A LIFE, REVISITED:  HOME FOR CHRISTMAS   

By Char Chaffin

MSR, Holiday Fic

 

Rating:  PG-13

Disclaimer:  Clones on Loan

 

Written for Haven's "Ornament This: Haven Challenge"

 

Thanks:  To Tess and Carol for preview and beta - thank you, Ladies!

 

NOTES:  At the end!

 

This story is an addendum to my "A Life" series that I completed

last year.  To better understand this story, you should probably read

the other installments, which you can find here:

 

http://char.chaffin.com/life_page.htm

 

 

 

"Home for Christmas"

 

 

"Dad, what about this one?"

 

He's cold and his ears are red, but patience abounds in this ten-

year old boy as he trudges ahead of his father and points to one tree

after another.  It's vital that they choose exactly the right tree;

he knows this.  It doesn't matter if the cold seeps through to his

very bones or the wintry wind bites at his cheeks.  Kevin tugs his

hat down tightly over his ears and rubs warmth back into his face as

he walks through the woods.  Two men with a mission, that's what they

are.  Kevin is just hoping to find the best tree without having to

tromp over more than fifty or so acres.

 

Frank considers the tree Kevin's pointing at.  A balsam, it looks to

be full enough and tall enough; easily seven feet.  The needles are

in great shape, though they have had more than their share of twenty-

below nights.  Snow is crusting every branch but that will all melt

off as soon as they take it into the barn.  Frank's eyelashes are

iced into clumps and he stopped feeling his left toe about an hour

ago.  Tree perfection is one thing; frostbite quite another. 

 

Nodding to Kevin, Frank grips the chain saw firmly and instructs,

"Hold it steady, Son.  I'm taking' 'er down."  His silly attempt at a

Texas twang sets Kevin to giggling as he locks his gloved hands

around the upper section of the tree and plants his boots in the knee-

high snow.  His dad really does the worst dialect imitations Kevin

has ever heard.  Probably on purpose.

 

Between the two of them, they manage to cut down the tree, knock off

the worst of the snow and get it strapped onto Kevin's toboggan.

Both man and boy grab at the steering ropes and tug, dragging another

Christmas tree behind them.  It will take them roughly twenty minutes

to maneuver the tree through the woods and over an acre of snowy

pasture, before they get to the farmhouse and the large mugs of hot

cocoa waiting for them.  At the thought of such chocolate nirvana,

Kevin finds himself almost running, and his dad's longer legs keep

easy pace.

 

Dang, it's cold... but wonderful.

 

At the farmhouse a fire is roaring in the living room and the pot

bellied stove in the kitchen has been stoked and is ready to light.

Briggs huddles close to the table, his liquid brown eyes hopeful as

he watches June drop spoonfuls of cookie dough onto a baking sheet.

 

On the window seat Megan has lined up every stuffed teddy bear she

owns and is busy trying to teach them how to sing.  Her three-year-

old voice warbles sweetly and tunelessly in the otherwise-quiet

kitchen and June bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing

aloud at her daughter's singing abilities; it seems there are a few

things Megan inherited from her mother, after all...

 

"'Roodoff th' rednoze raindeeeer. . . you'll go down in Hiss-tor-

eeee...'  Mommy, where's Hiss-tor-eeee?"  Megan looks over her

shoulder at June, her big blue eyes earnest and curious.

 

June pops another tray of cookies into the oven and considers her

daughter's question seriously.  "Do you mean, where is it in terms of

a place?  Or what is it really?"  She dusts her hands off on her

apron and moves to the window seat to sit next to her adorable child,

brushing the soft red hair off her little brow.

 

Megan thinks about it for a second; then asks, "Is it up th' road?"

Kevin's always saying he's going 'up the road' to see his friend

Danny; maybe Danny lives in 'Hiss-tor-eeee.'  Megan figures as much

as people sing about 'Hiss-tor-eeee,' the place must be kinda neat;

besides, if Roodoff goes down there all the time...

 

"Ah. I see.  You think Hiss-tor-eeee is a city, or a town.  Honey,

it's not a place.  It's not 'where,' but 'when.'  You understand?"

 

Megan shakes her head frantically.  "Noooo, it's a PLACE, Mommy!

