Thank you, KickinItUp, for the Alert. I'm glad people are clicking, at least!

I wanted to get this chapter up today since I'll be busy later, so I hope it's not too shabby. I jumped the gun and wrote about Christmas – oh well.

Enjoy this new chapter.

-Scarlet


Chapter 8: A Human Christmas

December 24th 1778, sunrise

Boston, Massachusetts colony

The snowflakes fell gently down from the heavens, dusting the cobblestone streets with white powder. The hard stone under my feet felt strange, after spending so much time in the forest. People stared at me as they passed, and a young boy made an ugly face from his mother's arms.

The long sleeves of the white shirt draped over my shoulders dragged on the path behind me. My skin tingled from the cold, harsh weather and my feet felt numb from frost burn. However, just like I hadn't for three full days, I didn't stop walking.

Suddenly, a large beast came stomping down the street, baring a human on its back. Startled by seeing a horse for the first time, I stumbled back a few steps and tripped over the long sleeve of my garment. I put my face in my hands and did all that I knew how to do – cry.

My voice was high and piercing, and hurt even my own ears. Tears leaked from between my fingers, and fell onto the ground beneath me. When I ran out of breath, the cold air that entered my lungs hurt my chest.

Then, a voice said, "Child, where is your mother?"

I didn't understand the words, but they caused me to stop crying. When I looked up at the lady standing over me, my vision was blurry. I raised my tiny fists and wiped the moisture from my eyelashes. "Child where is your mother," I repeated in my young voice.

The woman smiled, and leaned down to pick me up. Her skin was warm, and stung against my frozen flesh. I shivered. "You are cold through!" the woman exclaimed.

"Cold through," I repeated, my teeth chattering. The woman held me close to her bosom and I nestled into her warmth.

"Don't worry. Martha will help you find your mother," she whispered kindly,

My small hands clutched at her shoulders. "M-Martha… m-mother…"

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*

I shuttered awake. The dream left me confused for several moments, until I sat up and realized I was no longer an infant. I rubbed the tiredness from my eyes. It feels like so very long ago…

Gasping, I wrapped my hands around my shoulders. Somehow during the night, all the quilts on my bed had fallen to the floor. I shivered as I reached for them, and more so when they felt ice-cold. I wrapped myself in a cocoon and gritted my teeth to keep from shaking. "C-C-Cold-d-d."

Martha was singing Christmas carols when I descended the stairs. Her voice was flighty and winded, but the three guests in the dining room seemed to enjoy it along with me. Breakfast was special for the Eve of Christmas morning: maple soaked oatmeal with butter.

Martha and I, of course, had decked the inn with all sorts of holiday cheer. Beside the fire, a tiny evergreen sat perched in a water-bucket, with holly and colored string upon its branches. We'd even collected pine needles to burn in the fire for the peaceful aroma. A miniature nativity made of glass sat on the counter, and the sunlight through the windows caught the glass in rainbow gleams.

I ate as fast as I could.

The sky was blue when I emerged into the cold morning. The fresh snow that had fallen during the night glistened in the sunlight, and I heard the singing of carolers coming from the church. However, the day was Friday; a work day.

I pulled the hood of my cloak further up with my gloved hand, as I crossed the sunny street. For once, I was fortunate for the cold; I could wear a box over my head in the sun and still have a valid excuse. When I entered the General Store, the scent of peppermint and holly berry greeted me in a joyful embrace. I inhaled deeply as I closed the door against the cold.

There were ten or eleven patrons milling about the shop; all appeared to be waiting for Mister Stockton's assistance. My manager stood behind the counter, scribbling rapidly with a quill as the young lady he was helping dictated some desired goods. I untied the cloak from my neck and hung it on the receiving stand next to the door. I slipped my hands from my knitted mittens (designed by Millicent Weaver) and hung them by their strings as well.

"Might I help you with something, madam?" I asked the elderly woman who stood by the spices. She had a perplexed look on her face as she scrutinized a list of ingredients in her hands.

"Yes...," she said slowly. "I don't believe you have what I'm –"

"Miss, could you take the payment for this?" A frustrated-looking man had stepped forward and interrupted her. "I need to get to Port Angelis right away and –"

I put up a hand to stop him. He was quite rude. "I'm sorry, sir. Mister Stockton takes all the bills."

I old woman looked up at the man as though he'd just committed murder. Her voice was patronizing. "Excuse me, young man. I didn't know that your order was so much very important than the rest of –"

"Ma'am, sir, I'm sure Mister Stockton will be with you any –"

"Cornelia!" Mister Stockton had spotted me in the crowd, and was waving his hands over his head.

I poked through the large volume of people in the tiny shop, up to the service counter. I ducked through the opening and popped up next to Mister Stockton. "Good morning, Mister Stockton. I'm here for work."

