2
Christmas Traditions
Regina woke before her mother for the first time since they had moved into this cabin on the outskirts of town . . .a cabin bequeathed to them by a rich trapper whose life Belle had saved back when she was still accepted in Storybrooke—before they had discovered that despite her "reintegration" Belle did not and would not harbor any ill will towards those who had held her captive for five years, and indeed practiced the skills she had learned from the Mesquakie medicine woman Willow Heart. Once that had been found out, as well as another pointed detail about her daughter, the people had cast them out, saying they could live beside but not among them.
On the few times she did venture into town with her mother to get supplies they couldn't make or grow themselves, Regina always stuck close to Belle, distrusting the townsfolk to ever have her best interests or any fellow feeling like was preached in the Good Book towards her or her mother. She remembered asking Belle once after some nasty brats had teased her and called her a half-breed bastard why the citizens of Storybrooke, supposedly God fearing, didn't follow the teachings of their holy man and book. And Belle had replied that fear breeds ignorance, and ignorant was what many of Storybrooke's townsfolk were. "They don't understand because they don't wish to understand. Ignorance is bliss, and it's easier to hate the different than it is to embrace it and cherish the things which make us unique."
Regina thought her mama was the wisest and smartest woman in all of New England and maybe even the whole United States. And she was pretty as well, though among those she had once called her people, it was a person's heart which made them beautiful, and their deeds, not their looks. But in Storybrooke, it seemed the opposite held true, though it didn't seem to matter if her mama or she had pretty faces once the white folks found out about what they were.
Regina pulled on her sheepskin coat to go out and feed the chickens and gather the eggs and milk their cow, Bossy. As she stepped out onto the porch, she saw a large turkey hung by a rawhide thing over the porch rail, plucked and ready for roasting and stuffing. Beside it was a small feather with a tiny silver horseshoe on it.
Regina groaned. Aww, Running Horse! Tis fine turkey but you've got to stop doing this, my friend!
She went to remove the turkey from the railing, thinking it was a good sized bird, probably twenty pounds. She knew she really shouldn't accept it, but she wanted a nice Christmas dinner and Belle would be so happy they actually had a decent meal to feed Mr. Gold and his son. Regina untied the bird and brought it inside, knowing it had probably been shot fresh this morning. She left the token where it was.
Accepting that would be a mistake, since it meant she accepted Horse's courtship as well, and that was impossible. She could never allow the brave to court her, since she didn't love him, and unless she wished to run off and become a Fox Indian, known as Mesquakie, forever, and abandon Belle, her options were very limited.
Then she stamped back out into the snow to gather the eggs and milk the cow in the small barn, clinging to a sturdy rawhide string tied to the back porch railing through the deep snow to the barn. She yanked open the barn door and inhaled the familiar scents of hay, oats, carrots, and chicken and cow manure.
She wrinkled her nose a bit, then grabbed a woven basket beside the door and began to gather the eggs from the hens that were sitting on nests inside it. Some of the hens were clever and hid from her, requiring her to go on small hunts to get the dozen eggs from their chickens.
She turned to attend to the cow once her basket was full of eggs and instead heard the familiar swish swish of milk squirting into the pail and saw the lanky boy who was their unexpected guest sitting on a stool competently milking Bossy.
Regina gaped. For Bossy, so named because she liked to be the boss, was standing calmly when she gave both Regina and Belle a hard time and fussed and knocked over the pail or stepped on their feet when they milked her on occasion.
Bae glanced up, feeling eyes on his back. "Hey. I figured you could use some help." His hands continued milking as he smiled genially at the girl holding the basket, her dark hair hanging down her back like a cloak of ebony velvet.
"You know how to milk a cow?" Regina blurted, then could have kicked herself.
"I've milked cows and goats," Bae replied cheerfully while Bossy chewed her cud.
"Bossy's got a temper and is difficult," Regina told him matter-of-factly. "She usually kicks over the pail or sometimes me or Mama."
Bae nodded and stroked the brown cow's flank. "Used to milk cows for my neighbor and she taught me a trick to keep a cow occupied. Give them a treat of alfalfa or clover. Works every time." He jerked his head at Bossy, who was happily munching.
