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Christmas
1897
"Quentin!" beamed Jamison,
panting slightly from the snowball fight he was enjoying with Nora.
The children were playing noisily in the grounds of Collinwood,
which heaved beneath the weight of a thick layer of white snow.
"Jamison, my boy!" grinned Quentin, as the boy hugged him.
"Have you grown?"
"I should think so!" came the precocious answer. "Where
have you been?"
Quentin smiled warmly, his smooth features flushing with
rare warmth. "Far away," he said quietly.
"Why?" asked Nora, who bounded up covered with snowy wounds.
"Let's say I'm not exactly the bearer of Christmas cheer
for your father," he smirked.
"But you'll stay for Christmas?" asked Nora.
Quentin shook his head slightly. "No, not this time."
Before the children could protest, he added: "I shouldn't be here,
but I'm here for a little while just for you."
"But why?" asked Jamison, crestfallen.
Quentin bent down to look at Jamison, his glassy blue eyes
level with the boy's: "Jamison, you're a clever young man, you're
getting older. And you know that sometimes life disappoints.
And learning to live with those disappointments is part of growing
up."
He stood up to his full height and looked towards Collinwood,
a grey smudge on the horizon. "I think Collinwood and I just
disappoint one another," he sighed.
"So, you're not here for Christmas?" said Nora slowly.
Quentin looked to the ground: "I'm sorry Nora.
But I'm here for this afternoon. And we'll have fun."
"You will!"
"One condition though. Our little secret… No
one must know. Promise?"
The children nodded eagerly.
"Remember," warned Quentin, "Our little secret, okay?"
*
* *
Later, exhausted from an afternoon of snowball fights and horseplay,
Quentin, Nora and Jamison sat on the edge of disused fountain surveying
their handiwork, a slightly lopsided snowman with a grinning slate-chip
mouth. Behind them, the ornate statues woven into the fountain's
design looked on sadly, almost in eyeless envy.
"You know, I used to play here as a boy," Quentin said finally.
The children looked at him intently. "My own little world…
so much simpler and more welcome than the big wide one," he finished,
his soft voice almost a whisper.
"Nora and I play here a lot."
"I used to love this fountain. You see him up there?"
He pointed to the main statue, an ancient Greek-inspired god figure
with a flowing beard. "He and I used to be good friends,"
he smirked.
"Don't play games," said Jamison frowning.
"I'm not," said Quentin with a winning smile. "Old
Issac, I called him. Well he looked like an Issac to me.
And I used to talk to him for hours."
"About what?" asked Nora attentively.
"Just about anything he'd listen to. See, he and I
are a lot alike. Neither of us really fit in around Collinwood…
I used to dream that at night he'd leap down from that plinth and
walk around while no one's looking."
"I'll bet he does," said Nora eagerly.
Jamison opened his mouth to protest. Quentin gave him
a look: "Of course he does, Nora. I'll bet he wanders the
grounds every night making sure you're safe." He got up slowly,
and huddled his cloak around him. "I wish I was here to keep
the pair of you safe. I guess Issac will have to do."
"Are you going?" asked Jamison.
"I'm afraid so." Striding off into the woods, Quentin
turned to look over his shoulder: "Our little secret."
*
* *
Dreams of sugar plum fairies came to an abrupt end for Nora Collins
with the sound of brother Jamison's voice.
"Get up and let's go see what Santa brought us!"
Nora did not need much coaxing. The tiny brunette barreled
out from her canopy-covered bed and beat her older brother down
the long hall and large staircase. Once opened the double doors
of the drawing room could not frame the huge Balsam fir cut from
the woods nearby. The children's eyes widened to the size of
the largest present under the tree.
After the delight of dealing with the gallery of gifts, Nora
experienced one more surprise. Santa left a silver locket in exchange
for her cookies. With all the excitement the children never noticed
their father, Edward, and Aunt Judith enter the room.
"Time to get ready for Christmas lunch," said Edward,
who expected punctuality. "You will have time to play later."
"Father, see my special gift from Santa," said
Nora unable to lift her eyes form the precious present. "He
liked my treat and left a secret thank you message."
The adults exchanged a puzzled look. After careful inspection
of the shiny object, Edward replied: "Its inscription looks
to be in an ancient language. I will take it into Collinsport tomorrow
to be deciphered."
Jamison had a head start on his sister for the stairs while
Aunt Judith secured the chain of the locket around Nora's neck.
At that moment, Angelique appeared at the doorway.
"Merry Christmas everyone!"
Since Angelique's engagement to Quentin Collins, she
was a resident of the Big House. One look at the locket ignited
memories from 100 years ago -
Ones she wished to forget.
Angelique knew it could not be Barnabas because he and she
were on better terms since she rescued the children from their mother
and an inferno. More likely it was Petofi under the guise of Quentin,
who was taunting her.