He let out a mighty laugh, and the man he was servicing gave him a quizzical look. "Cornelia, I wouldn't have you work on Christmas Eve! Whatever gave you the idea? I'd thought it went without saying!" He spoke loudly over the droning voices in the store, turning to reach one of the high shelves behind the counter. It was the brown sugar. He should know that you need the stool to reach the brown sugar.

"But sir," I protested, walking over to the step-stood in the corner. I dragged it over to the shelf he was trying to reach. "I've never seen the shop so busy; I should be here to help you!" I raised my voice, too.

"Nonsense! Oh, thank you," he said, stepping up to reach the sugar. "I won't have you spend your holiday a-working! You should go enjoy the snow, you know." He untied a pound of the product and slid it toward the irritated man at the counter. "That'll be a dollar and fifty cents, my good sir."

"Hardly, Mister Stockton," I said grouchily, crossing my arms. "What would I have to do with the snow?"

The man moved away from the counter when he finished paying, and the impatient gentleman from before stumbled up. "John, I need this right away. How early can you –"

"One moment, sir." Mister Stockton turned to me. "Cornelia, I must insist that you leave before I raise your paycheck."

I pursed my lips. I don't think I can handle those kinds of demands. "Very well, then, Mister Stockton. I will see you on Monday morning."

He smiled after me as I ducked under the counter again. "That's a girl, Cornelia. You enjoy your holiday, now!"

I returned his sentiment, and left the shop once again. The carolers had progressed to the streets, and the air rang with the notes of "Oh, Come Ye Merry Gentlemen."

I walked slowly back to The Featherbed, pulling my hood to hide my face from the sun. No gleam of polished metal could be seen from the glassblower's down the street… someone had purchased my precious pocket watch two weeks before.

I passed by the inn, thinking about what I could occupy my time with. I hadn't planned on not working today... Carlisle will be meeting me this afternoon...

Since the confrontation in the forest, I had learned more and more about the vampire with gold eyes. We met nearly every day, and spoke of many things. Of course, our conversations were hardly appropriate for mortal ears, so it was important that we hold our meetings in seclusion. When we weren't sitting by the fire in his parlor/library/study, we were walking slowly along the quiet church street.

It was strange to speak so freely with someone – a vampire, no less – but every word between us flowed like water. I told him of Lakota and his pack of werewolves, and he spoke of his boyhood in London. I even admitted that I'd thought of him as a demon for all those weeks, and he confessed that he'd thought I was some twisted figment of his imagination come to haunt him. We spoke of the unchanging will of the human race, and the politics of the frontier.

I'd listen with rapture when he'd told me about his transformation. How he'd dragged himself to a potato cellar for those painful days, just to be hidden from human sight. How he'd swam across the English Channel, finding that he needn't take a single breath the entire way. How he'd immigrated to America not long ago, hoping to find others "like himself" here. He told me of the coven of animal-feeders to the north, and that he'd known the man named Eleazar when he was in Europe. He had practiced medicine for almost as long as he'd lived, and had nearly desensitized himself to the lure of human blood.

I found myself becoming more and more fascinated with Carlisle Cullen.

Our conversations often drifted to me, my life, and my curse. The curse of my blood that called to his kind like a siren. He told me that my scent affected him more than an ordinary human's did, and I noticed that he often didn't breath when we sat in his parlor/library/study. His comments such as that made me feel uncomfortable, so I would quickly change the subject whenever it came up.

So, I reflected upon all of this as I walked down and up the business street of Hoquiam. He won't be in town; the sun's out. I wondered if it would be rude to impose on his residence that morning. I had never called upon him without an invitation before. We did make plans today... perhaps I'll blame my rudeness on the sun.

The crowd in the dining room had cleared out by the time I reached the inn. I quickly ran upstairs before Martha could noose me into another verse of "Hark! The Harold Angels Sing."

Once in my room, I opened the wardrobe and pushed the hanging garments aside. Reaching behind some piles of extra material, I found small brown paper box I had stashed there. I'd taken much pride in my gift to Carlisle, and I was sure that he'd approve.

"I'm going to visit my uncle, Martha," I said, interrupting her cheerful song.

She continued anyway, "Born that man no more may die! Born to raise the sons of earth; born to give them second birth!" and waved to me from beside the fire. Martha had been very accepting of my sudden interest in my "uncle." Or is it just because she doesn't want to stop stirring the curry?

I left town discreetly, and jogged through the forest to Carlisle's house. The sun warmed the ice on the trees, and drips of water and slush could be heard throughout the wood. Come nightfall, all that melted snow would become ice.

As I approached the house, I picked his scent in the trees; it was fresh. I suspect that he'd hunted recently, and I followed his trail right to the snow-covered house. He answered the door before I'd knocked twice.