"That's really clever," Regina admitted, impressed in spite of herself. This was the first white boy she'd met that hadn't looked at her with pity or sneered at her for being half-Mesquakie, even though that half had been a chief's daughter. Though even that had been easier to take than what they had said and done when they found out she was also a shaman's apprentice and could do magic—true magic and not the false kind the whites called magic, also known as sleight of hand. And if he knew, he would be like all the rest—call you evil witch and drive you away. She clutched the basket of eggs tighter. Only Belle's intervention had saved her, though at the price of her own exile as well. Regina knew there was no way she could repay the debt she owed the other woman, except one—by being the best daughter she could to the woman who had once been her father's captive and later on his wife for a mere two hours before a soldier's gun had made her a widow.
Those same soldiers had produced a treaty that stated the Great White Father in Washington demanded the return of all white captives and part white ones as well, and her father refused to give up his wife and daughter, resulting in his death—and then she and Belle had been taken anyway, back to where they belonged according to the government, except the world to which they supposedly belonged would never accept them, Regina thought angrily.
And they call me an ignorant savage! She glared at Bae's back, thinking that thanks to her Boston educated mother, she could probably teach those snippy Storybrooke maidens and their sneering beaus a thing or two about literature and mathematics as well as being able to stalk quieter than the wind and identify every wild plant that grew in the area and use it as well as fish and call fire to her hand and a bird from a tree with a single whispered Name.
Bae felt the heat of the girl's gaze and turned around again. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked, puzzled. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Regina shook her head abruptly. "I'm not. I mean . . .it's not you I'm mad at. It's the other folks in Storybrooke. They're the reason Mama and I are outcasts and can't have a merry Christmas."
"Why can't you? Have a merry Christmas, I mean?" Bae queried. He wanted badly to ask why these two women were outcasts, but he didn't want to pry into their personal business, it wasn't polite. And Rumple had drilled manners into his son before he could walk, by endless firm repetition.
Regina sighed and leaned against the wooden partition. "I guess we could . . . but it's lonely, with just the two of us to bake and sing carols and cook a nice dinner. Except . . .you're here now so . . ."
"If we're intruding, my papa and I will go as soon as he's able to travel," Bae began.
"No! I . . .I didn't mean that . . ." Regina stammered, suddenly realizing she didn't want this stranger to leave at all. "My mama would be glad to have you for supper."
"How about you?" Bae asked, somewhat challengingly.
"Me too, Bae," Regina added, then she looked at her feet awkwardly. She felt bold, inviting a boy she had only just met for supper this way. She probably should have asked Belle first. She wondered if that made her a tramp like the boys in Storybrooke claimed she was.
Blushing, she whispered, "I need to get these eggs back to Mama for the ginger cake," then she fled back to the house, leaving Bae wondering what he'd done to make her run from him like he was the Dark One himself.
Inside the cottage, Belle had gotten up and dressed swiftly in her workday blue dress with brown piping on the bodice and a white shift underneath it with gathered sleeves, simple garments but made with loving touches by her talented daughter, for Regina sewed better than Belle, who could sew skin easier than she could cloth.
She then went to stir up the fire and check upon her sleeping house guests, only to find that both were awake and she almost banged right into Rumple as he limped back from the necessary. "Oh! You're awake! I'm so sorry!"
Rumple quirked an eyebrow at her and said, "I'm the one who ought to be sorry, dearie. For wandering about your house like I own it. My son Bae told me where your . . .err . . .outhouse was before he went to help out with some chores."
"Oh, so that's where . . .then he must be with Regina, my daughter," Belle said, and that was one mystery solved. She held out a hand belatedly. "I'm Belle Winters, Mr. Gold."
"Pleased to meet you, mistress," Rumple said politely, and took her hand and bowed over it as was proper where he'd come from. "I'm Rum . . .err . . .Gold."
"Rum?" she eyed him askance. "Is that a nickname or was one of your parents in love with the drink?" An instant later she realized what her runaway tongue had said, and clamped a hand over her mouth in mortification.
"My papa was," Rumple chuckled. "And yes, it is, but I'm not telling you my full name, since I . . .prefer not to use it unless I have to," he improvised swiftly. He liked this woman's frankness. It was refreshing. "Bae says you and your daughter live here alone, is that so?"