Roodoff lives there, don't he?"

 

"'Doesn't,' Megan Mine."  June corrects her gently.  "And Rudolf

lives with Santa at the North Pole.  Remember when we read "The Night

Before Christmas?"  Well, Rudolf lives there with Santa and all the

other reindeer.  History is a kind of 'when,' honey.  Like today is

now, but yesterday is 'history.'  Because it's when and not where.

It's already happened.  You'll understand when you're older."

 

Megan snuggles one of her teddy bears and thinks it over briefly,

then brightens.  "Will the cookies be hiss-tor-eeee when they cook,

Mommy?  Can I have one after they go to hiss-tor-eeee?"

 

June can't help but laugh aloud as she scoops her child and the

ratty old stuffed toy into her arms and hugs them both.  Megan shows

every indication of being as brilliant as her brother.  Her little

mind shouldn't be able to wrap itself around a concept such as

history, and yet she has more or less figured it out.  Once worried

to death about her son's genius, now June embraces it with gratitude

and thanks her lucky stars that Megan shows such promise.  Her

children have both inherited the very best from her and Frank.  It's

a blessing, not a curse.

 

A commotion at the back door has Briggs springing to his feet,

barking like mad.  Frank and Kevin enter and stand in the mud-room,

stomping off snow and shedding layers of wet outer garments.  They

both walk into the toasty kitchen dressed in their thermal underwear

and thick wool socks, and Briggs makes a beeline for Kevin, almost

knocking him over in his eagerness to slurp a wet tongue over every

inch of his young master's face.  Giggling, Kevin and Briggs go down

in a tangle of arms and fur, with Megan shrieking excitedly and

jumping onto Kevin's back, unwilling to be left out.

 

Frank moves to the stove and lights it quickly, then wraps both arms

around his wife and shoves his icy hands down the back of her jeans,

earning him a string of high-pitched gasps and several cuss words

smothered into his shoulder.  June squirms, trying to get away from

those cold hands and Frank merely hangs on tight and laughs at her

antics.  It's a scene that has repeated itself every mid-December

when her men go out to chop down the family tree.  Some traditions

are meant to be upheld whatever the cost...

 

"I'm going to KILL you, Frank.  Later on, when you least expect it.

I'm going to damage you severely."  The dire threat is muttered into

her husband's ear as June resignedly waits for Frank's hands to warm

up against her bare backside. She's married to a sadist but the day

isn't over yet.  She'll find a way to get him back, and Frank knows

it. 

 

"Oooh, promises, promises.  Now I'm really scared."  Frank presses

his cold nose into her neck and June hisses but stands still and lets

him torture her, thinking that payback is a bitch and her husband is

going to get his.

 

Frank finally releases her and June takes a hasty step back, the

kitchen table now between them.  "Did you get the perfect tree?  Is

it in the barn, warming up?  Did you knock off all the snow?  Did you

remember to check for bird nests this time?"  Last year Frank and

Kevin had brought home a lovely tree, but it had been riddled with

the remains of bird nests, and Kevin had insisted on keeping every

one of them regardless of its condition.  He'd decorated his room

with them and after a few days of warming up, all these little

'caches' of hibernating insect larvae had hatched throughout the

nests.  Kevin had returned from a sledding session with Danny, to

find his room overrun with tiny worms.  He'd run screaming down the

stairs, leaving June and Frank to dispose of the nasty little

wrigglers. 

 

Frank patiently answers all of his wife's demands.  "Yes, the tree

is perfect.  Yes, it's in the barn and no, it's not dripping too

badly.  Yes, we checked for nests.  And no, we won't be harboring any

little worm fugitives this year, I promise."

 

June nods, "Then you have done well, Husband.  You have done well,

Son," addressing both of her men formally.  "Your reward is large

amounts of cocoa and many cookies; that is, if they haven't all

burned by now!"  She rushes to the oven and pulls out the sheet in

the nick of time.  Her cookies are a bit brown but that's not a

problem; Frank and Kevin will soak them in their cocoa anyway.  She

could serve them charred lumps and they'd never know the difference.

June pours cups of cocoa and heaps cookies on a plate shaped like a

snowman.  Warmed and dry, the family sits at the kitchen table and

consumes their snack, Megan dozing on her father's knee and Briggs

begging for crumbs.

