never...and she's my boss." Sean had already taken her firmly by the arm and was herding her out of the office. "Let's pretend you've expressed all your insecurities and anger at being railroaded into this, and I've won you over with my incredible charm. I simply haven't got time to argue. I have exactly three hours to make you into a princess." It took the three hours but the result was stunning. With her black hair straight and silky to just below her shoulders and a black evening dress by Dawson Designs, Penny looked as good as any of the models the company employed. Sean was positively beaming when he presented her to Kim-berly. "Look what I did. Just look at what I did. Isn't she beautiful?" Penny was just at the point of smacking the little turd when Kim spoke up. "Penny, you look beautiful, as I knew you would. Sean, thank you for you help and good night." Sean left, rolling his eyes. Penny stood there rather awkwardly as Kimberly slipped a navy tuxedo jacket over her cream silk shirt and long skirt that was cut up to her knee. "I appreciate you doing this, Penny. We're going to the opening of the new music hall. Dawson Fashions made a sizable donation to the fund raising efforts." "I'm not sure what I'm to do. I've never been to anything like this before." "Walk straight and gracefully, which you tend to do naturally, and stand at my left at all times. I'm slightly deaf in that ear from an accident and so I don't like people coming up to me on that side. If anyone asks you a question, simply smile and refer them to me or make some totally meaningless response. The limo is waiting. Shall we?" Penny trotted dutifully along at the left side of her boss. They stood side by side in the elevator, listening to the canned music and watching the floor lights blink their way down to the lobby. Kim made no attempt to talk and Penny followed her lead. They arrived in front of the theatre to a blaze of lights and photo flashes. The doorman helped each of them out and they walked side by side into the theatre. The show seemed secondary. Kim worked the crowd of the famous and rich on her way to the members only bar and there continued to work the floor, establishing contacts and encouraging interests in her designs as she went. Penny stayed at her left side smiling like the Mona Lisa until her jaws ached. Kim introduced her simply as: "Penny, part of my team". Penny managed to get by using three main phrases. "It's a pleasure to be representing Dawson Designs here", was one. "Isn't it a lovely theatre?" another. And, "I'm sure Ms. Dawson would be in a better position to answer that", was her response of last resort. Only when the lights blinked a second time did Kim lead the way to her private box. To Penny's surprise and delight, wine and fancy sandwiches sat on a small round table between the two comfortable chairs. Kim poured the wine just before the lights dimmed and for an hour they sat in silence and listened to the beauty of a full, and well trained, orchestra and choir performing Handel's Messiah. At intermission, Kim turned to Penny showing interest for the first time. "You enjoyed the music?" Penny swallowed hard. "I've never heard anything so beautiful. This is the first time I've ever been in a theatre." Kim smiled. "Then we have something in common," she joked, "this is my first time in this theatre too. Are you enjoying your job?" Penny looked into deep blue eyes. There was no emotion or warmth there, just polite concern. "No, I hate it." The glass Kim was raising to her lips lowered again. She blinked in surprise. "What?" "I hate it. I suppose I should be grateful that I didn't have to job hunt, and that I got in with such a large and successful company with good pay and benefits, but I dislike intensely being the company token. I can type and I've worked hard to improve my vocabulary and grammar. I can use the software programs your company employs, and I'm prepared to work hard. That's what should matter, not that I have First Nations blood and grew up on the streets." Kim said nothing for a few seconds but looked at Penny with hard, thoughtful eyes. She put her glass down on the table. "And what is your current assignment?" Penny's eyes sparked. "Christmas decorations and deaf boss escorting." Kim laughed. If she meant to respond the dimming of the lights prevented it. They left the theatre a little before eleven and Kim instructed the chauffer to drive to Penny's apartment. The limo looked strangely out of place as it made its way through a rough part of town on its way to a neighbourhood of respectable, but struggling, households. "I know this was business but I want to thank you for tonight. I loved it. Once I get on my feet a bit, I think I'll buy tickets and go again. Tonight opened a whole new w— Stop! Stop the car!" The limo jerked suddenly to a stop and Penny bounded from the back seat and out on to the dimly lit street. Much to Kim's shock her employee ran down the street and jumped on the back of some Joe who appeared to be arguing violently with a prostitute on the corner. "Call for help," Kim ordered and bounded from the car in her turn. The street walker made a run for it when she saw Kim coming and the Joe had Penny by the hair, trying to pull her off. As Kim ran down the street she saw the guy smash an elbow into Penny's face and pull her over his shoulder to the ground. God knows what would have happened next, but Kim arrived and let him have it in the face with pepper spray. With relief, Kim became aware of the wail of sirens heading in their direction. It was three in the morning when the police had finished with them and booked a wanted murderer and rapist, thanks to Penny's and Kim's help. Kim took Penny by the arm and led her out to the limo, giving the driver her own address. "I need to go home," Penny protested nasally. "Ms. LeFleur. It's nearly dawn. I'm hungry, tired, and have helped in the capture of a villain. One of my employees has been manhandled and hurt, and worse still, I'm sitting beside a ten thousand dollar dress of my own creation that is torn, dirty, and blood splattered. Humour me. I've had a rough night." Penny felt any reserve of strength she once had drop through the bottom of her gut. "Ten thousand dollars?" she got out in a hoarse whisper. "Yes." "Oh, God, I'm sorry." Dawson lived in the penthouse of a luxury apartment overlooking a green belt in the heart of the city. Kim showed Penny into a beautiful guest room. "The bath is through there and you'll find sleeping apparel and toiletry items in the drawers. I'll leave tea and a light snack by your bed. I think a few hours sleep is in order. Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor? You have black eyes, and a swollen nose and lip." "No, I'm okay, thanks. He just gave me a bloody nose. It's not broken. About the dress—" "Forget the dress, Penny. A dress can be replaced, a life can't. Did you know that woman?" "Yes." "That's not what you told the police." "No." Kim looked angry. "For a friend, she sure left you in a deadly situation." Penny looked defiant. "She heard the police siren and was scared." Kim nodded. "I'm glad you weren't hurt badly. We'll try to get to work by noon tomorrow. Sleep well." "Kimberly? Thank you. You probably saved my life." "Probably. Perhaps you should consider carrying pepper spray if you insist on being a heroine." Kim turned and left to see to the tea, and Penny, confused by the changing moods of her employer, went to soak gratefully in a bath. The story about the night of the concert was hot gossip for weeks. From what Penny could ascertain from the whispers and guarded questions, the employees were scandalized that she had endangered Kim's life by pulling her into the seamy world of Penny's childhood. When word got out about the dress, they couldn't understand why she had not been fired. Neither could Penny for that matter. She'd tried to make arrangement for a payroll deduction to pay off the cost of the dress in instalments. The request had been turned down by the payroll department at Kim's order. Then there was the matter of the tree. Penny had dutifully gone down to the maintenance department and checked out the pathetic little Christmas tree that was usually left on a table in the lobby. Years of use had left it looking a rather sorry item. Sean had given her a budget of twelve hundred dollars. It was not for decorations but to cover costs of refreshments for the staff meeting just before the holidays. He had said, however, that she could use her discretion. Her jaw set in a determined line. She'd been put in charge of Christmas and she planned on doing it right. She started by contacting the downtown mission. They laughed heartily at her request but had agreed. That night, she had, with the help of the maintenance department, dragged a ten foot Christmas tree Into the lobby and set It up. It wasn't real of course, but it was as close as Penny could find, and she decorated it with small lights so that it shone magically. Reg and the other two night maintenance workers stood back and looked at their efforts with satisfaction. "It's a mighty fine tree, Penny, but it's a bit bare. Don't you have any tinsel or balls?" Penny smiled. "No, we are going to decorate it with love." Reg chuckled and patted her on her shoulder. "Not in this company you're not. These are business people working in a cut throat business." Standing alone in the lobby taping up the signs she'd made, Penny had to admit that she felt less than optimistic about her decision. She sighed; she might be fired but at least she could feel that she had done the right thing. As people walked into work the next day, they stopped dead and stared at Penny's empty Christmas tree and the three signs that she had posted. The first read: The Three Best Gifts The three best gifts are peace, harmony, and love. Show you care by placing a pair of gloves, socks, a hat, or scarf on our tree. These will be given to the mission to hand out to the needy this winter. Help warm someone's hands and heart. The second sign was a poem that Penny had written. Coloured Mittens We are all different, Like coloured mittens. Each of us woven From a different Fabric. Some are fancy, some Poor, Some are pretty and some are Worn. We are like coloured mittens, Each of us different, Yet inside each mitten We all are the same. The world is a small village. Reach out to your neighbours. The last sign read: The Downtown Mission wants to thank you all for your gift of a thousand dollars. They will be providing soup, bread, and tea for you at our December staff meeting. Sean burst into the office to find Penny at her computer updating files. "What have you done? What have you done? Have you been downstairs? A crowd has formed in the lobby. I think we're going to have a riot. Kim came in and took one look at the tree and walked out again. She didn't say one word. Not one. I'll be fired too. I'll be out of a job and won't be able to pay off my credit card in the new year. I'll end up in jail." Penny frowned at Kim's excitable administrative assistant, got up, and followed him down the hall to the balcony that overlooked the main lobby. Sure enough a crowd of employees was standing there murmuring softly and pointing to the bare tree and the signs. Penny licked her lips nervously. This did not look good. Suddenly, Kim came through the front door. The crowd parted and let her through, waiting to follow her lead. She opened up a plastic bag she carried and carefully hung three pair of woolly gloves in red, green, and gold on the tree. As she turned, she saw Penny up on the balcony and their eyes met. "Well done, Penny," she said, and raised her hands and clapped. Slowly, the whole group joined in and Penny blushed and smiled awkwardly. The night of Christmas Eve, Penny stayed behind to take down the Christmas tree. It was now beautifully covered in bright patterns and colours of hats, gloves, socks, and scarves. The staff had eagerly come in each morning to add something to the tree or to see what had already been hung up. They lingered a few minutes and talked as friends, sharing jokes and smiles. The tension of the holiday season seemed to melt away when they saw their own special Christmas tree. Penny smiled and carefully placed each item into the cardboard box that she would take to the mission that night. She stood on her tip toes and stretched to reach a hat. A long slim hand got there before her and lifted the item off the tree to give to her. It belonged to Kimberly Dawson. "Merry Christmas." Penny blushed. "Merry Christmas, Penny, and thank you for your efforts." Kim smiled down at her. Penny licked her lips nervously. "Just doing my job." Kim chuckled. "Ahh, yes, Christmas decorations and deaf boss escorting. Do you still do the latter?" Penny looked up with startled eyes that suddenly sparked mischievously. "Not since the wild Cinderella wrecked the Fairy God Mother's ten thousand dollar evening dress." They both laughed and then went quiet. A certain tension and awkwardness suddenly surrounded them. Kim looked into chocolate brown eyes sparkling with light. Slowly, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against Penny's. The sweet gentleness of the kiss and the hot strength of Kim's body so close to her own left Penny feeling weak-kneed. "It's very inappropriate for the owner of the company to date an employee. I want you to know that you can turn me down and it will in no way change your position here at Dawson Designs. I want to see more of you, Penny...outside of work. Are you free tonight?" Penny's voice sounded small and weak with emotion. "I...I'm taking this stuff over to the mission and then helping out tonight and tomorrow. They're always short staffed Christmas Eve and Day." Kim looked very vulnerable and lonely, and Penny gathered her courage and went on. "You could come...I mean...if you are not busy." Kim smiled. "I think I'd enjoy that very much." Together, they worked to take down the tree and to build the first bridge to a new future. Christmas Boxes Sean Rutley had decided to quit his job. This was a first. He usually fretted every time there was a crisis at Dawson Fashions that he'd be fired and end up in jail because he couldn't pay off his charge card. But for the last three weeks Kimberly Dawson, the owner and genius of the company, had been such a bitch that jail now seemed a happy alternative. The door to Kim's office slammed open and Kim stormed out. "Get Collins, Knechtel, and Beetlie and send them down to design. We've got another fucking mess to sort out." Sean stood. "I quit." Kim froze half way across the room. She turned and walked back to Sean's desk with casual confidence and smiled. "Let me explain something to you, Sean. If you walk out on me now, I'll phone Visa and tell them you're in debt up to your eyeballs." "I don't care. I can't go on like this. You're driving me nuts." Kim blinked. Sean was serious. "Come into my office." Reluctantly, Sean followed Kimberly into her inner sanctum wondering if he'd ever see the light of day again. "Sit. Okay, just what is the matter?" "You've changed from your normal tyrannical self into a bitch-on-a-stick." Sean braced himself waiting for the explosion. Instead, Kim slumped back into her leather chair and looked totally defeated. "Things aren't going well at home," she admitted. Sean looked up in total surprise. Kim and Penny had been an inseparable item for three years now. They were a team in every sense of the word. Penny was a beautiful woman both inside and out, and her impact on Kimberly Dawson and Dawson Fashions had been nothing but positive. Sean crossed his legs and leaned forward sympathetically. "Talk to me. I've never been in love with a woman, but when it comes to handling domestic crises I'm an expert. I've lived through thousands. Ask any of my old boyfriends." Kim smiled. She was a very private person but she did need to talk. Sean was a pain in the butt yet he was discreet and loyal. Maybe she had been difficult lately. A red blush crept up her throat. "We've been trying to have a baby. Penny can't seem to conceive. She wants me to try. I'm...I just don't want to. I mean, I want a child, I guess, but I don't want to be pregnant." '"I guess?" Kim squirmed with discomfort. "Okay, I'm not sure. I mean, if Penny wanted a kid, I was willing to pay for her to have artificial insemination. I'd do anything for Penny, but, well, I don't know if I'd make a good parent. I mean, Penny has always reached out to others and shown such kindness. I built a design empire on ambition and some talent. Sure, I've achieved money and power, but what have I done that's good? What kind of mother and role model would I be? Maybe the fact Penny couldn't get pregnant is a good thing." Sean pulled a face. "Ouch." "Yeah." "Have you told Penny about your insecurities?" "No. She wants this child." "But you don't?" "Well, yeah I do, but...I'm just scared what kind of parent I'd make." Sean frowned and drummed his long fingers on the arm of his chair annoyingly. "Okay, okay. We've got to get you mom lessons. You know, to see if you can handle it." "Mom lessons. I don't want mom lessons. Kids scare me. They wet and cry." "My point exactly. You can't have a kid if you're afraid of them. I have a sister who's a teacher." "You have a sister? I thought you hatched from an egg in a gay bar." Sean looked indignant. "Yes, I have a sister and she does this maternal thing really well. She teaches kids to play nice and not bully others. They call it kindergarten." Kim smiled. "I think I was there once for a year." Sean looked at his boss. "Sometimes they're not always successful. You probably should have repeated." "Thanks. Kick me while I'm down." "Okay, it's decided then. I'll call Patricia and make arrangements for you to spend a few days in kindergarten." "No. I have a business to run. I haven't got time to go back to kindergarten. I hated sand box. It was a jungle. Kids always wanted my favourite dump truck." Sean hit low. "It's for Penny." Kim looked miserable. "Okay." Penny LeFleur no longer worked with Sean Rutley. She felt that working out of her partner's office sent the wrong message. She now worked in personnel with Gail Collins. That had been difficult at first. Gail didn't have a very high opinion of Penny being hired simply because she was a minority and poor. The fact that Penny was living with the boss only made her view of Penny worse. But Penny worked hard and never shared with Kim her work problems or asked for any special favours. She had proven herself to her new supervisor and they now got on very well. Busy updating files, she did not at first notice Gail standing at her desk. "Oh sorry. What can I do for you, Gail?" "Sean phoned to ask if you could meet him for lunch at Sparks." "Uh oh." Everyone knew that when Sean had lunch with someone, he was usually ironing out a problem for the boss. "Ahh, take as long as you need. Look, Penny, you've looked stressed lately. If there's anything...well, you know, I'm in your corner." Penny smiled and stood to give her boss a hug. "Thanks, Gail. I'll be back as soon as I can." Penny found Sean already holding a table in the popular lunch time cafe. "Hurry, I can't hold the patrons off for much longer. Honestly, I had to practically wrestle your chair back from someone. I ordered the special for us. Is that okay?" "That's fine. So, I never thought I'd end up having to have lunch with you, Sean. Why am I in trouble?" Sean waited while their lunch was served. "I tried to quit today. Kim has been impossible, and I know impossible. We had a heart to heart talk about...well, you know, your difficulties." Penny paled. "Oh. Look, Sean. It's personal. I don't think I want to talk—" Sean raised his hand for her to stop with a dramatic flourish. "I'm not going there. What would I know of such things? No, I'm here to explain and share my plans because Kim is very busy rearranging her schedule. She sends her love by the way." Sean stopped talking and leaned over to drop a kiss on Penny's cheek. "There. Now, where was I? Oh yes, you two have a failure to communicate and someone has to get some dialogue going here." Penny leaned back. "No, Sean. If Kim trusted you with her worries, it's not right that you share something with me that she told you in confidence." Sean rolled his eyes. "Will you work with me here, Princess Perfect? Kimberly is afraid of kids." Penny blinked. "What?" "She wants you to have a child but she's scared. She doesn't think she'll make a good parent. She was an only child, you know, and she never managed to learn to share in the sand box centre. I've sent her back for retraining." "What?" Penny had tried hard to follow Sean's disjointed explanation but failed. "She's going to spend a few days with my sister, who teaches kindergarten." "You have a sister?" Sean frowned. "I've heard that question a lot lately. Yes, I have a sister. And she is going to help Kim get over her fear of kids." Tears filled Penny's eyes. "Kim is going to do that for me?" "Honey, Kim would move mountains for you." "Why didn't she just tell me she was afraid?" "Admit she was sacred? Kim would rather die. Besides, she wanted you to have this baby." Penny bit her lip. "But I can't and Kim refused." Sean rolled his eyes. "Okay, so Kim is not the child bearing sort. So we get her over her fear of kids and then we mix up her eggs with a good strong sperm and you carry the kid. Problem solved." "I need to talk to Kim." The hand rose again. "No, Kim needs to talk to you. But first she needs to iron out a few problems in her own head. I'm talking to you simply because I don't want this situation getting any worse. Another week of Kim-the-bitch-on-a-stick and I'll have to see a shrink. Now eat your lunch up and try not to worry. Uncle Sean will solve this problem." But Penny had worried. Especially when Kim phoned to awkwardly explain that she would be out of town for a few days to learn more about children by visiting a kindergarten class. "Kim, you don't have to do this. If you don't want children you should have just said so." "I do need to do this, for you and for me. I love you. I'll be back soon." The house was lonely without her. Kim was larger than life and Penny loved the ground she walked on. She knew that not having a child would be disappointing for her, but Kim's happiness was far more important. It was the evening of the third day when Kim charged through the door in a blast of cold air and parcels. "Pen, where are you? I'm home." "Here, love." Smiling with delight, Penny emerged from the kitchen. Kim dropped her parcels and wrapped her partner in a big hug and kissed her several times. "I missed you so much. We gotta talk. Come on, let's go into the living room." "What about these parcels?" "They can wait. This can't. Come on." They sat across from each other and Penny smiled seeing her partner fairly squirming with excitement. "So, you know, I've been in Sean's sister's kindergarten class learning about kids." Penny slipped over beside Kim and pulled her close. "Kim, you didn't have to do that. If you don't want kids we don't have to try again. I love you. I love our life together. There are no strings tied to that." "No listen. I want kids. They like me. Well, not at first, but I got the hang of it after a bit and you know, I had lots of fun. How about we see the doctor and try again?" Tears welled in Penny's eyes. Kim was so caring and supportive of her needs. "Thank you. You're wonderful. I love you so much." "I love you, too." For a bit they showed each other just how much, but Kim was far too excited to settle for long. "Do you know what a breakfast program is?" "Sure, I used to go all the time. The schools run them, providing cereal and milk for breakfast for kids who normally would go without. The parents help run them along with the teachers." "Well, why didn't you tell me? We could do that." "Do what?" "Patricia, that's Sean's sister, said that it's really expensive to run these programs and the teachers often bring in cereal or money when things start to run out. So why don't we add that to our mitten tree? People can bring in boxes of cereal and we'll give them all to the breakfast program. You know, for the other kids. I want to do some good for them." "Other kids?" "Yeah, ours will have good breakfasts with us. You know, breakfast is the most important meal of the day." "'Ours'?" "Don't you think we should have more than one?" Penny laughed and hugged her partner close. The next Monday, they arrived with boxes of healthy cereal to put under the company Christmas tree that was already hung with brightly coloured hats, gloves, socks, and scarves that people had brought in for the mission. Sean watched from the balcony above the lobby. He'd heard from his sister that Kim would make a great parent. He smiled. Maybe they'd make him a godfather. He'd like that. Within days the tree sheltered boxes and boxes of cereal. One night, near Christmas, Penny and Kim stayed to load up the cereal to take to the breakfast program. Penny reached out and pulled Kim into a big hug. "This is where it all started. You helped me pack up the gifts on our mitten tree and you kissed me. That kiss will always be the best gift I will ever receive." Kim held Penny close. "Until next year, Special One, when my gift will be our child." A Mission Beach Christmas It is good to be home. I've been on an assignment for the last two months and I am sick of living out of a suitcase. While I made my morning brew, I reflect back on my first impressions of Mission Beach. The first time I saw Mission Beach, California, was at night six years ago. / was an animal prowling. The scents of booze, drugs, and sex excited me. Here one lived on the edge. The hunt was dangerous. Light had been reduced to strips, neon messages from the All Consumer — the God of cities. They gathered round the bar doors waiting to be called. "We are here, Lord, your chosen ones. Ready to party." The man in white slacks, open shirt and gold chain; the woman in red, tight breasted and heavy thighed; the black pimp carrying success like a shield against poverty; the child-woman, cool and scared; they waited. The hunt was all about waiting. The bartender had seen it all and carried within his heart the answers to the universe. If you asked him he'd hold up a mirror so you could see yourself. No one asked. Truth was painful. The old guy in the corner invited young girls to stay at his place. He can't get it up, not even with pills and voyeurism. His dick was pickled years ago on cheap whiskey and rum. The woman worked. She's an "executive assistant". She met them each night and helped them out. On a good night she could afford her habit. On a bad one she drank to forget what she saw in the mirror. It was a dark land of dangle-dicks and bimbos. A hunting ground. Night manoeuvres. Emptiness and escape. The mission of the beach was a deadly game and I loved it. Daylight. Mission Beach was a child's playground. The scent of sea salt, hot asphalt, and garden flowers. Here you lived on the land's edge. The playground was holy ground. Light flooded your stage, the New Age