"Yes. I'm a widow, you see."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Yes, thank you. I am too. But it's been nearly a year since my husband died, so I have put off mourning," she explained, not bothering to tell him that in the Mesquakie tradition, which she had been married in, there was no wearing black for mourning, only shorn hair and ashes on one's face for certain period, and besides, no white folks she knew would even acknowledge her marriage to Winter Storm. And you were only his wife for two hours, you barely made it through the wedding ceremony and the feast before your world was shattered by a bullet and some court order. You were both bride and widow all in one day, though no one in the church regards you as such, and say it was not a true marriage, and yet some believe despite that you were his mistress also. They will never believe the truth, that Winter Storm—Adam as he was called among the English—never dishonored me ever, even when I was his captive. It's enough for those judgmental harpies that I allowed a filthy savage to touch me, much less admit that I loved him!
Then she buried the memories and reminded herself that this man was not like the others in Storybrooke, and moreover, he had been injured and was in need of her care.
"Forgive me, Mr. Gold. You must be in some pain after striking your head that way. Do you need any assistance back to the couch, sir?" she asked softly, her blue eyes bright with concern.
"No, I . . .I can manage," he coughed awkwardly. "My leg is stiff but I've had worse," he grimaced as he made his way to the sofa again and sat down gingerly. He was bruised in a few unmentionable places by that fall, and without his magic was just an ordinary spinner again.
"Did your son tell you that I'm a . . .wise woman?" Belle queried, almost saying "medicine woman" as she had been trained by one before recalling that revealing too much about her past might shock and disgust her houseguest. "I bound your head and I can give you a tincture of laudanum for the pain and a snow pack also for the swelling. You're lucky, Mr. Gold. A few more inches down and you might have never woken again in this world."
"Even fools deserve a little luck now and then," Rumple chuckled softly. He touched his bandaged head. "And a wee bit of a potion wouldn't come amiss right now, Mrs. Winters." Indeed his head was now throbbing like an anvil and he gritted his teeth.
Belle saw the lines of pain about his mouth and in his eyes and she hurried to her apothecary chest in her stillroom and unlocked it with the key she carried about her neck. She found the laudanum in a green glass flask and carefully measured three drops in a small glass of water and stirred it.
Then, after locking the cabinet, she went and gathered some snow in one of her kerchiefs and tied it. She brought both items back to where Mr. Gold was sitting.
"Thank you, dearie," he said, taking the glass and downing the contents swiftly. He made a face.
"Sorry, I know that's bitter. Would you like some tea? Chicken broth?" Belle asked, handing him the ice pack. Their hands brushed slightly and she was shocked to feel an unusual heat flow through her at his touch. Get your head out of the clouds, Belle! He'd be running off down the road if he knew what you really were—an Indian captive and a red man's squaw. "Is your stomach upset?"
"A little," he allowed, putting the snow pack on the back of his head. As the snow numbed his injury, Rumple said, "I must thank you for your kindness in taking me and my son in, Mrs. Winters. If not for you, we would have frozen out there."
"It was the least I could do. After all it's Christmas, the season of giving and hope. And goodwill towards man."
"I see." Rumple nodded, though he was unsure just what kind of holiday this Christmas was, and wished he dared ask more about it. He saw the tree in the corner, and said, "What an interesting decoration, dearie."
Belle smiled. "It is rather pretty, isn't it? Even though it's pitiful compared to the big decorated trees in the town square in Boston where I originally come from, and even Storybrooke. But then, we're just apothecaries here."
"Well, I think it's lovely," Rumple asserted.
"Thank you," Belle blushed, and then hurried to get him a cup of tea and some broth she had bubbling on the stove.
She returned and had given Mr. Gold both mugs just as Regina came in with her basket of eggs and a turkey in one hand.
"Regina! Where did you get a turkey?" Belle exclaimed.
"It was left on the porch, Mama," Regina replied. "By a—mysterious benefactor," she added, knowing that her mother would understand her reference. "Now we can have a nice Christmas dinner after all."
"Bring it in the kitchen and I'll start making the stuffing and cranberry relish," Belle instructed, having preserved cranberries just in case for this very occasion. "Oh, and meet Mr. Gold. Mr. Gold, this is my daughter, Regina."
Regina managed a pretty fair curtsey with her hands full of turkey. "Pleased to meet you, sir. Welcome to our home. Mama, Mr. Gold and Bae can stay for Christmas, right?"
"Of course, you silly goose!" Belle laughed. "As if I would turn a guest out of my home on Christmas day!"
"Today is Christmas?" Rumple repeated.
"Actually, today is Christmas Eve," Belle corrected. "But some celebrate it as well. And we can too."
