Do You See What I See, a hardy boys/nancy drew fanfic

Author's Name: LaurieQ

Title of Story: Do You See What I See

Type of Story: Holiday

Rating of Story: K

Characters in Story: F, J, L, Fe

Warnings: None

Date Story Originally Posted: January, 2013 (HDA)

Plot Blurb: Yeah, it's Christmas. Joe would prefer it wasn't… and why did it have to Christmas in New Hampshire, anyway?

Special Notes: If anyone gets the feeling that they've read snippets of this before, it's entirely possible. I wrote about 2500 words of it several years ago in another fandom and my daughter has been after me to rewrite it 'for Frank and Joe.' I finally agreed, and it just, um, grew… If anyone is likely to be offended by tiny hints that Christmas isn't all about Santa for some of us, this may not be your favorite tale. It certainly isn't overtly religious and unless you're particularly concerned with that I don't think you'll mind. Anyhow, I like it better now, and I hope you enjoy it.

THE STORY

"No, I don't want to go to pick up paperwork in the City on the way to New Hampshire; no, I don't want to go to New Hampshire in the first place; no I wouldn't rather take Mom's car than the van; and no, I don't want anyone asking me about it!" The slamming screen door to the kitchen porch punctuated the conversation, the youngest member of the Hardy family leaving the dinner table abruptly enough to topple his water glass across his mother's plate.

Laura Hardy pushed a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear, pale blue eyes locked on the practically vibrating door. The concern for her son froze the tableau for long seconds, then she silently stood to clear the table, soaking up the spilled water in the process.

Depositing Joe's plate in the sink, she returned to her husband and older child. As much as the younger one's coloring mirrored her own in an intensified version, the seventeen year old at the table resembled his browned eyed, brunette father. Right down to the equally worried expressions. "Are either of you going to eat anything else?" The question was subdued, avoiding the evident tension.

Frank shook his head.

The detective at the head of the table echoed the motion. "No, not now… I thought we were past this."

"He's been fine for weeks, Dad. Well, not fine, but you know… more." Frank couldn't find precisely what he wanted to say. 'Fine' was too… bland… somehow. 'Normal? Himself?' No, those weren't it either. In some ways the turbulent months from August to October had been perfectly normal and quintessentially Joe. Joe whose naturally exuberant personality afforded him more laughter and joy… or anger and pain… than most people could ever encompass.

"I know, Frank." Fenton Hardy pushed back from the table, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll talk to him."

Frank stood almost as quickly as his sibling had. "Uh, it might be better if I…" He was out the door before he finished the sentence.

Laura smiled weakly at her spouse. "Think he'll ever stop protecting Joe like that?"

The older man shook his head, wandering to the window to watch the pair below. "I hope not."

######

Frank crossed the backyard in long strides, a slim crust of snow crunching beneath his sneakers. Not spotting Joe in the lightly wooded acre, he trudged to the sprawling oak in the far corner of the yard, hopping over the small burble of water that had yet to ice over. The stream was a mere eight or ten inches deep in the heavy rains of the spring, and at the moment was more of an oddly mobile puddle than anything else. His hand closed around a well-worn board nailed to the tree and he started to hoist himself up.

Nine too-close-together rungs later he shimmied through the trap door of a tree house, not at all surprised to find his brother within. He turned around on hands and knees, careful not to bump the sloping ceiling, and curled his back into the log wall, bent knees flopping open crisscross style. The tips of his toes grazed Joe's, seated in a similar fashion directly opposite.

"Hey."

Frank waited a while longer, watching his breath form lazy white puffs, and curling his arms around his torso. Either they'd have to get this conversation started or set something on fire for warmth… and setting the tree house on fire while inside it didn't work out well. They knew that; Biff had tried it.

The memory of their childhood friend in one of his less than stellar moments faintly tugged his lip into a smile. One that rapidly faded. "So? Penny for your thoughts?"

"They're not worth that much… Mostly I'm thinking we don't fit in here anymore." The blonde pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his elbows on them while his fingers laced over his bowed head.

"True enough."

The last of the wan evening light faded away, leaving the two in nearly complete darkness.

"Think Dad will come get us if we stay out here?" Joe didn't risk looking up with his question.

Frank nodded, aware that Joe couldn't see it. "Eventually."

"Sorry." Joe shifted slightly, trying to melt into the rough wood at his back. "You have to be freezing."

"I'm wearing a heavier shirt than you are, Joe."

The younger Hardy did glance up at that and almost laughed, a half choked sound. Their aunt had come over for the afternoon, bringing them their annual knitted holiday sweater. Joe had divested himself of the unusual creation the moment she left, but Frank was still wearing his. The feeble offering of the streetlamp on the back corner of the house was somewhat of a blessing in that regard, muting the cacophony of garish colors. Joe had seen it all day, however, and there was unfortunately no unseeing it now. The sweater itself was a deep midnight blue, and in exclusion the hue likely would have flattered Frank. The teal and crimson zigzag stripes rather shattered that assessment, however, and once you got to the alternating green and gold puff balls there really wasn't anything else to say. No point in even discussing the tiny sliver bell pattern around the rolled collar.

"Yeah, about that… Can you promise you won't ever wear it again?"

Frank snorted softly. "Absolutely."

"Good. I don't think there's a weirder sweater anywhere on earth you could find to put on."

"Except maybe that purple, orange, rust, and lime number you just dumped on your bedroom floor."

