Pining for Christmas

[Christmas of 2014 was special for the Pines family. However, Christmas isn't made in a day. These interconnected tales will lead into—and out of—those special times in a year that ended happily, or at least interestingly, for the Mystery Twins and their friends and family. Because your humble author is suddenly busy with mundane matters, I hope this will wrap up by this Christmas!]

1: A Few Small Confessions (Saturday, November 22, 2014)

Confession, they say, is good for the soul. Ford and Stan, for reasons of their own, had agreed that confessions were in order. However, anyone who has a lick of sense will confess when the person they're confessing to is in a nice mood.

No one ever accused the Pines twins of being lickless, sense-wise.

Accordingly, that Saturday evening in November, Stanford and Stanley double-dated—Ford and his fiancée, Lorena Jones, and Stan and his, Sheila Remley—driving over to Portland, where the weather was considerably balmier than in Gravity Falls on the other side of the mountains, for a meal in a trendy (and expensive, but never mind that) Italian restaurant on 30th Street.

It was a cozy place, the back room equipped with leather-lined booths that gave a sense of privacy. In making the reservation, Stanford insured that the privacy was a little more complete—he had arranged to rent out the entire room for an hour and a half for a private party. The headwaiter seemed a bit surprised that the private party consisted of just four people, but discreetly accepting a fifty-dollar tip from Stanford, he somehow contained his astonishment and turned them over to a waiter and a wine water. These two suggested choice selections from the menu, pushed the specials, and tactfully changed Stan's wine suggestion from "Some of that red stuff" to a very fine Barolo, exquisite in aroma and taste.

As they waited for their entrees, with his eyebrows raised inquiringly, Ford glanced at Stan and Stan nodded in confirmation. So, after more than one and not as much as too many glasses of wine, Ford took a little black cubic jewel box from his jacket pocket. "Lorena," he said, taking her hand, "this is the ring I promised. Thank you for agreeing to be my wife."

He slipped the engagement ring on her finger, and she gasped. "It's so beautiful!" The stone was at least two carats, and even in the candlelight at the table, it sparkled in a whole prism of colors, far more enchantingly than any other diamond they had ever seen.

Sheila oohed and aahed, and then with a grin, Stan took a matching box from his own pocket. "Sheila, you already accepted my family heirloom ring, and I wouldn't replace that. But I couldn't let my Brainiac brother pull somethin' like this and not match him! So—here's the twin stone for you, in a simple necklace."

It was, you could say, simple—simple platinum, the chain gleaming in the light and supple as silk to the touch. Sheila's gemstone nested in a buttercup setting that emphasized the flashing spears of multicolored light radiating from it. "Is this even a diamond?" Sheila asked, dangling it from her palm. "It's so brilliant!"

Ford and Stan glanced at each other again, and the Ford cleared his throat and said, "Well, we have a confession to make. Yes, these are diamonds, but not the ordinary sort. These stones are Rhidicollite, a crystalline form of carbon, just like run-of-the-mill diamonds, but formed under immensely different conditions. The fractal structure of most diamond crystals is octahedral, but these are hexadecagonal."

Lorena nodded gravely and then said, "I don't know what that means."

Sheila, her eyes wide, said, "I do. Sixteen-sided, not eight-sided. That must be why they're so much brighter than ordinary diamonds." Sheila had been a physics major.

Sheila turned for Stan, and he fastened the necklace for her, tugging to make sure the catch had securely closed. He said, "Yeah, yeah, sixteen, eight, whatever, all's I know is they're beautiful, to match you."

Sheila ran her fingers down the delicate chain, smiled and kissed him and then said to Lorena, "What did I tell you? The man's a con artist!"

"A con artist?" Stan asked, chuckling. "Babes, I am the con artist!"

"Wait a minute. These Rhidicollite crystals can't occur naturally," Lorena said.

"No," Ford agreed. "I found them—well, you'll know sooner or later, so let me complete the confession. This is highly confidential, you understand, ladies. I found the matrix stone from which these were cut many years ago on a crashed alien ship in Gravity Falls Valley."

"A crashed alien—you mean a spaceship?" Lorena asked, her voice excited. "That is so intriguing! There was a spaceship in Gravity Falls?"

"Oh, it's still there—if you know just where to look," Ford said. "In fact, I still visit it now and again."

"Maybe you can take me to see it," Lorena suggested.

Squirming and rubbing the back of his neck, Ford said, "Well—it can be a little bit dangerous for someone who's never been there before, but—we'll see."

"Is this from a whole different planet?" Sheila asked, admiring her necklace.

"It could be," Ford said. "The aliens, from everything I can discover, were great collectors, taking artifacts, samples, and even specimens from thousands of different worlds. So, yes, the mineral is very likely from a strange planet far out in the cosmos. The Rhidicollite, among other properties, is nearly twice as hard as other diamonds."