God of health jogged past — chest bare, shorts wet. The volleyball God of the beach. They tended their gardens and lived in a bee hive of dwellings, one on top of the other. "We are here, Lord, your chosen ones. Ready to sun worship." The woman admired the mold free rug on her patio; the children played and yelled awake those who would be better off sleeping and forgetting. A couple met for coffee down the street. Boys skateboarded and left in their wake a vocabulary of "fucks" because they were too young yet and couldn't. On a good day, the sun sparkled on the ocean. On a bad day the tide brought in fog. Mission Beach is a land of sun tan oil and sweat. A playground. Sun lovers. Laughter and need. The mission of the beach is to play and nobody played better or harder than me. Mission Beach is a life of extremes. My life is full of extremes: extreme sport, extreme drinking, extreme efforts, extreme relationships. Desperate relationships. My studio apartment overlooks the beach and harbour. It's prime real state and reeks of my success as a photographer. I see the world through my lens. Carl, my editor and friend, insists it's my mechanical dick. He calls me a butch with a zoom toy. Carl is my friend. I have enemies who would say worse. Pouring a coffee, I settle with my morning paper on my front patio, enjoying being home after being away so long. The beach is nearly empty this time of the morning and the boardwalk is owned by the jogging sun-bronzed gods and goddesses of fantasy-land. Having no life beyond the voyeurism of my lens, I am content with this hollow existence. It rings true to me. From the apartment upstairs, the first bars of Jingle Bells ring out. I look up with annoyance. December is an illusion on Mission Beach. It's an excuse to string a few lights and up the prices of drinks. December is red and green cherries speared with plastic swords if we're lucky. Was it Christmas? Surely, not yet. Mission Beach people are immune to such simple belief. We practice only the exotic, and then only if it's in. Christmas is never going to be "in" here. Christmas is for the mid-west along with snow, cold, and barns without air-conditioning. I return to my paper, enjoying it with grim delight, reading about the horrors of the enlightened world. A twig of mistletoe drops in my lap. "Oh, I'm sorry." A voice from above. I look up and see two ripe and full breasts leaning over the balcony. If I was a zoom lens I'd be at maximum extension. The face above is cute. I mentally record my first impressions: great knockers, blond hair cut short, green eyes sparkling, skin a glowing red of painful horror. Newbie to the California sun. "Nice sunburn. Were you going for the well-cooked look?" She pulls a face. "It hurts. I had no idea how strong the sun was on the water." "Live and burn." I hold up the mistletoe. "I believe this belongs to you." "Sorry. I was putting up some garland." My eyes drop with difficulty below breast level. Sure enough there is a thatch of poinsettia leaves draped artistically above my head. "I'll come down and get it." "Please do. Several gulls are puckering up and I'm starting to feel quite nervous." I go get another mug and a carafe of coffee. Never let it be said that I'm not a Mission Beach prowler at heart. She arrives barefoot and red on my patio. I focus on her facade. They are a pair of monuments to the female experience. "Now you're here, have a coffee with me." She smiles. It's quite a nice smile. Open and honest. Not the sort of smile one sees very often in my neighbourhood. "Thanks, I'd love a cup. I didn't know anyone was living down here." "I've been away for several months. Your apartment was empty when I left." "I've been here six weeks. I just have the place on a three month lease." She slips gingerly into a chair. The sun burn hurts. I busy myself with pouring coffee. "I'm Judy Krane." "The photographer?" "Yes." "I love your work." "Thanks. You are?" I pass her a cup of coffee. It's my first pass. My next will be more demanding. "Nancy Steele. I'm an author." I look up in surprise. "N. G. Steele?" "Yes. Have you read my books?" "Everyone in California has read your books. Lesbians, like myself, consider them required reading, straights want to be politically correct, and fundamentalists want fuel for the sacrificial fires." She laughs. "I guess that's why I'm having to do so much promotional stuff here." I look at her with open hunger now and enjoy the blush that flows up her cheeks. Holding the mistletoe up, I lean forward and gently kiss her lips. I like the taste and want to go back for a bigger helping but she pulls away and reaches to take the dangerous weed from my grasp. "You are bad." "Why thank you. So now we know each other so much better, how about we do the bar scene tonight? I can show you my medical papers so you know I have no nasty diseases and then you can show me a good time." Nancy scrunches up her nose. "Uck. That is a pathetic line. The bar scene wears thin, very quickly. Besides, it's Christmas Eve. Don't you have plans?" "No. I'm just back. Do you have plans?" "Well, not really. I have a few ideas." "Do they involve sex with me?" "No. Are you always so bold, Judy?" "Jude, and yes, always. I see no reason to beat around the bush I want." "You're rude and crude." "Thank you again, but flattery will get you nowhere. I have my standards and they usually involve more than a kiss on the first date." She looks at me closely. "You know what I think, Krane? I think you're all talk." I wiggle an eyebrow. "Try me." She drains her coffee mug and puts it on the table with a determined thud. "Okay. Seven o'clock tonight. Wear something comfortable but suitable for a night out." I blink. She laughs. She won. I knock on her door a little after seven, appropriately attired in dress slacks, a silk t-shirt and a linen jacket. "Merry Christmas." I smile. "Hi." "Come in." The place is very much like my own. Corner fireplace, picture window looking over the water, a bar kitchen to the side and bedrooms and bath in the back. What's different about this place is it's decorated for Christmas. "Is that a tree?" "Good guess." The response comes from inside a kitchen cabinet. "Is it real?" "I had to drive miles to find one." I go have a closer look. Sure enough it is real and decorated rather nicely with hand painted wood ornaments and little fairy lights. "Here." I'm offered a glass of warm spiced wine. There are plates of fruits and nuts, cheeses, crackers, fancy sandwiches, and fruit cake. I eye the fruit cake suspiciously. It has to be a trap, I figure. No one eats fruitcake. They only make it so you can joke about it. I get comfortable in a big, over stuffed chair and relax to the Philadelphia orchestra playing a medley of Christmas favourites. What I wouldn't do for sex. "I thought we'd just have some nibbles before going out." I laugh. "Nibbles? You've got enough here to keep an average California family going for a month. Where are we going?" "It's Christmas so the food has to be special. We're going to church. The midnight service." I laugh into my wine. "There aren't any churches in Mission Beach, just cults and franchised TV religion." "Of course there are churches. There's a lovely old mission one I found along the coast that will be beautiful." My good mood starts to evaporate. "You're serious?" "Very." "I've come on to a holy roller?" It's her turn to laugh, "No, silly. I just think that it's good to reaffirm one's basic beliefs now and again." I give her a look. "God thinks you and I are abominations. There's no room in the inn for our kind." "It's not the dogma I'm interested in reaffirming, but the message of peace and good will." "Lady, that's good will to all mankind. Our kind are met with stakes and firewood." "Let's dance instead of arguing." I smile. Dancing is good. I stand and offer my hand, pulling her close and burying my head in her hair. It smells of mountain air and wild flowers. I kiss her neck. "Be good." "I can be great." But I stop and try to be content with just holding her close. Later, we eat and laugh a good deal. The wine has gone to my head and I feel mellow and content. I like the music. I like the tree lights and I like sitting here with Nancy. I must be hammered. A little after eleven, I'm poked from my contented stupor and packed into Nancy's Volvo. I offered my 'Vette but it didn't meet with approval. It appears 'Vettes are for beach bums and Volvos are for Christmas. I had no idea. The mission is adobe. The wall around has an arched wood door and pots of poinsettias and geraniums line the courtyard. Warm light shines through the windows and music floats behind the ringing of the steeple bell. The church is simple inside, the wood benches old and worn to a shine with wear. The scent of hot wax, fresh flowers, and old ouk fills the air. People arrive in groups and become one within. The church is a cocoon of peace, an island of normality in a chaotic existence. At first uneasy, I become comforted. It's a woman who takes the pulpit. "Merry Christmas, peace on earth and good will to all." We stumble out an hour later, warm and hyped on brotherly love and Christmas hymns. I open my mouth to make an observation. "Not a word," she warns. On the drive back, I hold her hand. I figure this sisterly love thing could be a whole new line. I think I'm seeing the light. But it's a rude awakening back at Mission Beach. I'm given a kiss on the cheek and sent on my way. "Will you come up tomorrow morning and have breakfast around ten? I want to give you your present." "Present?" "Of course." "Okay." Present. How could she have got me a present? I shake my head and decide the night is yet young. I could still get lucky. I head up to the main drag where electrical daylight brightens my world. The clubs are packed and people stand in line on the street. I walk the strip. I pass some kids smoking pot sitting on the street corner. The scent is sweet and appealing. The scene isn't. A hooker gives me the once over. I walk on. My favourite bar is packed too, but I'm allowed in because I'm known. "It's the photographer, Krane," I hear the doorman tell those who wait. I'm more an exhibit in a side show than a patron. I bring customers. I eventually find a bar stool. "Usual?" "Yeah." "You haven't been around lately. Where've you been?" "Church. It's Christmas Eve." He laughs and places my drink in front of me and winks. "As if. Tracy's here. She asked about you." I nod, down my drink, and walk out. Five in the morning and I'm in my car heading up the coast. By seven I'm back. I haven't seen so much dawn since the days when I could drink all night and not pay for it the next day. I feel blurry eyed and woolly headed. I don't allow myself to think. If I thought, I'd have to admit that I was acting crazy. From seven a.m. to nine I'm in my dark room. By half past nine, I'm showered, dressed, and drinking coffee in gulps. The phone rings. "Seasons Greetings, Jude." "A very merry, Carl. What do you want?" "I've got a job you might be interested in." "It's Christmas day." "I'm Jewish and you're damned. We gotta work." I laugh. "What's the job?" "Photographing old gold mine sites in Colorado for some government initiative. Seems the old shafts are being designated as historical sites. I figure any day now my a-hole will have a heritage plaque on it." "It's old enough. Give me the particulars and I'll get back to you." I'm grinning now. What was it that preacher said last night? Something about looking for signs and following your star. I knock on Nancy's door exactly at ten, freshly scrubbed and pure of soul. Wonderful smells waft out as the door opens. "Come in. Merry Christmas." "Merry Christmas." I smile and mean it. I'm hugged and kissed and led to the table. Orange juice and vodka awaits as an eye opener followed by French toast and real maple syrup, crisp bacon, and spicy sausages. "Do the cholesterol police know about this place? Starch and fat have been pretty well eradicated from the west coast, you know. If the smells seep outside people will die just from shock." "A little sin never hurts anyone." "My thoughts exactly. Your bed or mine?" She laughs. "You are so silly. Here." A small box is pushed in my direction. It's all wrapped in fancy paper with a huge bow on it. I'm a kid again. My hands shake with excitement. It doesn't matter what's inside. It's the gift. The gesture. The anticipation. The love. I can't recall the last time I was given a Christmas gift. It's Nancy's latest book. A Woman's Journey. I open it up. She has signed it. To Jude with love for the days that we shared on our own Christmas Island by the sea. "It's perfect. Thanks." With embarrassment I slip the plain brown envelope across the table. She picks it up with delight. Inside, are three photos of an old mission made beautiful by the soft morning light and the trappings of Christmas. She looks up at me, her eyes filled with tears. "How?" I shrug. "I went back there this morning." She comes and sits on my lap, hugging me close. "Deep inside, Jude Krane, you're a very, special person." We kiss then. I know I'm not going to score. I don't want to. This is not a victory: it's a beginning. "Where did you say you lived?" I ask. "Durango, Colorado." "I might be up that way for a few months. Could I stay with you?" "I wouldn't have it any other way." The Lord works in mysterious ways. Three Wiser Women They had been the forward line on the Kennedy High school Basketball team in the glory days when Kennedy had taken the championship three years in a row. That was twenty odd years ago now, when Cheers was on TV and Michael Jackson was still considered cute. In a way, you could sum up their personalities and lives by the history of the 1980s. Ashley Jane Gorski was all about: Against All Odds, ET, just say no to drugs, electing George Bush, and wondering what would happen to all Marcos' shoes once she left the Philippines. Barbara Bronwen Williams (BB) was: "We are the World", Miami Vice, Chernobyl, and Tiananmen Square, while May Li was about: "Kiss" by Prince, Indiana Jones, the fall of the Berlin Wall, and An Officer and a Gentleman. Ash had studied business and married the boss. BB had taken journalism and was a war correspondent for a TV network and May had become a nurse to help put her husband through medicine. Placed on a time line they were middle America, not so far radical as to be sociably unacceptable, or so conservative as to be out of touch with the times, but middle of the road. The tart-sweet filling in America's apple pie dream. At least that's how BB saw it as she hoisted her camera case higher on her shoulder for the dash across the traffic. BB never crossed at the corner with the lights. For a while she'd lived in Toronto, Canada. What stuck out on her mind about Canadians was that they stopped on street corners, piling up in polite groups, and crossed the street when the traffic sign turned green and said to walk. BB would circle around them, dodge honking cars, and would be half way down the block before the light changed, followed by shocked, disapproving Canadian stares. Every five years, the week before Christmas, they got together to share their lives and to remember their glory days on the court. BB expected to be first and have time for a whiskey and soda before the others arrived. BB had played centre and had been the star of the face-off. May would arrive next, she figured, all out of breath having done half a dozen noble things before she would be free to come. Ash would be fashionably late due to some fund raiser or committee running over time. She was momentarily taken aback, then, to find her old friends sitting in the corner nursing drinks. "Hi." The other two looked up in surprise, seeing her for the first time. "BB! Merry Christmas." "Sweetie! Happy holidays." "Hey, you two. Seasons greetings." They were all on their feet now. Polite hugs all around. Once they patted each others bums and high five. Now they hugged and air kissed. "Been here long?" BB asked as they settled. It was a conversation starter more than a request for information. "Not long." "Just got here." BB said nothing. Their drinks were nearly gone. Why lie to her? She could guess their secret. She wasn't at all surprised that they'd got together at last. Ash, ever the diplomat said, "It's been five years, ladies. We have some major catching up to do. BB, Sweetie, where in the world have you been? You've lost even more weight." BB was still tall, muscular, and lean. Mean dog lean, her last lover had said. Ash was still trim but it was a diet-country club body lacking fat and muscle. May had settled a bit with time. A pretty pear shape. Did she still cry when she came, BB wondered? She hadn't planned on sleeping with May. May was about commitment and duty and there was that whole cultural thing. May's family was from Hong Kong. They'd been mellow on cheap tavern beer after their first — no, second championship. BB had offered her a ride home on her bike. She'd liked the feel of May's hot thighs pushed against her and her arms wrapped tightly around. The bike had gone on auto pilot and taken them back to BB's boat instead. In those days BB lived on her dad's sailboat. That boat had really rocked that night. Quiet, refined May turned out to be a wild cat in bed. Not that she had been experienced, she hadn't, but she sure was willing to please. They spent the summer together sailing and making love. BB told May what she liked and May delivered without question. In return, BB tried her best to make May's first lover a good memory. BB wondered if May remembered how she used to take the boat out at night and drop sails in the bay. She'd strip down to nothing and prop herself up on the cockpit seat. May would curl up between her legs and play with BB until she came. BB's fire-ice blue eyes met May's and she saw a blush creep up the nurse's face. Yeah, she remembered. "I'll have a whiskey soda." "Another Tom Collins for me." "The house white, please." May watched BB's hand beating a silent tattoo on the arm of her chair. BB was never still. Her restless energy was what had attracted May to her. BB was a storm, fascinating and scary all at once. It hadn't been her husband, Andy, who had taken her virginity but BB's long, strong fingers. In those days BB could wrap her hand around the basketballs just like a guy. "You should play the piano," May told her one night. "It wouldn't fit in my saddle bags," BB had murmured from between May's breasts. BB liked breasts. They'd had a wonderful summer of love. Then May got engaged to Andy as her father had wished. Andy never questioned that she wasn't a virgin. Andy needed a wife to work to help him through medical school. May would have liked to have been a doctor but she was a woman and so she married as her father wished and became a nurse so that she could put her husband through medical school. Their love making had been duty not passion. Missionaries on a pagan mattress-altar sacrificed to old world beliefs and the need to advance in a new land. They'd had no children. Andy's sperm count was low. May would have liked children but not by Andy. It wasn't that she found Andy revolting; they were friends, but she didn't want her kids turning out like Andy. She wanted them to be bold like BB. She'd asked Andy how he would feel about in vitro fertilization. He'd said no. Instead, he arranged for them to adopt a baby son from China. Jason was seventeen now and leaving for college this fall. He wasn't as wild as BB but he wasn't as predictable as Andy either. May was proud him. "Okay, BB you have your drink, now tell us what you've been up to," Ash insisted. BB looked into her drink for answers. She often did. So far she hadn't found answers there but she enjoyed looking. How could she tell them? Maybe she would find the words after dinner. "For a detailed account from your friendly war correspondent overseas tune into the six o'clock news," she drawled. "Meanie," Ash said but she reached over and gave BB's hand a squeeze. BB was thinner. Gaunt almost. Too much booze, too many memories, and too many years living out of a suitcase, Ashley imagined. She thought back to when she and BB had been an item in their last season. They'd get high as kites after a game and go on the prowl to the gay bars. Group sex was where it was at, but they always ended the night fucking each other. It was their rule. BB called the women they brought home warm up games. BB was not partner material but she was very good in bed. BB always slept after and Ash would sit there smoking a cigarette. After sex was the only time she smoked. She smoked a lot that season. Even now, Ash could remember BB's hands on her. BB liked to play and laugh in bed. She had no inhibitions. There were no rules and no barriers when they were in bed together, other than mutual respect. BB had a deep, mellow voice. Dark syrup. "You feel so good, Babe. Tight and hot. Come for me. I want to eat your cream." BB was hot in those days. Hot and wild and sexy as hell. Now she was scary and remote. Ash and May had compared notes. Ash felt May was the only woman BB had really loved. May felt BB hadn't loved anyone ever. Privately, they called themselves the BB Rifle Club: well oiled, used, and put away with other childhood memories. "So what about you, Ash, what's new in your life?" "Bill divorced me two years ago." BB showed emotion for the first time. "I'm sorry." "That's okay. I got myself a good lawyer and took him to the cleaners. All he has to offer his young bimbo is clean underwear and the back seat of his car." They laughed. But Ash went on more seriously. "I miss the bastard. He cheated on me from day one, but now he has gone he has taken all the misery out of my life. I have nothing to look forward to but tennis, sun bathing, and fundraising." "Ohhh, poor babe," BB said. Ash gave her a swat. May smiled but said nothing. "And, May, you?" "I've been a widow for four years now." "I'm sorry about that, too," BB said and managed to sound like she meant it this time, too. May's face was sad. "He died the way he would have wanted to. He had a massive stroke sitting at his desk after a day at his clinic. It was hard on Jason. He'd just started high school but he's okay now. Fortunately, Andy left us very comfortable." So, her two old friends were single and rich BB thought, just like her, only she wasn't rich. "And your kids, Ash. How is the litter?" Ash had three children. Twins girls by Bill and a son by Kyle, the man next door. When his wife found out, she'd made Kyle transfer to the west coast then left him anyway. Stupid really, Ash thought. She had not been so silly. It was ironic really. In college, she'd been a bit wild. She was still sleeping with BB when she started living with Bill. It used to make Bill excited to hear what she'd done with BB. Once she married, though, she'd been faithful to Bill. Bill on the other hand had been a dog. Before they were married Bill had been besotted and never looked at another woman, even when he found out Ash was screwing BB still. Once the ring was on his finger he started cheating. Bill had seen more motel rooms than a travelling salesman. "Jill and Mark are finishing their second year at college and Collin will be off this fall." BB's eyes twinkled. "Maybe one of them will mess up and bring some misery back into your life." Ash sighed dramatically. "Doubtful. They're way on their way to being Ivy Leaguers. All freshly scrubbed and dating young Republicans." "I'm so sorry." "It's a disappointment." More laughter. "Waiter, another round." They ordered dinner. Ash had crab. May the sole. BB had steak. They were mellow and talkative now, laughing over old jokes and remembrances. Sharing. Caring again. They were the first string strung tight but holding after all these years. "So I found the bastard in the backyard hot tub with this twenty year old." "Oh my God!" "So what did you do?" "Turned the pressure hose on them. I damn near blew him out of the tub. It left red marks all over his hairy body. He looked like he'd tried to screw an octopus." Laughter. "So who is in your life, BB?" "No one." "No one? Come on BB, there's always someone in your life." May asked, "Hey, do you remember that time when BB was having it off with the assistant coach?" "They were like randy mink in the back of the bus." "Not so!" "Was so." "She must have been nearly twice your age, BB." "She had wonderful breasts." "They were real?" "Oh my God!" More laughter. The bill came quickly. The management wanted them out of there. The drink had made their talk free and loud. They rolled out onto the street in a wave of giggles. "Hey, I'm not ready to go home. It's the Christmas Season and time for some fun. I got Bill's yacht and club membership in the settlement. Let's go sailing for old times sake?" They piled into May's Honda. BB drove. BB always drove. She held her liquor well. The yacht was a dream boat. A thirty-six foot sloop finished in teak and brass. BB took command and, standing at the wheel, she smiled. Once again, she was truly happy. The wind caught the sails and the hull heeled. The bow slicing the liquid and spreading it wide at BB's command. She was in her element. Out on the ocean, out of sight of land with the stars bright overhead, they dropped sails and floated on the current. Ash served coffee and Oreo cookies. "Merry Christmas to us and another good five years until we meet again," she toasted. "See you then, sister." "I'm going to die." BB hadn't planned on telling them like that. She had opened her mouth and the words just came out. The words pierced May's defences, sending a wad of cold pain to her soul. "Oh God. BB what's the matter? Have you seen a specialist? I could find you—" BB held up a hand. "I've seen some of the best. It's cancer of the liver. There's nothing that can be done. I didn't want to under go treatment that would only slow the inevitable. I wanted to be as healthy and active as I could be for as long as I could." May was crying now. Huge, pearl tears that ran down her face unchecked. It took Ash a few seconds to get her mind around BB's words. BB was strong. BB always won. This couldn't be happening to BB. "It's a mistake. It's got to be. BB, it can't be true." Her voice shook with angry emotion. She felt betrayed. Miracles were to happen at Christmas not horrors. BB smiled and pulled both women into her arms. "It's no mistake, but thanks for caring," she whispered hoarsely. They were all crying now: for BB, for themselves, for the injustice of life. They formed a ring — a womb of pain from which they could not push themselves free. "It's so unfair, BB," May sobbed. "Life is. I can't complain." "What about a liver transplant?" Ash was still not prepared to accept BB's words. "Transplants are not done on cancer patients. We're bad risks." "It's just not right." They clung to each other, afraid to let go because then it would be true. It was finally Ash who pulled back and wiped her eyes, smearing her mascara and for once not caring at all. "Do you know how long you have?" she asked, her voice sore and tight. BB looked at her watch. "Until today at dawn." "What?" May