A mock shudder ran through Joe. "Don't remind me. I felt like Barnum and Bailey was going to come cart me off any second. Hey, how'd you know I dropped it in the floor? You haven't been in my room today peeking at gifts, right?"

"Oh come on, Joe. What sort of detective would I be if I needed to actually check to guess your clothes were slung all over the floor again today… just like every other day…?"

"Yeah, yeah, ok…"

Silence fell again, more comfortable this time, and Frank was content to listen to the winter night settling over Bayport.

"About the kitchen…"

Frank nodded, but said nothing. He knew his brother very, very well and any word now would be a serious error.

"I didn't want to make a scene. Just, nobody asked me about this trip. Not even once. I don't want to go. I don't want to spend Christmas in New Hampshire at some resort. I don't want to ski or snowboard or open gifts in a strange hotel with a strange tree and strange decorations and strange people!" Joe realized he was picking up steam again and abruptly stopped, sucking in a deep breath. "I still shouldn't have ruined dinner. Guess I'm in trouble now, huh?"

Now was the time for a word… and Frank wished he had some idea which one to choose. "No, you're not. Everybody was startled, that's all… Why don't you want to spend Christmas in New Hampshire?"

"What's wrong with staying here?"

"Nothing." Frank paused, deciding Joe might not like the truth but he'd like being lied to less. "Mom and Dad thought something different might be better this year… for you."

"So this is about Iola." There was a sad, bitter undercurrent to the simple words.

"Yes." Frank hesitated, hoping Joe would say something else. Eventually it became obvious that he wouldn't. "Dad thought being here would be difficult and the ski trip would be, ah, distracting." Frank winced the moment the phrase left his mouth.

"Distracting?! I'm supposed to forget how much Christmas meant to her because I'm too busy barreling down a hill with boards stuck to my feet like some kamikaze ice age carpenter? How does that work exactly, Frank!?"

"I don't know, Joe!" Frank shook his head, frustrated; then started again, calmer. "I don't know. We just didn't want you sitting here watching everyone going on the Christmas Eve hayride around town or caroling at the Mortons or heading to the pond Christmas afternoon and half expecting her waiting there with her skates or…"

"I had no intention of going any of those places, Frank."

"I know… and that's sort of why we decided on New Hampshire. I'm not sure I'm ready for any of those places without Iola either, much less imagining you are, but it's still Christmas."

"Not for her."

"Yes it is, Joe." The older sibling uncharacteristically struggled with the idea in his head. "Maybe Santa and caroling and trees and tinsel, maybe all that ends when we die, but the rest of Christmas, the real reason for Christmas, I think that maybe dying's when it starts."

"You really believe that?"

Frank unconsciously ran a finger over the cross on his key chain, an invisible act in the dark. "You know I do. And so did she."

Joe exhaled, a slow stuttered sound. "Yeah, she did."

"So you'll come to New Hampshire?"

"Celebrating the season still feels like a betrayal, but yeah, I'll come. Not joyfully, but at least you won't need chloroform and handcuffs."

"So it'll be a step up from some of your travels."

A surprised cough emanated from the blonde. "Uh, yeah, I guess it is at that. Wait, you said we thought it would be better… So you knew about this all along?"

"I did. I'm sorry; I should have warned you. It was supposed to be a surprise."

"Well, it succeeded in that, alright." Joe absently nibbled on his thumbnail. "I'm ok, Frank. Give me a minute out here, ok?"

Frank studied his brother's silhouette carefully, detecting nothing that signaled an intention to bolt. It had been two months now since the last time Joe had darted farther afield than the yard, but a few of those nights had seared fear into the elder sibling. He reached into Joe's pocket, withdrawing an old pewter compass and pressing it into the other's palm. "Ok."

#####

Joe squirmed to his knees in the cramped space, finally succeeding in flopping over onto his back and staring out the irregular gap in the slanted branches above. The sky had deepened to fully ink black as they talked, the sharp glitter of stars dappling the ebony velvet.

Funny, the pinpricked light looked the same as last December and for a moment he could pretend. The plywood under his shoulder blades softened into a creek bank at the Morton farm and the space at his side filled, a tumble of raven curls grazing his cheek.

"I think it's that one, Joe." A feminine voice giggled in his ear while a petite finger pointed out the brightest spot in the clear sky.

The teen shook his head, sighing loudly in mock exasperation. "That isn't a star at all, Iola, much less the Christmas star."

"Okay Mr. Smarty Pants, it's a big white glowing thing in the night sky, so what do you propose it is? Santa's sleigh?"

Joe laughed. "No. It's Venus. And it isn't quite white if you'll look."

Iola rolled over and propped up on an elbow, gathering her courage for a quick peck on Joe's cheek. "I think I'd rather look at you."

A blush spread across his cheeks, his heavy wool jacket suddenly distinctly too warm. "Yeah, maybe looking at you would be better, too." He tucked silk strands of hair back over her shoulder, returning the kiss. Why on earth had it never occurred to him to kiss Iola Morton before?

"We're supposed to be stargazing." Iola pulled back slightly, breathless.

"I am." Joe let the comment hang, staring in her eyes.

He'd certainly seen her before, a million times in the last decade through horseback rides , baseball games, catching crawdads in the creek, playing tag, even boring assemblies at school. Her eyes surely hadn't been this exact shade all those times? A perfect mix of warm brown flecked with gold and green, almost an encapsulated sunset in an October forest. He'd missed that somehow. Huh.

"You're not." She shifted upward to kneel, smiling when Joe did likewise to sneak another kiss. "Besides, listen."