He tried to hide his shock. "Cornelia, I hadn't expected you… Forgive my surprise," he said, smiling as he held the door open.

I rushed inside so he could shut the cold out. "I should apologize, Carlisle. I know we promised to meet in town, but the sun was out and Mister Stockton gave me the day off and Martha is doing nothing but singing carols, so I thought that perhaps it would be best for me to come here instead of you coming..." I stopped my ramble, out of breath. "So, I'm here." I smiled.

He chuckled softly as he closed the door, and turned to me. "It sounds as though you've had quite the Christmas Eve morning."

"Yes," I agreed, slipping the gloves from my hands. As I walked into the parlor/library/study, I was surprised by the fire crackling in the hearth. He hadn't expected me, yet... "And how was your evening, Carlisle?" I asked, trying to distract my mind from speculation.

"Uneventful," he replied, taking the cloak from my shoulders.

I nodded in thanks and stepped forward to hold my hands toward the fire. No, perhaps he only lit it for convenience sake… it appears as though it was kindled hours ago... "Is that so?"

"Indeed. Unless you consider a brush with a black bear to be an event; the lady nearly tore my arm off in fear that I may hurt her young."

The imagery he created caused me to smile. "Yes, I do believe that counts as an event."

A freight train could have passed between us in the space he left as he moved by me. He took a seat on the sofa before the fire, exactly where he usually sat. "So, what excitement has left you so dauntless on this clear day?" he asked pleasantly, folding his hands.

It took me a moment to remember exactly why I had come. I had a reason, right? "Um... oh, this!" I reached into the large pocket in my skirts and extracted the gift. I stood and walked to the sofa, depositing the small box on the seat next to him. I sat on the opposite end, leaning as far away as I could onto the armrest.

Intrigue flashed in his eyes as he picked up the present. He looked at me and grinned. "I believe the tradition of gift-giving is reserved for Christmas Day," he emphasized.

I folded my hands in prayer, pleading impishly with my eyes. "Indulge me, Carlisle."

He smiled playfully, and pulled the brown string from the box. As he neatly folded the brown paper to the side, I felt a rush of nerves. What if he doesn't like it? What if he thinks it's too –?

"Brilliant!" He pulled the small, homemade trinket box from the package, and held the painted glass up to the light. "How did you make it?"

I was almost offended that he assumed that I made it. Does it look that bad? "It's not very creative, I know. It's only stained glass from Mister Timmins; I told him were I'd like it cut, and I soldered it together with my hearth." I laughed in remembrance, rubbing my fingertips together. "I nearly burnt my fingers."

He opened the tiny silver hinge and let the sunlight from the window illuminate the glass. The tiny triangles and squares of greens, reds, blues, and yellows came together in the form of a vivid Christmas star. Only our eyes would be able to perceive the kaleidoscope of rainbows that the light converged to create.

"It's dazzling... you must have spent much time crafting this. I can't thank you enough." He took his eyes away from the curio only to smile gratefully to me.

I felt heat rise in my cheeks. My delight was as boundless as my empty money pouch. "You flatter me, Carlisle. I'm glad to have pleased you."

He seemed distraught at my humility. "I'm afraid the gift I planned for you is not as inspired," he said meekly.

I giggled into my hand. "I'm surprised that you thought of it," I said offhandedly, then regretted it. "Sorry," I apologized, immediately contrite. "That was discourteous."

"Not at all," he said, setting my gift aside to reach into his coat. He pulled out a similar, smaller brown box. "To be quite honest, I hadn't expected such a gift from you either, Cornelia."

A moment of awkwardness passed between us. "I suppose each of us is a lot more human than the other thought."

A small smile ghosted at his lips. "I suppose so…" he trailed off, holding out his gift.

Our fingers brushed when I reached to take it, and I quickly withdrew my hand. I felt a blush creep into my cheeks as I untied the string. Pulling away the paper revealed a plain, black box. I glanced up at Carlisle's patient smile before lifting the top off. There sat the pocket watch from Timmins' window.

"Carlisle –!" I exclaimed, gazing at the shinning metal face. "I thought this had been purchased long ago!"

He laughed at my glee. "It was; I wanted to wait for the right occasion."

The information shocked me. If he was the one who bought it, then that was two weeks ago… days before we began speaking kindly with each other… so why…? "It's lovely… I've been wanting it since the day I saw it. Thank you." Had he only done it to aggravate me? Had he seen me admire it and wanted to take it from me?

His smile was endearing. "You're very welcome. Merry Christmas Eve, Cornelia."

I mentally shook myself of tainted worry, and smiled back with good cheer. "Merry Christmas, Carlisle."


Do you like the turn their relationship has taken? Tell me in a review!

Suggestions and thoughts are all welcome.

-Scarlet