Bae entered with the pail of milk soon after Regina had gone into the kitchen to put the turkey in a pan and set it in the cellar to keep cool.
Belle took it from him and said, "Pour yourself a cup of tea, it's raw out there today with the temperature dropping like it is. I'll make breakfast in a moment."
Bae went and sat down at the kitchen table, and saw the fine tea service on it, white with a pretty blue willow and gold rims and said, "This is really something."
"That was a gift from an old friend whose life I saved when he was sick from an infected animal bite." Belle told him. "This cabin and that tea service were to thank me."
"Was he a rich gentleman?" asked Bae, stirring some honey into his tea.
"No, but he was a rich trapper, trapped beaver and other furs," Belle explained. "And he had no next of kin, so when he died some years later he bequeathed what he had to me and my daughter."
Which had been a lucky thing since otherwise Belle and Regina would have been living in a lean to in the woods or a cave.
"His name was Lumiere Jardin," Belle continued as she mixed batter in a bowl for flapjacks. "He came from France, or at least his relatives did. His papa fought with Lafayette and Washington in the revolution that freed us from Britain, or so he always said. This service was one of his family heirlooms."
"So be careful you don't break it," Regina warned.
"I won't. I'm very careful with fragile things," Bae said, giving her a pointed glance.
The girl sniffed. "I'm hardly fragile, Baelfire. I can hunt and fish and track as well as any boy. And ride a horse too." Then she bit her lip, for she knew such pursuits weren't considered ladylike, or so her tutors had always told her when she had gotten "re-educated" into normal American society again. "And sew!" she added defiantly.
"That's good," Bae said approvingly. "A girl needs to be able to do more than walk along in a dress and preen herself in a mirror out here."
Regina's mouth dropped open. So did Belle's.
"Then . . . you don't mind that I can . . .do what I told you?" the dark-haired girl stammered.
"Why would I mind? Those are the skills you need to keep alive," he replied.
"Then you're smarter than half the boys in Storybrooke!" Regina declared and for the first time she gave him a true smile. It felt wonderful to be accepted like this. Though she wondered how long it would last.
Belle finished making the flapjacks while Regina scrambled up some eggs and fried venison sausage she had made from a deer Horse had given her a few months ago, and the sausage was almost the only meat they had any more.
The scent of meat frying made Rumple's stomach rumble hungrily, and he set down the almost melted snow pack in the empty cup and walked slowly into the kitchen, his mouth watering. "Might I join you ladies? Or am I banished to the couch as an invalid?" he teased, his brown eyes crinkling.
"Mr. Gold! I didn't hear you come in," Belle cried, and almost dropped the frying pan on the floor at his unexpected appearance. "Please, sit down and have some tea. Breakfast is ready, if you think your stomach can handle it."
He nodded. "My stomach has assured me, Mrs. Winters, that it is very eager to handle whatever you have just cooked that smells so divine."
"It's just eggs, flapjacks, and venison sausage," Belle said, carrying the plate of eggs and pancakes to the table. "Regina, get the syrup."
After Regina had placed the clever syrup holder, which looked like a woman holding a pitcher, on the table, everyone dove into the pancakes, drowning them in maple syrup and then eating the scrambled eggs and sausage.
Rumple ate sparingly, for even though he was hungry, he knew head wounds often could make one's stomach play tricks and he didn't want to get sick after this lovely meal. So he took only two pancakes, a small amount of eggs, and two sausages. He also had some tea with honey.
"This is wonderful, dearie," he told Belle.
"I'm lucky my friend Willow taught me to cook as well as to doctor people," Belle said. "Because before I moved from Boston, I could just about make tea and soup. I was a volunteer librarian, and lived with my aging father and we had a cook, Mrs. Potts, who made all our meals for us."
"I taught you how to make corn cakes and pemmican," Regina reminded her.
"True," Belle admitted.
"What's pemmican?" Bae wanted to know.
"Food that a Mesquakie warrior eats while on a hunt, or during the winter if the hunting isn't going well," Regina told him. "It's dried venison jerky mixed with dried fruit, like cranberries, and hot venison fat. When it hardens you can take it with you and it travels well and is very good for you to eat. It lasts a long time."
"That sounds a lot better than the dried beef we ate once, Papa. It was like eating shoe leather," Bae grimaced, and helped himself to a fourth pancake and another sausage.
