---------------------------------------------------------------December1802----------------------------------------------------------
It was precarious, really, her coming on such a day, on that bright and selfish December morn when the winds whiled away the long hours by teasingly riffling the pages of his book and tweaking his nose, icy-fingered and impish, an air of cold delight in the drafty schoolroom on that day of his pathetic little life. When he blew on his numbed fingers to dull the cold, his nose and cheeks undoubtedly cherry, and tried too hard to concentrate on the little tome of Plato, she burst in the door, she who he had not seen in more than a decade, frippery and all-alight and utterly unchanged.
He hadn't known that he had missed her—not at all, really—until she came.
"Eb!" She ran to him prettily, all graceful like a dancer—like so. Everything about her was pretty; from the way her big eyes shone lucidly toward him to the rather ungainly trip-up she made as she advanced toward the desk, almost falling into his lap. She righted herself, dusting off her skirts and standing lazily, high-buttoned toes turned in and arms thrust out toward him. Her hands were outstretched, beseeching. He allowed her to pull him up, shivering at the warmth of her little hands. How like bone they were! Dry and hard and white, almost like porcelain.
He stood, and was surprised to find himself towering over her. He had to remind himself that she was sixteen and he only fifteen, so their statures contrasted. He took a moment to look at her, and she him.
She was—oh she was—beautiful. Ebenezer had to remind himself that she was his sister, for one, and, for another, that he had made up his mind a time ago that the girl for him (whoever she might be) was most certainly not skin-and-bone. This girl was skinny, hollowed out by some unseen blade-against-blade of outward turmoil. That pale-as-paper face of hers with its sharp cheekbones and perfect high forehead was bony as the rest of her, managing to look elegant for all its points and slants. Long eyelashes almost as black as ink fringed cobalt eyes as dark and as big as blueberries. By the look of her, she was the embodiment of innocence; and though Ebenezer knew that this was far from the truth, her appearance suited her.
Even at fifteen, Ebenezer knew he was already a man. And he knew, instinctively, that even at sixteen, Fan was still only a child.
"Well?" Fan bit her lip, her scarlet mouth curving audaciously into something of a smile. She looked up through her eyelashes at him, her gaze so sunny and wide-eyed it almost hurt. She positively emanated light, and it scared him. A lot.
"Haven't you missed me?"
All it took was a nod of his head; if Ebenezer had known beforehand that it would be that easy, he would have done it ages ago. But oh! Suddenly she was in his arms, embracing him delightfully, kissing his cheek, his nose, the edge of his mouth—anything she could get to she kissed. A torrent of affection came spilling out of her, left strewn and sloppy about the room.
"My dear, dear brother! How I've missed you, and do you know I've waited ten entire years for you to come home! And now you may, and we can be—" Her flawless brow furrowed, as if searching for the word—and now, here it was! "—together. And I've missed you ever so much, and I love you, Ebby, I do!"
Her words flew from her mouth, smattering the pristine winter chill with warmth and light and sound. It took him a moment to notice that his hands were at her small waist, and he supposed, ruefully, that this was a bit of a good thing. Fan looked as if she might explode from happiness, and truthfully, Ebenezer felt a bit giddy himself.
"I'm to come home to stay, then?" His words came hesitant, halting, tinged with the slightest sliver of hope.
Fan nodded, her tumultuous mane of dark chestnut hair reacting with every move of her head. She smiled at him again, saying, "Oh, yes! Home's ever so much better now, you know, and Father's ever so much kinder." She looked down, almost sorrowfully. Quick as could be, her eyes snapped up to his again. "And I wasn't afraid to ask him, one night, if you might come home, and he said you could! And you're never to come back to this place, never, never!" Fan stopped, her dark eyebrows inclined upwards.
"You'll be with me for Christmas, you know," she almost whispered, as if they were still children, like it was a secret.
Ebenezer glanced round once, and again, round the drafty room with its wooden desks and iron window castings. "Fan, that's capital, you know that?" His brown eyes lit, glowing outward with a resin of bright fire.