Joe turned his chin toward the bonfire in the distance, catching the beginnings of Deck the Halls. "They've started the Christmas carols."

"Mmhmm. Which means everybody is back from the hayride and they'll figure out we aren't there."

"So?"

"So, we're supposed to be." Iola rolled her eyes as if that was completely obvious. "And we're supposed to join the singers."

"I can sing from here." Joe grinned then let out a few intentionally horrible screeches.

"Ugh, that's awful." Iola giggled, swatting at him to stop. "And I think they're on The First Noel now, which that most definitely was not."

"They won't get to my favorite for a while yet anyway. I vote we stay here. We can always say we got lost walking back from the barn."

"Doubt that'll work, Joe, since I live here."

"Hmm, you have a point."

"What's your favorite carol anyway?"

Joe answered instantly. "Let it Snow."

Iola smiled. "Definitely a fun winter song, although I'm not sure it's a Christmas carol."

"I think it is. If you mean church carols though, then I guess It Came Upon a Midnight Clear."

"That one's nice." Iola shivered slightly, pulling up her hood. "The fire might be nice too."

"Maybe." Joe's grin widened suddenly. "Especially if there are marshmallows, right Iola?"

"You are not seriously going to help Chet get a marshmallow stuck in my hair again the year, Joseph…"

"Hey, I think I have to stay on your brother's good side now."

"And why is that?"

"I've been thinking about asking his sister out on a date."

"Really?" Iola's tone was droll, but the mischief in her face was unmistakable.

"Yeah, really."

"It's worth a shot."

"What, going on a date?"

"No, asking her. She might say yes."

Joe returned the silly grin. "Hmm. Then I'll have to give it some more thought."

"You do that."

Somehow her answer wasn't silly anymore. More expectant? Hopeful? Neither of those quite fit, but whatever the new mood was it made Joe's knees wobble if he thought about it too long. He shifted, glancing back at the sky. "You didn't tell me what your favorite carol is."

"No, I didn't."

"Well?"

"You didn't ask. It's Do You See What I See?"

"I don't think I know all of that one." Joe's eyebrows pulled together, trying to piece a few fragments of melody together in his head.

"Really? It's beautiful, and it's definitely meant for a night like this." Iola smiled, then softly began to sing.

Said the night wind to the little lamb….

By the final verse Joe was singing along, blending a gentle tenor with her soprano, completely enchanted. He'd deny that, of course, what teenager wouldn't, but it was entirely possible Joe Hardy was falling in love.

The last line faded away but neither of them moved, the quiet piping of the glazed creek filling the magic night air, the blanket of pristine snow stretching over the fields, the distant crackle of a fire, the starlight falling around…

…the giant chunk of snowball that whopped Joe up the side of the head…

"Frank!" Joe whirled on his brother, standing in the now trampled snow with a still raised arm.

"Time for Romeo and Juliet to rejoin the commoners over at the barn."

Iola laughed, looking between the two. "At least they'll be marshmallows."

Joe turned, surprised at the unforgiving wood beneath his back. Reluctantly he trailed his hand through the space at his side. It was empty. It had been for months.

########

The following morning found the younger Hardy in his mother's new car, yet another Volvo, this time in a silver gray. Joe slumped against the passenger door while is brother bombarded him with an overdose of enforced Christmas merriment.

Frank turned up the radio, humming along with the seasonal tunes. "Rudolph the red nosed reindeer had a very shiny nose…"

"It's still early, Frank."

"Ah, come on Joe, try it."

Joe sighed, loudly over riding the sound system. "Grandma got run over by a reindeer, coming home from our house Christmas Eve…"

Frank switched stations and tried again. "Here comes Suzy Snowflake dressed in a snow white gown, bringing joy to every girl and boy..."

"You're a mean one Mister Grinch..." Joe again drowned out the cheerful lyric.

Frank reached over and turned the knob off. "Oo-kaay. Not in the mood to sing, I take it."

"Let's just pick up these papers, eat lunch, and get back on the road before the weather turns, alright?"

"Alright." An hour later they'd changed drivers and hit the interstate again, but they weren't going to beat the impending snow. The deepening grey bands in the sky promised them that.

#######

"Can't be that much farther, Frank. I say we just top off the gas at the next town and keep pushing for Whitehead." Joe's grin was more maniacal than gleeful as he baited his brother, but the elder Hardy appreciated the effort.

"Can't be much farther. Yeah. You said that two hours ago, Joe. In case you haven't noticed, the snowplows gave up three towns back, we're going like twelve miles an hour, and the snow is falling by the bucket now." Frank's smile was more genuine, determined to play along.

"Thank you, Al Roker. Naturally, I hadn't noticed the snow tugging the car over the side of the cliff. Not like I'm the one driving while you play sleeping beauty over there. We need somewhere to get out of this mess. Now wake yourself up and look, 'cause I'm fresh out of alarm clocks and I so ain't kissin' ya."

"Whatever. You'd probably turn me into a frog, anyway." Frank fumbled in the shallow box beneath the seat for an interstate map, knowing it would have been relegated to the pit of useless crap Joe figured a real driver didn't need. Unfortunately, cellphone and GPS reception were non-existent in the mountain storm and any stopping point beat the possibility of having to go it on foot if they got stuck. Hence the search for the paper map. Soon enough the well creased paper was spread across the brunette's lap, a gloved finger tracing the various squiggles.

A loud sigh followed when he completed his quest, rapidly overshadowed by a frustrated rumple of paper and a final victorious huff. "I swear you need an engineering degree to fold one of these things back properly."