 

**************************

 

They have lived in Simmons for almost five years.  The town has

remained a safe haven and comfortably small, despite the inevitable

encroachment of civilization all around them.  There have been two

new families joining the residents of Bluff Ridge in the past few

years; one family purchased the old Chase farm a mile up the Ridge

and the other family cut a deal on an abandoned farmhouse off Emmett

Road, a foreclosure.  The latest Ridge residents have a son Kevin's

age, the afore-mentioned Danny, and Frank and June have spent some of

their past two summers assisting both families with necessary repairs

and such.  They haven't forgotten the way their Ridge neighbors

helped them out when they first moved onto their homestead and tried

to learn what farming was all about.  It has been their pleasure to

pass on the kindness they have enjoyed.  It's helped to keep their

tiny community tight.

 

With each passing year in the Bluffs, Frank and June feel more and

more secure.  They've had no troubles; not even an inkling of danger,

of worry.  Yet they remain cautious.  It's a habit too ingrained for

them to just relax, merely because five years have gone by and their

lives have held steady.  Their fellow neighbors and friends are

unaware of that other life of theirs, the names they never mention.

Three years ago Adele Pennington was apprised of some of their past.

Not all, but just enough.  As much as Frank and June trust Adele,

they certainly couldn't tell her everything.  Just that her friends

have led another life fraught with danger and the less the world

knows about them, the better.  Adele Pennington comes into contact

with the outside world a lot more than Frank and June do, and it's

been a good precaution to have someone who keeps their ears open when

the occasional tourist comes to town.  Someone who can let them know

if a stranger has been asking questions...

 

The constant worry Frank had, that their oldest child might

accidentally 'spill the beans,' has disappeared.  Kevin has the

ability to live a secret life and still act like any other normal ten-

year-old.  Popular and outgoing, he has many friends and yet keeps

his own counsel as tightly as his parents do.  It's a balancing act

that they've all learned to cope with, and when Megan is old enough

she'll have to be told, the same as Kevin was. 

 

The past three years have been especially bittersweet for June and

her mother, Cora.  Their amazing reunion a few days after Megan's

birth gave June a much-needed emotional boost.  She's counted herself

fortunate and has been comforted by the knowledge that if she can't

be with all of her family, at least her mother is safe and close by,

living at the pretty farmette just two miles up Emmett Road. 

 

Cora spends as much time at her family's homestead as she does at

her place.  More than once in the past few years June and Frank have

begged her to sell and move in with them. They'd feel better if Cora

lived with them.  They'd feel she was safer... but Cora loves her

little house and the small amount of acreage she has; loves her

garden and her apple trees.  Loves her freedom and her independence,

most of all.  She has a dependable car and a snowmobile that gets her

around just fine in the winter.  She can drop by the homestead any

time she wants to see her beloved family.  Cora feels safe.  Until

proven otherwise, she's staying put and happy to know her daughter

and family have the privacy they're entitled to.  Everyone needs

their privacy, especially them.

 

The outside world has forgotten them, and that's a blessing as well

as a hurtful thing.  Somewhere in a cemetery in Falls Church,

Virginia, is a family plot.  In that plot the Scullys share

gravesites and headstones.  Father, mother, two daughters... a son-in-

law, and a grandchild.  The surviving members of that family have

spent years of holidays visiting the plot and placing wreaths of

flowers, small mementos.  The remaining Scullys endure, with their

memories and their regrets, their triumphs and their pain. 

 

June doesn't speak of it.  Neither does Cora.  And Frank respects

their need to find a way to grieve as well as rejoice that their

family is as safe as they can be.  For that safety Frank and June,

their children and Cora, will remain forever buried in two places:

in a quiet old cemetery in Falls Church and in the lovely, remote

Bluff Mountains.

 

*******************************************

 

Early evening finds Frank outside splitting logs and chopping

kindling, with Kevin helping to stack firewood and Megan doing her

best to gather up the leftover chips of wood.  Actually, she does a

decent job of tossing the larger pieces of kindling into the bin, and

Kevin keeps an eye on his sister to assure she doesn't hurt herself

or collect any splinters.  Her thick mittens do protect her little

hands, but kindling can have sharp edges.  Yet if they'd kept her

inside, Megan would have been protesting loudly by now, feeling left

out.  That's the last thing Kevin wants his baby sister to feel.