"Yeah, and the only way they could be cut," Stan said as he poured Lorena a second glass of wine, "was with a kinda super-powerful laser beam that Ford also conveniently found on the ship."

"Um—not quite," Ford said, holding up his right forefinger. "I found the components and assembled a laser from them. Again, the heart of it is a unique gemstone quite unknown on Earth. Quite recently, Dr. McGucket was able to use the laser to shape the crystals into these gems for us."

"To cut to the chase, these dinglebats are the rarest of the rare," Stan said. "Only two ridiculamawhoozits on Earth!"

"I hope they're insured!" the practical Lorena said.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, out the wazoo," Stan replied with a grin. "We took care of that!"

And they had. A week earlier, Stanley had phoned a very old friend and distant cousin of his—a fellow who lived in Philly and whose business interests were all one hundred per cent completely and very nearly legitimate these days, but who still had a good many shady acquaintances.

Once Stan had explained the situation—"Mazel tov, Stanny!" the voice on the phone said—the old man chuckled. "Stanny, ya got nothin' to worry about. I'll get the word out. No punk thief in his right mind would target you and your brother, and take it from me, the big-time operators will leave you and your ladies strictly alone."

Of course, to supplement the word on the underworld grapevine, Ford had also bought more mundane insurance for both gems—to the tune of a million dollars each, since the best appraiser in the country when faced with the two identical stones had all but burst into tears before giving up at "At least a million apiece!"

The diners had to cut short their discussion as two waiters brought their food in, steaming and smelling terrific. Then they had to decide on extra Parmesan or no, had to decline a second order of breadsticks, and had to assure the headwaiter that everything looked good. And finally, they could eat.

Over the meal, they turned from aliens and such to talk about some practical considerations. "For the time being," Ford told Lorena and Sheila, "Fiddleford and Mayellen say we can continue to live with them in the old Northwest house. However, both Stanley and I believe it's our responsibility as, well, married men, to provide you with homes of your own."

Stanley rolled his eyes. "Always a lecture! Gals, whattaya think about living near the Shack?" Stan asked, his voice showing his excitement. "Not in it, mind you!"

Lorena smiled immediately. "I'd love it! Soos and Melody are so nice—they'd be great neighbors!"

And Sheila took Stan's hand. "Honey, that's fine with me, too. But—won't we crowd them?"

"Nah," Stan said with a laugh. "When Ford bought the land, it was right at 700 acres. I've been addin' onto that over the years—land's cheap up that way, not least because a lotta people in the Valley think it's cursed. It ain't really though. At least, I think the curse is off since all the undead jerks have been put to rest. Anyways, today between us, Ford and me own—what is it, Ford?"

"Twenty-seven hundred acres, give or take a few," Ford said. "That's a bit over four square miles of property. Stanley and I have talked about it—we could build houses on Gopher Road, closer to town than the Shack, but on the same side of the road. Each lot would run to about ten acres and Cold Creek would back onto them. Very scenic. Our driveways would lead back through a fine stand of pines to a great level, grassy meadow, where we'd build. We wouldn't be so close that we'd be in each other's pockets, but it would be just a short walk from one house to the other—or up the hill to the Shack, where I plan to keep my lab."

"So whattaya think?" Stan asked. "Either of you don't like it, it's off."

"It sounds great to me," Lorena said. "That's such a nice, quiet part of the valley."

"Actually—" Ford started.

Stan cut him off: "Yeah, real peaceful. Real quiet!" Ford shrugged and smiled.

"Could we go look at the land?" asked Sheila. "I'm sure I'll like it, but now I'm excited to see the view!"

"Oh, sure. You gals want to go out there tomorrow afternoon?" Stan asked. "S'posed to be partly sunny and warmer, the weatherman says."

"It's a date!" Lorena said, and Sheila squeezed Stan's hand in agreement.

"Now, as to the style of house—" Ford began.

"Ours has to be a log house!" Sheila said, all but bouncing in her seat like Mabel on a sugar high. "I'd want it to match the look of the Mystery Shack if possible!"

"Hey, right," Stan said. "That'll be easy. We'll get Manly Dan to put together a construction crew. He's a hell of a good contractor, ya know! We can tap into the city water line, run underground electrics so's as not to mess up the view, and you can decide exactly where on the lot you'd like the house to be."

"Mr. Corduroy built the Shack originally," Ford said. "Of course, it was originally just my house, and he was Boyish Dan back then. How about you, Lorena? Maybe a nice brick Tudor or—"

She tapped him on the arm. "None of that! You know I always wanted a log house, too," she said. She caught her breath sharply and looked away.

Ford shifted uncomfortably. He had momentarily forgotten that Lorena's first husband had been planning to build a log house up in the mountains when he'd been stricken down by a fatal heart attack. "Well—yes, I'd like that, too. If you're really sure," he said softly.

