Invitations came from all over—from the four corners of the globe, it seemed. Everyone wanted Juliet and Allan to spend Christmas with them. Mother and Father, of course, were hoping that they would come back to New Moon, and everyone thought Juliet would take them up on their offer—she missed all the old folks so and Christmas was one of Juliet's favorite times on the Island. Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry would be spending it in Charlottetown, with friends. Did Allan and Juliet want to join them? Alice and her husband, Ramón, wrote from Detroit, where they had settled, and Greta and John Lester from Montreal. There was even a note from Trudy and Blair in England, though they knew it was a long-shot that their invitation would be accepted.
But Juliet and Allan surprised everyone with their ultimate decision. They would spend their first Christmas together at their little home on Forget-Me-Not Lane. Their would be a laughing, gay dinner with Maggie and Miss Eppie and Denny and Melanie—and of course, Mona, Juliet admitted with a sigh. They could not keep her out of it. And then Juliet and Allan would be able to sit by their own hearth and dream sweet dreams for themselves of the New Year.
"I will miss Doug and Bella and Mother and Father," she mused. "But Allan, this is our first Christmas together and I want to spend it in our little dear home."
"It's the last Christmas that it'll be just the two of us," Allan reminded her. "Next year..." He let his voice trail off, his eyes laden with unspoken dreams.
But Juliet knew. Next year it would be three of them in the little house. They would be too busy with the baby to plan a huge meal or decorate the eaves with little twinkly lights—so they both wanted to make sure that this Christmas was done right. Juliet brought armfuls of holly and ivy back from her rambles, and wound them around the mantlepieces and the bannisters. They put white fairy lights up on the porch, and a candle in every window. And Allan brought home the most majestic tree—the most beautiful, regal, Christmassy of trees—the most perfect Christmas tree ever, with pine-scented boughs and broad, even branches, and "a tip made for an angel."
That was fun—and it was also so exciting to shop for Christmas presents. Juliet and Maggie went downtown every weekend and scoured the shops for treasures. Juliet bought lovely cashmere shawls for Aunt Ilse and Mother—Aunt Ilse's a flaming, flamingo pink, and Mothers a soft violet. For Bella she found a pair of satin Chinese bedroom slippers—for Father and Doug and Uncle Perry she got fur hats from the Russian tradesmen that would keep their ears toasty and warm. There were ear-bobs and books and slips of lace and toys for her friends and their children. Juliet even got something for Mona: a couple of green silk hair-ribbons.
"A hair ribbon is such an impersonal thing to give," she said, harkening back to that Christmas before she and Alice had been good friends. "But I don't know what else to get Mona and I must get her something. And these will look nice against her red hair."
She was only at a loss of what to get Allan. And vice versa—because you see, as it often happens in households,
Allan was a dog-person, and he most decidedly wanted a dog. Juliet, who took after her mother, wanted a sleek, soft pussy cat to sit by the fire and make her little house completely into a home.
"You can't have a home without a cat," she said resolutely. "Oh, Allan, I don't see why we can't have both. A cat would be such company for me while you are away."
"A dog would be better," Allan said staunchly. "You know cats are sociable. And a dog is. If we got the right kind it would protext the house for us when we were away—it would give you a feeling of extra security."
But Juliet already felt secure in her little house.
"A cat and dog would just fight—like cats and dogs," said Allan. "And cats have been known to suck babies' breaths."
"Oh, Allan, really," said Juliet scornfully. "You know that is an old wives' tale."
"Come sit on my lap, little wife," said Allan jovially. "And tell me what kind of cat you'd get if you had your pick. I can't abide cats they way you New Moon folks can, Juliet. At home we're dog people, you know. But I know what kind of cat I'd get you if I was going to get you one—a fluffy, soft Persian or a sleek Siamese. What say you to that? Is that the kind of cat you'd like to have?"
"Yes, I suppose," said Juliet. Truthfully, she thought she'd already found the kind of cat she'd prefer—the very cat she'd like to have.
Because, for the past few weeks, Juliet had been secretly feeding a little homeless, wanderer cat.
It was a little, scrawny black kitten with fur like coal powder and little white paws and a white tip just below his nose, like a Charlie Chaplin moustache. He'd come to her on the porch one day, mewling curiously, and Juliet hadn't had it in her heart to send him on his way without food. She'd pulled bits of chicken from the bones of the roast they'd had the night before and poured a little saucerful of milk and watched as the little cat ate his fill. Then he'd meticulously cleaned his whiskers and disappeared like a cloud of black smoke.
Juliet had already grown very attached to him.
The little cat came every few days—once she had gone a week without seeing him and her heart had turned over.
Surely he had been hit by a car—or someone had taken him—someone who wouldn't love him as much as she did.
Juliet knew he wasn't cold—the weather was still very mild for December. But oh, where was her little cat? She lay awake for two whole nights worrying over him.
And then he was there the next morning, demanding food and purring contentedly as she stroked him while he ate.
"How could anyone not want a little kitten like you?" she asked him. But the little cat had no answer.
She wanted nothing more than to take him inside and have this be his permanent home. But—Allan wanted a dog.