Fan exploded once again. "We mustn't stay long; there's a carriage waiting outside for us. Of course, the driver'll stay as long as I need him too as long as I keep uncovered." She gestured at the low neckline of her black lacy frock, smiling devilishly up at him. Ebenezer gaped at her protruding collarbone and prominent breastbone and general—exposure for a moment, then straightened up, averting his eyes and glancing nervously round the room for a third time.
Fan laughed, a pleasant little sound, and hit him lightly on the arm. "Surely you've seen women abuse their charms before! I've only just discovered the power of mine, for I suppose I'm quite pretty, although my body lacks a certain something in the way of…" She glanced down at her small chest. "… well, you must understand!" She colored a bit, the blood flooding into her face and tinting her pale cheeks a lovely crimson.
This was how Ebenezer knew that Fan was not wholly a child; although he knew more of the world than she, it seemed that she knew more about living. She was only innocent in the ways of the world, living shut up in that big house her whole life, but he knew almost nothing of people.
It was Ebenezer's turn to laugh, and he did, delightedly so. "You are becoming quite the woman, little Fan!"
"Don't call me little, Ebby, or I shall be forced to push you down and sit on you like I used to." Ebenezer laughed again at the memory of six-year-old Fan and his five-year-old self tumbled together on the parlor sofa, she squashing him with her body, which was at that time bigger than his.
"You forget, Fanny darling—" Fan scowled; no one knew better than her brother that she hated being called Fanny— "that I am now bigger than you, and therefore stronger."
"You forget, Ebby, that I am still older than you, and that I am now a lady. You have to do as I say, because it's only polite."
"You must have been a lady your whole life then, for it seems to me that I have been forever doing as you say."
Fan smiled. "It seems to me, however, that you have always enjoyed doing it." She grinned, pirouetting out of her brother's embrace, and, dragging him by the arm, sang out, "Let's get your things, Eb! The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned."
A positively dreadful voice sounded from the hall—"Get Master Ebenezer's trunk!" Fan and Ebenezer started at the sound of it, and were shocked into docility by the presence of the voice's owner. A wizened old man stood, ushering the siblings in for a parody of a refreshment and some rather dry small talk.
The old headmaster was entirely won over by Fan; Ebenezer wondered why this was such a surprise to him. Everyone had always loved Fan; she possessed a certain charm and poise that could not be learnt. And she used it—oh, she used it to the best of her ability even now, her eyes sparking and her pretty head of curls alive with wit and acumen. Every word that issued from her mouth pleased the old headmaster, whose rheumy eyes now gleamed with wry delight at Fan's intellect. Ebenezer had truly never seen his headmaster speak with such vigor, or indeed speak to anyone at all as an equal. But why in God's name should he be surprised? It was Fan, after all, and therefore to be expected.
Admitting that Fan knew how to make things work for her was not difficult; on the contrary, it was clear when she began widening her blue eyes and pleading the headmaster's pardon and promising (through her teeth, presumably) to come again. Ebenezer was fascinated; truly fascinated at his sister's slipperiness when they were suddenly thrust through the door and out into a flurry of glittery snow, silver and winking, borne away on the puffs and gusts of pale wind. The old gentleman bid them good-bye, and a "Merry Christmas!" too, and then they were off, as soon as the trunk was strapped to the top of the coach.
"That," said Fan, leaning against the wall of the carriage and propping her feet up beside Ebenezer on the opposite seat, "was absolutely the most horrid cake I've ever had. He's a funny old gentleman, though, isn't he? I rather liked him, for all his bluster and attempts at bravado."
Ebenezer said he agreed. Fan withdrew a French book she said was called The Hunchback of Notre-Dame—"It's really called Notre-Dame de Paris in the original French, but then, of course, I wouldn't know where to begin reading it—" and began to read aloud, just—to Ebenezer's joy—as she used to. Sighing contently, Eb leaned against the carriage window, drinking in the sound of his sister's voice.
All was eternity, all in this little moment. Here they were, here together. Here they were home, and here so achingly, they would live again.
It was almost Christmas, after all.