She turned back, tears gleaming in her eyes, but smiling. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she said in a quiet, firm tone. "It would be like an old promise fulfilled."

And so, matters were settled, and they had a little more wine, lots of good food, and lots of laughter. In fact, afterward Stan and the ladies were all just a wee bit tipsy, but Ford, always abstemious, had drunk only two small glasses of the wine, and they walked around Portland for an hour or so as the effects of those wore off until he said he was perfectly OK to drive.

"That's a matter of opinion," Stan growled. Though Ford's driving skills had come back and improved over the past couple of years, Stan still distrusted Ford's habit of falling into a lecture and, turning to face his audience in the car, failing to notice a deer or a freight train crossing the road just ahead.

However, they made it safely back. Later, close to midnight in Gravity Falls, they parked at a scenic lookout—not to make out, as two teenage couples might have done, but to finish their talk.

An autumn chill had definitely come to the Valley, and they sat close together, Ford and Lorena in front, Stan and Sheila in the back seat, keeping each other warm. The night had that startling crisp clearness that comes along in November, when the humidity is low and the stars shine undimmed. There was no moon, and above them they could see constellations: Ford pointed out Orion, Pegasus, and Cassiopeia, and told them where to look to catch sight of the Andromeda galaxy, about two-thirds of the way from Cassiopeia and Pegasus. And then the windows began to fog up.

For a while the astronomy lesson was suspended. And then, from where he snuggled in the back seat with Sheila, Stan said, "Poindexter, better tell 'em the rest of it. We decided, and you said you wanted to break it to them 'cause you're more diplomatic than me."

"All right," Ford said, nervously drumming his six-fingered hands on the steering wheel. "This is the last thing. We both hope it won't change your minds or anything, but—well, if it does, then we'll understand."

"Yeah, and you can keep the stones," Stan said. "But we've got something else to confess."

"What is it?" Sheila asked. She and Stan were holding hands.

"Go ahead. You said you'd tell 'em, Ford," Stanley said.

"All right." Stanford cleared his throat. "Everyone in town has noticed the changes in Stanley and me these past couple of months," he said. "We've told you we went to a special spa in Florida, and that's partly true, but mostly, well, a lie."

"Yeah, see, it's sorta true 'cause the word 'spa' basically means a mineral spring. One that's supposed to give ya good health and vitality, blah blah blah."

Ford overrode his brother: "We, well, found—there's no other way to say it, I'm afraid—we found the Fountain of Youth."

"Really?" Lorena asked, sounding interested but not particularly surprised. She had grown up in Gravity Falls.

"Really," Stan said. "The owner gave us just a little sample of the water, and we kinda-sorta promised not ever to ask for any more of the stuff. But—well, Stanford and I both drank it, and a couple weeks ago we both went to the doctor for a check-up."

"He puts our somatic ages at approximately forty-eight to fifty years old," Ford said. "He says we're in exceptional shape for men close to seventy."

"To sum up, we got back close to twenty years of our lives," Stanley said. "Funny thing, we each felt like the other one deserved to get back thirty years, see, 'cause that's how long Ford was lost in weird dimensions and how much time it took for me to figure a way to get him back. I guess it's impossible to judge the right amount of water for that, so the guy is generous and gives us enough for about forty years—"

"Wait," Sheila said. "So—what? You actually got younger? It's permanent?"

Ford said, "Well, we're aging again, of course, but at a normal rate. And it's complicated. We didn't lose memories—it doesn't affect the mind, evidently—but yes, our bodies are in effect between seventeen and twenty years younger than our chronological ages."

"Hope that ain't a deal-breaker," Stanley put in.

Ford continued, "The main thing is, we started to feel strange about asking you ladies to marry us because we were so much older than you were."

"But now," Stan said, "we got a shot at livin' out a normal married life with you, 'stead of checkin' out as dried-up old guys in ten, twenty years or so. So—is this a deal breaker?"

Both women laughed. "You big silly!" Lorena said, giving Ford a fond little shove. "Of course it isn't. Ford, I'd marry you in a heartbeat if you were ten years older instead of nearly twenty years younger than when we first met! And now we just about match!"

"Same goes for me," Sheila said, nuzzling Stanley's neck. "But I have to say—hope I don't embarrass you, Stanley—I prefer you the way you are right now, with a little more youthful, ah, let's say vigor!"

"Hot tamales!" Stanley exclaimed before kissing her.

"Now," Lorena said from the front seat, next to Ford, "I think the very next thing we ought to do is for Ford to drop you and Sheila off at your place—and then for him and me to go back to my place. And we won't see you until tomorrow morning at breakfast. A late breakfast!"

"Make it brunch," Ford said, hugging her.

And, as it turned out, that was just fine for Stanley and Sheila, too.