sank to the cockpit seat. BB's face showed a mix of anger and determination. "I'm not going to waste away in some hospital ward. You know me. I'm going out on my terms. I need you to understand." "How?" Ash asked in a small voice. She looked at her hero, willing BB to make this a winning situation. BB always came through in the big games. Always. "I figured after I saw you guys, I'd wait on the beach until dawn and then swim out until I sank. I've always loved the water." Silence. Then she said more, with some awkwardness. "I've left you two everything. It's not much. You know me, I travel light, but I wanted my last gift to be to you two." May asked, "Why us?" "You two were constants." There was nothing left to say. They sat in silence, sipping coffee to ward off the cold of shock and drifting aimlessly in the night. Locked in their own personal misery. A moon rose. Ash suddenly stood and started to remove her clothes. "A change in the game plan, BB. We're going to be there for your last play of the game." She looked at May, who nodded trustingly. "One more night together and then, BB, you can walk the plank at dawn like the pirate you are." Her voice shook with emotion and tears streamed, but her determination broke them free. BB laughed, her eyes sparkling like they had years ago. Naked breasts hanging, Ash leaned forward and took BB's head in her hands, kissing her like she had when they'd been lovers. May stood and stripped while Ash worked on removing BB's shirt. Their love making was the final game. The ball in BB's court. Their defence against death was the joy of living on the edge, if only for this one over time match. The score keeper had stopped the clock and they played on, skin sweating, hands reaching, bodics grinding. Fighting for that final shot. After, May cried softly. Ash smoked and BB slept. They drifted. Stars under stars. Playing the game over in memories and dreams. When BB woke she kissed each of them. May cried again. "I'm not sure I can let you do this." Ash held on to her. "BB, there are new breakthroughs everyday. If you were to wait—" "No. I've waited long enough. I'm weakening. I can feel it. This is not the person I want to be. I know this is hard for you, but this is a very special gift I need you to give me." Ash sat up and pushed her hair back, trying to compose herself before she spoke. "Look at us, BB. Neither of us were the women we wanted to be. May did what her family expected of her because it was the honourable thing to do and I did what society expected of me. We lived lies all our lives. Sometimes you have to compromise for others. For us. We need you." "I've tried never to compromise who I am. Would you want me to now?" May sniffed back tears. "Was it a better path, BB?" "Yes, but it was a much harder, lonelier path." "Maybe women like us can never really find happiness," Ash sighed. BB gave her a hug. "Happiness? You make it yourself anyway you can. I don't think it's out there somewhere. Hell, I've been all over the world and the only place I have found it is within myself, and then not all the time. May, have you ever been happy?" "Sure, most of the time." "Ash." "I guess." "Then you need to let me go because I know being in control of my own fate will be a final act of happiness. I know it's not your way, but it's mine. I need you to respect that. It will be your Christmas gift to me. Can you understand that?" Her two friends nodded reluctantly. "I feel truly free at last and...happy." They were silent, too overwhelmed with the moment to speak. They watched as BB walked to the bow and climbed up on the railing. She balanced there like some beautiful figure head on some ancient ship. The moonlight highlighted her naked form. She dived — jack-knifing into the water, her long, lean body thrusting into warm depths. White cream bubbled around her entry. They waited until her strong head rose again. BB turned and looked at her two friends. "Thanks for understanding. Thanks for always being there." May swallowed hard and tried to hold back her sobs and her need to jump in and pull BB out. "Have a good swim, BB. We love you." Tears rolled down Ash's face and her fingernails dug deeply into May's hand. "See you on the court next time round." BB turned and swam away in measured, powerful strokes. They stood side by side, holding hands, crying, watching until the yellow ball spewed milky beads across the dark waters. "How far can she go?" "All the way. It's BB" "Merry Christmas, BB. Touch the sun for us. You'll always be with us." They took their time stowing the sails not wanting to leave. When the sun was high and in their eyes, they motored back to harbour. It would be a sad Christmas, but in their hearts they knew they had given the greatest gift they could to their friend — the freedom to be who she was. Christmas Moments The Arrival The plane was crowded with people heading home for the Christmas holidays. Colette Dumont was not heading home. Home was in the Laurentian Mountain region of Quebec, where her family ran a small organic vegetable farm. Instead, she was heading to Georgia to spend Christmas with her new wife's family. It would be strange to have a Christmas without snow. She looked over at Ami Bassin-dale, who sat beside her on the plane, and smiled. "What are you thinking?" "Nothing, just that I'm very happy." "I'm surprised, after what you've told me about your family, that we were invited for Christmas. I thought they might have a little difficulty with you having married me." "Well, actually, I mean-" Colette's eyes widened and a dread washed through her body. "You did tell them about me?" "Well sure, I told them I'd got married. And they've known for sometime that I'm a lesbian." "But you didn't tell them you married a woman?" Ami bit her lip and looked nervous. "Not in so many words. No." Colette rolled her eyes and thumped her head back against the seat. "It was just hard to work into a short conversation, Col. We had so little time before we left. You don't know my parents. They are the salt of the earth type. My mother is the charming wife and hostess and my father runs an orchard on part of the old family plantation. They're down home, decent people, and they try their best to understand me. It hasn't been easy for them. Mom thinks I'm a lot like my great grandmother Gertie. She ran the plantation after her father died and also wrote local history and did water colours. We still have them and they're quite a detailed and accurate record of life in the south." "So you're a genetic throw back, eh?" Col muttered. "Well, I'm the only person in the family who went to university and got a doctorate. I've spent a good deal of my student life explaining to my family how a degree in art history could be useful. But mom and dad have always been there for me, even If they didn't understand. I'm sure they'll be supportive of our marriage." Colette sighed and turned her head to look back at her partner again. She smiled. "Well, this certainly will be a Christmas no one will ever forget." "It'll be okay. I mean, they didn't approve of my lifestyle but they didn't throw me out or anything." "Have you ever brought anyone home before?" "Well, no." "Do they have guns?" "Sure." "Maybe, I'll just jump now and get it over with." Ami laughed. "It'll be fine. Well okay, maybe it might be a little difficult at first but I know they are going to love you." It wasn't fine. Ami's mother, Helen, met them at the airport. "Ami, it's so wonderful to see you. The family is so excited about meeting Col." Helen Bassingdale gave her daughter a big hug and looked around excitedly for Ami's husband. "When you turned thirty this spring, we'd pretty well accepted that you were not going to marry. What a happy surprise it was when we got your phone call last month." Ami pulled out of her mom's hug and wrapped an arm about a tall woman who stood quietly behind her. "Mom, this is my wife, Colette Dumont. Colette this is my mother, Helen." "Hello, Helen. It's very good to meet you." Col put out her hand to shake Helen's but instead she ended up using it to steady the poor woman and guide her to a chair. "Steady breaths. Ami, would you please get your mother some juice, or something?" Ami nodded and hurried off, leaving Col to steady her mother-in-law. Wide eyes turned to look at the tall, trim person who squatted beside her. "You're a woman." Colette smiled. "All my life. I'm really sorry Ami didn't let you know. We've been away on a combined honeymoon and business trip and really only got home in time to grab our bags and head down here." "But Ami said she was married." "We are. Gay couples can marry in Canada." "Oh." Ami came hurrying over with a small bottle of juice and sat beside her mom. Col took the bottle, twisted the top off, and offered it to her mother-in-law. "Here, have a few alps of this. The sugar will help with the shock." Helen nodded, still looking like a deer in the headlights. Ami wrapped an arm around her mom. "It's okay, Mom. We love each other very much and Colette is a wonderful person. You'll see." Helen nodded dully and took another swig of the juice. "I've invited all the family for Christmas evening to meet your husband." "That will be great," Ami said. Helen and Colette looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. She shrugged. "Well, they have to find out sooner or later." "I need to make a phone call," Ami's mom said urgently, getting to her feet with Col's help. "I'll come with you, Mom." "No! You stay with Colette. I-I'll be back in a minute, honey. I-I need to phone your father." Colette watched as Helen walked off, looking none too steady on her feet. "Well, that went well," she muttered. Christmas Eve The four of them sat in the living room. Ami's mother was a charming woman, pear-shaped and motherly. Despite her shock at her new daughter-in-law, she'd offered all the usual southern hospitality with a stoic, polite smile. Ami's father, Frank, was tall and slim and had the weather beaten look of a man who enjoyed the outdoors. He ran a pecan orchard and a successful spin off business making related products such as pecan wood souvenirs, bagged pecans, pecan cookies and Christmas cake. A plate of Christmas cake sat on the coffee table now as they drank a coffee. Ami's mother was managing, with considerable effort, to keep the conversation going. Her father sat in stunned silence staring at Colette with a look that bordered on murderous. "So, how did you meet?" Helen asked with forced cheerfulness. Ami laughed and looked at Colette, who rolled her eyes. "We met in Quebec. That's where Colette is from. I just fell head over heels in love with her the first time we ran into each other." Col explained, "I was skiing at a local resort. Ami ran into me and broke my leg." "Oh no. Did you hear that, dear, Ami broke Col's leg.". "I heard. What do you do for a living?" demanded Frank. Helen got up. "Ami why don't you help me get dinner ready?" Ami got up and followed her mother out of the room giving Col a sympathetic look as she went by that read, Sorry, you're on your own. "I paint." "Paint?" "Yes." "You work with a company or something?" "No. I'm in business for myself." "A business, good. So what do you paint? How many do you have working for you?" "I paint pictures, sir. I'm an artist." "An artist?" "Yes, sir." "Shit. You can make a living at that? How many pictures did you sell last year?" "Five." "Five!" "It was a good year. I had a show in New York," Colette said, wondering how she was going to explain her work using colour and textures in a visual rendering of light and form. "How are you going to support my daughter painting pictures?" "First, Ami doesn't need me to support her. She's a very independent woman and a visiting professor of art history at McMas-ter. She's doing very well. But I think I can manage to care for her, sir. There were some rough years starting out. I actually got my education through a military scholarship because my family wasn't in a position to send me to university. I started to paint while I was still in the service. Now I've established myself, my work is selling well. I can usually expect to clear $50,000 on a sale." "Shit. What kind of a damn fool would spend $50,000 on a picture?" Bedtime "Shhh, my parent's room is right next door." "I'm just getting into bed," Col whispered back. "It's not my fault the springs squeak." "Well, don't move," Ami said, slowly slipping in beside Col. "Can I breathe?" "Only softly, and no gasping," Ami said, reaching a hand over to tease Col's nipple. Col grabbed Ami's hand and kissed her fingers. "You're wasting your time. I think I just heard your father pass wind and I don't think I'll ever be in the mood again. Talk about a turn off." Ami giggled. "Don't do that. They'll think we're up to no good," Col whispered in mock panic. "Wait until we visit your parents." "They won't care." "How do you know?" Ami sat up in bed. "You've brought women home before, haven't you?" "Ahhh, yes." "I'm not going to sleep in a bed that you and some bimbo shared." "Shhhh. And I never slept with bimbos." "That doesn't make a difference. Col, how could you?" "I didn't know you then. Okay, okay, I'll replace the furniture, paint the walls, and have the room fumigated. How's that?" "I'll think about it," Ami said, lying down and turning her back on her wife. Col sighed and turned off the light. Christmas Morning "I thought you were a man so we got you a shirt and tie for Christmas," Helen explained, handing Col her present. "But the tie is silk." Colette smiled politely. "That's great. I sometimes wear a shirt and tie to openings. It was very kind of you." Frank was eyeing the wrapped parcel that Colette and Ami had given them. Helen came and sat by his side and unwrapped it. Colette looked at Ami, then at the two stunned faces of her in-laws. "It's one of Col's paintings," Ami explained. "We wanted to give you something special." "It's special alright," Frank started and Helen jabbed him in the ribs. "My it's colourful and — and lumpy. What is it a picture of, Colette? Something in Canada?" Colette's smile was thin but still holding. "It's not of anything in particular. I use colour and texture with a mixed palette to create images of light. This one is part of my summer series." Frank held it up and took a closer look. "Not much in the way of summer in Canada is there?" "Dad!" Colette laughed. She couldn't help herself. "No summer is short in Canada. You might want to insure the painting though. Look on it as a little investment for your retirement years." Frank looked over the frame at Colette. "What's it worth?" "It's one of my earlier works which are now sold out. I think at an active art auction in, say, New York or LA, you could expect to make about $80,000 — $100,000." "Shit!" "Frank. Language," Helen reminded her husband. "Colette it's lovely. Ami, dear, could you and Col take down the print we have over the mantle and put up our present. Does it have a name?" "No. I don't like my work defined." "Oh well, we'll just call it Col's picture then." Frank frowned. "Could be a picture of her insides, I guess." The Family The man who cornered Col in the hall had a beer belly and a receding hair line. He wore a suit that was well tailored but flashy. "Bill Fairdale is the name. I'm a cousin of little Ami. I'm in car sales. If ever you girls need a deal on a second hand car you just let me know." He winked. Col smiled and took a step back to extend her personal space. "Thanks." "What are you driving now?" "A Lamborghini." "Well, I'll be damned. Now that's one honey of a car. You must be doin' all right in this art business." He gave Col a poke in the ribs. Col managed a weak smile as she took another step away. "I do okay." An arm shot out and pulled her aside into the corner in a conspiratorial way. "Listen, you're a woman of the world, er, man, well, whatever you call yourself. I hear that women really know how to please other woman. Well, it makes sense, doesn't it? Now I love my wife, but a man needs a little on the side, if you know what I mean. Even a guy like me hitting his more mature years. So I was wondering what dykes like you would suggest to make a young thing happy?" Col slipped around the obnoxious man and gave him a wicked smile. "Go back to your wife and leave her alone?" she suggested, before walking off. Col stood in the kitchen, pouring herself a Southern Comfort and talking to an older couple who had just introduced themselves as Elsie and Marlow Bassindale, Ami's grandparents. The old guy looked at her suspiciously while his wife kept her distance as if Col might be contagious. "So you're the queer Canadian." Col took a swallow of her drink. "Yes." "You don't sound Canadian. You gotta funny accent," the man accused. "I used to go up to Canada hunting in the fall. I know Canadians and you don't sound like one." Col laughed. "You're from Georgia and you think I have an accent?" "Well, you do." "I'm a French Canadian," Col explained. Grandpa Marlow looked shocked. "French. Elsie, she's French." "French Canadian," Col corrected. "I suppose you're against war like all those mandy-pandy French politicians." Col tried not to roll her eyes as she started to edge toward the door. "Does anyone think war is a good thing, sir?" The old guy stood straighter. "I fought in Vietnam and was damn proud to serve my country." Col looked him straight in the eye and answered honestly. "I served in Afghanistan and was damn glad to survive." As she headed out of the kitchen she could hear Granny Elsie calming her husband. "Now, Marlow, she meant no disrespect." "Damn, queer Frenchy." Col found Ami in the living room clutching a glass of wine in one hand and a bible in the other. She raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Cousin Sally gave it to me with some passages marked in the hope I'll see the errors of my ways. Seems our relationship has damned me to the lowest part of hell, but she wants to save me." Col rolled her eyes. Ami laughed. "How's it going, hon?" Col gave her the summary as she stood beside her wife looking at the crowd of Bassindales milling around the room. "Your Uncle Bill wants some pointers on how to please women." Ami did the eye roll this time. "He's such a slime ball." "Your Grandad Marlow wants me dead because I'm French and don't think war is a neat sport." Ami patted Col's arm and looked sympathetic. "You're only French. You'll never understand." "Your Uncle Wally is fascinated by gay women doing it. I just want you to know if he suggests a threesome I'll probably have to kill him." Ami laughed. "I don't think my Aunt Mai would mind. She's threatened to off him many times herself." Boxing Day Helen Basindale looked frayed. The visit of the relatives on Christmas evening had strained even her legendary hostess skills. Still, she had gotten through it. Ami and Col were flying out in the afternoon and they had managed the holiday without ending up lynched or in jail. She considered that quite a triumph considering Ami had brought home a wife for the family to meet. It was a shame, she thought. Collette was a perfect husband for her independent and intelligent daughter. Considerate, talented, wealthy, and polite. Why did she have to be female? Even now, it was Col who was making the coffee and toast while she sat at the kitchen table in what she felt might be shell shock. Frank came in with the morning paper and sat down. Col passed him his coffee. "Thanks." "Morning all." Ami had arrived. She gave Col a kiss. Helen blushed. Frank disappeared deeper behind his paper. Col smiled and Ami got out the butter, jam, and marmalade, placing them on the table with the pile of toast that Col had made. They all sat down. "So, thanks for inviting us, Mom and Dad. I know this wasn't easy for you, and I really appreciate your support and understanding. I thought last night went well, considering." Frank stayed behind his paper. Helen managed a weak smile. Col laughed. "Always the optimist. I too appreciate all you did for us, Frank and Helen. It must have been an awful shock." Frank came out from behind his paper. "Pearl Harbour was a shock. This was an event of—" Helen cut in quickly. "What Frank means is that we were surprised you two just went off and got married so suddenly." Ami swallowed her toast. "We'd planned a spring wedding with the family. But, Mom, Dad, we've been waiting to tell you: I'm expecting." "Oh Jesus! She's one of those transvestites!" Frank cursed, throwing down his paper. "No, I'm not." "Don't give me that. I know where kids come from." "Dad. Col and I decided we wanted children so I had artificial insemination. The sperm was from a sperm bank. It usually takes some time, so we started the process early. I'm thirty and I didn't want to wait too long. But I got pregnant right away. Col insisted we get married immediately. She's kind of old fashioned that way." "My grandchild came from a test tube?" "It's done a lot now, sir. I promise you that our baby will have two very caring, supportive parents." Tears ran down Helen's face. "Oh, Ami! I'm so happy for you. I never thought I'd be a grandmother." "Jesus," Frank muttered shaking his head. "Come on, Col, I'll show you around the business. You might need a real job now that you're going to be a daddy, mommy — whatever the hell you're going to be." The Flight Home Ami smiled at her partner as Col sighed and leaned back in her plane seat. Helen and Frank had seen them off at the airport. "That was some Christmas, huh?" "A classic." "Next year, will be our baby's first Christmas." Col smiled. "That thought makes it all worthwhile." An Arctic Story Jane looked around. For as far as she could see there was a flat landscape of ice and snow. Here in Auyuittuq National Park, three degrees above the Arctic Circle on Baffin Island, it was hard to tell where land met sky. A white sheet-world gradually blurred into the distance and became infinite space. That was the Arctic, infinite space. It made you feel very small. A large section of Auyuittuq National Park was ice cap. It was to this region that Nowdlak had brought them. It was strange that in the years she'd know her partner in the south, she had always called her Dale, her European name. Now here in the north, she found herself calling her Nowdlak, her Inuit name. She thought she knew Dale Nowdlak. Moody, quick tempered, and a loner, she'd been shunned by the other students in the biology department until Jane Askin reached out to her. A few months later, they had become lovers. Jane had promised Nowdlak, that after they graduated, she would visit the Arctic and see if she could live and work there. At the time, it was an easy promise to make. The future seemed far away. Now it was here and Jane was not at all sure if she wanted to live in the arctic. It was the Christmas season and she was missing the shopping, lights, and parties. Santa might live in the Arctic but there didn't seem to be any Christmas joy here. They'd flown from Toronto to Frobisher Bay and then Nowdlak had rented a Piper Cub for the flight into the park. They planned to meet some of Nowdlak's mother's family, who had moved out of the hustle and bustle of the small community of Frobisher Bay to live on the land. A sudden, violent snow storm had caught them unprepared, however, and Nowdlak had been forced to make a dangerous emergency landing in the wilderness. Then everything changed. For two days, they huddled inside the wreckage of their tiny plane, clinging to life in a swirling world of white. On the third day, the storm stopped as suddenly as it had started and they crawled from their cramped cocoon of twisted metal to look about them. To Jane, the wilderness was desolate and terrifyingly unpredictable. She'd never in her life been as scared as she had in the last two days. Nowdlak had made a bumpy, but safe, landing but the arctic winds had battered and tumbled their small, light craft about, finally smashing them against a wall of ice and nearly burying them in a snow drift. Nowdlak had held her in her arms, wrapping them in sleeping bags and canvas to keep them warm. Unable to leave the plane in the appalling conditions, they'd used the tail section as a washroom and eaten frozen soup from a can. Standing now in the brilliant sunlight, her eyes scrunched up and nearly closed against the glare, she felt exhausted and worried. Shock was the only way she could describe her feeling when she looked up at her partner and saw Nowdlak grinning with delight as she looked about her. "You must put your goggles on, Jane. Otherwise you'll develop snow blindness," Nowdlak said gently, pulling the goggles from Jane's pocket and handing them to her. Cold, hunger, and fear made Jane explode in frustration, where at other times she would have been grateful for the advice. "We're half frozen, our plane is wrecked, and we're lost in the damn arctic wilderness, and you are worried about snow blindness! That's the least of our problems! How long do you think before a rescue helicopter will get here to bring us out to Frobisher Bay? We'll be back for Christmas, right?" Nowdlak shrugged. "Snow blindness is a major concern," she responded patiently, slipping Jane's goggles in place. "We were blown way off course. Nor will the authorities know that we're missing yet. They'll assume the storm delayed our call-in to verify we reached our destination. Today, I'll try to make contact with them. Because we're so far from our original flight plan, even when they start to search for us it will be like trying to find a needle in a hay stack. They'll search for three weeks and then stop." "What? Are you telling me we're hopelessly lost and that we'll probably not be found?" Jame wrapped her arms around herself and stomped her feet against the cold that had seeped into her bones so that she felt cold from the inside out. Nowdlak smiled. "Maybe they'll find us, maybe they won't. If I can get the radio going they'll find us soon. We're not lost. I know where we are. It's a good place." Jane looked around at the frozen landscape. "I know where we are too, in the middle of a wasteland. Damn it, Nowdlak, what are we going to do?" Nowdlak looked hurt. She'd wanted Jane to see the beauty of her world just as she'd strived to see beauty in Jane's world of pollution, noise, and crowds. Was Jane like all the others after all? "There's no need for concern. I'll try the radio," she responded stiffly and crawled back into the twisted craft to see If anything could be done. Jane stood for a minute in the cold and then crawled back inside, snuggling against Nowdlak's body. Even through the thick parka, Jane could feel the heat of her partner's body. "Aren't you cold?" she said. "It feels good. I feel alive again," the Inuit woman replied, as she examined the broken pieces of the radio. "I can't fix this, the circuitry has been damaged." "Great, now what?" Jane asked, giving into exhaustion. "We'll walk out. It'll take several days to prepare and then several more to walk to my family's camp. We'll be fine if the weather holds." "And if it doesn't?" Jane heard herself ask from far away. She was nearly asleep. "We'll