"It'd be easier if you didn't obsess about every line being exactly like it came out of the package." A hint of warmth softened Joe's words.

Frank shook his head. "I do not obsess. I simply don't want it looking like something you'd wrap a dead fish in."

"Like that's what I'd do, huh? Not a chance brother o' mine." The audible smirk was clearer now. "Everyone knows I don't wrap my dead fish, I just toss 'em under the bed."

"As I said before, whatever." A few minutes silence followed, the snow outside the car picking up in intensity.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Frank stared at his brother from the tan leather seat.

"Are you going to tell me what you found?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Frank tapped the now meticulously folded map. "There are no real cities to pick from, but there's an exit marker about fifteen miles ahead. Take the next right you come to. No motel symbol, though."

"The volvo inn it is, then." In spite of Joe's smile, Frank could see the tightness at the corners of his eyes. A night spent out in this, even in the car, was dangerous. Not to mention that it was Christmas Eve.

It took over an hour to make it into Silpan, the large sedan fishtailing on the mountain roads in spite of weight. The gas station was on the right of the two lane road through the center of town, straight across from a small post office and a mini mart that were plainly closed for the night. The front yards of small houses nestled up to the road, boundaries undetectable in the heavy snow. Two old fashioned fuel pumps sat out front of the dimly lit squat building, the curved tops shedding ice better than the few cars parked nearby.

Joe pushed the door of the car open, stepping out onto crunching ice. He noticed that the tire tracks he'd made pulling in were the only ones in sight in either direction, but there were a lot of blurred footprints walking the road, all going further into town.

Frank walked into the station building, intending to pay for the gas and find out if there was anywhere to stay.

"Evenin'. Poor night ta be about." The wizened man at a dust covered desk appraised Frank, openly curious about strangers in the midst of what was rapidly becoming a blizzard.

Frank flashed a smile, assessing the older man as harmless. "We didn't really intend to be about. My brother and I were headed for Whitehead to meet our family, but I don't think we'll get that far. Any motels nearby?"

"Nope, not a one." The man stood, grey eyes studying Frank from a foot and a half below his height. "Can't give ya' any gas, neither. Truck can't get here ta fill my tanks. Don't sell any when tha' happens, keep what I got for emergencies."

"Well, seeing as how we're stuck, maybe you could consider this an emergency?" Frank didn't particularly want to explain this to Joe.

"Stuck is exactly why it's not an emergency, lad. I've jus' told ye, there's nowhere ta go... So, ye'll not be needin' none o' me gasoline."

Joe walked in, brushing snow from the top of his head. "Where to, Frank?"

"And you're tha brother, I'm supposin'. I was jus' explain to this un," he jerked a withered thumb toward Frank, "you're snowbound. Stuck."

Joe looked at the comical figure before him. Five feet tall was a generous estimate and he possessed a round, lined face that could have easily been a hundred, highlighted by deep pewter eyes that smiled even when his mouth didn't. Something about him was likable in a cantankerous sort of way. "I see that, but we need a place to stay, a motel."

"An' I see that, whippersnapper. Understood it when he asked me tha firs' time. Ol' ain't necessarily senile, ya know. But needin' a motel ain't gonna be making one appear unless ya boys got construction two by fours in that car of yours I don't be knowin' bout."

Maybe a change of subject of subject would be helpful. "I saw all the foot prints heading up the road. Where'd everybody go?"

"Everybody? Like I ain't standin' right here in front o' ye?" The smile spread to the corners of the old man's mouth this time. "All went to the church. Men are buildin' the nativity, ladies sewin' costumes, kids havin' play practice. It's Christmas ya know. I jus' stayed here to help passersby. I'm Walter, by tha way. Course when Billy, he's my oldest youngin', left me here tonight, it was cuz he didna think there'd be any." With that the little man snorted, chortling into a wheezing fit until Frank gave him a good tap on the back.

Yeah, because you've been so much help already. "How far to this church?" Joe schooled his voice into a far more neutral tone than his thoughts.

"Quarter o' mile or a bi' less. Ought not have trouble in yer boots. Need flashlights?"

Frank smiled again, steering Joe out the door. "No, we've got those. We'll need to leave the car here at for least now, ok?"

"Fine, fine. Stay warm, ya hear?"

"Stay warm. Be a better chance of that if he'd had some suggestion of somewhere inside to actually go." Joe satisfied himself that the volvo was in as good a spot as possible. "Sorry Mom, I can't tell where the parking spaces might be, if they're even marked off. Hopefully your car will be in one piece when we get back." He would have preferred driving the brothers' van in the first place, but their father thought the heavier sedan might handle better in foul weather. None of them had anticipated the weather getting this foul, though.

The Hardys started up the road in silence, aggravation at the interrupted trip and lack of lodgings somehow melting as they trudged through the white expanse. The wedges of illumination from the flashlights made a minimal impression in the heavily swirling flakes, but it was easy enough to feel if they veered off the foot deep snow of the previously plowed road to the three and half foot deep surrounding lawns. The houses were dark for eight o'clock. Everyone's at the church must actually mean everyone.

The lights on the steeple gleamed before long, soon accompanied by the muffled sounds of hammering. The church sat on a small knoll, snow laden pines dripping to the ground on all sides with white clapboard siding extending up to a traditional bell tower. Heavy double oak front doors were adorned with holly wreaths while candles gleamed from inside jewel toned stained glass windows, casting flickering kaleidoscopes on the powder beneath.

"Looks like the whole place went Currier and Ives."