"That's because you've never had to eat shoe leather, lad," Rumple snorted.
Regina eyed the older Gold. "Have you, Mr. Gold?"
"Once, when I was but a wee lad and my papa lost all our money gambling in the bar," he answered honestly. "And after that, no real food tasted bad."
"How awful!" Belle said sympathetically.
"Well, yes, it was. Which is why I made sure never to have my son go hungry or cold." Rumple said quietly.
"What do you do, Mr. Gold?"
"I'm a spinner and a weaver by trade," he replied, for so he had been once, and it appeared he would be so again, since his magic was lost to him.
"Papa can weave the softest cloth and spin the finest thread," Bae boasted. "And some people say that he could spin straw into gold if he tried!"
Rumple coughed sharply and gave Bae a warning Look. Baelfire, watch what you say! He groaned inwardly. "My son exaggerates a wee bit. But I am a master spinner . . .or was until I served a stint in the army and got this as a result," he tapped his lame leg. It was true.
"Were you shot by a minie ball?" Belle asked kindly.
Rumple shook his head. "No. A hammer crushed my ankle." That was also true.
"That's dreadful!" Regina cried. "And the doctors couldn't fix it?"
"No. They said I would be lame for the rest of my life, and I was lucky I didn't need it removed," Rumple said honestly. "So in a way I ought to be grateful for small favors."
"It's too bad you didn't have my mama and Willow there to patch you up. I'm sure they could have fixed your leg so you could walk on it," said Regina loyally.
"Regina, I can't fix everything," Belle chuckled. "It all depended on how bad the break was."
"But Papa can still spin the finest thread anywhere," Bae asserted. "And make clothes."
"And this is why you were heading to Storybrooke, Mr. Gold?" Belle asked then. "To see if the hot springs could offer you some relief, or a cure?"
Rumple swallowed hard and nearly choked on his pancake. "Err . . umm . . ." he took a quick gulp of tea and almost burned his tongue as he thought quickly. " . . .of course. I've heard some marvelous things about them, though I fear I shall always walk with a cane."
"There are worse things," Belle said practically. "In Boston there were several veterans of the War for Independence that had one leg or no legs and the same with an arm."
"Yes, of course," the spinner agreed, for she was correct. But hearing about these hot springs made him have something he'd thought he'd lost years ago, when he'd staggered through the door of his cottage to greet his baby son and wife only to find Milah hated him for his decision to come home rather than to die, and that something was hope. So he asked diffidently, "Do—do you know if these hot springs are . . .available all the time to someone or do you have to make an appointment or something to use them?"
Belle thought for a moment. "Uh . . .I know they are open to the public every Monday and Friday, and today is Wednesday, so the next day is after Christmas, on Friday. We could go into Storybrooke then if you'd like, Mr. Gold."
"I would, just for one time, to see if it worked. Even a little."
Belle saw the hope shining in his eyes and though she usually avoided the town like the plague, she found she couldn't bear to see it die. She sensed instinctively that this man had had very little hope in his life, and she knew well what that was like, since after her return to the white world, she also had lost hope of ever fitting in and being accepted, since somehow her love for a Mesquakie war chief had tainted her. "Then we shall plan a trip this Friday. Perhaps a Christmas miracle might take place and your leg improve."
"I shall pray that's the case," Rumple said sincerely. Then he added, "And please, if you would, call me Rum. You needn't stand on formality after you've saved my life and my son's, Mrs. Winters."
Belle felt her cheeks pinken slightly. "Well, it really isn't proper, but . . ."
"Oh, hang proper, Mama!" Regina burst out. "What did proper ever get either of us anyhow except sneered at and all?"
"Regina!" Belle cried, though she wasn't shocked at her daughter's outburst. The child was frustrated and angry over her treatment by the townsfolk of Storybrooke and sometimes her emotions boiled over.
"Well, it's true," her daughter said stubbornly. "And besides, it's only us here, and I don't care about society's rules as much as being comfortable. And if it makes Mr. Gold comfortable for you to call him Rum then you ought to do it."
"Please?" Rumple said, and gave her puppy dog eyes.
Belle felt her heart start to melt like ice cream in the hot sun, slowly congealing into a sticky puddle within her chest. "I . . .I . . . all right, you win!" she conceded gracefully. Then she leveled a mock stern glare at Regina. "However, for that rather insolent remark, you have clean up duty after breakfast, young lady."