have an adventure then, to tell around the fire. Wake up, Jane, there's much for us to do and you'll feel warmer for activity," Nowdlak said, in organisational mode, as she gave her partner a reassuring hug, then squirmed past her to slide out onto the plane's wing and down to the ground. Jane sighed and followed reluctantly. This was not what she'd in mind when excitedly she had planned to meet Nowdlak's family. It was supposed to be fun. Her Christmas in the arctic was to be a cultural experience that she could tell her friends about over drinks on Friday night. It wasn't supposed to be scary, cold, and isolating. "Jane, do you see where the snow is cracked and crumbled? That's the shoreline. Take this camp shovel and walk along there and look for low, long drifts. If you clear the snow you'll find driftwood sometimes. There's always a lot of drift wood along the shore this time of year. It can travel for thousands of miles. Look for pieces as far away from the water edge as possible. They've been thrown there by storms and the wood will have dried. Keep your gloves on. Your skin would stick to the wood because of the moisture," Nowdlak finished with a warning. Jane nodded dully and headed off where Nowdlak had pointed. She couldn't imagine ever being warm again, never mind warm enough to take her mitts off. She could not see what her partner saw. Snow was snow as far as she could see, which at the moment was all the way to the horizon. She was surprised then when, having walked only a short distance, she came upon snow that was cracked and uneven. Another few minutes of searching and she found a long, silver-grey branch buried in the ice and snow. With a sigh, she started hacking away at the surrounding ice. She thought she knew her moody, quiet lover but up here Nowdlak seemed so different. More confident, more alive. She smiled. She loved Nowdlak's funny little ways, how she coped with the industrial world of which she'd had no experience. She remembered the look of horror on her dad's face when Nowdlak, finding no space left in the driveway, had simply parked her car on the front lawn. Or the time she'd shocked everyone by stirring lard into her tea instead of sugar. Jane had managed to break through her lover's prickly facade by patiently helping Nowdlak understand the ways of the south. Now their roles were reversed and Jane was not sure she liked it. She felt stupid and useless, as well as cold, and so very small in this vast, barren landscape. Despite the cold, sweat was now dampening the flannel shirt she wore under her sweater and polar jacket. Wisely, she unzipped her jacket to let the moisture escape. She could remember Nowdlak telling her that keeping dry was very important to prevent freezing. It took her a good hour of hard work to finally loosen the branch from its spot. To her surprise, it was not too heavy to lift. Nowdlak had been right. The water saturated branch had freeze dried once it had been thrown clear of the ocean. She turned and looked out. She could see now how the snow turned to pack ice stretching out miles into the ocean. Only close to the horizon could she see open water. She would never have known that their crash site was close to the shore if Nowdlak hadn't told her. The branch was long, over twelve feet she estimated, and about six inches at its widest end. With difficulty, she managed to half carry, half drag it back to the plane. To her surprise, Nowlak was just cutting the final blocks for a small igloo. "Wow, neat!" she exclaimed, dropping the log and running over to have a look at their new shelter. She hoped the camera still worked. Wait until she told people back home that she'd spent a few nights in a snow house. "No, a necessity. It's clear and will be very cold tonight," Now-dalk said. "We've been lucky. The snow here is good for building an igloo. Such snow can be hard to find." Jane looked at her friend with puzzled interest as the Inuit shaped the last snow block and fitted it into place. The igloo was built in a spiral shape, each piece carefully shaped to curve into a dome held together at the top with a keystone slab of snow. There was a short, low tunnel to crawl through to get inside. "I guess I hadn't considered that the texture of snow varied and would be used for different things," she said at last. Nowdlak nodded. "In our language, we have many words for snow. There is snow that is good for building igloos, snow good for snowshoes, snow better used with dog teams. You see that snow over there?" Jane nodded. "That's ice that was pushed by storm waves high on the beach. The sun has melted the surface and it's refrozen many times. Old ice is good. The salt has settled to the bottom and so the ice can be melted and the water is sweet to drink. You see, it's a clear blue and shines in the sun. New ice is grey and milky in colour because of the salt." Jane looked closer. Now she could see the ridge of ice that her lover had pointed out. Looking back, she could clearly see the shoreline now where she had searched for wood. The world was not a flat waste land stretching to the horizon as she'd originally thought, but a landscape of varying and subtle landforms. In the other direction a range of magnificent mountains rose up to the sky. How much more had she not seen yet? "Should I break this branch up and stack it inside?" she asked, wanting to show her partner she could be of use. "We'll have to build our fire out here. An oil lamp is good in an igloo, but a fire would cause it to melt. We'll take the coals inside later to give us more warmth. You need to take the fire axe from the plane and strip off the outer layer of the wood. It will be damp and won't burn, but the core will be good. This is good wood, it will burn well and long once we can get a fire going. You did well." Jane smiled, pleased that Nowdlak had appreciated her efforts. "I'm glad to see you remembered to undo your jacket if you got hot. Never let the moisture build up against your skin. It will make you colder later," she said. Jane nodded. She realized now that there was much to learn and doing so would be a unique and rare opportunity that would bring Nowdlak and her even closer. "Nowdlak, don't you find it oppressive? I feel so small in all this vast space. I don't think I knew what silence really was until today. In my world, even late at night, there's always the sound of the furnace, the clock ticking, the fridge coming on, a siren in the distance. Here silence is like a blanket over everything." Nowdlak looked around in amazement. "But there are all sorts of sounds," she protested. "Listen, the ice squeaks and complains because the ocean is breaking it up and drifting it away from the land. The wind still whispers and ice flakes giggle as they are bounced along. Do you not hear the seagulls calling that they have found fish?" Jane looked at her lover. Never had she seen her look so happy and animated. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Nowdlak and felt her respond, pulling her closer into her arms and dropping a kiss on her head. "I think I'll have to listen more closely," she said. They went back to work, Jane stripping the branch down to dry wood and chopping it into kindling and Nowdlak building a sled out of pieces of the wrecked plane. Jane found herself enjoying the fresh air and manual labour. She felt warm enough to undo her coat again and sometimes she would stop and listen to the sounds around her. Now and again, Nowdlak would imitate a sound, incorporating it into a rhythmic beat that resonated from deep in her throat. Throat singing Nowdlak called it. She told Jane that it was better when a group sang together telling a story of activity with the sounds they created. She promised Jane that when they visited her family, they would show her how it was properly done. "Wood's cut," Jane called. "Where are the matches and I'll get a fire going and see what I can do to cook us a hot meal. We have enough canned food for a few days. Then we'll have to do without." Nowdlak took off her glove with her teeth and dug deep into her pocket to pull out a tin cylinder of matches. She tossed it over to her partner with a smile. "I might be able to catch a few arctic hare. It's easy to catch a rabbit. They run then stop. Then they'll bolt either right or left. So when the rabbit stops you run to the right. Fifty per cent of the time you'll be there to catch the rabbit. Rabbits and caribou are grazers. They eat the moss and lichen that we can't digest. Traditionally, we would eat the contents of their stomachs first. The lichens and mosses would already be broken down enough that our systems could digest them. That's how the Inuit got enough vitamin C to avoid getting scurvy." Nowdlak saw Jane's eyes widen in horror and smiled. "I don't think we're in danger of getting scurvy so we'll just eat the meat if I catch one. Jane, don't blow on the fire to get it going. The moisture in your breath will freeze on the wood as a thin veneer and then the wood won't burn. Fan the fire instead with your glove." Jane smiled at her partner. "There's a lot I need to learn to live here," she said. Nowdlak's face broke into a wide smile. "You'll learn to love it," she promised. "As I do." Jane smiled back and then let her eyes scan across the undulating beauty of the arctic. The snow wasn't really white but an amazing variety of subtle blues, greys, and greens. The land was not flat either but a complex pattern ground down by glaciations and moulded by snow, water and, wind. It was a pristine world filled with the sounds of nature. She could feel herself becoming more aware, more alive each minute. She nodded softly. Nowdlak would never belong in her world, she realized that now. But that was okay because she knew that she could come to love this land and to know it as well as her lover. Now the days of the storm did not seem cold and terrifying. They were an adventure, experienced and endured. Nor did the cold vastness of the arctic intimidate her anymore. It was liberating, beautiful, and pristine. Jane smiled and looked back at Nowdlak, who watched her with serious, concerned eyes. "Is it true that the traditional Inuit slept naked under fur to share their body heat?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye. "Lovers do," Nowdlak responded with a flash of a smile. "I'm going to love it here. It'll be the best Christmas ever." She grinned, and the two women turned back to their work, their future together now a certainty. All of Them "You still okay with this, hon?" Caren smiled and flashed her mom a smile. "I should be asking you that." Jean Harris sighed. "Filled, of course, with various serious apprehensions but still willing to forge ahead. And you?" Caren shrugged. She was scared, but there was no going back. Not now. "About the same, I guess." The outboard boat they were in rocked gently on Georgian Bay. It was a huge body of water and the roll of the waves was more like the ocean than a lake. They were pretending to fish. In actual fact, they were spying. Jean preferred to call it an investigative recognisance. As a journalist, she was well aware that there was a fine line between investigating a story and snooping. She'd crossed the line more than once, although she did try to maintain a sense of professional integrity. But this mission had nothing to do with professionalism. She had deliberately broken all the rules, using her position as a well known and respected journalist to gather information and share it with her nineteen year old adopted daughter. That made this investigation personal and Jean's nervous system was raw with emotion. Caren sat staring up at the house on the cliff about a half mile off, her fishing pole forgotten in her hands. Jean reached forward and shoved the lid off a small Styrofoam container. "Want a coffee?" "I'd love one. Thanks." Caren took the flask from her mom, twisted the cap off and carefully poured the hot coffee into two cups. She sealed the flask again and passed it back to Jean to return to the container and then handed her a cup of coffee. Jean held on to the warm cup with a sigh of contentment. There was a Fall nip to the air but she was looking forward to the two weeks they were going to be on holiday together, even if part of their time was going to be spent doing investigative recognisance. "It's going to be hard to get up there." "Yeah." "We could try over land." Caren sighed. "I was hoping there'd be a dock. They sure don't make it easy." "I guess that's understandable. Don't you think?" Jean asked gently. Caren looked up sharply. Her eyes flashed with anger. As Jean watched they calmed to dark pools of chestnut. "I guess." Jean reached over and patted her daughter's knee reassuringly. "She doesn't know us so we can't expect she'll trust us. You can see why she'd guard her privacy so closely. You've read her books." Caren nodded moodily and looked back at the house on the cliff. "I wonder how messed up she is emotionally?" "Her books show amazing insight into the human psyche. I don't sense the anger in her later work. In fact, there seems to be a great deal of compassion." Caren nodded. She needed to believe this. Yes, she'd read the book about Patricia Allen's childhood. Patricia's parents had been killed in a car crash when she was eight and she'd been raised by an uncle who was strict and narrow in his religious belief. The cane was the solution to any transgression, however small, or any questioning of the religious dogma to which her uncle adhered. When she was fourteen, Pat had realized she was gay and tried to run away from home. When her uncle got her back he tried to beat the devil out of her and when this failed he allowed his friend to rape her to show her what a real man could do for her. She eventually escaped from this life of hell and staggered bleeding and wailing onto the highway. A trucker had taken her to a local clinic. From there, it had been a slow, painful recovery. All the way the country doctor, Gale Houghton, had acted as a guardian and friend to Pat. Eventually, Gale won the right in court to be Patricia's guardian. At the age of twenty-five, Patricia Allen had written her autobiography, The Closet Within. It had sent Shockwaves through the literary community. Two years later, she had written her second best seller, Martin. Since then there had been four other novels, all of them haunting, powerful, and sensitive. Caren had read all of Allen's books many times. She knew her mother had as well. They sat for a few more hours, each taking turns watching the house, fishing pole in hand, while the other read. Once they saw an older woman come out onto the balcony and shield her eyes with her hand to look out across the water at them. Satisfied, they hoped, that they were fishing she disappeared again. They speculated for a time as to whether it could be Dr. Houghton then fell silent again. The cloudy afternoon darkened and the rolling of the water intensified. It was time to call it quits for the day. Tonight at their motel, they would discuss their options in trying to find a way to talk to Patricia Allen. Caren slid back to the gas tank and pumped up the pressure while Jean pulled up their anchor. It took several pulls of the cord on the old outboard and some delicate encouragement with the choke before the engine caught again with a good deal of blue smoke and noise. Not a moment too soon, Caren brought their stern to the waves and headed them on an angle back towards the shore and to the harbour several bays to the north. Jean did her best in the rocking boat to stow their gear and then held on tight to the gunnels as the bow smashed through the growing waves. They were both getting very wet and water was starting to accumulate under their sneakers. They had come within fifty feet of the shore when the wave hit them broadside. They crested the wave and slid down the trough in what seemed like an agonizingly slow slide. The boat filled with cold water, things floated away, and the engine vibrated, choked and stalled. Neither of them talked. Jean grabbed the fish bucket and started bailing and Caren madly worked to get the engine going. The next wave sent them both over the side as the small pleasure craft over turned. They came up gasping in the cold water. "Stay with the craft or try to make it to shore?" Caren asked, as she bounced like a cork in her red life jacket. Jean considered. It was late in the season. It could be sometime before anyone realized they had not returned. They were both strong swimmers. "Head for shore. We won't last long in this cold water. We'll have to keep moving." Caren nodded and the two of them headed off, swimming awkwardly in the bulky rented life jackets. Pat stood looking down at the two of them. There was no expression on her face but Gale was not fooled. She was well aware that Pat's stillness was a sign of deep emotional distress. She would not like having strangers in the house. "It's them. Isn't it?" "Yes, I think so." "They were out there fishing." "Maybe." Deep brown eyes looked up. "They were spying on us?" "Maybe." "Why?" "Curiosity?" The eyes darkened in thought, then looked back at the two wrapped up on their guest bed. "They're reporters," she stated as if that conclusion solved everything. "I need to go shower and change. I'm wet and cold." Gale watched Pat go with worried eyes and then brought her attention back to her two patients. It had been Gale who had seen the two struggling swimmers in the water at the cliffs edge but knew she was too old to pull them to safety. She had called for her thirty-six year old adopted daughter and Pat had used a boat hook to grab their jackets and bring them to a safe ledge of rock. There, they'd been fished from the water nearly unconscious and suffering from hypothermia. Pat managed to lift each of them to the inclina-tor that carried them up the steep incline to the house. They had been stripped, dried, placed into the same bed to share body heat and covered with an electric blanket. They were now both asleep, exhausted from their ordeal. After Pat left, Gale sat down beside the bed. She hadn't been completely open with Pat. She knew one of the women. She'd met Jean Harris only once years ago. Now here she was with her daughter, Caren. She wasn't sure if this was a blessing or the makings of a disaster. Jean woke groggily and then started awake as realization hit. Turning, heart pounding, she saw Caren asleep beside her and closed her eyes in relief. They had made it. "How are you feeling?" a voice whispered. Jean's eyes popped open again, suddenly aware of Gale Houghton sitting quietly on a chair by the bed. "Pretty cold and worn out." Gale nodded. "It's been a long time, Jean. I was so sorry to hear about the death of your partner." She kept her voice low and gentle so as not to wake Caren. As always, memories of Kaila caused Jean's heart to twist in pain. She'd died five years ago in early December. That first Christmas had been hell without Kaila. She and Caren had really struggled to come to terms with her death and the hole it had left in their lives. Jean was sure that was the catalyst that had finally given Caren the courage she needed to seek out her birth mother. "She was always so healthy and vibrant. I never thought I would lose her to cancer, or anything else for that matter. It was very hard on Caren. She adored Kaila." The aging face, yet still with clear blue eyes, shifted to the sleeping figure curled up behind Jean. "Is that why you're here?" "Partly, yes." Gale nodded, a frown on her face. "This could be...difficult. You were out in the boat watching us." Jean blushed. "I'm afraid so. We were looking for a way in and hoped there would be a dock. We tried to contact Pat through her publisher but got stonewalled. But...we also wanted to get a glimpse of her. Caren...well, you understand." "Yes. It was Pat who pulled you two from the water and carried you to the trolley we have for going up and down to the lake. Then she helped me get you dry and put you to bed. Do you remember?" Vague images swirled in Jean's mind. Capable, strong hands. Dark serious eyes. "No not really. It's all a blur." Gale nodded and sat quietly thinking for a few minutes. Jean closed her eyes again. Exhausted, she drifted in and out of sleep. Gale's quiet, confident voice brought her awake again. "You'll need to stay and we'll see how things go. Pat has blocked the incident totally out of her conscious mind. We'll have to proceed very carefully." Caren woke suddenly and instinctively reached out. "Mom?" "I'm here. We washed up on Allen's cliffs and she and Dr. Houghton pulled us out. We're in their house now." "What? What did she say? How did she react? Why didn't you wake me?" Jean raised an eyebrow and waited for her daughter to get to the end of her questions. "I didn't wake you because nothing has happened. Pat thinks we're both reporters snooping on her. According to Dr. Houghton, she has totally repressed the period of her life that involves us." Caren stared at her mom dumbfounded. This was the last thing she had expected. Rain, blown by a cold spring wind, drummed suddenly against the window pane and they both started. "So now what?" Caren asked rather moodily. "Dr. Houghton has invited us to stay for a bit. See how things go. What do you think?" Caren lay on her back staring at the ceiling. She felt so cold — right from the soul out. "I guess. It feels weird." Jean gave her daughter a poke and giggled. "Your whole life is weird, aren't you always telling me that?" Caren managed a nervous laugh in response to her mom's kindly jibe. "Oh yeah, but this is mega-weird." "You invited them to stay?" Patricia Allen wheeled on her adopted mother with stormy eyes. "I realized that I knew Jean from long ago and decided I wanted to get reacquainted. Caren is her daughter. You have a love of literature in common. She just finished her B.A. in English and plans to start on her Masters in the fall." "I never finished high school." Gale rolled her eyes and went over to flop down in one of the comfy chairs by the living room fire. Pat had lit it to take the chill off the day. She knew that Gale's bones ached when it rained. Pat took very good care of Gale. "I imagine having written some of the best novels of the decade entitles you to some credibility, even without a degree. I am sure both Jean and Caren will be thrilled to meet you." Pat blushed and shuffled her feet awkwardly. Then she changed the subject from herself. "What does Jean do?" Gale hesitated and then told the truth. "She's Jean Harris of CBC News. I'm sure you've seen her on television." "Shit! I thought she looked familiar. They're not staying." Gale answered quietly. "Pat, I invited them." Pat looked uncomfortable. "Well, try to keep them away from me as much as possible. And make her promise not to write about me." Gale smiled. "I will." They finally all met over breakfast the following morning, Jean and Caren wearing borrowed sweat pants and shirts and still looking rather the worse for wear for their dunking. Gale had prepared bowls of fresh fruit, yogurt, and crescent rolls, and placed pitchers of orange juice and milk and a carafe of coffee on the table as well. The sun had come out and the view from the windows that surrounded the breakfast nook from ceiling to floor was breathtaking. Pat was already there when they arrived, the morning newspaper in front of her as a barrier, and a half drunk cup of coffee at her elbow. She did stand when they entered, smiled, and murmured a polite hello when Gale introduced them. Having offered her guests refreshment and one of her newspapers to browse, she disappeared once again behind the printed word. Jean looked at Caren, who looked back with big, confused eyes. Jean shrugged and they settled to their breakfast, finding that they were more than hungry after their ordeal the day before. Gale returned with boxes of cereals and the three of them chatted happily about their rescue, the news, and Caren's plans. The talk had been interesting and the three found themselves comfortable with each other; so much so that they had rather forgotten about the quiet author behind the newspaper. So all three started when the paper was suddenly folded with a flourish and dark eyes focussed on Caren. "What do you mean to write?" Caren felt flustered for a minute. She had just said that she thought she would like to become a writer and now she found herself under the scrutiny of one of the finest authors of the century. Then her jaw set and she looked back into Pat's eyes for the very first time. "I think it's important as a young writer to draw on my own experiences in order to get a vivid verisimilitude. I thought I would like to write about what it's like to be an adopted child." Pat nodded, then stood. "Remember that what you write no longer belongs to you. That helps in giving away your demons, but it also means that you'll never own that part of your life again." She turned and left. The remaining women sat silent then and it was some time before their conversation picked up again. Over breakfast that first morning, Gale had insisted that Jean and Caren stay on until they completely recovered and had time to get to know Pat. Several days later, Gale entered the den to find Pat watching Jean and Caren playing a rather rowdy game of one on one basketball out in the driveway. At first, Gale thought that her friend was watching Caren. Then she realized it was Jean who had caught the author's eye. She had noticed that Pat seemed to find it easy to talk to Jean, but she hadn't realized that there might be an attraction there. She smiled. They would make a good couple. "You like shooting hoops. Why don't you go out and join them?" Pat did not turn around. "I don't want to break into their game." Yes, you do, Gale thought. "Actually, you can take Caren's place. I promised to drive her back into town to pick up their car." This time Pat turned. Her voice, when she spoke, was more enthusiastic sounding than she would have liked. "Jean's not going?" "No, she's waiting on a phone call from work." "Good. I mean okay. Maybe I'll see if I can join the game then," Pat blurted out, red creeping up her neck. Gale pretended not to notice. Pat was easily put on the defensive when she was facing new situations. The game between the two of them was intense and played on many different levels. Pat had the height and strength, but Jean was quick and nimble. Polite blocking led to more physical contact. Sweat and lean muscle bumped, slid, and glowed against each other. Their breath was laboured, laughs short by necessity, words spoken few but laden with meanings. "Think you're good, eh, Allen?" "Oh yeah, the best." "My ball." "Think so, huh?" "She scores!" "Beginner's luck," Pat laughed. "So I've noticed. You just watch the master and learn, woman." It was the tied ball. Each grabbing for the basketball at once and refusing to give to the other, they ended up face to face. The game stopped. "You play well," Pat murmured. "So do you." "You could let me kiss you." "Why would I?" "Because you want to and I want to." Pat leaned over the ball and