 

In the living room window their tree glows softly, multicolored

lights dancing along all the branches.  They haven't added any

ornaments; that will happen after dinner when their outside chores

are finished. 

 

In the kitchen June and Cora work side by side; talking softly,

laughing a little, cooking together.  Briggs thumps his tail on the

floor and begs for scraps, and Cora slips him pieces of roast

chicken.  They've had a mutual-adoration thing going on between them

for years, and Cora spoils him shamelessly.  June catches her mother

'accidentally' dropping a piece of stuffing on the floor, Briggs

gobbling it up almost before it touches down.

 

She's smiling but she chides, "Mom, you're only adding to that dog's

addiction, you know.  He's already a crumb-hound."  As she speaks

June also 'knocks' a little chunk of potato off the counter and onto

the floor, chuckling when Briggs dive-bombs it.

 

Cora drops to her knees to give the devoted dog a hug and Briggs

enthusiastically swipes at her face with a large tongue.  "He's my

third grandchild and he can have anything he wants.  Wait till you

see what I put in his stocking."  She smiles up at her daughter and

June catches her breath at how lovely her mother looks, even after

all these years.  In the soft kitchen light Cora seems ageless, the

habitual worry lines around her eyes much less pronounced, her skin

smooth and her smile as sweet as ever.  Her dark hair has a few

streaks of silver here and there but her figure is still trim and

slender and she could easily pass for an older sister instead of a

mother.  Life in the Bluffs has been very good for her. 

 

Suddenly June can't help but think of what could have happened to

her mother, three years ago when Cora's life was in danger.  She

tries not to dwell on such things but sometimes she can't avoid it.

But for the grace of God and the help of some very devoted friends,

her mother might have been forever lost to her.  Instead of such a

tragedy, Cora is healthy and safe and able to kneel on the kitchen

floor, hugging Briggs, her 'third' grandchild...

 

"Mom, you're so beautiful."  The words sigh their way out of June's

mouth and Cora's eyes blink back sudden moisture as she gets to her

feet and wraps her arms around her daughter.  By mutual consent they

don't often speak of the overload of emotion that both feel,

especially this time of year.  Holidays are sometimes hard to get

through when all of the family can't be together, and their situation

is compounded by their inability to contact anyone.  Isolation has

its own detriments and their need for secrecy takes its toll as time

goes on and the years pass. 

 

Dinner is momentarily forgotten as the women hold each other.  June

presses her face into her mother's neck and Cora strokes her child's

hair soothingly.  She murmurs, "They're all right, honey.  They're

together just as we are, having a good Christmas.  Having a safe one.

That's all that has to matter, right?"  Cora leans back a little

until she can look into June's sad eyes.  "Remember what you told me

last year, when I had such a hard time during the holidays?  You said

that anything can be endured as long as the family lives on; as long

as nothing touches them or hurts them.  You told me that as long as

there's an inkling of doubt concerning their safety, this life we

have to lead is a blessing and a responsibility that we need to

embrace.  It's far from idyllic but it's all we have." 

 

Cora kisses her daughter's cheek, adding, "It's a good life, honey.

We're alive and together and that's more than some families share.  I

get down on my knees every night and give thanks that I have you and

Frank, the kids.  And my third grandchild."  Her words are meant to

tease and draw a smile, which they do quite nicely.  June manages a

watery laugh and gives her mother a huge squeeze that is lovingly

returned.  No other words are necessary as they resume their dinner

preparations; if a few small sighs are heard over Brigg's renewed

whining as he cadges morsels, neither feels the need to hide their

emotions.

 

After the dinner dishes are cleared, boxes of ornaments are opened

and the tree decorating begins in earnest.  Most of them are handmade

but there are a few that are old and had been preserved from June's

'other' life, years ago when she first took Kevin and fled north to

await Frank's return.  She holds up a tiny French horn made of brass

and decorated with holly berries and a sprig of evergreen.  The

ornament had always been a favorite of hers and had graced the family

Christmas tree for as long as June can remember. It's one of four

ornaments that she managed to think to grab when she was packing in a

rush that cold, autumn day she and Kevin left Virginia. 

