(advent) December 12

Sorry, I’m running behind.  Here’s yesterday’s – today’s will be up later tonight.

 

Friday, December 12

“But baby, it’s cold outside….”

Molly sang along with the radio as she mixed batter in her mixer. Carolyn had stopped by the farmhouse the night before to deliver eggs, milk, and her grandmother’s fruitcake recipe, which she swore would make anyone actually like fruitcake. Molly had been dubious, but as she mixed the darkly fragrant batter, she was rapidly coming around. This was NOT the hard as a rock fruitcake she was familiar with, but a rich, molassesy batter that swished seductively in the mixer bowl. She had run out to the candy store earlier in the day, and brought back some lovely candied fruit, and she added those chopped up pieces and some dates and raisins to the batter, then poured it into a set of greased mini bundt cake pans and slid the entire pan into the oven.

“But it’s not really,” Jack said from the doorway, and Molly blinked at him, puzzled. “Cold outside, I mean. It’s pretty warm.” When she continued to blink at him, he added, “The song you were singing.”

“Oh!” Molly laughed. “It’s just a Christmas carol. But you’re right. It’s too warm out to really feel like Christmas. I guess the radio station figured that it’s a tradition, so they’re still playing the carols.”

Jack claimed one of the stools. “Traditions are strong in this town,” he observed. “I’ve never seen a group of mortals so very tied to their traditions.”

“Welcome to New England,” Molly told him, topping off her tea mug and holding the kettle up suggestively. Jack nodded, and she filled up another mug for him, putting a black tea bag into the hot water and handing it to him. “Tradition is everything here. It’s in our blood.”

“But why is Christmas so big?” Jack asked her. “I just don’t understand.”

Molly sat down opposite him, cradling her tea mug in her hand. “Well, I can’t speak for anyone else here in the Cove, but it’s big in my family because it’s a family time,” she said. “My father traveled a lot when we were younger, and we’d go for months without seeing him. But he was always home for Christmas.” She smiled, remembering. “There were a couple of years when Nathan and I fell asleep in the living room, under the tree, waiting for Dad to come home. I swear, at least once, he came in just as dawn was breaking, on Santa’s sleigh.”

“Really?” Jack looked interested. “He was always home for Christmas?”

Molly nodded. “So Christmas is family time for us. As we’ve gotten older, it’s included some very close friends, but at its heart, it’s a time for the Barretts to get together and enjoy each other. This year, Drew, Schrodinger, and I are hosting for the first time out at the farm, and we’ll have Nathan and Corrine, Lily and Jack, my parents, and probably Pavel out for the evening. It will be so much fun.”

“It sounds like a lot of work,” Jack said.

“Not as much as you would think,” Molly said. “We all chip in, and really, it’s more about being together than presents. Nathan’s a great homebrewer – he handles the libations. Mom, Corrine, Aunt Margie and I all cook. The kids help decorate.” She laughed. “I think Mom still has the old Advent calendar we got when Nathan was Lily’s age. It’s a big paper Victorian house with a paper Santa Claus that moves from room to room over the month of December. We used to argue over who got to move him, Nathan and I. I should see if I can find one for our house for next year.”

“Pavel said that there was an advent calendar here in the cafe last year,” Jack said.

“Yes, the Snow Queen and Old Man Winter created it for Lily and Zoey,” Molly said, nodding. “It was pretty amazing.”

Jack smiled, the expression charming on his expressive face. “Do you know, I’ve never seen Old Man Winter be as welcoming as he is now? When I was here last, he was bitter, angry, and rarely had a kind word for anyone. I saw the change in him and was amazed, especially when he told me that you showed him the good of people.” He shook his head. “I didn’t really believe him at first, to be honest. I thought he was putting up a front for me. But he really did change. Because of you.”

“No,” Molly told him. “He changed because deep down inside, he wanted to believe in the good of people. He was angry and bitter, like you said. But I think a big part of that was disillusionment.” She looked out into the tea room; from her stool, she could see the Dorrs seated at a table, she knitting and he reading to her. “The world is a cold, dark place a lot of the time, and lord knows that humans aren’t perfect. But at least here, for the most part, we try to see the best in each other, and help one another out. We don’t always succeed. But we try.” She refocused back on Jack. “I just showed Old Man Winter that.”

“I know,” Jack said. “That’s what’s so amazing. I mean, one person who is kind and gentle, I can understand.” He waved his hand. “But you have a whole town of them. How?”

“Because it’s a small town,” Molly said. “Everyone still knows everyone else. And when you know people, when they’re more than just numbers or vaguely familiar faces, it’s hard to be cruel or even just cold.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Jack said, his smile sliding into thoughtfulness. “It’s been a very long time since I got to know mortals.”

“Why?” Molly asked.

He took his time answering, looking down into the depths of his mug as if the words were waiting for him down there. “Because it’s so hard to say goodbye,” he said finally, looking up at her. “Your lives are so short, compared to ours, and we know that we won’t ever see you again. It’s like ripping out a piece of our soul each time. I never understood how Jade could handle the pain of all the loss that she saw.”