"Aww!" Regina mock-groaned.
"I'll help," Bae offered.
"You think I can't wash dishes?" the girl demanded tartly.
"No, I think my papa taught me manners and that means I help you clean up," Bae retorted, thinking that heavens the girl was prickly.
Regina huffed, then decided she'd rather have help then have her pride and said, "Well, there's the wash tub. Let's get started. Quickest begun is quickest done."
"Anybody ever tell you're prickly as a hedgehog?" Bae asked, carrying his plate and Rumple's to the washtub.
"You're comparing me to a hedgehog?" Regina snapped.
"Yeah. Every time someone tries to help you, you curl up in a ball so's people think you're all prickles, and don't need anyone, cause you're afraid of going soft."
"I'm not afraid of anything!"
"Except getting help washing dishes," he snickered.
"Oh hush up, you!" Regina grunted, and splashed him.
Bae splashed her back and suddenly their quarrel was forgotten as two dark heads bent over the washtub and scrubbed the dishes.
Belle gazed at them and turned to Rumple and said, "He's very patient with her. And he makes her smile. It's been a long time since that's happened."
"Bae's always been a calm sort," Rumple said with his own touch of pride. "Not much ruffles him." Except for me, when I was the Dark One.
"He seems an awful lot like you," Belle remarked.
"More like me than his mama," Rumple answered.
"What happened to her? Did she pass on?" Belle asked before she could stop herself.
Rumple shook his head. "That's what I told Bae because he was too little to understand my wife ran off with another man, a pirate captain named Jones, because she wanted a life of adventure and glory and she didn't love me enough to stay with me. I wasn't . . .exciting enough for her."
"I'm sorry, Rum. She sounds like a prize idiot! Any woman who leaves a hardworking man and her child for some rogue is."
Rumple lowered his eyes and fixed them on his cup. If Belle knew the whole story he doubted she'd be so understanding. But he couldn't bear for her to know what a coward he had been—and still was, unable to admit to his shortcomings. But he wanted a fresh start, and a life free of his dark past.
A second later he winced and muttered, "Maybe I should lie down," for his head was now throbbing again.
"Yes, I did think you might have gotten up too soon, Mr. Gold—Rum," she corrected.
He levered himself to his feet and went back to the couch to take a nap.
In sleep at least he could dream this new life would be better than the old one.
Page~*~*~*~Break
While Rumple slept, Belle was busy, along with Regina, making chestnut cranberry stuffing, cranberry relish and glazed carrots for dinner for tomorrow. Tonight they would have something simple, like vegetable soup and bread. She also made the ginger cake and sugar cookies with Regina.
"And we can't forget to leave some milk and cookies for Santa Claus," her daughter reminded her. Santa Claus was one of the Christmas traditions she really liked.
"Milk and cookies?" Bae repeated.
"Yeah, to show him that we're glad he's come to the house," Regina said. "Why? Don't you do that where you're from?"
"Umm . . . no," Bae admitted.
"Not everyone has the same customs on Christmas, dear," Belle pointed out. And until a year ago, Regina hadn't even known what Christmas was all about, as the Indians didn't celebrate it.
"Well, we do, and then he leaves us presents in our stockings," she indicated the stockings hung up on the mantle.
"Presents?"
"Uh huh. Like candy or a book or a toy if you're small. But you have to be good otherwise he passes by your house and leaves you nothing but an empty sock or one with a lump of coal."
Bae's eyes widened. "How does he know?"
"He watches you through a magic seeing globe."
"Oh." He thought this Santa person reminded him a little of the Lord of Yule back in his old land.
"Why don't you put your stockings up there, Bae?" suggested Regina. "You and your papa deserve some holiday cheer from Santa."
"He won't mind?"
"Only if you've been naughty," she teased, her dark eyes sparkling.
"I haven't. Well, not lately," he admitted. He pulled his stocking from the rack where it had been drying and Regina handed him a nail so he could put it on the mantle. Bae hung one for Rumple too, then hoped that this mysterious being wouldn't judge Rumple for being the Dark One and pass over him or leave him coal. He almost took it down, then changed his mind and decided if the worst happened, he'd get up before everyone, look, and put some of whatever he got in his papa's stocking.