And Juliet supposed this was one of the sacrifices you made for love. She called a man in the country who was selling his beagle pups and arranged to have one sent in the New Year. Then she felt strangely petty and discontented.
"Allan will probably come home with some little ear-bobs for me," she said peevishly. "I wouldn't want them—I just want my little cat. All of the ear-bobs in the world wouldn't be as dear and charming as he is."
* * *
Christmas Eve dawned rainy and cold—bitterly cold. It hadn't been so cold in the Bay area in years. They newsmen were even calling for snow.
"I'm glad," Allan said easily. "It doesn't seem like Christmas without some snow."
Juliet nodded absently, but her mind was elsewhere. Where did little black cats go when it snowed?
But her mind wasn't on it for long. She had a goose to prepare, and presents to wrap. And her little cat would have its belly full wherever it ended up tonight—Juliet set a saucer of goose out on the back steps for him. Surely he'd come around.
She stacked presents under the tree and went over to help Maggie with hers—she was getting over a case of the flu and they had all worried over her for weeks. Though she was better now she was still weak. They made an evening of it, ending up at Miss Eppie's, where they roasted chestnuts on the fire and made marshmallow sandwiches. The walls of the ugly old house echoed with their songs and happy voices.
Juliet fell into bed around midnight, huddling close to Allan, who had come back earlier and was already asleep. She let her eyes drowsily close, and slept fitfully for a while.
She awakened some time later to a strange sound.
"Allan," she whispered, shaking him. "What is that? Allan—do you hear it?"
"Wh—at?" asked Allan drowsily.
"That skritch-skritch sound," Juliet said. It was coming from the wall behind her. "It sounds—like it's coming—from inside the chimney!"
"It's jolly old St. Nicholas," Allan said with a sleepy laugh. "Go back to bed—if we catch him, he won't leave us any presents."
Juliet lay back—but there it was again! Finally she rose and flung her robe about her shoulders.
"If you won't find out what it's about, I will!" she cried.
She flew downstairs, Allan stumbling down behind her. They peered up through the grate. Yes, there was something up there! Beyond their line of vision, in the darkness, they could see a hint of movement.
Snow was falling in gently slanting lines outside the window, in the quiet way that only snow can.
Allan went away and returned with a flashlight, which he trained up into the blackness. Then out of the depths they heard an angry yowl.
"It's my cat!" Juliet cried. "He must have been cold—we had a fire earlier, and he probably crawled down into the chimney for warmth. Allan—oh, reach up and pull him down!"
He didn't need to. The cat skittered down the brick walls and jumped out of his own accord. He looked even blacker, covered in soot—he sneezed—he walked jauntily around the room, investigating his new surroundings.
Juliet caught him up and held him firmly to her breast.
"This is my cat," she said defiantly. "I've been feeding him for ages. And he's here to stay now."
Allan sat back on his heels and watched her with a smile on his face.
"Then I suppose you don't want the white Persian I've arranged to come here in the New Year?"
"A Persian—you got me a cat?" Juliet squealed. Yes, squealed! "Oh, Allan—I thought you didn't want a cat?"
"I don't," Allan said. "But you did."
"I got you a dog!" Juliet burst out. "And oh, yes, please send the Persian back. I wouldn't want any other cat in the world but little St. Nick here.He's the only cat for me. Allan, dearest! I can't believe you love me so! That—and this dear kitty—are the best Christmas presents in the world! Is he really here to stay?"
"Yes, he's here to stay."
They went back to bed, taking the little cat with them. He slumbered peacefully at the foot of their bed, stretching his claws luxoriously and feeling generally loved and content. At that moment he was the King of Cats.
"I suppose he—and your dog—will fight constantly," murmured a drowsy Juliet.
"Oh, well," Allan laughed. "It can't be helped now."
But it must be admitted that they got along famously. By the time Allan's dog arrived the St. Nick already ruled the roost and the dog respected his domain. The little house was the picture of domestic bliss that it always was—except for the occasional incident, which really couldn't be helped. For cats are cats, after all—just as dogs are dogs.
* * *
A/N: Sorry for not updating in so long! Classes started at my university last week and it's been hectic. Hope everyone had a really great holiday and is having a happy new year.
Just I: Thanks for the compliments! I'm so glad you like the stories.
Rude Bob: I'm working on it. : )
Windowseat Wanderer: You'll find out in the next couple of chapters why Mona really hates Juliet. Terreis, good sleuthing skills and you'll have to wait and see if you are right! What's going on with Chris and Will? I hope you haven't given the story up.
Gufa: I know Anoushka isn't really an Italian name, but I love it, and wanted to work it in somehow. Somehow she just seemed to be named Anoushka, and she'll make an appearance later in the story.
Miri: If anything does happen to Juliet's baby, I'll make it up to you! Everything will turn out all right in the end. I couldn't give you an unhappy ending to any of these stories because I love Juliet so. I'm pondering the Jane of Lantern Hill idea. I'll have to re-read it a few more times to see what I could do with it. By the way, I watched the movie this past week and it was so, so good!
Stay tuned for a new chapter sometime next week!