The beautiful witch was known to keep her emotions in check except
when it came to that man she loved - Barnabas.
"It's quite lovely," commented Angelique, content
to momentarily disguise the feeling of discomfort that seeing the
object brought her.
*
* *
After the wonderful meal and while the adults exchanged gifts, Nora
and Jamison became anxious to try their new ice skates.
"Let's go to the pond in the woods close to the
Old House where Uncle Quentin used to take us," suggested Jamison.
Nora looked apprehensive: "But Jamison, remember that father warned
us not to go there alone."
"Nora, father couldn't have meant me," Jamison frowned slightly
and feigned surprise. "I'm old enough to take care of myself,"
he finished proudly with a smile.
Nora opened her mouth to protest, but suddenly seemed convinced
enough. "I'll get the skates," she said grinning.
*
* *
For hours the children had fun gliding and spinning on the natural
surface, such fun that they suddenly threw caution to the wind when
it came to watching for those thin ice areas. Within a matter of
seconds, Nora felt the slick surface separate beneath her and she
was covered by cold water.
"Help," she cried bobbing in and out.
A frantic Jamison also let out some urgent screams, reaching
out to offer Nora a mittened hand. Her hand swiped about, flailing
to make contact. Jamison reached out farther, heard the crunch
of the ice breaking beneath him and fell in with a splash, engulfed
whole by the icy waters.
Drowning, sinking down…
heavy clothes tugging insistently towards the depths… Choking, as
breath escaped, only to be replaced with thick slimy water… Icy
cold, stabbing all around her…
Nora gave a final
convulsion and became motionless.
Sinking, sinking downwards,
heavy and lifeless… Fingers of cold
caressing… Cold hard
fingers… Fingers of stone… lifting? Lifting her,
holding her tight, protecting her.
The sky rushing towards her in a flash, the roar of breaking
through the surface of the waters…
Coughing, choking, a blur of images rushing by.
A grey lichen-marked face peering down, smiling at her.
Issac?
*
* *
It so happened that a band of gypsies, part of King Johnny's
tribe, camped nearby and heard the distress calls. Discovering
the tiny forms of the children, frozen and coughing in and out their
semi-consciousness in the edge of the broken ice, they wasted no
time in tending to their aid. With speed, the gypsies bundled the
children in blankets and carried them back to Collinwood.
*
* *
Jamison sat by the fire, blankets wrapped around him, sipping a
scolding mug of sweet tea. He had been lucky. Pulled
from what could have been an icy grave, Nora's condition was
far from safe. The family huddled vigilant near the comatose juvenile
member.
Moved by their distress, the somewhat reformed witch, Angelique,
contemplated a cure for the child. However, her disappearance for
an incantation would cause suspicion and she was content to let
Julia practice conventional medicine.
There was a knock at the door. It was Barnabas, who learned
about Nora's casualty from the gypsies.
"How is the child?"
Upon seeing the young girl lying so still, it reminded Barnabas
of his beloved sister, Sarah. Drawing closer to her tears ran down
his chiseled cheeks and on to Nora's tiny lifeless hand.
Miraculously she opened her brown eyes and upon feeling her
bare chest spoke sparingly: "Where is my locket?"
"The what?" asked Barnabas, as a distant memory played across
his solemn features.
"My locket. Perhaps Issac took it?"
"Who?"
"Issac," she repeated insistently. "He's the man who lives
in the fountain!"
Barnabas gave her a little smile: "Amy, you've had a very
trying ordeal. Maybe it's best that you rest."
Amy looked up at him quizzically, obviously far from impressed
with his attempts to placate her. She sighed theatrically,
before closing her eyes and drifting away into the warmth of a deep,
dreamless sleep.
*
* *
Edward stepped outside into the frozen garden, which was laced with
crisp white ice. He sighed slightly, watching his breath sweep
away on the breeze. A new year was coming… eventually a new
century. Change was encroaching upon the sheltered world of
Collinsport as time dashed by, oblivious to their little dramas.
He stopped by the fountain and surveyed the frozen figures,
including 'Issac'. For a moment, the worried lines of his face softened
and he gave the figure a little smile, before turning and walking
back towards the dark hulk of Collinwood, its warmly-lit windows
staring out into the dusk.
A small white hand reached up to Issac's outstretched hand,
shifted away the snowfall it held, and lifted out a small sliver
of gleaming silver.
The little spectre of Sarah Collins looked up at the impassive
figure and placed a conspiratorial forefinger to her lips, before
fastening the locket around her neck.
As the shimmering light played across the stern stone features,
it almost seemed as if a smile spread across the thin grey face.
If it did, then the little girl looked up and returned it, before
she skipped away into the enveloping darkness of the night.
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