 

Cora unwraps a wreath made of woven cotton ribbons, little jingle

bells and lopsided bows.  One of the boys made it for her in school,

and June had liked it so much that Cora had impulsively given it to

her one Christmas years and years ago.  It makes her smile to know

that of all the ornaments her daughter could have packed, the crooked

little wreath was chosen. 

 

She hangs it on a front bough, commenting, "It's a bit worse for

wear, isn't it?  But I'm glad you remembered this one, June.  I think

Charlie was the creator; I seem to recall him tearing through the

front door, screeching at the top of his lungs that he'd made me

something for the tree.  He couldn't have been more than six or seven

at the time."  Cora turns to smile at her daughter and June smiles

back at her, pretending not to notice the way her mother wipes at her

cheek.  It's a cherished memory and whether painful or happy, those

memories are precious and meant to recall and enjoy.

 

Frank opens a box of crocheted candy canes, remembering the hours

June sat in front of their narrow living room window in the tiny

house they rented in northern Maine, the year before they moved to

Simmons.  She'd struggled to teach herself to crochet; then had

whipped up a dozen red and white yarn squiggles, wrapping the

finished curls around thick pipe cleaners, forming them into the

familiar cane shape.  He gives the box to Megan and she eagerly grabs

for the ornaments.  This is her very own holiday job, granted to her

last year after she begged for the privilege.  Frank had told her

everyone has a 'tree job,' and since Kevin's was stringing the

lights, Megan's would have to be hanging the candy canes.  Megan

takes her job very seriously, and all tree action stops while she

painstakingly arranges each cane to her liking.

 

There are decorated pine cones to hang, sprigs of baby's breath tied

with red ribbon that are tucked into sparsely-needled branches,

pleated lace fans and macrame hoops tied with gold trim.  There's a

set of quilted squares, all in holiday colors, that Cora and June

made just last year.  Boughs are tied up with wide, shiny plaid

ribbon; popcorn balls wrapped in colored plastic are hung, ready to

be consumed as the real countdown to Christmas begins.  Layer by

layer the tree is adorned with the old and the new, with fun and with

tradition.

 

Frank lets Kevin place the angel when everything else is done,

hoisting him up on flannel-clad shoulders to reach the highest bough.

Made of stiffened cloth, a hardened paper cone for a body and a

porcelain face and hands, the angel was a group effort created their

first Christmas at the farm.  Kevin had found the angel's head and

hands at the local five and dime in Simmons and had bought it for

June with some of his allowance money.  Frank had made the cone and

June and Cora had cut and sewn her gown, stiffening the material with

corn starch paste.  Last year, Megan added the halo herself, with a

little help from Kevin who'd shown her how to form it with cotton-

covered wire and a little gold paint.  The resulting angel is rustic

yet resplendent in her handmade finery.  She graces the top of their

tree like nothing else ever could.

 

Sipping at the cooling tea in her mug, June watches another tree-

decorating evening pass by, too quickly.  In the background holiday

music has been playing softly.  Briggs slumbers in front of the

fireplace on his back, all four legs in the air, snoring away.  Megan

has fallen asleep on the sofa, curled around yet another of her teddy

bears, and Kevin sits on the floor with his head in his grandmother's

lap, her fingers stroking through his tousled hair.  Across the room

June's eyes meet Frank's as he gathers up the last of the empty boxes

and stacks them for storage in their attic.  The look they share is

ripe with promise, tinged with only a touch of sadness.  It's a

feeling that comes with each holiday and is as familiar as the

stockings that are hung at the mantle.  Another Christmas will pass

with a prayer and a hope that their loved ones are engaging in much

the same traditions, and perhaps thinking of them, too.

 

******************************

 

With a sigh of weariness, Frank climbs into bed and pulls the covers

up to his shoulders, shivering a little in the cooler room.  June is

still in the bathroom and the children are asleep, Briggs curled in

with Kevin and Cora sharing a bed with Megan.  Snow had started

falling right after dinner and June had no problem convincing her

mother to stay the night instead of riding home in the dark on her

Arctic Cat.  As Frank relaxes against the pillows, he thinks that

tomorrow he'll talk Kevin and Megan into helping him make pancakes

for everyone.  Hot maple syrup on apple pancakes sure seems like the

perfect way to start Christmas Eve morning...