Frank gave his best when in Rome shrug and went inside the front doors, shaking his head when this set off a volley of sleigh bells. Joe stomped the snow off his boots before following him in.

"Hello?"

"Hello yourselves. Welcome. Canna say tha we expected any company tonight, but welcome." A stout middle aged man waved them further in, walking from the pulpit at the front to the rear pew where the brothers now stood. The entire length of the sanctuary was perhaps thirty feet.

"That's what Walter said, too." Joe's smile was rueful.

"Walter'd be right." The younger man had the same twinkling grey eyes. "I'm Reverend William Pearmont, his son. Call me Billy, everybody does." He offered his hand to the boys in turn.

"Thanks, I'm Frank and this is Joe, my brother. We're kind of caught in the storm and stopped to get a little gas and find a motel, but your Dad pointed us here."

"Hmm. There's nothing nearby, I'm afraid, but if you wanna join us for the evening, we'd be happy to have you. A few folk who came in ta help get ready for the Christmas play can't get home for the night with the weather and are going to bunk in tha church basement. Reckon that's why Dad sent ya."

Could have said that. Frank nodded his head. "We'd appreciate that." He glanced at Joe and caught the quick flick of his eyes to the various projects that seemed to be underway. "Anything we can help with?"

"Ah, company doesna have ta help. All this was supposed ta be done early in the afternoon anyway, but most folk couldna get in ta church, much less out." The pastor seemed torn between politeness and an eager urge for an extra set of hands. "Course if yer bored and wantin' somethin' ta do..."

"We'd be happy to."

That seemed to decide the matter for the pastor, who clapped Frank on the back before leading him to a set of steps. "Fellas are all down there puttin together the stable for the nativity and some props for the play. Ya boys good with yer hands?"

Joe nodded faintly. "We'll manage."

"Good, good. Oh, if they don't need tha both of ya, send yer brother back up here. Youngins are gonna work on tha tree and could use somebody taller."

#########

"If you'll prop... ah yeah...that's it, perfect." A youth about Frank's age secured a wooden brace to the back of a plywood camel, happy with the easy work rhythm he'd established with the two strangers. Power tools were a little less Frank's thing than Joe's, but both were settling into an oddly idyllic evening. The warm light of the block basement was augmented by a crackling fire and the smell of cocoa drifted from a small kitchen to the rear.

"That's the last of the animal cut outs, what's next?" Joe was maneuvering the seven foot camel to lean against the wall with its equally wooden stablemates, speaking around the nails held loosely in his teeth, one hand still grasping a hammer.

"Well, can't put the stable sides together until tomorrow when we can get outside. Why don't you and I help everybody else clear the floor out down here? Candace, that's Billy's wife, brought over blankets and such, so we'll set up for the night. Frank can head on upstairs and see how the tree's going."

Joe shrugged at Frank, handing him a tray of a dozen hot chocolate mugs to carry to the chapel.

A tiny girl of four or five accosted him at the top. "Are you Frank? I'm Claire. Are you going to help with the tree? Mom said you might. Said you were tall and could reach the top. Don't need to be tall, the stands broken, so the thing's on the ground. I 'm not supposed to tell you to fix it. Will you fix it? Is that cocoa? Can I have some? Why are you stuck here? Did you walk far? Is the snow as deep as Mom says? Won't let me out to check. I'm not little ya know. I'm almost five. Why ..."

A young woman with auburn curls very reminiscent of the child's own scooped the indignant girl up, interrupting the otherwise ceaseless conversation. "Sorry, she's kind of going through a talkative phase. Let me take the tray."

"That's all right, I got it. She's fine." Frank side stepped the child and deposited the cups on a small table to the side of the stage. Generally speaking, Joe was the one with the knack for small children, but Claire fell in at Frank's heels, resuming her chatter under her breath. "What's wrong with the tree?" Frank frowned as he looked at a twelve foot evergreen twinkling in the front corner of the sanctuary, clear lights nestled among the white Chrismond ornaments and blue spruce branches.

The mother's curls bounced as she unexpectedly pitched her head back in laughter. "Not that one, Frank. Glad you like it; I decorated it a week ago. The kids need a smaller one for the play tomorrow afternoon. We were getting ready to rehearse the scene where they decorate it and the stand cracked."

Frank walked over to the toppled evergreen and the round metal stand that was still attached to the trunk. Pulling it off, he turned the pieces over in his hand. "One of the legs just rusted through, the dish of this is still good. I can get some scrap wood from downstairs and put a new base on it."

"That'd be great. Oh, I'm Grace, sorry. Not many strangers around here to introduce myself to." A look of mischief lit her eyes. "Although the most important thing right now is to finish rehearsal so this lot," she gestured to the dozen children shrieking and darting about the room, can get to bed. Maybe we could put tree repair off until after that?"

Frank knew that look from a lifetime with Joe. He was being suckered into something he'd regret. Still, her smile was infectious, Claire was now tugging on his pant leg with a litany of please please please, and he couldn't recall the last time he'd been somewhere where everybody was so absolutely happy. "I thought you couldn't practice without the tree?"

"Can't practice without a tree, not necessarily that one." She picked up a loosely knit pullover from the back of a pew. "Here, put this on."

He was surprised when the heathered sweater fit reasonably well; only one of the men working down stairs came within three inches of his height. "Now what?"

Grace took him by the hand, leading him to the center of the stage and turning him around to face the pews, twisting his shoulders with her hands until he was in the perfect spot. She raised an impish brow. "Just stand still."