Page~*~*~*~*~Break
After supper that night, they all gathered in front of the fire, and Belle put the nativity scene on the mantle in place of the clock, moving it to another location, and told the story of the Holy Family, the Star of Bethlehem, and the Three Wise Men as she placed each of the wooden figures. Regina smothered a small yawn, as she knew this story by heart, but Rumple and Bae were riveted and listened intently as Belle told them about Mary, Joseph, and there being no room at the inn, so Mary had to give birth in the stable to Jesus, who would grow up to be the savior of all mankind.
Rumple was rather awed at the story, which Belle said was the reason for Christmas, and felt that maybe he needn't feel ashamed of being only a spinner and poor after all. For though there were tales of commoners being raised to high estates in his land, such things didn't last. A prince might dance with the prettiest maid at the ball, even if she was a commoner, but once he'd taken her to bed, he wouldn't marry her, or if he did, as soon as another pretty face caught his eye, he'd cast her off. A king might adopt or take in a poor man's son as his own because his wife was barren, but if he married a new woman and then she had a child, the adopted son would be cast out or done away with. Then too there was himself, a coward spinner who had taken the power of a dagger and become the most feared sorcerer in the realms—the opposite of this Jesus.
Now, of course, his curse was broken, but even so, Rumple wondered if the taint still lingered.
Belle had stressed that forgiveness, according to the teaching of their holy book, was possible for everyone, but Rumple had his doubts.
Yet he kept silent about them for now, and once they had all had a cup of tea and some gingerbread cake, encouraged Bae along with Regina to go to sleep so St. Nicholas, who was the patron saint of children and the mysterious being who left presents for good ones, would come and visit their house.
When the children were both sound asleep, Rumple saw Belle eat one of the sugar cookies she had placed upon the table and drink some of the milk left for Santa and he gasped. "But isn't that for . . .?"
"It is. But Rumple, it's symbolic, remember? Santa Claus is a legend, and he can't really visit us, but we don't want to take hope away from the children, and it doesn't hurt to have them believe in magic and the spirit of youth for a while longer," she explained.
Rumple was flabbergasted. Was she saying that magic wasn't real? He opened his mouth to refute her and then closed it again, recalling that Bae had called this A Land Without Magic. "If you say so, dearie." But he was confused.
"Here, have a cookie," she handed him one and also the half finished glass of milk.
As he ate, Rumple watched Belle fill the stockings with an orange, a stick of peppermint, an apple, and for Regina, a little red apple pendant. She stuffed Rumple's and Bae's stockings with books from her own personal collection, then turned around with a mischievous grin and said, "See? Santa has arrived."
"Has he? And what gift has he left for you?" queried the spinner shrewdly.
Belle shrugged. "Being here with Regina and celebrating the season with you is my gift."
Rumple nodded quietly, but thought that she deserved more, so after she had bid him goodnight, went to her workbasket and found some soft yarn dyed a bright cobalt and picked up the two knitting needles inside the basket. He might not have magic now, but he did still possess the skill of his hands, and he began to knit furiously, hoping that he would be able to finish this gift for the woman who had been kind enough to save his life and his son's before the dawn. He only wished it were more.
There wasn't enough yarn to do what he would have liked for her, but he could manage one respectable gift, and as snow fell once again, which was typical of a Maine winter, Rumple's needles click-clacked in accompaniment to the skirling wind and the crackle of the fire in the grate.
Hours passed until finally the spinner set aside the needles and tied off what he had made. He placed the needles back in the basket and tucked his gift inside of Belle's stocking with an impish grin. "Now Santa has come for you too, Belle," he whispered to the statues on the mantle. "Or rather a former imp named Rumplestiltskin."
And he gave a small giggle of delight.
Then he went to bank the fire and to sleep for a few short hours, before the dawn. And as he was about to turn and lie down on the couch, he thought, for one insane moment, that the carved wooden baby in the manger winked at him.
Don't be ridiculous, Rumple! You're imagining things! This is the Land Without Magic, after all.
Feeling very satisfied and happy, he lay down and pulled the blankets up to his chin, smiling as he imagined Belle's face on Christmas morning when she found a gift inside her stocking after all. Then his eyes closed and he slept, while the fire died to embers and the North Star shone in through the window, its light touching the top of the manger and making it glow with celestial fire, and then shedding it gently over the sleeping former Dark One in a loving benediction.
A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews and for reading this story. They are like gifts to me and hope you like this new installment!