lowered her lips to Jean's. The kiss was hunger — a tease and a promise. Eyes locked. Jean was the first to look away. "I've heard you're a rogue." "You heard right. Gale tells me you had a partner. That you raised Caren together." "You heard right." They moved apart. "I need to shower and...stuff," Jean stated lamely, relinquishing the ball to Pat as she backed off. Pat stood her ground, eyes filled with desire, a cocky half smile on her lips as she watched Jean hurry away. Jean might have got more hoops, but she sure as hell got beat at the passing game. Later that night, Jean found Gale in her favourite spot by the fire. From the den, she could hear the voice of her daughter and Pat playfully arguing about authors and books they admired. "Hi." "Good evening. Come pull up a warm chair," Gale offered, putting down her cross stitching. "You and Pat have been very welcoming. We've been here over a week. I think we've probably over stayed our welcome and should be heading home." Gale looked at the woman sitting opposite her. "Kaila has been dead for five years." "Yes." "She wouldn't mind, you know, if you were to love again." Jean blushed deeply. "I could never love someone like I loved Kaila." "Of course not. But there are many loves. Different sure, but just as intense and beautiful." Jean squirmed. She wondered if Pat had told Gale about their kiss that morning. "I don't know what you mean." "Don't you?" Gale smiled. "You'll never know if you don't stay and see how things work out. Pat is a good person." "I don't doubt that. But from what I've learned, she hasn't had a great track record." Sadness crossed Gale's face and she looked away to the fire. "No, she hasn't. She's looked for love in the wrong places. Trust has been hard for her." "I think we should leave." "Caren has a right to know her. Isn't that why you were out there last week? You have a right to know her. You share a very special person." "Pat has repressed the memory of ever having a child. It was good for Caren to meet her and know her birth mother, but I don't want her hurt." "Yes, but-" "What?" The two women started and turned to see Caren and Pat standing in the doorway. Gale stood up, her needle work falling forgotten to the floor. "Pat..." A stream of emotions was crossing Pat's face. "You all tricked me!" She spun on her heel and was gone. Gale headed across the room. "I'm going after her. You two will please stay here until I get back no matter how long that is." They heard the door slam and a car roar out of the driveway. Like an echo the door slammed again and a second car's engine roared into life. Jean looked at her daughter with questioning, compassionate eyes. "I don't want to be here when she gets back, mom." Jean came over and drew her daughter into her arms. "You two were getting on very well." "She just walked out on me." "It must have been an awful shock to suddenly come face to face with a part of your life you had repressed." "I want to go home," Caren choked. "Okay sweetie. We can do that." Autumn led on into winter. Jean had taken a bitterly, disappointed and hurt daughter home and nursed her through the pain until she was able to head back to her university studies once again. Once Caren was gone, Jean found herself accepting more and more work so as not to think about Gale and Pat. They had never contacted them. It was like that week in the Fall had never happened. Dreams, unwelcomed, did come at night though, of that single kiss they had shared. Was she ready to date again? Was Gale right? Could she find a love as special as the one she had shared with Kaila? And what about Caren? How would she have felt if Jean had started seeing her birth mother? There were many nights when Jean worked at her desk until she was exhausted rather than face those questions or run the risk of dreaming. One evening, a few days before Christmas break, a knock on her door brought Jean back from a moody daydream with a start. Frowning, she headed for the door and looked through the viewer to see a thinner, tense Pat waiting in the snow. She carried a huge box of presents and looked very nervous. Jean opened the door. "Can I come in? I-I have a few things. You know for Christmas from Gale and me." Jean stepped back, opening the door wider. "We don't hear from you for months and you suddenly show up at the door with Christmas presents?" Pat blushed deeply. "I was coming. I just thought I'd bring a few things with me. I mean — I don't know what I thought. I need to talk to you. Can I come in?" "Yes. Let me take your coat." Pat stepped in hesitantly and looked around with some apprehension. "She's not here," Jean stated, taking pleasure in seeing the embarrassment spread across Pat's face again. Pat nodded but said nothing. She placed her box of gifts on the floor and shed her coat for Jean to hang up. Jean waited, not prepared to lead this conversation. Finally, Pat managed to get something out. "Can we talk?" "What about?" Jean snapped back holding her ground. "Us...Caren...everything." Jean looked at Put with ungry eyes. She sighed. "Come in and sit down." Pat followed Jean into the living room. A big Christmas tree dominated the room and presents sat underneath ready to be opened when Caren came home. Pat sat on the couch looking uncomfortable and nervous. Jean prompted her. "Well?" "Gale wanted me to say hi and that she hopes to see you two soon." "You came to tell me that?" "No. I...I had a lot of trouble...lately," Pat managed to get out. She looked so upset and miserable as she sat, head bowed, hands fidgeting nervously that Jean forgot her anger and came and sat beside her. When she touched Pat's hand it was cold but the gesture seemed to give Pat strength to go on. "It's hard to explain. I knew I had a child after I was r-raped. But I'd sort of buried that time d-deep inside because I couldn't deal with it. Gale said she would see the child had a good home and I believed her. I-I couldn't deal with it. N-Not the way — I just had too many other issues. After that, I—I just never let myself think about it. Then suddenly, she was there and I had to. I...I...well...I had a lot of trouble with it because I'd never faced up to what had happened to me." "And now?" Pat looked up. Tears had stained her cheeks. "I don't know, Jean. I don't know. I've been seeing my counsellor and talking things out with Gale. I want to get to know you and Caren, and Gale agrees, but I don't know if I can separate her from all the crap that happened then." Jean got up, suddenly feeling cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and paced as she thought. "You are Caren's biological mother. Both you and Caren have a right to know each other. I think Caren would like knowing Gale too. She would be like a grandmother to her. But I am Caren's guardian and the closest thing she has to a mother. I will not allow my daughter to be used in some psychological experiment to see if you can deal with your past." Pat nodded, looking more miserable than ever. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. "It took me a long time to get over the anger, but I did. Not because I could ever forgive them but because the hate was eating me up. I-I don't feel anger towards Caren. I-I don't really feel anything. I liked her when I met her, but I didn't feel any maternal instinct. Maybe I'm not capable of that. What I can tell you is that I wouldn't want to ever hurl anyone like I was hurt." "You already have hurt her," Jean stated but not unkindly. "I sent a pretty miserable and confused daughter back to university." "I'm sorry." Jean nodded and nervously combed her hair back with her hand. "I know you are and that's the only reason I'm talking to you. Have you got a place to stay?" Pat stood immediately, feeling she was being dismissed. "I came straight here. I'll find a motel. Maybe we could talk again tomorrow?" "Get your things. You can stay here if you want. You'll have trouble getting a room this close to Christmas. You can have Caren's room." Pat looked into Jean's eyes. Was this a test? She wasn't sure. "Okay. Thanks. I appreciate that." Pat woke the next morning still feeling very weird being in a bedroom that was her daughter's. She had phoned Gale last night and told her she was staying over and trying to work through things with Jean. Gale had been pleased and encouraging. Last night, it had all seemed possible. This morning, waking in Caren's room, the old insecurities had flooded back. Her daughter's room, not the baby she'd had, but her daughter. That was a pretty weird feeling, too. On one level she was scared stiff by that thought and on another it was kind of exciting. Last night, she had sat for a long time on the edge of the bed looking at a picture of Caren and Jean. She knew how she felt about Jean. She was attracted to her. She had this feeling that maybe this was the person she'd been looking for. Caren? Caren, she didn't seem to feel anything for. She was the other person in the picture. A stranger. What would it have been like to have had a little daughter? Someone that called her mommy and ran down the stairs on Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought her? Tears stained Pat's cheeks. It wouldn't have been like that. In those days, she couldn't even take care of herself, never mind another. No, she'd done the right thing in giving Caren up. Still, this stranger was her daughter and not knowing her filled Pat with guilt and hurt. She sat there looking at the picture, spending a long time getting to know her face, her expression and the way she carried herself. Jean said she was a good student, but her love was basketball. She played on the university team. Did Caren get her athletic ability from her? She searched the young woman's face nervously, looking for any sign of the man who had raped her. The happy, sincere face that looked back at her did not seem to hold the rigid hate that she remembered still in her nightmares. Could she have been comfortable with Caren if she looked more like him? She wasn't sure. That was what was really scary. Not having a daughter, but that only half of Caren was her. The other half was the sperm of a cruel, chauvinistic bastard. Did she want to meet her biological father, too? Had she? That thought made Pat feel like throwing up. On the other side of the wall, Jean too lay awake thinking. Was her attraction to Pat affecting her judgement? Should she have let Pat go last night? Could things be made right? Or was she risking emotionally scarring her daughter with all this baggage? One thing she knew was that she wanted this Christmas to be special. She and Caren had to move on and find a new sort of happiness without Kaila. With a sigh, she got up. There was no point going over and over it until she wanted to scream. She would just have to play things very cautiously and then make a decision about where to go from here. Pat found Jean sipping a mug of coffee in the kitchen. "Help yourself to toast or cereal," she said. "I'm not a morning person, so if you want to be fed you have to handle it yourself." "I can do that." Pat made toast, poured herself a coffee and joined Jean at the table. "I don't know where we should go from here. I'd like to see more of you, and I think I need to face up to a part of my past that I've repressed for a long time. I'm just real scared about that." Jean looked moodily into her coffee and then at Pat. "I shouldn't have kissed you. That wasn't fair to Caren. I think you and Caren need to see if you can forge some sort of working relationship and then maybe there might be an opportunity for us to explore our feelings later." Pat looked hurt. "I've never handled the brush off well," she muttered, chasing crumbs around her plate with her finger. "It's not a brush off. I just don't want to be a complication in an already very tense and difficult situation." Pat nodded. She sat quiet for a moment, a series of deep emotions crossing her face. "Did she also seek him out?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, rough and choked with emotion. She couldn't make herself look at Jean. Jean's hand covered her own. "She was curious and asked a lot of questions but in the end she decided she never wanted to meet him. She said that having a daughter who had been relatively suecessful might make him think that he was justified in his appalling actions and she didn't want that. She was almost relieved when she heard he'd died in prison of a heart attack. She said she wouldn't like to think of a paedophile and rapist being out on the streets. And she wasn't sure what she would do if he ever tried to find her. Over the years, she's struggled with the fact that her father had acted so cruelly. She's come to understand that people have many sides, some good and some not so good. Some people, like her father, have a very dark side. She wants to believe that any traits she inherited from him were good ones." Pat fought back the tears, trying to deal with all the emotion she was feeling inside. "Any ideas on how—" The ringing of the phone stopped Pat mid-sentence and she waited patiently while Jean answered. There was little conversation but Pat could see Jean pale and see shock cross her face as if she had received a blow. It was a look that Pat felt to the core of her being. Instinctively, she stood and opened her arms and Jean, buried her smaller body against Pat's chest. "There was an accident after practice. Caren was in the van. Six of the girls' basketball team. They're at the hospital. I have to go." "I'll drive." The weather was bad and the two hour drive a white knuckle affair. They didn't talk, each lost in their own thoughts, Jean dealing with the agony of worry and Pat with the realization that she was upset. When Jean told her the news, a ball of ice formed in her gut and had remained. If anything were to happen to Caren, the loss would be huge, she realized. She would have lost the opportunity to know her own daughter. All of a sudden that mattered. An agonizing time later, they pulled up to the hospital and Jean popped out, leaving Pat to park the car. By the time Pat arrived, snow covered and wet, Jean was nowhere to be seen. Pat sat in the corner of the waiting room uncomfortable and confused as to what she should do. Hours passed. She cried a little, paced a lot, and read the same three magazines over and over. People came and went through the doors to the Emergency ward. Each time, Pat would look up in hope and anticipation. Finally, the set of double doors at the end of the hall opened and this time it was Jean and Caren. Jean looked like she'd visibly shrunk and aged during the night. Caren looked banged up and bruised. She rode in a wheel chair pushed by a nurse. In three long strides, Pat was there. She knelt down by the wheel chair and put a shaky, cold hand over Caren's where it lay on the wheelchair arm. "Are you okay?" Tears welled in Caren's eyes and she nodded. "I-I'm the only one who is." Pat leaned forward and hugged her daughter hesitantly, and felt Caren melt into her arms. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Pat held on tight for a second and then looked up into Jean's eyes. She saw love and understanding there. There were tough days ahead, Pat knew, but from now on the four of them would be a family. It was the best Christmas gift anyone could ask for. A Shepherd's First Christmas And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. ~Luke 2:8-9 Northern Afghanistan: December 24, 2005 The Earth's vegetation screens the aging of the planet, but in Afghanistan, the scars are visible on the face of the ancient land. The ranges of dry cliffs and hills are pox marked by weather, erosion, settlement, and war. And war. That is the history of this area. It is inhabited by a tribal people who have scraped a meagre existence from dirt. Not soil, dry dirt. Not farming, but scraping. It is an environment that breeds tough women and hard men. Opportunists. Survivors. Three thousand years ago, they defended their lands from Alexander the Great. Later, they raided the camel caravans that passed through the range on the veins of the Great Silk Road. Those legendary, spicy trails that led from the heart of China to the belly of Europe. Islam burned across this rough land, providing a faith that suited the lives and souls of the people at the end of a sword. Then the crusades. The name is spit on the ground. They came in waves, raping, slaughtering, and stealing in the name of their god. Not THE God. Their god, the fundamental god of the ignorant and misinformed. Then wars, so many wars. Each brought to them from strangers. What is the difference between the Sultan, the British colonial, the Russian, the pipeline company, the drug lord, the Coalition? They are all strangers to the land. They are all fleas that have jumped on to irritate the underbelly of the beast. The sand, the rock, the sun, the wind are timeless. The people of Afghanistan believe in these and Allah. No one else. You scrape. You endure. You survive. Erin watched the shadow of the helicopter undulate across the rough terrain below. It was a shadow-bug zipping in and out of the cracks. She glared at the female officer who sat reading a report across from her. The Major had yet to acknowledge her existence. The Major was angry. Erin had left the provincial capitol, Kandahar, without permission, travelling north-east in the back of a truck to Gereshk in Hel-mand province and then overland by mule train along the Helmand River valley to Ghorak. There she had replaced a returning paramedic at the medical clinic paid for by a Christian fellowship. She worked there for three months until the Major came to get her. She'd been planning a simple, but special, Christmas for her volunteers before the military helicopter dropped from the skies like a bird of prey and carried her away. She resented greatly leaving her clinic unattended because of a mountain of paper work in Kandahar that prevented her from getting on with her job. She wondered how much the Major knew about her. She knew a lot about the Major's mission. There are no secrets among tribal people. The word spreads from campfire to campfire, particularly information about foreigners. Officially, the Major had been on a tour of bases, visiting Herat, Shindand, and Farah along the western border with Iran. Not controlling, but checking in with the war lords who still ruled this isolated corner of the world. With the war lords' help, the Major had gone unofficially to Kushka along the north-west border and the gateway to Vozvyshennost, Russia, to broker a deal for some captured servicemen. The Good Shepherd searching for her lost sheep or an agent bringing back her operatives? Erin leaned back, resenting her confinement and already plotting how she would get back to her clinic. The first bullet hit. The Major gave an animal cry and grabbed at her foot. Blood ran along the creases of the military boot and dripped on the floor. More bullets bored holes in the metal frame. The copter lurched hard to the right. Smoke billowed around them. They dropped, a wounded bird seeking shelter. Circling, circling. Erin whimpered in fear, clawing at each second of life that fell away from her. The fall, Erin would never forget. It was burnt with the acid of fear on her memories. She remembered nothing of the crash. It was the sound of hot metal cracking and the stench of oil thickened smoke that brought her to awareness. Someone fumbled at her harness and she gasped in fear. It was the Major. Released, she fell forward, only catching herself in time. She swung from the hot body of the wreckage out onto the dirt, rolling clear before struggling to her feet as the cuts and bruises made themselves known. A first aid kit flew out of the wreckage and bounced along the ground. Then canteens and ration kits. The Major followed a minute later, not with a swing but a roll and crawl. She lay gasping in pain at Erin's feet. Instinctively, Erin knelt to assess the injury. The bullet had torn through the back of the boot above the heel, ripping the Achilles tendon all to hell as it went and probably shattering the calcaneum, the large heel bone. Erin could feel the bulge of the coiled tendon above the boot. "Bad?" "Not good. You're not going to be walking." "I'm going to have to. Help me up." With difficulty, Erin helped the tall soldier to her feet. The soldier groaned in pain. "The pilot is dead. We'll have to leave him. We need to get out of here. The enemy is not far away. I need you to take this plastic bag and wrap my boot in it so I'm not leaving a trail of blood. Then give me the cargo to carry and let me lean on you. We have to find a place to hide." Erin nodded and did as she was told. There were not many incidences where she could imagine herself taking orders from the Major, but this was one of them. Quickly, she gathered up the items and helped the woman drape the various articles over her shoulders. Then she wrapped her arm around the woman's waist and let the soldier lay her arm over her shoulders. "Ready?" "Gotta be." They hobbled off. Erin wasn't sure how the Major was doing it. She'd seen football players who had torn their Achilles tendon on the field scream in agony. The Major groaned with each hop forward she took on her good leg, but she said nothing. Sweat dripped off her quivering chin, but she kept moving forward, scanning the cliffs around them as they went. Slowly, painfully, they moved on. The canyon was stifling hot. As they got to the edge of the gully, the soldier called a stop. "Give me a second. Get behind the boulder." Erin did so and watched the woman pull a grenade out and pull the pin. She lobbed it into the wreckage and then dove behind the rock with Erin. A wall of sound struck them, then burning debris fell all around. "Shit!" "Are you okay?" "No, I'm not. Come on, get me on my feet." "Why did you do that?" "I want them to think no one survived and I don't want them to find anything they can use against us. They'll still look but perhaps not as successfully." They walked for a little while longer. The woman leaned more and more weight on Erin's shoulder until she was gasping with the effort of keeping the soldier on her feet. "Up there." "What?" "See the crevasse, the shadow in the cliff face?" Erin squinted her eyes in the sun. "Yes." "It's not much, probably a shepherd's shelter, but it's going to have to do. I can't go much farther." Erin looked at the steep bank of loose rock and sandstone ledges. "I can't get you up there." "I know." The soldier unslung the bags she was carrying and passed them to Erin. "Take these up there. No matter what happens, stay put until help comes. Got it?" "Yes. What are you going to do?" "I'm going to crawl up there and join you." "You can't. You're in no condition to make a climb like that." "There's no other way." The statement was said in a tone that indicated the discussion was over. Erin looked at the woman. "What's your name?" "Toni. Toni Markham." Erin leaned forward and kissed Toni's dusty, tear-stained cheek. "Good luck, Toni." Toni didn't smile. "Good luck, Erin." Erin nodded and then started up the steep and unstable cliff. The cargo she was carrying was making her ascent clumsy and awkward. It was sometime before she made the ledge where the small cave was located. Quickly, she crawled in out of sight, stowed the bags, and then looked out to see where the Major was. Toni was on her belly using her arms and one good leg to drag herself up the cliff face in slow, painful lurches. She was covered in dust and pebbles knocked loose by Erin's ascent above her. Erin bit her lip; she wanted to go to the woman and help her, but she knew in doing so she would be endangering both their lives. She watched, feeling the pain of the other. Toni was about two thirds up the climb when male voices echoed down the valley. She froze. Erin looked to the left. Three men wearing tribal dress and carrying rifles were slipping and sliding down into the canyon from the north side. Another watched from above. All the men were armed. Erin held up three fingers then pointed down. Then she held up one finger and pointed up. Toni nodded. Erin held her hand like a gun and moved her finger as if she was firing. Toni nodded again. Erin watched as the three men went to the wreckage and started scavenging for anything useful. Erin waved Toni forward. She saw Toni grit her teeth and push on with renewed energy and speed. Now she was only a few metres away from the cave entrance. Erin held her hand up for Toni to stop. Up until now Toni's climb had been hidden from sight by a hog's-back ridge of rock, but the last few metres she was going to be out in the open. Erin waited. The three men had to be busy and making some noise and the fourth man had to be looking away from their position before Toni could cover the last few feet. The wait was long. Erin knew that Toni must be close to sun stroke. She'd been lying for nearly half an hour on a sun scorched rock face in blistering heat. Finally, one of the men by the wreckage yelled up to the fourth to join them. As soon as he started his descent, Erin waved frantically for Toni to cover the last distance. The Major slid forward and into the small recess. Stones rolled and bounced down the hill. The four men stopped what they were doing and looked their way. Erin started pushing the sand and stones that had drifted into the crevasse during wind storms forward to cover as much of the entrance as possible. Her heart was pounding with fear. If she and Toni could easily see the crevasse, then so might the men. Had the sun changed the shadows enough that they could no longer be seen? Had the sand she mounded up covered most of the entrance or made their location more obvious? She looked over at Toni. She was barely conscious. Erin opened one of the canteens, wet some gauze from the first aid kit and put it against the Major's parched lips. Then she looked again from her narrow vantage point. Her heart jumped. The men were right below and looking up at them. One of the men started to climb. Erin reached down slowly and slid Toni's gun from her side holster. She wasn't sure she knew how to use the gun, but she was sure that if she had to she would fight for their lives. The man poked around in some bushes only a few metres from their location. A rabbit scooted out and took off in a zigzag pattern through the rocks. The man raised his gun and fired. Erin covered her mouth trying not to scream. Toni moaned and moved. Erin slapped a hand over her mouth too and felt Toni freeze. The bullet had hit a rock and the rabbit disappeared over the ridge. The men below laughed and the hunter swore, turned, and slid down into the canyon again. Erin breathed once more, her head pounding from the stress. She thanked the god of rabbits and slid down until she was lying beside Toni. She placed her lips close to her ear. "They're right below us. Don't move. Don't make a noise." Toni nodded. They lay side by side for sometime. Finally, Erin slipped forward again and looked out. The men were back at the smouldering wreckage, picking through the bits of debris. "They're back at the copter." "Amateurs." The single word had taken effort and was filled with the sound of pain. Erin slipped back to Toni's side and held her head up while she drank some water. "Drink more. You need it." "We can't waste it." "I need to cut your boot. The foot must have swollen considerably. It'll be less painful if I can ease some of the pressure. I don't want you to lose circulation. I'll clean and pack the wound as best I can." "No. Footwear is essential for survival." Erin looked into the officer's eyes. "Major, you are not going to be able to put any weight on that foot until the bones are set and the tendon stapled back in place. Even then you're unlikely to make a complete recovery." For a split second, Erin thought she saw fear in those dark eyes. Then the Major nodded. "Go ahead." "You can't make a noise." "I know." Erin tried to be as gentle as she could but the damage was considerable and there was little she could do but try to prevent infection and stem the bleeding. Once finished, she stabilized the foot as best she could. Toni was dripping with sweat and quivering with pain. Tears ran down her face, but she had barely made a sound. "I'm finished for now." Toni nodded. Erin made her as comfortable as she could and then slid up to the entrance to have a look. The four men had piled what they wanted down the canyon a bit and were now squatting in the shade of the cliff, leaning on their rifles as they waited. "They're waiting down there." "Not good." Erin slipped down in the small, confined space. Her fear had now changed to a deep, all consuming depression. She didn't want to die violently at the hands of a group of men. She didn't want to be stuck in here with the emotionless soldier. She wanted to spend Christmas somewhere safe among people who cared about, and understood, the significance of the day. "It's Christmas Eve." No answer from the woman beside her. Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down Erin's face. Quietly, she prayed to her God to spare their lives, and to give her courage and understanding of His plan. It calmed her. She reached out and with a finger she made the sign of a cross in the sand by the edge of their hideout. Then she prayed again. "Blessed is the Lord God. On this night of the Lord Jesus' birth, I give thanks. Peace on earth and good will to all." She looked back at the soldier lying in the cave. Steel grey eyes were fixed on her. Erin met the gaze. "You're awake. How do you feel?" "In pain. You were praying." "Yes. Don't you believe in God?" Toni gave a slight shrug. "I never gave it much thought. I don't think that cross in the dirt is going to save us if that's what you mean." "You might be surprised. That mark represents a great deal of power." "Maybe on a spiritual level, but I'm just as glad to have my revolver." Toni's hand went to her holster and froze. "It's here. I borrowed it when I thought they were going to find us." Toni took the gun back, surprise written in her face. "I thought you were trusting in your God." Erin smiled. "The Lord helps those who help themselves." "Wise decision. A gun is better than that cross any day." "Oh, no. The cross is better. I was so scared. You were nearly unconscious and one of the men had climbed up here to see why the rocks had bounced down the cliff. We were within a few metres of being discovered when he flushed out a rabbit from some underbrush. He shot at the poor thing, but it got away." "A lucky break for us." "Or the Lord used the rabbit as a diversion because we are to live." Toni snorted. "Those men are waiting for the rest of their group. When they get here there's a good chance they'll comb these hills and we'll be found. Our only chance is that our guys find us first." Erin's heart sank. The depression and fear she had pushed back with prayer returned. Gritting her teeth she forced herself to go on. "Remember Christmas as a kid? They were magical. What did you do for Christmas, Major?" "Nothing much." "What?" Toni sighed. She needed to make an effort. So far the young woman had been a real trooper and she owed her for saving her life. She fought the intense pain and tried to recall past events. "I was an army brat. Dad was a career soldier and mom a waitress when he met her. We moved from post to post overseas and state side. By the time I was a teen, I'd lived in half a dozen different countries. We'd sometimes have a tree and I'd get some presents. That was about it. Mom died in a car crash when I was seventeen. Dad suggested I enlist when I was eighteen, so I did." "So you're a career soldier, too?" Toni shrugged. "I got my education through the military. I need to put in my time. So what about you?" "Me?" "Yeah, your Christmases." Erin wiggled in the sand to get more comfortable. "They were magical. There'd always be a big tree — a real one that the family had gone out and cut at a tree farm. We'd all decorate it together. During that week, we'd all put our presents under the tree. We took great care in wrapping them. By Christmas Eve, the tree would look wonderful. "Our Christmas stockings were always lying at the foot of our beds in the morning for us to open. My mom was a minister and my dad a teacher. We'd all go to mom's carol service on Christmas Eve and her morning service on Christmas Day. Mom could pack them in. She was a good speaker but, more than that, she always gave a service that was uplifting. People left her church smiling. She said the modern Church couldn't be just about faith, that it was also about caring for the well-being of people's minds as well as their souls. She said that the Church shouldn't teach people to fear sin but to be happy and confident in their faith and then they wouldn't have any reason to sin. "We'd have a late brunch and then open our presents. Later that night, our grandparents and any extended family that was around would show up for turkey dinner. It was wonderful. Jim, my brother, is married now and lives out west. Mom and dad are both retired and usually have Christmas with Jim's family. I join them when I can, but usually I volunteer to work so the married members of the team can have Christmas with their families." "You're not married?" "I'm a lesbian." Toni laughed softly for the first time. "That must have been hard for your mom to handle." Erin sighed. "Yes, I suppose it was, but she never questioned or showed any regret. She gave me a hug and said that God's mansion had many rooms and that the Grace of the Lord Jesus Christ was one of love and understanding." "She's quite the lady." "Yes." Their conversation was interrupted by the yell of voices. Once again, Erin crawled forward to look out. "It's nearly dark. More men have come. Lots of them. It's hard to tell how many. I can only see shadows by the campfire light." "We'll be okay until morning." Erin slipped down again, moving close to Toni for warmth and comfort. To her surprise, Toni took her hand in hers. "Try to sleep. There's still hope, but it probably won't hurt to say a prayer or two just in case." It was a long time before Erin could sleep. When she did, her dreams were of horrors that haunt all women. When she woke near dawn she found that Toni had slipped forward and was watching from the entrance. "Toni?" Toni turned and smiled. There beside her was a dried branch stuck in a pile of dirt. Lifesaver candies decorated the branches and beneath the little Christmas tree was a small package wrapped in some gauze. "Merry Christmas, Erin." "Oh, Toni! Thank you." Tears rolled down Erin's face. "Well, come on and open your gift." Erin slid forward and reached for the little package. She unwound it and found a military compass. Erin looked up with a smile. "Thank you." Toni blushed and changed the subject quickly. "They're searching. This group knows what it's doing. We'll be discovered soon." "Oh, God." "I'm going to slip out of here and hide behind some rock. When they get close, I'll open fire. With luck, they might not search this cave and you'll escape. If help doesn't come in three days, head south at night and hide during the day. Understood?" A look of horror crossed Erin's face. "You're going to sacrifice yourself to try and save me. They'll kill you for sure." "I'll take my chances." "No!" Erin hugged Toni close to her. "I don't want you to die." Toni looked down at the woman who clung to her. Slowly, her head lowered and she kissed Erin's hair softly. Erin looked up and Toni gratefully captured Erin's lips. There was little time for anything else, but they shared in that one dusty kiss, a promise of passion and need that was very intense. "Please no." "I need you to live. I need you to be brave." "Toni..." "Shhh. It's my job and my responsibility." "I can't hide here and watch you die." "We're both going to die anyway, and probably not nicely. This way, there's a chance you can live. I want you to live. Please." Erin nodded. She couldn't agree because she wasn't sure she could let it happen. "After I'm out, move back as far as you can into the shadows and cover yourself and the cargo in dirt." Toni kissed her again. Erin clung to her until she pulled away. Then slowly, Toni slipped from their hiding place and crawled over to hide behind the ridge of rock that cut vertically up the canyon face. Erin watched and saw the pain on Toni's face. Her foot was an agonizing wound but there was more than pain written there. There was the determination to protect Erin at all cost. Erin tried to do as she was told. She buried their equipment but couldn't make herself leave the entrance way. She lay there watching Toni and praying for a miracle that would save the life of the soldier who was protecting her. The men had broken up into groups of three and four and were working their way up the canyon. They poked under brush and looked into recesses as they went. Erin looked back at Toni. She had raised up a bit and had her revolver out ready. How many shots would she have? Not many. How long could she last? Probably only minutes. Please God, not Toni. For a minute, Erin thought that the three men combing their side of the canyon wall would not climb this high and Toni would be spared. They had stopped to take a drink from their sheep skins. Then one of the rough looking men pointed to the ridge where Toni lay and they headed in her direction. Toni's first shot tore through the chest of one of the men. The second wounded the man to the right as they dove for cover. Down the valley, Erin could hear angry voices yelling and men running towards their position. The two men that remained were already firing on Toni's position with automatic weapons. Erin could barely see Toni for the spray of debris shattered off as the bullets hit the hog's-back ridge. Toni jerked and her blood splattered out on the rock face, but she took aim and dropped a man who was climbing up to join his comrades in the attack. Erin whimpered in horror. The roar above her took her totally by surprise. Shadows darkened the ground and a hail of bullets rained in all directions. The men scrambled down off the open canyon walls and ran for cover down the valley. Some of them fell. The three copters circled above — birds of prey clawing at their victims. Toni slid down the rock face leaving a smear of blood. Erin grabbed the first aid kit and ran to her. The bullet had ripped through her right lung just below her breast. Erin worked feverishly to stop the wound from sucking. She got Toni on her side to try to keep the one good lung clear of blood and each time a copter flew over head she covered Toni with her own body. Several soldiers dropped down on a line bringing with them a basket stretcher. "It's Major Toni Markham. She's hurt bad. Please help her." After that, Erin remembered little clearly. Toni was lifted to the helicopter above and the copter moved off. Erin watched until it was a dot in the distance. Another copter had hoisted her to its belly and she had been flown to Kandahar. All her enquiries into Toni's condition were met with vague answers. The Major was in critical condition. The Major was stabilized. The Major had been flown to Germany. After many debriefings, Erin was flown home against her wishes. A year passed. Erin set up a small Christmas tree in her bachelor apartment. Below it she placed the compass that Toni had given her. She'd signed up to work again this holiday. She just couldn't face being with family and feeling so alone. Toni had written several times. Brief notes to let Erin know that she was recovering. Erin had written long letters back offering encouragement and telling Toni all about her life. Toni had promised to visit when she could. Then yesterday a phone call had come. Toni was on her way. Erin hadn't been able to sleep. In the morning, her heart was pounding so much from excitement she could hardly breathe. She looked at her watch. It was still too early to go to the airport, but she couldn't wait any longer. She grabbed her coat and headed out. For two hours she paced, waiting by the gate for the woman who had protected her with her life. She'd never felt so nervous. Then there Toni was. She leaned heavily on a walking stick and wore blue jeans and a tailored shirt under an open ski jacket. Toni looked thin, pale, and tired. Erin went to her arms immediately. "I've missed you." "Same here." Erin laughed nervously. "Silly huh? We don't even know each other." "We will. You were right about the cross. And I have a feeling that He has a plan for us. Merry Christmas, Erin." "Merry Christmas, Toni. Let me take you home." And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen... ~Luke 2:20 Christmas Now Past Nancy sighed as she sat down at the kitchen table of her home and wrapped her hands around the hot mug of coffee. Her feeling of coldness was emotional not physical. Florida this time of year was warm and pleasant. She'd retired here six months ago and loved the warmth and the nearby ocean, but she missed her family, especially this time of year when everyone was busy with Christmas plans. Neil, her husband, had died suddenly of a heart attack when their three children were still in their teens, and she'd worked hard to be both a provider and a mother to them. Holding the family together had filled her life. They'd been hard times but she'd always made sure that Christmas was special. They might not have had a lot to spare, and the gifts were not plentiful, but they were chosen with special care and a good deal of love. Nancy smiled. The kids had turned out alright although they'd been a worry at times, as kids will be. Gordon was a high school teacher and was happily married with a little son of his own. He and his wife Angie were enjoying a two year exchange program in Australia. Bill was an engineer and working with a company in Bahrain. And Carol, the baby of the family, was studying overseas. Young people were so eager to travel these days. So here she was, all alone for Christmas. She downed the last of her coffee and went to the sink to wash her mug out. From the window she saw the woman next door walk by with her dog. Nancy knew her name was Kate Randal or "that lesbian in number 42" as she was often labelled by the small retirement community. They had not talked other than to say hello, usually when Kate was out with her dog, or working in her garden. Nancy had never met a lesbian before; at least she didn't think she had. Unlike others, she wasn't upset that one was living in the retirement community. Live and let live was her attitude. Besides, Kate Randal's garden was the envy of the neighbourhood. Knowing she'd have a neighbour who took pride in her property was one of the things that had sold Nancy on her house. Good neighbours were important. Still, she felt a bit awkward about what to say to the woman. She didn't want to seem standoffish, but she didn't think they could have much in common. It would have been nice to have a neighbour with whom she could have become close friends. She sighed and went to get her pruners and saw. Today's task was to prune the orange tree outside her front window. She tried to keep busy so she wouldn't dwell on being all alone. At Christmas, family was everything, and hers had grown up and left. A deep sorrow welled in her throat and she fought back the tears. The tree needed pruning. With grim determination, Nancy headed out to the orange tree. She was soon so absorbed in deciding how to attack the many tangled branches that she jumped when a voice came from behind her. "Thinking about giving that thorny old thing a hair cut are you?" It was Kate Randal. "Yes, I'm going to try. I can't say I'm much of a gardener." "I was a master gardener before I retired. I was in charge of the gardens on city property in this area. Here, you hold Only's leash. He's ugly but friendly. I can have this orange tree looking good in no time." "Only?" "Yeah, the only male in my life. No doubt you've heard I'm the queer in 42." Kate laughed. Nancy blushed. "Well, ahhh..." "It's okay. I am and I'm proud of it. I look at it as bringing a little cultural diversity to the community. Pruning the tree, by the way, is a neighbourly gesture and not a pass. Besides, I couldn't bear to live next door to a poorly pruned tree." Nancy laughed. Kate was a really all-together sort of person and so happy. Nancy hadn't expected that. She wasn't sure what she expected actually, but she had rather thought that gay people would probably be strange and unhappy. Nancy bent to pat Only. "Hello, Only. Are you a good dog?" "Nope, he's a hellion. But he likes to go for walks, he's a good listener, he doesn't leave hairs in the sink after he shaves, and I don't have to wash his clothes." "He sounds like the perfect man to me." "I can't complain, although he doesn't do windows," Kate said, looking down at her dog with affection. "No one is perfect," Nancy said, joining in on the fun. "I hope he doesn't bring all the other male dogs in to watch Saturday football and drink beer from the dog dish." "No, he's more of a tennis fan. It's the ball, I think. Mind you, he does have the hots for the little French poodle around the corner." Nancy looked down at the mutt with sympathy. "It will never work, Only. She'll just break your heart and then head back to Canada as soon as winter is over up there." Nancy played tug of war with Only until Kate stepped back and looked at her work with a critical eye. "There. It looks a little cropped at the moment, but I've got rid of the storm damage and dead wood. It's got a good shape now and will branch out nice and thick this coming season." "Thanks. I'll clean up these branches later this afternoon, but first, how about a cold drink? You've worked hard." "Thanks, I'd like that. Can I bring Only in?" "Sure. I like dogs." Nancy led the way, feeling a little uncomfortable having invited Kate in. What would the neighbours say? It was a small retirement community and everyone knew everyone else's business. She felt she needed to be hospitable when Kate had been so helpful. On the other hand, she didn't want to be the subject of gossip. They settled on opposite sides of the kitchen table with the cold lemonade that Nancy had provided. Only settled down on the floor with a plain cookie that Nancy had given him. "Thanks for your help. The tree looks so much better. I could never have done such a good job." "No problem. You know, what that tree needs now is some Christmas balls." "I, oh..." Tears ran down Nancy's face and she tried to wipe them away but couldn't. "Shit! Here." Kate pulled some tissues from a box on the counter and handed them to Nancy. "Look, is there something wrong? Is there anything I can do?" "No, no. It's nothing really. I woke up this morning with the Christmas blues. My children are all overseas this year and I'll be alone for Christmas." "Oh. Me, too. My daughter will be having Christmas with her husband's family this year." "You have a child?" Nancy asked in surprise. "My partner's daughter actually. We raised her together. My partner of thirty-two years died of cancer two years ago." "I'm so sorry. Neil, my husband, died of a heart attack when our kids were still teens." "Never remarried?" "No. When you're working and raising three kids alone, there's very little time for a social life. Besides, not too many men want to take on a wife and three kids. Listen I'm sorry for getting upset. I don't want to make you blue as well." "Hey, it's good to show emotion. If it gets all bottled up inside you're likely to explode. Besides, I rather enjoy being alone at Christmas. I'm 58 and enjoy my life here. When Emma, my daughter, and her family arrive my world spins upside down. I love them all dearly but a visit now and again is about all I can handle." Kate laughed. "But it's Christmas. It's a time for family," Nancy protested. "True. When Emma was young and my partner, Sue, was alive, we had wonderful, magical Christmases. I try very hard not to disturb that magic." "I don't understand." "I remember the magic of when I was a little girl. It was spiritual and warm. Sue and I did our best to pass the message of peace and good will on to our Emma and to make Christmas just as magical for her. Now I hope she's doing the same for her family. The reason that a family Christmas is so special, outside of its religious significance, is that it doesn't last forever. It's a magical gift your parents give you and you pass on to your kids. At least, that's the way I see it anyway." Nancy pulled a face. "So I've had my Christmas magic and now I have to do without." "No way. It's just that the magic has changed. If you accept that, then you can enjoy Christmas in a whole different way." Nancy looked unsure. "How?" "By making your own magic. I always decorate the garden for Christmas because it makes people smile when they walk by. I go shopping and buy gifts for the mission to hand out. I have friends in for a party. I go to church on Christmas morning and reconnect with my faith. Then I have adventure week and I don't come back until after the New Year." "I think I'd like to do some of those things. But what's adventure week?" Nancy shrugged. "It's part of getting in touch again with this beautiful world. This year, I'm hiking in the rain forests of Costa Rica. Do you want to come?" "Me?" "Sure, why not. In fact, come and be part of it all. You clearly need some help in magic making." Kate's eyes sparkled with devilment. "Ahh, I don't know." "Sure you do. You're just hesitant because you don't want to be a nuisance, have the neighbours talk, and you're not sure if you'd be giving the wrong signals to a queer." Nancy blushed. "Oh, I mean..." "Hey, you're retired. Live a little on the wild side," Kate teased. "You'll undoubtedly meet some of my gay friends. I think you'll find them to be remarkably normal. As for me, I'm willing to be seen with a straight friend. At my age, I don't care what the gay community thinks." Nancy laughed. Kate's enthusiasm had lifted the depression that she'd been carting around for days. "Can I think this over and get back to you?" "Sure. I'll just be next door. Come on, Only." Later that night, Nancy's phone rang. "Hi, Mom. It's Gordon." "Gordon! How nice to hear from you." "I'm just checking up on you. I really feel bad about you being alone and sad for Christmas. I wish you'd come down here. Are you doing okay?" For a second, Nancy thought about what to say. Then she smiled. "First, answer a question for me. Are you making your Christmas magical?" "I'm trying. Why?" "Because you should. I know I am. Tomorrow a friend and I are decorating the yard for Christmas. Then I have some Christmas shopping to do for the kids at the mission. I'm going to have the neighbours in for a party too. Oh and I'm off to Costa Rica after Christmas. I'll send you a post card." The Bus Ride I was surprised when the old lady sat down next to me on the bus. First, because there were lots of empty seats on board and, second, because it's been my experience that little old ladies didn't feel comfortable being too close to the tattooed, the pierced, and the spiked haired. "I do like to have a little conversation on a long trip, don't you dear?" she said, as she handed me a plastic bag. "My knitting. Could you just hold it for me while I make myself comfortable? Thank you." She got her ample parts all arranged and then took back her bag. "Well, here we are. Isn't this nice. Going home for Christmas are you, my dear?" "No. I have a gig in Galveston." "Yes, we'll all have to go into Galveston first. Now how long have you been away from home?" I thought for a minute. "It would be about ten years now." "Dear me, that is a long time, isn't it. I imagine they've changed considerably in all that time." I had my doubts. I tried to imagine my family, Leave It To Beaver Texas style, as anything but condemning. It was a long reach. Instead of answering, I just smiled and went back to looking out the window. But the little old lady wasn't finished with me yet. "Christmas shopping does take so much of one's money. I could have gone to the bank, of course, but I don't like to carry a lot of money on me. I barely had enough for my bus ticket." I smiled. "Same here." Actually, I was down to my last twelve dollars and sixty-eight cents. This had nothing to do with Christmas shopping and a lot to do with my girlfriend cleaning out our account before she left. "Yes, well never mind dear. You'll have a regular job soon and a steady income." I laughed. "That doesn't happen playing guitar and singing in bars." The old lady had taken out her knitting and was clicking away. She simply smiled. "Are you going home for Christmas then?" I asked. "Oh dear, yes. When we all get together it's quite a host." "Big family, eh?" "It certainly is. What was your favour part of Christmas when you were a child?" I thought. It had been a while and the memories came slowly, filling me with kind of a melancholy warmth. "Lots of things, I guess. Christmas stocking gifts, and laughing with my brother. We got a set of Hot Wheels one year. It was great. The big family dinner. Church. You know, the whole Christmas thing." "Oh yes, dear, I know." "Funny, I haven't thought about that in years." "Your brother must be all grown up by now." "Yes." "And your parents old and perhaps a bit wiser." I laughed. "Why would that be the case?" "Well, dear, I've noticed that parents appear very stupid to teens but much brighter to people in their twenties. Teens often fight over the silliest things." "Like loud rock music?" "Exactly." We pulled into the terminal at Galveston right on time. The old lady stood to leave and I was surprised to feel a wave of regret. She reached down and placed her hand on my arm. "Now, dear. That pretty woman up there is going to Mindon, too. She teaches music at the high school there and can be very instrumental, if you'll pardon my pun, in getting you on staff. They have needed someone with your background in contemporary music for some time." She smiled then and whispered conspiratorially, "I suspect the two of you will become good friends. There now, I must be going. Merry Christmas, Jo." "Merry Christmas." I smiled. I had kind of come to like the old bat. I grabbed