A few sharp claps of her hands brought the children to toe, gathering around her in a loose semicircle. "Ok, let's start again from where Phillip puts the first ornament up and Janey starts her lines about why we have Christmas. Frank is going to be our tree."

They went through the scene twice; the sweater now covered with golden sleigh bells, silver stars, and red velvet bows all hanging from green metallic hooks. Frank couldn't think of any particular way out of his predicament and was soon laughing along with Grace and the children, stooping occasionally for a shorter child to reach one of the wool loops.

"That's a great look for you, Frank. I take back what I said yesterday about not finding a goofier sweater."

Frank flushed; he hadn't heard Joe coming up the staircase. "Uhh, the tree stand's broken. I'm going to fix it after play practice."

Joe snickered, glancing around the small church until his eyes lit upon a row of coat hooks just inside the door. He plucked two wire coat hangers from the rack, then turned his back on his brother.

"Joe? Hey! What are you doing?" Frank was torn between amused and suspicious.

Joe didn't reply, rapidly bending the wire of one hanger into a circle and beginning a more complex arrangement with the other one. He approached the platform with his creation behind his back. He walked behind his oddly clad sibling, suddenly plopping the circle on top of his head, the star he had fashioned now sticking up six inches over the tousled dark hair.

"Yea! Now the Frankie tree is perfect!" A small girl was squealing at Joe, the remainder of the crowd erupting into giggles. Frank heard the soft click of Joe's camera phone.

Joe gave his best rogue grin. "Oh, I'm thinkin' the Frankie tree's pretty much a new Hardy tradition. Maybe we could keep the star, eh Frank?"

"Don't get your hopes up, dude." The words were sarcastic, but he couldn't stifle his own grin. His cheeks nearly ached he'd smiled so much and he couldn't remember when he'd seen so many unguarded expressions on his brother's face. There was something about this place...

########

An hour later the families that were close enough to hazard the walk home had left the church, leaving a small congregation of the pastor and his wife, Frank, Joe, Grace, Claire, and two young families with five children between them. The pew cushions had been pulled loose and carried to the basement, arranged in front of the blazing fire. The six children sat in a circle in front of the pastor, listening as he told the Christmas story, then passed out candy canes.

"Don't think they'll go as far as tha loaves and tha fishes, but there's plenty of candy if ya boys want some." Billy smiled at the two young men who'd come to be in his church on Christmas Eve.

"Oh, no thank you." Frank began a polite refusal only to feel Joe's elbow brush past his nose as he reached for the bowl.

"Personally, I love candy canes."

Candace turned out the basement lights, letting the dimmer glow of the fire start to lull the children to sleep.

"Maybe we could all start a carol and sing them to sleep." Grace's suggestion was met by a quick nod from the other church members; it was evident that this go around the circle singing thing was nothing new for them.

Frank, however, was a bit less sure. Joe was right next to her and he didn't think curmudgeon renditions of nana murdering seasonal caribou were what she had in mind.

Grace started and finished Away in a Manger while Frank thought that over, turning her face to Joe with a clear you're up expression. Pastor Billy sought to come to his rescue. "If ya do na wanna sing..."

Joe's eyes darted to Frank, seeing someone else. "It's ok… I know one…"

Said the night wind to the little lamb,

Do you see what I see?

Way up in the sky, little lamb?

Do you see what I see?

A star, a star gleaming in the night

With a tail as big as a kite

With a tail as big as a kite.

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy

Do you hear what I hear?

Ringing through the night shepherd boy

Do you hear what I hear?

A song, a song, high above the trees

With a voice as deep as the seas

With a voice as deep as the seas.

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king

Do you know what I know?

In your palace warm mighty king

Do you know what I know?

A child, a child shivers in the cold

Let us bring him silver and gold

Let us bring him silver and gold.

Said the king to the people everywhere

Listen to what I say

Pray for peace people everywhere

Listen to what I say

The Child, the Child sleeping in the night

He will bring us goodness and light

He will bring us goodness and light."

Joe's voice ended softly, the lullaby cadence steadying through the final verse, eyes closed in a memory.

"Your voice is lovely, Joe."

Frank realized Joe had forgotten anyone else was there until Grace spoke into the mesmerized silence.

"Hmm, oh, thanks. Gonna check on the firewood." Joe lurched to his feet, scratching a hand roughly through his hair.

The pastor started to say something as well, stopping at a glance from Frank who was already on his feet to follow his little brother. Billy cleared his throat, beginning Silent Night instead.

Joe stopped at the small stack of wood piled beneath the stair, roughly jabbing at a clearly offensive piece.

Frank put a hand on his arm. Long way from the explosion in the kitchen. "You ok?"

Joe pondered his answer. "Yeah, I am. Didn't expect to think about that here. These people, they're happy. Not I'm at a drunken party so I can distract myself from my real life and act happy, they are deep-down-things-are-right-with-the-core-of-my-world happy. It's been so long..."

"Joe, if you want ..."

"Don't say it Frank, no talking about it on Christmas, remember? What I want right now is for both of us to go back over there and string popcorn or stir cocoa with cinnamon sticks or put out cookies for Santa or whatever it is these folks do on Christmas Eve."

They rejoined the group, fortunately finding the children had dropped off to sleep before Frank had to take a turn in the lullaby brigade. Frank might believe in angels, but unlike his brother he hadn't gotten a voice from one. He'd make his music with a piano, thank you.