 

There will be gifts to finish wrapping and put under the tree.

They'll head into town in the early evening, to catch the seven

o'clock Christmas service at St. Matthew's.  At midnight they'll

gather around the tree at the farm, and light candles; sing a few

carols... say a few prayers.  Megan and Kevin will each get to open

one small gift, and Briggs will get a new Greenie to take to bed with

him and gnaw on.  The stockings will be filled with fruit and

homemade candy.  The children will dream of Santa and the adults will

get some much-needed sleep.  Christmas Eve is always celebrated in

much the same fashion, year after year.

 

But tonight it's all about the way June looks as she moves to her

side of the bed and sheds her robe, revealing soft skin and lush

curves, hair that tumbles over her shoulders... love that shines from

her blue eyes.  It's all about the way she comes into Franks's arms

under the covers, up against his body, warm and silken and so, so

eager.   It's the deep kiss she gives to him, the tender dance of

tongue to tongue.  It's hands that stroke, caress; it's limbs that

entwine and sighs that collect in the quiet of their bedroom and

float on the pine-scented air.  It's love that's made in the deep of

the night while the rest of the world sleeps and the snow falls

outside their frosted windows.

 

It's a life they cherish and protect, one they never imagined they'd

ever have and one they treasure above all else.

 

In two days it will be Christmas, and they'll dive into it with

gusto, enjoying the excited shrieks of the children as they unwrap

their gifts.  They'll stuff themselves on glazed ham and pie, they'll

toast the holiday with eggnog and hot toddies.  They'll hold hands

around the table and give thanks for what they have and ask for

protection for their loved ones who cannot be with them.

 

But tonight it's just the two of them, Frank and June.  Just them in

their old feather bed, making love in the glow of a single candle;

bodies moving together under a handmade quilt and warm blankets.

Deep, then deeper; slow and then fast, rough yet oh, so tender... the

dance is ageless and uniquely theirs.  The silence of the night is

broken by soft moans and a sigh or two; a groan of want, a cry of

completion.  An exchange of beloved names, shared between them in the

wee hours when they know it's really, truly safe...

 

"Mulder, God... I love you so.  I love you..."

 

He kisses her as she forms the words, taking them in and breathing

them back to her.  They rest against each other, damp skin pressing

close. 

 

"Thanks for making good on that promise, baby.  I may never

recover."  His voice rumbles in her ear.

 

"What promise?"  She pretends she doesn't know, but she's smiling in

the dark, waiting.

 

"You promised to damage me.  Severely, I might add.  I must say, you

sure know how to deliver."

 

She snickers sleepily.  "Well, you asked for it.  You'll have to

wear a turtleneck tomorrow, by the way.  Or else face intense

questioning from your nosy children and behind-the-hand chortling

from my mother."

 

"It'll be worth it."

 

They cuddle, spooning tightly, slipping under fast.  Frank presses a

kiss on the back of June's neck, right over a very old, very faded

scar.  He cups her gently and she sighs in her sleep.  He curls

himself all around her and lets his mind drift, lets sleep take him

over.  Murmurs a final, "Love you, Scully," into her hair.

 

The wind blows outside their window; the snow dances on its current.

In the Bluff Mountains, all is calm... all is safe.

 

End

 

AUTHOR NOTES:  This was one universe I had no plans on revisiting!

But when Haven issued their "Ornament This" challenge, somehow it

just seemed right to go back to the Bluff Mountains and the story of

Frank and June, and add a little holiday to the series.

 

I hope you enjoyed it!  Many of the traditions I mentioned here are

actually my own family holiday traditions, including the handmade

ornaments and the Christmas Eve celebrations.

 

And, 'His-tor-eeee' was actually something my husband Don believed

when he was a little boy.  He thought Rudolf lived there.  I've

always loved the thought of a sweet little child imagining that

'His-Tor-eeee' was a place!

 

Thanks for reading!  And have a very Merry Christmas!

 

You can find all of my stories here:  http://char.chaffin.com

 

Drop me an e-line when you get a chance!  char@chaffin.com