my gear and swung off the bus. The old lady was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, I shouldered my gear and headed from the bus bays through to the terminal station where Jinx was supposed to meet me. No Jinx. I waited. Still no Jinx. Several times, I saw the pretty woman. She'd stopped to check the bus times on the electronic board, had a coffee in the station cafeteria and now sat reading a book on one of the plastic chairs. Still no Jinx. I looked at my watch. Paced and then sat again. The bus ride had brought back a lot of memories. Strange, that I hadn't seen the old woman since she'd said "Merry Christmas, Jo." Actually, I couldn't remember ever telling her my name. I went through the conversation over and over again. I hadn't told her my name. I checked my bags for tags. No name. How had she known my name? And how had she known my family lived in Mindon? Where had the old lady gone after she'd left the bus? She'd just sort of disappeared. I went over to the bus ticket counter. "When is the next bus to Mindon?" "In about twenty minutes." "Can I still buy a ticket?" "Sure can. That will be twelve dollars and sixty-eight cents." I handed over the money. Weird that. I mean, if it had been a cent more I couldn't have gone. It was like the old lady knew. I turned and walked over to sit beside the pretty woman. "Excuse me. I'm on my way to apply for a music job at Mindon High School. Someone pointed you out as a teacher there." The pretty woman looked up in surprise and smiled. "I didn't even know the job had been posted yet." "I'm Jo Darmara." I held out my hand. I was going home for Christmas and I had a funny feeling I'd be staying. The Perfect Stranger Danika Fenton stuck her hands deeper into her pockets and, head down, hurried up the steps of her condo. It was a beautiful but freezing night. The city block had been mellowed by a fresh layer of snow and the warm glow of old fashioned street lights. Window Christmas lights cheered the weathered brown stone facades and, from up on the main street, Christmas music from one of the stores drifted down to her. Tall, blond, and athletic, normally, she would have enjoyed the walk home but she'd worn a light jacket, not anticipating the cold snap, and felt chilled to the bone. Danny punched in the code for the main door lock and stepped with relief into the warm lobby. Her apartment was on the top floor of a three story walk up. The climb was worth the effort though. Her place was elegant in an old fashioned way, and she'd had a staircase added and a roof terrace built that allowed her a garden and view of the park in the summer months. The Victorian brownstone had once been a monument to a business man's success in early American enterprise. Over the years, the neighbourhood had gone down hill, only to be rescued, gentrified, and made into condos some years ago for the new, urban, upper-middle class. An inheritance from a favourite aunt had allowed Danny to buy one such condo in the neighbourhood. Most of the people living on the street were young executives or computer whizzes. Danny was neither. She was a new professor of mediaeval history. She liked the neighbourhood though, because of its age and because it was within walking distance of the university. She couldn't imagine herself living in a high rise. She liked the look and feel of aged brick and the unusual architectural features of older homes. Although lonely at times, especially this close to Christmas, her new home and job were perfect for her. Ben Cunningham and Anthony Calma lived on the first floor. Ben worked in advertising and Anthony did the window designs for one of the larger department stores. The second floor was empty at the moment and for sale. It was owned by Elaine Bloch, a lesbian, who was in computer programming and who had recently been transferred to the California office. Ben, Andy, and Danny had watched with curiosity and concern whenever the property had been shown. They wanted an occupant they could get along with, and who would take the interest they did in maintaining the place. So Danny was completely taken by surprise when she reached the second floor landing and found the door open and a woman and child standing in the empty condo. The woman was of average height, fit, and with ash blond hair. Her daughter was a smaller carbon copy. "Hello." The mother and child jumped and turned suddenly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Danika Fenton — Danny. I live upstairs. Have you bought the place, then?" The woman was sporting two black eyes and a cut lip. "No. No. Elaine, the owner, is a friend of mine and she said I could use the place temporarily. I have a letter of permission and the key. I didn't break in." The woman and child looked frightened out of their wits. Danny smiled to try and put them at ease. "No problem. But didn't Elaine tell you there was no furniture?" "No." Danny's eyes took in the one suitcase and small child's knapsack sitting in the hall. These two were on the run, she suspected. "Had dinner?" "What?" "Have you had dinner? I have the ingredients for a pizza upstairs that should do us with a little salad." The woman instinctively pulled her daughter close. "Thank you for the thought but that's okay. We don't want to impose. We'll find someplace close for a bite to eat." "Okay. Welcome to the building. Ben and Anthony live downstairs and I'm on the top floor. Just give a holler if you need anything." "Thanks. There is one thing. Could you show me how to adjust the thermostat? It's cold in here and I can't seem to find anyway to adjust it." Danny stepped in and walked through to the living room and looked around. The child clung to her mom's side like a barnacle. "It works on a remote. Ah, here it is on top of the bookcase shelf." Danny held it out and the mother and daughter cautiously approached. The woman reached out to accept it. "Thanks again." "No problem." Danny kneeled down to the child's level. "Do you like cats?" Shy nod. "I have a big, white Persian called Uther Pendragon. He has one blue eye and one brown eye. You and your mom will see him about. He thinks he's king of the building." The child giggled. Danny stood up and smiled again at the woman. "Sure you—" "Hey! Who's in here?" At the sound of the male voice, the small child squealed and literally climbed up Danny's frame. The woman too took a step back and unconsciously stepped behind Danny. "Hi, Ben. It's okay. It's just me. I was helping the new tenant find the thermostat remote. Ben this is — I'm sorry, I don't know your names." "I...I'm Jill. My daughter's name is Mia." Ben's eyes travelled to the woman's beat up face, to the small child sucking her thumb in Danny's arms, to Danny's eyes. The message was unsaid but clear. Ben backed towards the door. "Sorry to intrude. Nice meeting you. Bye." Danny looked down at the woman. "Ben and Anthony are good guys. I've known them a long time. You can trust them. You know what, Jill? I really think you should change your mind about dinner at my place. Come on. You'll be safe there and a lot more comfortable. I think Uther Pendragon will enjoy the company, and I'm probably the only person in North America that doesn't like left over pizza." The woman smiled in relief. "Thanks. I-I'm feeling a bit over whelmed." "Understandable." Danny, still carrying Mia, led the way up to her flat. She passed the small child to her mom only when she needed to get her key out and open the door. Then she stepped aside and let Jill and Mia go in first. Danny was proud of her condo. She'd done much of the work herself and had invested part of her inheritance in it as well. A small lobby led into her living room. In the corner was a fireplace with a marble mantle. The furniture was comfortable, overstuffed leather and the rug Persian. Three windows over looked the small neighbourhood park. An archway led into a dining room-library. Books lined the walls from ceiling to floor, and standing in the corner was an intricate and beautifully etched suit of armour. The dining room table was an old oak library table that Danny had bought at auction. She used it as a research desk and only if she had guests for dinner as a dining room table. Jill looked at Danny in surprise. "Armour?" "I'm a professor of mediaeval history. I belong to a re-enactment group. Jousting." "It's a beautiful apartment." Danny beamed. "Thanks." But it really wasn't so much that the apartment was a cozy academic's nook that made the place appealing to Jill. It was the Christmas decorations. Danny had carefully decorated for the season with a tasteful array of Victorian elements. A real tree stood in the corner of the living room and was decorated with hand painted wood ornaments, small candle lights, strings of gold beads, and red tartan bows. Greenery also graced the mantle as a bed for a few beautiful, antique, carved wood balls. Ropes of mistletoe and holly hung from the window sills and a tartan Christmas stocking hung from the fireplace. Danny hung up their coats, turned on the gas fireplace, and slipped a CD of Christmas carols into her stereo. From a shelf, she got down an old, wood Chinese checkers board and left Jill showing Mia how to play. She slipped into her very modern and well equipped kitchen. The kitchen was Danny's one concession to the modern world. She was a good cook and had planned her kitchen to be efficient and state of the art. She poured Mia a glass of fruit juice and a glass of red wine for Jill and herself and returned to where the mother and child now played with the game on the living room floor. "Something to sip on while I make the pizza." "Can I help?" "No, it won't take long. You two just relax." Danny returned to the kitchen and took out the dough that she'd made the night before and started to twirl it into shape before adding the various toppings that she had prepared. Then as it cooked, she put together a salad. By the time she had the food on the table, her two guests were laughing and giggling over their game that had been suddenly attacked by Uther Pendragon. It was a good sound. These two needed to laugh, Danny thought. They ate heartily and laughed some more as Danny told them stories of learning how to joust. It seemed to involve a good deal of landing in various funny positions in the sand. Danny even took down her helmet to let Mia try it on and play with the visor. By the end of the meal, Mia was smiling and relaxed but could barely keep her eyes open. "The kid needs a good night's sleep and she can't get that on the floor of a cold apartment. I have a spare guest room. It's got a double bed so you'll have to share, but it does have a small private bath and a lock for the door. Why don't you use the place for a few days? You'll be comfortable and safe." Jill looked down at her plate fighting back tears that welled in her eyes. "I don't want to impose. Mia and I are going through a bad time at the moment but we'll be okay." She seemed to be saying this more to convince herself than Danny. "Yes, you will be okay, but at the moment you seem to be down on your luck. We all need help at times. Let me show you the room at least and then you can decide." Danny stood, picked up Mia in her arms, and led the way to her spare room. She lowered the child onto the double bed and pulled the eiderdown up to cover her. Curious, Uther Pendragon followed along and jumped up on the bed. "You have a little nap with Uther Pendragon while your mom and I check out the room, okay Mia?" The cat had already curled up by the child. "Okay, Sir Danika of Sandbottom," the child said, using the name that Danny had used for herself when telling her stories. "Thank you, M'lady," said Danny said, bowing to the child. She watched while Jill made sure that Mia was settled and then showed Jill the small bathroom she'd put in and presented her with the skeleton key. "All these old houses have keys for the bedrooms. I suppose it was because they had servants about." Again Jill's eyes welled up with tears. "You're a perfect stranger and yet you've been so kind to us. I can't thank you enough." "Hey, it's Christmas," Danny said. "This is a good building and a nice neighbourhood. I think you'll like it here. But for now, just settle in and take a few days to relax. If you give me your key, I'll go get your bags while you sit with Mia. Then how about you and I get the dishes done and have a cup of tea by the fire?" Jill smiled. "I'd like that. Thanks." Danny trotted down to the second floor and stopped dead as she found the condo door open. She was sure they had closed and locked it before leaving. She kept on going down to the first floor and knocked on Ben and Anthony's door. "Did you let anyone in, Andy?" "Hi to you too,"the red haired man said. "I think someone broke in to Elaine's apartment." "No, it's okay. The guy from the phone company came and I lent him the keys to get in. Ben told me someone's going to sublet the place." "Did he show you any identification?" Andy looked worried. "Well no, but he did have a tool kit." "Is Ben here?" "Yes." "I need the two of you to come with me. I'm not feeling good about this." Andy nodded. "Come in. Ben? We need your help." The three of them headed quietly up to the second floor apartment. Ben, a big, bulky guy who enjoyed sports, carried his baseball bat and led the way as he pushed the half open door open and looked in. The suitcase and child's knapsack that had been left in the hall had been opened and their contents ripped and thrown about. "Not good," Ben muttered and the three of them moved forward with caution. The apartment was empty. Angrily, Danny stuffed Jill and Mia's torn things back in their bags and zipped them closed. "He wanted them to know he'd been here," Ben said seriously. "Yes. He must be stalking her. Terrorizing her and her child." "Is he the one that beat her up?" Danny shrugged. "She hasn't said, but I suspect so. The two of them are terrified of men." "Hello. Can someone tell me what is going on here?" Andy asked. Danny picked up the bags. "The new tenant has two black eyes and a cut lip. She and her little girl look stressed and exhausted. When Ben came in to see who was in the apartment, they almost jumped into my pocket they were so scared. I think they're on the run from an abusive partner. I've got them upstairs. They can't stay in Elaine's condo. There's no furniture or food, and whoever he is, he knows they were going to stay here." Ben looked at Andy and then Danny. "Okay, we have to have a plan." Andy smiled happily. "Ben is great at planning. They're here for a reason and we need to protect them." "First, Andy and I will scour the house from attic to basement to make sure he's gone. I'm pretty sure he has but we need to be cautious. Then we need to make sure the doors and windows are locked at all times. Lastly, we need a cover story in case he comes back." Danny nodded. "How's this? Someone broke into her new apartment, she decided it wasn't safe, and she packed up and left immediately. We don't know where she went." "Good," Andy said, and Ben nodded his head in agreement. "I'll be up tomorrow morning with my supplies." "What?" Andy put his hand on his hip and looked at Danny in annoyance. "I'll have you know I have watched every crime show there ever was. We have to form our own witness protection program. They'll need to dye their hair, change their clothing style and their names." "I thought I'd just tell Jill to call the police." Andy rolled his eyes. "Please. The police never protect the victim. The bad guy always catches them and then they have to be rescued by the handsome rogue who is basically a good guy with a cute tush." Danny frowned. "This is real life, Andy." "Andy's right, Danny. He had time to make impressions of the keys. We'll need to get the locks changed after the holiday. In the meantime, we need to take every precaution. Yeah, the police need to know, but we also need to protect them as best we can. The police haven't got the resources to have a guard on this house." Danny nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Andy. I'll tell them you're coming and they should be ready for you tomorrow." "As soon as we've searched the house, I'll head out to the second hand stores and buy what they need." Bat in hand and with Andy following, the two of them headed off to secure doors and windows and check in every nook and cranny. Danny headed back up to her apartment with the bags. She looked around carefully, before unlocking her door and shutting it quickly and slipping the security chain on as an added precaution. She was glad she'd had a steel door and frame put on the entrance when she'd renovated. It seemed a bit paranoid at the time, but now she was glad of the extra security it provided. She found Jill still sitting on the end of the bed where her daughter slept. "Is she asleep?" Danny whispered. "Yes." "We need to talk." Jill's smile faded and she followed Danny into the kitchen. The two of them washed and dried dishes as Danny explained what had happened. Jill sank onto a kitchen stool. "We should leave. I don't want to put you and the guys in danger." Danny leaned on the counter and looked at Jill. "The way the three of us see it, is that you and Mia ended up here for a reason. We mean to do our best to protect you and give the two of you a good Christmas. That's what it's all about isn't it? Caring for others." Jill looked up. Tears rolled down her face. Danny knelt down and pulled the woman close letting her cry it out on her shoulder. When the worst of the tears had passed, she pulled back and offered Jill some tissues from the box on the counter. "Okay, the tears are done. Now we need to have a drink and you can fill me in on what's going on. Are you up to that?" Jill forced a weak smile. "Yes." Danny got up and offered Jill her hand pulling the smaller woman to her feet. "I think some mulled wine is just what we need. I'll make a batch up while you put away the dishes in the cupboard over there, okay?" "Okay. I can't believe you made that pizza from scratch. It was excellent. You should've been a chef not a history professor. Where did you lean to cook?" "My mom died when I was young, of cancer. My dad, also a history professor by the way, raised me with the help of a woman who came in daily. Edith Warrington is her name and she is wonderful. She taught me everything I needed to know about minding a house and cooking, while caring for our house and raising a family on her own. She is a remarkable woman. Just as well too because dad lived in the 9th century most of the time," Danny laughed. "Edith still cares for dad. They live in the Cape Cod area. Normally, I go home for Christmas, but this year dad and a few of his friends are enjoying a medieval Christmas celebration in France." "I bet you miss him." "Very much. But this is home now. I have a good position here and I like my condo." "It's beautiful." "You haven't seen the best part yet. I have a roof garden," Danny said with pride. "Here." She passed Jill a goblet of warm, spicy wine and then poured herself one. They went to sit by the fire in the living room, sinking into soft leather chairs. For a few minutes it was silent as Danny let Jill gather her thoughts. Then Jill sighed and started her tale. "Elaine and I were friends all the way through school. She had the good sense to come out and make a career for herself. I stayed in the closet and gave into parental pressure and married my dad's junior business partner. We had a huge, splashy wedding and two years later we had Mia. He was cheating on me well before that. He was nine years older than me and controlling. The physical abuse didn't start until three years into the marriage, when I told him I'd leave him if he didn't stop fooling around. A year later, I finally got up the nerve to leave. I didn't ask for any support. I didn't want any contact with him. "I thought everything would be okay. Then somehow, he found out I'd had a lesbian relationship before our marriage. He showed up at my apartment five days ago and beat the crap out of me. It was Mia who called 911. The poor child was terrified. He said I'd shamed him, that he was a laughing stock and he was going to make me pay forever. I've been on the run ever since." "Did you call the police?" Jill nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. "The hospital did. I gave a statement but there wasn't much they could do. Vince had been fired from his job with my dad's firm and sold his condo. No one knows where he is. "Danny, the guy is acting nuts. He's always been controlling and short tempered, but now he's gone off the deep end. He was spewing all this crap about me being tainted by sin and going to hell, and how Mia's blood was bad as well. He said he was purifying himself by beating me. I-It was awful." "What do your parents say?" "First, they said I should go back to Vince for Mia's sake; that I needed to try harder to please my husband. Gradually, they came to accept that I needed a divorce. But when Vince told them I'd had a lesbian relationship, they told me not to come back. That I'd shamed them, too." Danny jaw tightened. "Homophobic idiots. Look, you and Mia are safe here until we can get this mess sorted out for you. Ben and Andy will understand what you've gone through. They were both tossed out of their homes. Andy has been beaten up, too. I was lucky. My dad accepted the fact I was a lesbian and told me it would not be necessary to burn me on the stake as long as I kept him supplied with good, single malt scotch." Jill laughed. "Your dad sounds like an amazing man." "He is." "You don't have a partner?" Danny shrugged. "There have been girlfriends but research towards getting my doctorate took up so much of my time. I just wasn't good partner material. Now, I've finally got my degree and a position lecturing, maybe I'll be able to find someone to take a chance on me. Do you have a job?" "I did. I have a degree in economics and worked writing articles for a financial magazine. But Vince made me quit once I was expecting." "Well, for now you need to keep a low profile. If Vince shows up, we'll tell him you were afraid to stay here after someone broke in and you left without telling us where you were going. Tomorrow, Andy is going to change your identities. I'm not sure how, but he's bubbling with ideas. Ben and Andy are checking the house to make sure it's secure. I think it wise that you stay up here with me until we can get to the bottom of all this. Tomorrow, you'd better file a police report." "Okay. Danny, thanks for being so wonderful to us." Danny smiled. "Life can play hard ball. We need to support each other. I think the wine is having the effect I wanted. Your eyes keep closing. Why don't you head off to bed? No one can get to your window, and the apartment door is metal, locked, and chained. You're safe. Have a good night's sleep." The next day, Christmas Eve, Andy arrived loaded down like a mule with what he felt he needed to transform Jill and Mia for his own special brand of witness protection program. Danny used the opportunity to slip out and do some last minute Christmas shopping. She returned to total chaos. The look of total shock and dismay must have shown on her face because Andy stopped dead, raised both hands in defence, and begged, "Please don't kill me. I promise to have everything cleaned up within the hour." "One hour, then I get my broad sword," Danny muttered. "Where are Jill and Mia?" "In the bedroom. Wait until you see what I've done." What Andy had done was turn Jill and Mia into boys. They both wore old blue jeans and baggy sweat shirts. Their long ash-blond hair had become brunette and was now cropped and parted. Jill wore dark framed glasses as well. "This is Jake Fenton and his kid brother Mike. They're your cousins on your father's side. What do you think?" Danny shook her head. "From a distance, they don't look a bit like who they were. So what do you think, Mia — I mean Mike?" "I cried when Uncle Andy cut my hair, but he told me it was going to be a Christmas present for people who lost their hair because they are sick, so then I didn't mind. I got to pick my own name. I'm Sir Mike of Snowy-Street and Mommy is Sir Jake of Rock-Bottom." Danny laughed. "They're excellent names. Andy, you did a great job." "Thank you, thank you. As long as Jake remembers to slouch and not thrust, she'll pass for a teen guy just fine." Andy winked at Jill who seemed a little shaken by the whole experience. "I'm going to miss the thrust." Jill laughed and blushed. "I feel like it's Hallowe'en, not Christmas." "Okay, guys help me clean up this mess before the master of the castle runs me through with her spear." "It's a lance, and that would be far too quick a death for the likes of you." With much laughter and teasing, Danny helped with the others in the cleaning up. Then they all had lunch. Danny prepared bowls of hot chilli and was pleasantly surprised when Jill quietly helped in the process while Andy and Mia played with Uther Pendragon. Danny discovered that Jill was a good cook herself and that they worked well together. It was going on two when Andy announced that he'd better get back to his condo before Ben got home. He said his good byes and opened the door. The first blow caught him right in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. The second sent him flat out in the hall. Danny frantically signalled to Jill to lock Mia and herself in their room as she went to the hall. The man she found there was big and his once well cut clothes had been neglected until they reflected his general appearance of slovenliness. His eyes shone with wild madness and his nose ran. Vince was a crack head as well as a wife abuser, Danny realized. "Where is she?" "Who?" "Don't give me that. I know she's here in this den of iniquity." "I've never had my home called that before." "I know you're all a bunch of perverts, just like that Elaine. Abominations before God." Andy crawled away from Vince and got slowly to his feet with Danny's help. "I think you'd better leave. Andy, call 911." A gun came out of Vince's pocket. "Don't move." "I'm not moving! See my hands are up," Andy babbled. Vince's face distorted into a look of rage. "Stupid queer!" Danny dived at the same time as Vince raised the gun and fired. Down the two of them went in the small entrance way of the apartment. Danny had tackled him around the knees and then reached for the hand holding the gun. She knew she couldn't out muscle him, but she had the advantage of a clear mind and she was agile. She just needed to keep him down and the gun out of range until help could arrive. She hoped that Andy was on the phone calling the police and not lying in a pool of blood. The gun went off a second time near Danny's ear, almost deafening her. Plaster rained down from the ceiling. Vince pushed off the wall with his foot and rolled clear of Danny and out into the hall. Fear grabbed Danny's gut and in a near panic, she managed to reach out and slam the door closed, waiting for Vince to open fire and knowing the thin metal door would not protect her. Then sirens sounded in the distance and