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The Art of Giving

by faust

Part One

Adam woke with a start to thundering footsteps on the stairs. Christmas morning, no question. No matter how old his little brother would get, Joe would always be the first one up at Christmas and the first one down in the living room, and Hoss wouldn't be too far behind. Eager as young children to get their presents.

Adam always wondered how Christmas presents could be so important. It was nice to get something, not that anyone got him wrong, but in the end it was always the same: arms and armours for Joe, riding stuff for Hoss, tobacco and brandy for Pa, books for him. The only questions were: which calibre was Joe's new pistol, which colour was Hoss' riding gear this year, would Pa have a pipe coming with his tobacco, and had his family been able to choose the right titles for him for once.

There was a slight moment of unpredictability this year, though. After some very lively discussions with his not-overly-enthusiastic family—Joe's "Can't we have one last quiet Christmas? Please?" combined with a heartbreakingly begging pout still stood vividly in his memory—Adam had finally been allowed to invite Juliet Heatherstone to the Ponderosa for Christmas. She was, after all, the woman he was going to marry, and sooner or later the family would have to get used to having her around. Before long, of that Adam was sure, they would discover that Juliet wasn't half as demanding as they thought if she felt welcome and comfortable. And Adam was determined to show Juliet that there was no reason not to let her guards down when with his family—that soon would be her family, too.

Of course, Juliet had been reluctant to accept the invitation: staying the night in a house with four men had seemed very inappropriate. However, when Adam had stressed out that her only other Christmas option included not only Mrs. Hawkins' tooth-breaking biscuits, but also the prospect of days spent in the nerve-wracking company of the widow's newest guests—some very unappealing businessmen from Syracuse, who spent all their free time in the boarding house's parlour bragging about how much salt they had sold, were selling and would be selling in the future, and how salt should rather be called White Gold—not to mention with a slightly drunk, umpteenth repetition of Mrs. Hawkins' late husband's adventures in the vaudevilles of the world, Juliet had readily yielded and agreed to join the Cartwrights for the holidays.

They had spent a surprisingly apollonian evening, with Juliet thanking Hop Sing for an excellent banquet in a very gracious and complimentary laudation that actually made the cook blush, Hoss and Joe behaving more or less like grown ups for once (well, maybe except for the episode with the wax angel and the frying pan), Pa nearly choking over having a female voice reading him the Christmas Tale after so many years, and Adam spitting his brandy all over the room when Juliet suggested they all could sing some Christmas carols. Later, when Joe and Hoss had commenced the epic checkers battle they fought out at every Christmas and Pa had settled down with his pipe and the edition of Dickens' Christmas Carol Juliet had brought as a "present to the host," Adam and Juliet had snuggled up on the settee in front of the fire place, just enjoying to be together. Juliet had laid her head on his shoulder, and squirmed and hissed "shh" and secretly pinched his arm when he had started to whisper naughty nothings in her ear, but had also smiled and let her eyes sparkle and hadn't taken her ear out of hearing distance. All in all, a cheerful, pleasurable Christmas Eve.

Adam yawned and stretched his long limbs. Time to get up. Juliet claimed to be an early riser, and Adam would not push his luck and risk her being alone with his younger brothers' childish Christmas antics. She would surely find some biting commentary for that, and Adam didn't want the peaceful spirit getting spoiled by her sarcastic words that Hoss and especially Joe wouldn't recognize as the teasing they were meant to be, and that would leave them grouchy and sulking, and less than eager to spend another day with her ladyship.

When he came down the stairs, Hoss and Joe were already unwrapping presents, and even Pa was fingering something shiny, and red, and with a golden bow. Juliet was sitting in the red chair next to the fire place, a vision in heavy scarlet silk, a now closed book in her lap, sipping at a cup of tea and watching the men with a contented smile.

Adam exchanged 'Merry Christmases' with everyone and worked his way through a pile of wrapped books. Oliver Twist (Pa), Doctor Faustus (Joe; really, he should know better than to ask Juliet for advice), The Song of Hiawatha (Hoss, bless him—on second thought, though, he must have asked Juliet, too; but she would never use Hoss to give Adam a wipe, that was a role she apparently had reserved for Joe), and a few more. When he had thanked everybody profoundly, Juliet held out a parcel to him.

"Merry Christmas, Adam," she said. "I hope you'll like this."

It was...well, it definitely wasn't a book. A good start. Adam opened the oval box and peered inside. He saw two strange contraptions: thin, long steel blades perpendicularly fixed on wooden planks.

"Are these... skates?" he asked unbelievingly.

"Yes."

"But...why...?" Adam gazed at her in wonder. "I never..."

"Oh, come on," Juliet beamed. "The way you move, you're a natural born skater!"

ooOoo

Later that day, out on the frozen lake, Adam still wondered what could have made her think so. His butt ached from the seemingly hundredth fall, his ears rang from Juliet's laughter, and his nose was so cold that he was sure it would simply fall off within the next few minutes. The only thing that made the experience worth the effort was Juliet. She was standing on the ice on her own skates, gracefully keeping her balance, with her thick black woollen coat, her ridiculously thin black kid gloves, that always let her hands get so cold she had to warm them up inside Adam's warm jacket (but only when no one was watching), and her long light blue Kashmir wool scarf, wrapped around her head and shoulders and still hanging low down her back and at the front of her coat. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes bright and sparkling with joy.

"Slowly, Adam, slowly," she told him for what must have been the thousandth time. "Keep one foot on the ice, lean onto the blade and push with the other foot." She laughed again. "Rock over and bite!"

And suddenly, amazingly, he moved. The blade was gliding over the ice, and when he increased speed— "Yes, Adam, that's it!"—he became steadier, more balanced and confident. It was pure bliss—like drifting—no, like flying! A weightless floating, a suddenly effortless epiphany of speed and balance.

Juliet encouraged him, coached him, corrected this little detail and that, and finally she joined him, taking his hand in hers and they glided over the frozen surface, together and in undreamed-of harmony. Eventually they stopped, and Juliet shoved her cold hands in Adam's coat, and he shuddered when he felt her fingers through his shirt—not only because of the cold—and she gazed at him and smiled and said, "I told you, you're a natural!"

And then she was all coy and un-Juliet-like and asked, "Do you like your present, Adam?"

Adam felt the soft wool of her scarf in his face, and he inhaled her scent of snow and wool and cinnamon. He closed his eyes and said softly, "This is the best present I've ever had, Mylady."

***tbc***