Molly dared to reach out and lay a hand on his. “Maybe because she realized that the good of the memories outlasts the pain of the loss?” she said softly. “If you don’t try to get to know folks, you won’t get hurt, but you’ll be lonely.”

Jack looked startled at the touch, but he didn’t draw his hand away. “Maybe,” he said. “I never really wanted to find out before.”

“And now?”

“Now, I don’t have much of a choice,” he said quietly. “Jade’s life isn’t the only one that’s hanging in the balance.” He pulled his hand away, and Molly saw it tremble just a bit. “I’m a little younger than she is, so I have a little more time, but I’ll not last to see the spring if I don’t join with another spirit. And the only spirit I want to join with is her.” Jack looked down at his mug again. “I just hope I can convince her of that.”

“You will,” Molly said, and he looked up, blinking in surprise at the serene certainty of her voice. “I don’t fail.”

Jack laughed.

Molly was about to say something else when the phone on the wall rang. This was her line, not the general line, so she got up and answered it. “CrossWinds Books, tea room, Molly speaking. How can I assist you?”

“Molly, it’s Father Christopher. Do you have a moment?” The priest’s voice had a slightly tense edge to it.

“Yes, what’s up?” Molly frowned, and Jack looked up, concerned at the change in her voice.

“I need you and Jack, if he’s there, to come over to the church. Don’t bring Schrodinger.”

“That will be hard,” Molly warned him. “He loves to come to the church.”

“He won’t love what I have to show you.”

Those words sent a frisson of fear down Molly’s spine. “We’re on our way.” She hung up the phone and pulled out her cell phone. A quick text to DC ensured that Schrodinger would be busy for at least another 30 minutes helping the clerk sort the letters for Santa on Sunday. “Come on, Jack.”

Her car was still parked in the back alley, and as she slid behind the wheel, she wondered what Father Christopher had to show them.

“Whatever it is, it’s something to do with Caliban,” Jack predicted darkly, when Molly voiced that thought. “He’s never been content to wait. I’m surprised he hasn’t mounted a ‘rescue’ attempt yet on Jade.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to come up against Old Man Winter?” Molly said.

“Maybe.” Jack shifted, not looking at the town but down at his own hands. “Then again, Caliban’s in the prime of his power – and he’s not hesitated to take a consort in the past.”

“If he has a consort, why does he need Jade?”

Jack snorted. “Need has nothing to do with it,” he said. “Caliban wants her. That’s all.”

Molly notice an odd tremor around his hands – not as if they were shaking, but as if the edges themselves were moving. Caliban may not need a new consort, but if Jack was starting to have issues with his human seeming, that meant he hadn’t recharged himself. He’d saved himself for Jade. Molly’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Another point in his favor.

They didn’t talk much more on the rest of the ride. Jack was deep in his own thoughts, and Molly didn’t want to disturb him. When she pulled into the church parking lot and turned of the car, he didn’t even look up.

“Jack?” she said quietly. “We’re here.”

His hands tightened, and the wavy edges solidified once more. “I’m ready.”

As always, the peace of the church soothed Molly’s soul as they stepped inside. Father Christopher had decorated the old stone building in red poinsettias, deep green boughs and gold bows, and the scent of pine mixed with the remnants of the church incense hanging in the air. The priest himself was kneeling in front of the altar, his head bowed in prayer.

“Father?” Molly called softly as they came up the center aisle.

Father Christopher crossed himself and stood up, turning to meet them. “No Schrodinger,” he said, and relaxed just a bit. “Good.”

“DC is distracting him, but not for long,” Molly said. “It was the best I could do on short notice.”

“That’s fine. This won’t take long.” Father Christopher looked at Jack. “Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Why not?” Jack asked, and Molly noticed he sounded surprised, not condescending. “You requested my presence.”

“In a church,” Father Christopher said. “I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t bother you.”

Jack smiled, and looked around the church. “I don’t follow your God, but I can appreciate the love and peace in these walls. I don’t always agree with him, but he does love you, Father Christopher, and your flock.” He squared his shoulders. “However, I do not believe he will love what you are going to show us.”

The priest’s face darkened. “No.” He motioned them to follow him to a side room, where there was a large box on a plain table. “This was waiting for me on the steps today.”

Swallowing hard, Molly stepped up to the table and looked in the box, Jack a half-step behind her.

Inside the box was the remains of a gingerbread farmhouse – not one of hers, she realized, but the wraparound porch and the sleigh in the front yard was unmistakable. The house had been shattered as if something large had smashed through it, and lying in the wreckage were three figures: two people, and a large cat.

“Did it come with anything else?” Jack said, anger making his voice tight and hard.

Father Christopher handed over a note. “This was on top.”

“This is the fate of mortals who interfere with the affairs of spirits,” Jack read out loud, biting off the words, then crumpled the note in anger. “It’s not signed.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Molly whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the contents of the box. “Only one person would send this.” She finally looked up, not at Father Christopher, but at Jack. “Would he really do this to us, Jack?”

“Probably,” Jack said at last. “Mortal lives don’t mean much to him.” His fist tightened around the note. “But he didn’t think of one thing.”

“What’s that?” she said.

“He didn’t think I’d try and stop him.” Jack’s eyes glittered. “And he’s wrong.”

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.