Vince swore. Danny heard him running down the stairs. The door slammed open and there were shouts. Then shots. Danny got slowly to her feet and turned around. She was shaking with stress and felt light headed. Andy stood at the end of the hall, holding his bleeding arm. He was pale but calm. "The police are on the way. Jill called them. I told her to stay in the bedroom. Mia is really upset." Danny nodded. "Are you okay?" "Just nicked me. You?" "Scrapes and bruises. My ears are still ringing." "Mine too. What do you think happened?" "I'm hoping the police caught him." Then from below a voice yelled out. "Police! Anyone here?" "We're up here," Danny called and cautiously opened the door. Danny didn't see Jill until late that night. She was taken to the police station and given some basic first aid and allowed to clean up as best she could. She was told that Andy was taken to the hospital for some stitches and that Jill and Mia were put in the care of a crisis management officer. Jill had gone through her story countless times, and then in the small hours of the morning, she was given a statement to sign and told she could go home. Ben came and got her. Andy was fine and home again, sleeping off the pain killers the hospital had given him, and Mia and Jill were back in Danny's apartment. "Are they okay?" Danny had worried all evening about how Jill and Mia were going to take the news. Vince had tried to run from the police and then, realizing he couldn't, he turned and fired at them. The police had returned fire and killed him. He had terrorized Jill and Mia, but he'd still been her husband and Mia's father. Were they relieved or shocked? "Emotionally exhausted but doing okay, I think." Danny dragged herself up the three flights of stairs and hesitated on the landing. Then quietly she unlocked the door and entered into the hall way. She thought it would give her the creeps but it looked strangely normal, except for the slight acidic smell of gun power and the hole in the plaster of the ceiling. Suddenly, Jill was in her arms. The two of them stood there for the longest time just needing to be close. "I was so scared he'd hurt you." "I'm okay. Andy's okay. It's over now. How's Mia?" "Once she knew that Vince was gone, and we were safe again, she calmed down. I've explained everything to her as best I can. There are some things she doesn't need to know yet." Arms around each other, they went into the living room and sank down on the couch. They were still there later in the morning asleep in each other's arms when Uther Pendragon woke Danny demanding his breakfast. Carefully, Danny unwrapped herself from Jill's arms so not to wake her. She took down the stocking she had decorating the fireplace and stuffed it with the things she'd got for Mia. Then she got out the presents that she'd bought the day before and placed them under the tree. Going to the kitchen, she busied herself making coffee and preparing the ingredients for crepes. The first crepe would be filled with a mixture of eggs, ground ham, and honey-coated walnuts and served with a drizzle of hot pepper sauce. The second crepe would be filled with vanilla ice cream and cherries and topped with whip cream and grated chocolate. She took a cup of coffee into Jill. "Merry Christmas," she whispered and used the opportunity to kiss Jill for the first time. It felt right. It felt good. Jill smiled and then a second later sat up with a look of horror on her face. "Is it Christmas? I haven't... I forgot... I haven't anything for Mia." Tears welled in her eyes. "No problem," Danny smiled. "I see Santa has filled Mia's stocking, and I do believe there are presents under the tree for both of you. Mia's going to love the toboggan you got for her." Jill hugged Danny close, tears of joy rolling down her face. "This is a Christmas of miracles. You came into my life when I needed help, desperately, and turned all the hate and fear into happiness and comfort. You are the most special person I've ever met." "Magic and caring are what Christmas is all about. How about you get Mia up to open her stocking. Then we'll have a good breakfast and open presents before we try out that toboggan. Okay?" Jill reached up and kissed Danny and then went to get Mia. They sat drinking their coffees while the little girl pulled all those wondrous and special things out of the stocking that Santa leaves for small children on Christmas Eve. Jill touched Danny's hand. "I haven't got anything for you." Danny watched as Mia sat on the floor with a stuffed teddy bear under one arm and a patient Uther Pendragon wrapped in the other. "I think you've given me a very special Christmas miracle." Outside the snow drifted down slowly and in the distance a church bell rang. The fire warmed the room and soft music played. Have yourself a merry little Christmas... Silent Night The snow fell slowly and gently in big, soft flakes. They drifted like feathers through the weave of tree branches, or piled on evergreens laden down with pillows of snow. The snow clouds played with patches of blue sky that still clung to a beautiful day, and in the distance a church bell rang out. Little chickadees happily chirped and fluttered around the bird feeder scattering sunflower seeds to a waiting grey squirrel below. On the door, a Christmas wreath of cedar boughs added a sweet, spicy scent to the fresh air, and coloured Christmas lights shone though puffs of snow around the windows. The faint melody of Christmas music seeped from inside the house, borne along on the fragrance of wood smoke and fresh baking. Lynne took the last of the Christmas cookies out of the oven and smiled. She had prepareda tonne of food for their families visiting tomorrow, but tonight was just going to be her, Paula, and their baby Timothy. Timothy had only been born two months ago and this would be their first Christmas as a family. Turning the stove off and shaking her oven mitts onto the counter, Lynne wandered into the living room to look again at their wedding picture, which stood on a side table, and beside it the picture of the three of them taken at the hospital the day Timmy was born. So much had happened in the last five years. More than she'd ever dreamed possible. Blinking back tears of joy, she went to check on Timmy who was asleep in his crib. Paula had been reluctant to go on this business trip to Des Moines just before the holiday, but Lynne had assured her she understood. Paula was the only bread winner at the moment and needed to take her work seriously. The business trip was important. Still, she would be glad when she picked up Paula at the airport this evening. Outside, a wind had got up and the snow fell heavier. Paula battled the sleet and wind as she opened the cab door and collected her luggage. She tipped the cabbie and then, head down, she rushed for the airport entrance. It was the morning of Christmas Eve but the airport was still packed with people trying to get home. A warm, wet front had come up off the Gulf of Mexico and met Canadian Arctic air. The result was a massive snowstorm that was now heading east, closing airports as it went. Paula hoped her flight would be ahead of the storm. As she stood in line for her security clearance, she scanned the Departure Board. Her flight was still on time. She breathed a sigh of relief. Once cleared through security, she made her way to her gate, impatient to get home to her family. Her family, that phrase sent a shiver of excitement through her and filled her with joy. Who would have ever thought that some day she would be married with a child? She had a lot to be thankful for this Christmas. Then the joy drained away as she looked over at the flight desk. The electronic sign had just changed. Her flight had been cancelled. Paula was over at the counter in a second. "Excuse me. I need to get to Toronto. Are there no other flights?" "I'm sorry. Pearson International just closed. We doubt it will open again before tomorrow. They're having quite a bad blizzard up there." Paula chewed on her lip. "What is the closest airport you can get me to?" "Let me check." With a frown of concentration the flight attendant checked through her computer screens. "The closest I could get you at the moment is Detroit. You'd have to change planes in Chicago. Detroit is still a good distance from Toronto. Do you have a valid passport to cross the border from Detroit to Windsor?" "Yes. Can you book me on these flights please?" "Sure, but you won't have time to get your bags. We'll send them on to you later. Do you mind?" "Not at all." "Gate 12, the other end of the airport. Your plane leaves in thirty minutes. I'll notify them that you're on the way." "Thanks," said Paula, grabbing her paper work and dashing down the terminal. She fished out her cell phone as she ran and speed dialled the number she knew so well. "Hi, love." "Paula! Where are you, love? It's really snowing here now." "I'm just leaving Atlanta. Pearson International has closed, so don't bother going to the airport. I'm taking an alternative route." "Be careful. You know Timmy and I will understand if you can't make it through." Lynne tried not to let her worry and disappointment sound in her voice, but Paula heard it. "What's for dinner?" Paula asked confidently. "French onion soup, grilled salmon, and oriental salad." "I'll be there by eight if not before. Love you and Timmy." "We love you, too." Paula handed her ticket to the ground crew and hurried down the ramp to the plane. She just hoped they could get to Detroit before that airport closed, too. The flight to Chicago was uneventful but full of cranky and frustrated passengers trying to get home for Christmas. Paula hurried off, ran down the huge terminal, and made her next flight with minutes to spare. The trip to Detroit was one of the worst Paula had ever endured. They seemed to bounce like a yoyo and snow whipped past the windows. She was relieved when the announcement was made that they would be landing soon. Slowly, they dropped through the storm. The seconds dragged by while the passengers in the small commuter plane held their breath. Then the wheels touched, the plane bounced, hit again, and then careened down the runway. The pilot applied the brakes and a second later relief turned to panic as the small plane fish-tailed. Passengers screamed and cargo fell from the compartments above. Paula pulled her belt tight and curled, covering her head as she waited for the impact. It was more of a ripping sound at first as one wing touched the ground and spun them around. Then the wheel carriage collapsed and they were skidding on the plane's fuselage. The noise of metal and screams was deafening. Paula didn't wait. As soon as the plane came to a halt, she snapped her belt off, leapt to her feet and wrestled to get the emergency door open as she had been instructed when she took her seat. People were panicking and pushing to get out. Paula made sure the plastic slide had unfolded properly and then stepped aside. "One at a time. You and you," she said pointing to a couple that seemed reasonably calm, "slide down and hold the plastic and help people up." "Yes, ma'am." Quickly, with the efficient help of the crew, the passengers were evacuated from the wreckage. Paula was one of the last to leave, making sure the young and elderly sat and slid properly out of the craft before she did. Emergency personnel were there to put them on a bus and take them to the clinic. Except for cuts, bruises, and shock, no one seemed in too bad shape for their moment of fear. It took Paula a good hour, and the signing of several release papers, to convince the airline that she didn't need to go to the hospital before she could get away. She used that time to make some arrangements. Out came her phone once again as she headed to the airport taxi stands. "Hi, Lynne." "Sweetheart, where are you? "I just arrived in Detroit." "A plane just crashed there." "Yes, I saw it. No one was hurt very badly. I'll tell you all about it when I get home." "How are you going to do that? The roads are white-outs and the airports are closed?" "Don't you worry. I'll keep in touch. Love you. Bye." Only a few taxis still sat waiting. Paula flagged one of them and got in. "Take me to the train station, please." Sitting back, she fumbled, trying to get her phone back in her pocket. Her hands were shaking and she was developing a blinding headache. Delayed shock, she realized and forced herself to calm. The plane had skidded on ice as it went down the runway. No one was seriously hurt and it was over, yet still her heart pounded. It could have been much worse and she'd have left Lynne and Tim alone. Tears rolled down her face at the pain of that thought. Pain for them and pain for herself at not seeing her child grow up, or getting old with the woman she loved. She gave a sigh that came out more like a sob and wiped the tears away with her gloved hand. She had survived; everyone had. There was no point in brooding about what ifs. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She was going home for Christmas. Once again she milled through a tired, cranky crowd and found her seat on the train. It would take her through to Union Station in Toronto and from there she'd have to make her way home to the suburb of Rosedale. The train ride was slow. There were frequent delays so that the lines could be ploughed. Paula freshened up and got some headache medication and food. After, she napped and woke feeling a lot better. The train pulled to a stop in Oakville a little after three in the afternoon. To Paula's horror, they announced that the train could not go any farther. Paula was still miles away from home. She piled off the train with the others to a foot of snow that whipped about her like a white shawl, and cold that cut through the coat that she'd taken with her on the trip. She pulled her hood tighter around her head and went in search of transportation. This time there were no taxis to be had. She managed to reach a car rental stand just as the woman on the counter was closing up. "I'm sorry we just closed. Everything is closed down because of the snowstorm." "Please. I'm an hour's drive from home. It's my baby's first Christmas. Please." The woman smiled, nodded, and took Paula through the employee entrance. Paula rented a pick-up truck with four wheel drive. "You'll have to rent it for at least three days. We'll be closed for the holidays." "No problem," agreed a relieved Paula, handing over her credit card. She pulled out her cell phone but the connection would no longer work. The lady let her use her phone. "Hi, love." "Paula, are you okay? The radio is saying the city is paralysed and only emergency vehicles are on the road." "I'm just on the out skirts of Toronto. I'll be home soon." Four o'clock and she was on the road again. It was bad — very bad. The police had closed off the highways and she crept along secondary roads, sometimes barely able to see where she was. Three hours later, she turned a corner and the truck dug into a massive snow drift and stopped. This was as far as she was going. She backed up and managed to wedge the truck into the parking lot of a drugstore and got out. She was about a mile away from home. Head down, she started off, wading more than walking through knee deep snow. Three quarters of an hour later, she halted gasping for breath and so tired she could barely stand. Her ears and fingers hurt with the cold, and her feet were blocks of ice. She wasn't sure she could go on. Then, up ahead for a brief second, she saw the lights she and Lynne had put up around their windows. She was nearly home. With her last bit of endurance, she struggled forward to her front door. Through the window, she could see a fire burning in the hearth and her wife holding her son as she rocked in the chair. The Christmas tree was lit and through an archway Paula could see that the table was set for dinner. She punched in her key code and stumbled into the house. She barely got her coat and boots off when Lynne was there in her arms. "How did you get home?" "Oh the usual ways. Am I late for dinner?" "You're just on time." Lynne wrapped Paula in a blanket by the fire and brought her a warm drink. She put on some Christmas carols and nestled beside her wife, holding their baby close. Paula felt a lump form in her throat. There would be other Christmases but none as special as this one. She bent her head and kissed her partner. "Merry Christmas family." Silent night, holy night, All is calm, all is bright Round yon virgin mother and child Holy infant so tender and mild, Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace. ~ "Stille Nacht" by Fr. Josef Mohr The Christmas Fire Truck Janet watched with a worried frown as her famous wife, Robbie Williams, got dressed. An actor and award winning director, Robbie was a law onto herself. The small northern town of Bartlett had not been the same since Robbie had married Janet and moved in. "You'll have a safety belt on, won't you?" Robbie looked up as she slipped her feet into big, black fire boots. Her eyes danced with merriment. "I don't know about that, but they've promised me several belts of Bartlett Moonshine so I won't feel the cold." Janet rolled her eyes as she passed her partner her big, red coat. "I'm not sure about this at all. Every time you get with these guys something happens to you." "Hey, not so," protested Robbie, stopping to kiss her wife. "The guys have only had to bring me home a few times." Janet crossed her arms. "Oh well, that makes all the difference if you're only carried home now and again. Did you put cream on your face? It's minus two out there tonight." "Done. How do I look?" Janet surveyed her lover, who was wearing a slightly worn, and very over-sized, Santa Claus suit. "You look damn silly. Maybe the hat and beard will help." Robbie put her hands on her slim hips and raised an eyebrow. "I'll have you know I've won a number of Oscars. I'll make the role of Santa come alive." Janet groaned at her partner's arrogance. "Just you come back alive." "What could go wrong?" "With you, anything." Reb came to the door. Now thirteen, she was allowed to go along to the fire station meetings just as her sister Ryan had done before she went off to university. "You ready, Obbie?" "Sure, kid. I just gotta have your mom comb my beard." Reb sighed dramatically and leaned against the doorpost, placing the back of her hand on her forehead. "It's not bad enough that I live with the wackiest family in the world. It's not bad enough that I have to explain continually that I have two moms. Now one of them has a beard. My whole family could be a travelling side show." Janet laughed and threw a pillow at her daughter's head. "And what would you be, Miss Smart-mouth? The side show clown?" Robbie was looking at herself in the mirror. "Hey, I think I look good in a beard. Maybe I'll go in drag to the Oscars this year." "Oh brother. The two of you just go. You're late as it is. Robbie, try not to fall off the fire engine. Reb, here's the cell phone. Call me immediately when Obbie falls off." "Oh ye of little faith. I can see all I'll be bringing you this Christmas is coal," Robbie said, giving her wife a kiss and a hug. "Have fun and be careful," Janet called. Each year, the Bartlett Volunteer Fire Department got together on Christmas Eve to celebrate the year with a little Bartlett Moonshine. They decorated their old fire engine with Christmas lights and tied an ancient easy chair on top. This they flood lit and one of the volunteers, appropriately prepared for flying with several stiff drinks, would sit in the chair and play Santa as they went through the village with the siren going and Santa ho ho hoing over their loud speaker. This year it was Robbie's turn, mainly because no one, having sat up on top of a fire truck for an hour or so on a cold winter's night, volunteers a second time. The party was well under way by the time they got there. George Drouillard came up to them as they arrived and gave each of them a big hug and a peck on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, ladies!" Moe Singh was next in line. "Happy Holidays!" he laughed, giving each a gentle hug. "Now don't you worry none, Robbie," explained George with a big, silly grin. "Moe here don't drink because of his Muslim religion so he's going to drive the engine. Come and have a warmer-upper. Reb, you go see what you can do to get that darn truck radio to work in case we break down and have to call for help." Before her Obbie could walk off, Reb grabbed her mom by the arm and whispered in her ear, "Don't drink too much of that stuff and embarrass me. It's bad enough that my only claim to fame is being the daughter of the weird family up on Long Lake. Don't add to the myth." Robbie laughed and poked her teenage daughter in the ribs. "You poor suffering kid." The party got quite merry and ended with willing hands hoisting a laughing Robbie on top of the engine. Moe climbed up after her and made sure she was properly fastened in with a good strong rope, and that the chair was indeed firmly attached to the engine. "One year, we left Paul Digby sittin' in the middle of Main Street tied to his chair. It was a block and a half before anyone noticed we'd lost Santa. Since then, I always check to make sure everything is tied down good and proper." "Janet thanks you," Robbie said, beyond caring really if she was tied down or not. Moe slid off and smiled at Reb. "Hop in, Rebecca, and let's get on the road." "Sure thing, Mr. Singh," Reb said, rolling her eyes. "You know, my Obbie looks almost normal amongst this bunch tonight." "Too much smoke inhalation, I suspect." Moe laughed. "Too much Bartlett Moonshine more like it," countered Reb. Over the speaker came a mighty ho, ho, ho. "Good set of lungs your mom's got," snorted Moe, as he put the old truck carefully into gear and they headed out of the garage. Reb gave a blast on the siren and they were off. Janet stood with the staff and their families outside the film college that she and Robbie had founded and waved as the fire engine, shining in lights, went past with a blast of the siren and a ho, ho, ho. Santa blew her a kiss. Janet had to admit that Robbie did play the role well. Who would have known that there was a fat, jolly man in her beautiful lover's personality just waiting to show himself. Much relieved that Robbie seemed all right and that Reb was having fun riding in the truck, Janet headed over to the fire hall where the other wives and partners waited for the celebration to really begin. But an hour later, when Santa and her merry elfin-daughter had failed to show up, Janet phoned Reb. Over an incredible background of noise, Janet heard her daughter's hello. "What's going on? Is Obbie all right?" "Hi, Mom. Guess what? Perkin's old shed is burning down. There's nothing in it but a lot of hay and an old tractor. Wow, what a blaze." "Reb, where are you?" Janet asked with concern. She heard her daughter sigh theatrically. "I have to stay in the truck." "Good. Is Obbie okay?" Reb giggled. "In a manner of speaking." "What?" "They left her tied to the chair because they couldn't get Moe's knot undone, or her off the seat. You know how the old hose leaks a little — well the spray iced up the rope and her suit is stuck to the chair. They can't get her off until they can get her back to the station and thaw her out. They did throw a canvas over her though so she wouldn't freeze up too bad." Reb was laughing so hard by this time that she could barely tell the story. Janet was laughing too but out of loyalty felt she had to come to Robbie's aid. "Can't she just rip the suit off?" "She wanted to, but Mr. Drouillard said that would be a waste of a good Santa suit that was barely twenty years old. Mom offered to buy them a new one but Mr. Drouillard said they still had two streets to go and the kids would be disappointed if they didn't see Santa. Anyway, he said she could be acting fire chief for the night if she'd stop howling and swearing." "Oh god," Janet gasped, between laughing bouts. "I don't think they were counting on the shed burning. Nice touch though. Good dramatic effect. Santa would appreciate it if she wasn't busy yelling orders over the speaker." By now the tears were rolling down Janet's face. "This could only happen to your Obbie. How long do you think you'll be?" "Mr. Drouillard said it's pretty well over now. He thinks it will probably smoulder for days, but the house will be safe and the snow will stop the fire from flaring up or spreading. As soon as the guys pack up the equipment we should be on our way. We'll have the last two streets done in about half an hour and then we'll head back to the station." "Okay, see you then," Janet said. The engine returned with a very blue Santa iced to the top of the engine. All hands rallied round and with some heat from an old hair dryer they managed to get Robbie off the chair. It was George who called for order. "You all heard that I've decided after twenty-five years to step down as the fire chief. Well, we had a vote the other day and it is my pleasure tonight to announce that Robbie here is to be our new chief of the Bartlett Volunteer Fire Department." The cheer went up and Robbie waved down at Janet and Reb. "Hey, did you hear that? I'm fire chief!" In her excitement, she slipped on the icy surface of the engine and went tumbling off the back of the truck. There was a second of shocked silence and then everyone ran to see if she was all right. They found Robbie hanging from her suspenders from the back of the truck's ladder. George laughed. "Hell, I always knew she'd end up being hung. Get her down boys, before she dies of a wedgie." It was in the early hours of the morning, that the Williams family climbed into their family truck and headed home — Reb sandwiched between her two moms. Reb, of course, was going on. "I said to her, don't embarrass me, so what does she do? Freezes her ass to the fire engine. You made one ugly hood ornament, by the way, Obbie. And then if that isn't enough she falls off the fire truck. I can see the headlines in the tabloid now, 'A first! Drunken fire chief suspended by her fire truck'!" Her moms laughed, knowing that Reb got a lot of mileage and enjoyment out of the family's various adventures. Robbie gave her daughter a hug. "Maybe you could change your name, dye your hair, and move to a little known South American country." Reb smiled. "Nah, you guys need me. Without me, you two wouldn't know what normal was." Anne is a Canadian. She is retired and lives in northern Ontario. She enjoys canoeing and kayaking in the summer and cross country skiing in the winter. Anne has a wide academic background but her particular love is forensic anthropology. She has travelled around the world both on business and for pleasure. Her unique experiences are often used in her books. Anne believes that a good book should not only entertain but bring new ideas and experiences to the reader. This series of Christmas stories was orignally written as a gift to the good people at the CLFA site. Now they are being made available to everyone who loves Christmas.