One of the dads in the group double checked the sleeping small forms, chuckling when Claire managed to snug onto Frank's lap without opening her eyes. The child certainly seemed enamored with him. "They're all out. So, what are we gonna do about the Santa issue? Presents are all back at our houses."

Grace chimed in. "I was thinking about that. There are some new preschool toys and ball equipment for the church that the kids haven't seen yet; I think we could come up with at least one gift for each of them. We can always tell them Santa left most of their presents at their houses so he didn't have to carry so many to an extra stop. We can find enough stuff around the church that's already ours to make it look good for the adults."

"That'll work. You don't have gifts for Frank and Joe though." A shaggy haired ten year old boy spoke from beneath his blanket.

"Phillip! I thought you were asleep."

He blinked at the woman who was obviously his mother. "I've known for a while, Mom, no worries. I won't tell." He pointed at the smaller kids before rolling over and starting to softly snore.

"We'll help look, but there's no need to find anything for us, we're good."

Billy searched the elder Hardy's eyes. "Ah, I'll find a wee sumpthin', else wise the youngins'll think ya've been naughty. Canna change their ideas about Santa jus' yet."

Having decided on a plan, Grace and the other moms went in search of toys, the pastor started selecting items to give the adults, and Joe and a dad set off to locate the stock of soccer balls and baseball mitts. Since Frank had a sleeping child in his lap, he got babysitter duty.

##########

Christmas morning dawned with dazzling sun blinding off the snow. Toast and jam was all the tiny kitchen could come up with on short notice, but there was plenty for everyone. Soon, the children were eagerly tugging bleary eyed adults upstairs to see what was under the tree. Dizzying peals of laughter confirmed that the children were indeed content with the toys Santa had brought. Billy pulled gifts wrapped in the comic section of a recent newspaper and twine from the kitchen from beneath the tree, checking names before distributing them to the adults. The items were apparently plausible to the children, a hand saw for the maker of the camel cutouts, never mind that it was his anyway, a selection of sheet music for Grace, who turned out to be the choir director, an decorated serving platter for Candace, an illuminated Bible for the pastor. Finally, he handed an item each to Frank and Joe.

"Well, open 'em."

Joe spoke softly for only the pastor's ears. "We can find a way to slip these back..."

"You'll do nothing of the sort." The man's voice was as quietly pitched as Joe's, but it was abruptly fierce, not at all similar to the merry if oddly mixed country accents his family exuded.

Joe was startled and quickly scanned the other man's eyes, but found only the jovial reverend of the night before. A look at Frank confirmed he hadn't heard anything amiss.

Frank was already opening his present. A book. Certainly appropriate enough. Joe couldn't see the title of the tome, but if it wasn't interesting to Frank he could always weight train with it. Thing was huge, its old leather and yellowed pages formidable. Course, who was he kidding? When had any book ever been uninteresting to Frank? Still, the barely audible whistle under Frank's breath was a surprise. Joe took a closer look at the page his brother was scanning. The Collected Works of Charles Dickens, published 1884, opened to a page from A Christmas Carol.

Joe could feel the hard, pointy edges of his own gift through the paper, definitely not a book. So, here goes. A... a star. A silver Moravian star on a small base, designed to be clipped to a Christmas tree branch. The star itself had plain burnished surfaces, but the tiny stand was ornately carved into the form of a winter oak with a small girl leaning against the trunk. A hint of color had been added to the casting, and for a moment he saw dark curls and autumn eyes. Christmas past…

"Merry Christmas, lads." He returned fully to the slightly goofy host who'd met them at the church door.

Frank found a casual voice before Joe. "Merry Christmas. I love to read, and Joe, he's done his share of stargazing. Thank you." He couldn't shake the feeling that the good Reverend knew far more than he let on.

########

The morning passed in cups of hot chocolate, assembly of the nativity outside, and arrival of the town's nearby residents on foot. The two feet of snow precluded anyone but those in the surrounding half dozen houses, but everyone who did manage to walk in brought traditional Christmas food, resulting in overstuffed parishioners for the children's play. Joe had ended up being the one to fix the tree stand, but he still managed to convince the children it would be sooo much better to simply use Frank again instead.

"I'll get you for this." No one else heard his whisper as Frank pulled the now hopelessly picked sweater over his head.

"Sure thing, Frank."

Joe couldn't recall ever spending this much time in a row in a church, Christmas or otherwise. Once the play ended, everyone spilled back outside, adults bringing in more wood and digging out the sidewalks, children starting snowmen.

Frank chuckled as he picked out a long handled shovel from the closest house's shed, tossing a second one across to Joe. Digging they could do. Heaven forbid any snow pile up on Aunt Gertrude's sidewalks. Even now that she'd moved across town, the boys were expected to show up there the minute the last snowflake landed.

Half an hour into the sidewalk project, a massive snowball plowed into the side of Frank's head, fragments making their way inside his collar with icy ease. He whirled, scooping a handful of snow as he turned, to beam Joe in the back.

"Hey! There's kids everywhere, what makes you think I threw it?" The younger Hardy plastered an innocent expression across his frost reddened face.

Frank launched a second orb. "Saying you didn't?"

"Heck no, just would be nice to be given the benefit of the doubt." Joe aimed another volley of his own.

"Got all kinds of doubts about you Joe, mostly involving sanity." Frank pointed at three boys near him, making sure to catch their eyes before darting behind the building wall. The children understood immediately - you're on my team.

Joe recruited a few hooligans of his own and a full scale battle ensued, snowmen and snow angels momentarily abandoned for this more raucous entertainment. Joe's squad had the tougher going, caught in the open field while Frank used the church and surrounding trees for cover. Still, it was fairly even for a while, hundreds of snowballs finding their marks as breathless squeals from the children were soon joined by the younger adults. Joe's group began circling right. Frank could see him darting between combatants, whispering instructions here and there, but the pace of making and firing the white missiles while coaching his own crew kept him from discerning the burgeoning plan. Soon Joe's whole brigade slipped into the pines that overhung the church wall. Frank saw him raise three fingers in succession, eyes widening just as the third one went up and Joe's intention clicked. At the signal, everyone on that side of the impromptu snow war began to furiously shake at the trunks of the nearest tree, dislodging a miniature avalanche that toppled Frank and his helpers to the ground under a good two feet of additional snow.

"Arghh! Joe!" Frank scrambled to dig himself out, ignoring his brother's outstretched hand.

Joe made more of an effort to squelch his laughter. "I win!"

"More like you cheated, you mean."

"Strategy is not cheating, Frank."

Frank shook his head, knowing his own chuckle was only encouraging the force of nature that was Joe Hardy. Oh well, couldn't be helped.

"Shhh," Frank held up a finger, silencing his brother.

Joe cocked his head, tuning out the ongoing noise in the churchyard until he heard what had captured Frank's attention. Sleigh bells?

The rattle of a chain soon joined the approaching noise, along with hoof beats that finally garnered notice from the remainder of the crowd.

"Ah, tha'll be Dad with yer tow truck. Checked the radio and the main roads are open again if you've got chains, plowed an hour ago. You'll need a pull ta get back ta tha exit though. Sure ya can stay a few days?"

Frank raised an eyebrow at Joe. The offer was strangely tempting.

"No, can't really, although we'd love to. We've got family waiting in Whitehead."

"I understand. Glad Jack Frost brought ya our way. Everabody come say bye ta tha lads."

The crowd gathered as Joe got his first look at this so called tow truck. Walter Pearson was standing in the middle of the road, knee deep in snow, holding the reins of a hitch of six enormous horses, rich sorrel hides ending in white shrouded feet the size of dinner plates. "You expect me to let you pull Mom's car with them!? We just got it replaced after the Halloween incident!"

A quizzical look crossed the ancient face at that, but the elder Pearson apparently decided not to inquire. "Scratch it less than a real tow and only thing tha'll work anyhow, boy. Now are ye comin' or no?"

Joe ran a hand over his face, staring at the old man. "We're comin'."

Handshakes, hugs, and not a few pieces of fudge were exchanged before they found themselves back at the gas station, Joe watching as the horses extracted the sedan from a veritable snow bank. It took until dark for the horses to get it the remainder of the way from the station to the entrance ramp for the main road. Although still reduced to a lane each way, it had obviously been plowed more recently than the route into Silpan.

"Ach, here's another gift fer ye."

Frank took the proffered item, turning the clear glass globe over in his hands and watching the iridescent flakes inside flutter onto a single steeple white church surrounded by pines. It look remarkably like the one they'd left at the other end of the snowy road, even down to a hitch of draft horses out front, although these were pulling a sleigh, not a car.

They said their goodbyes once more, thanking Walter for the snow globe. Frank's expression faltered slightly at the old man's words.

"Ye don't seem much for trinkets, but keep the globe. It'll remind ya of us."

"It's been a pretty memorable day; doubt we'll need a reminder."

The old man nodded slowly, dropping his voice to a near whisper as he leaned over toward Joe. "Perhaps. Choosing what to remember, though, son, also lets ye choose what ta forget, yea? Worth considering, out there in the snow. Merry Christmas to ye."

"Merry Christmas, Walter."

Five very slow hours later the volvo pulled into the resort in Whitehead, both boys eager to sink into their beds. Some of the places they stayed travelling for cases had very little in the way of room accessories, but this was a tourist area and Joe had found a local attractions book and state atlas in the nightstand. Maybe he'd ski tomorrow after all. He pushed that aside, crossing the room to place his star on the dwarf hotel tree. Satisfied that at least one decoration was now of his own selection, he started back to the bed.

And abruptly stopped, cupping the ornament in his hand. The star was unchanged, jaunty points nestling into the branches, but the girl... She sat as before, the bluish folds of her dress and coat swirled around tucked legs, but the tresses escaping her hat glowed a distinct gold in the twinkling lights. The sculpted eyes almost looked back at him, their depths a winter sky grey.

No, the curls had been dark… he was sure…

Joe grabbed the atlas, rapidly shuffling pages… no…. not that page…. Not that one… but….

He was slowly spinning the snow globe in his hands when Frank emerged from the shower, more relaxed than Joe had seen him in months. He tossed the open book onto Frank's bed.

"What?" Frank picked it up, looking at the map of the mountains as Joe tapped his finger on the route they'd been driving.

"Find Silpan for me there, bro."

Frank turned the page sideways, as if that would help. "Wait, I..." He pulled his phone from his pocket, opening the browser.

"Don't bother, I already looked it up. No such place."

"Huh."

"Yeah." Joe could have sworn one of the tiny horses within the glass stomped a hoof as he settled the globe on bedside table and turned off the light…. Nah, Hardy, get a grip.

"Night Frank."

"Night Joe."

Fin.

#######

Song Credits:

Suzy Snowflake - written by Sid Tepper and Roy C. Bennett, made famous by Rosemary Clooney 1951

Do You See What I See? - written October 1962 with lyrics by Noël Regney and music by Gloria Shayne