The Midwatch

Disclaimer: Much as I wish, they're not mine; I just take them out for a spin once in a while. They'll be back before curfew – promise.

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Carolyn thanked the waitress with a smile, eagerly wrapping her hands around the steaming mug of coffee. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly after her first sip, then turned her attention to the folder and pad she had carried inside the small coffee shop with her, loose sheets coming dangerously close to falling to the floor. As she moved her cup out of the way and put the papery mess into some semblance of order, she couldn't help but overhear the conversation taking place at the nearby counter.

"So, think somebody'll see him this time around?"

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" the first man replied, annoyed. "Norrie seems pretty sure somebody will – he's giving away a prize to whoever can catch him in the act."

The second man perked up at that. "A prize, you say? What kind?"

"Christmas dinner for family and friends, served right at home."

The second man rubbed his chin thoughtfully at that. "Hmm. That could be interesting." He leaned on the counter, a calculating look on his face. "I'm thinking – maybe you and I could go up and see if – " He fell silent suddenly, as his eyes encountered Carolyn's. Clearing his throat, he nodded at her before turning back to the counter, giving a small nudge to his friend that wasn't lost on her.

Pursing her lips at the exchange, she picked up her cup again and returned her attention to her notes, but couldn't seem to concentrate. How much longer is this going to last? she wondered a little sadly. I've certainly made some headway since moving here, but how long do I have to live here before I no longer need to be reminded that I'm from 'away'? While she had made the move willingly and couldn't think of a day she had regretted the decision, it was still difficult for her to be far from her family this time of year. And while the small town had started warming up to her and her brood, there was still quite a ways to go before she was made to really feel part of the community.

"Don't let them get to you, Mrs. Muir; it's more of a reflex than anything else."

Carolyn looked up and smiled as she recognized Bernie Chisolm, one of the town's older citizens and a fellow bookworm. He and Carolyn had rubbed elbows many a time at the local library. "Hello, Bernie," she greeted him warmly. "And it's Carolyn, remember?"

Bernie chuckled. "Oh, I remember, all right; it's getting the message down to my tongue that's proving more difficult." He looked around him, shaking his head at the crush of people. "My, this place is packed to the gills! No question – Christmas is definitely next week." He turned back to Carolyn. "Do you mind if I share your table for a bit? I promise I'll be quiet."

"Please do!" Carolyn said with a smile, scrambling to get her papers out of the way. "And don't worry about disturbing me; this isn't work related. I just thought I'd look for something a little different to enliven Christmas this year."

"Good plan," the older man said as he placed his gloves and his scarf next to his steaming mug of tea. Bernie had hardly reached for his mug when he was jostled by some of the people trying to leave in a hurry. "Easy there, fellas; you wouldn't want me to spill my drink all over the lady's things, would you?"

"Oh, sorry about that, Bernie, Mrs. Muir," one of the men said, knuckling his cap at Carolyn, his face slightly flushed in embarrassment. The others simply mumbled something that sounded like an apology before starting to make their way out at a slightly more sedate pace.

"Can you believe them?" Bernie asked bemusedly, dabbing at his scarf and gloves with a napkin. "I swear, they're worse than the kids – which is kind of funny, actually, considering how cynical the young ones have grown about this sort of thing. Of course, mention the chance of sneaking a peek and they suddenly turn into big believers. Same goes for the adults; they'll swear up and down that they're above this sort of thing, then first thing you know, they start acting like this."

Carolyn, who had listened with a rather blank expression to the older man's soliloquy, now shook her head at him quizzically. "Bernie -- what are you talking about?"

The older man started answering, then stopped, realizing that Carolyn truly had no idea what he was going on about. He clucked his tongue "Can't say I'm surprised nobody told you. Still, you should know, now that you live in this town." Making himself comfortable, Bernie took a sip of his tea and began explaining. "We have something of a tradition here that we try to follow every Christmas. Goes back awhile, actually; around the turn of the century, as far as Miss Stoddard can tell. It started a few years after a most peculiar event took place one Christmas Eve right here in Schooner Bay."

"Peculiar how?" Carolyn asked, picking up her own mug for a sip.

"Well, some people call it divine intervention; the more cynical among us call it a simple act of kindness. But, however you look at it, it was definitely out of the ordinary."

"What happened?"

"As I said, it was Christmas Eve, late 1890's or so. It had been a tough year for everyone – a scorcher of a summer followed by the coldest winter this town had seen in years made for a miserable harvest and barely enough food to keep the people and the animals on their feet. There was the fishing, of course, but there's only so much that can be caught at any one time; when you add people on the water, well… Needless to say, the poorer families had a really tough time of it. One of them in particular, living on the outskirts of town. They were fairly new arrivals, more landlubbers than water people, so they couldn't exactly fall back on fishing to help themselves. I mean, the townspeople helped as best they could, sharing from their own stock, but like I said, it was a rough year for everyone, and there was only so much they could spare."

"So, here we are, on Christmas Eve, it's freezing cold out – you know, the damp kind of cold you get just before a major snowfall, the kind that cuts straight to the bone. Brad Gilliam, the head of the family, goes out with his eldest, late at night, to pile up as much snow as they can against the sides of the house most exposed to the wind -- for insulation, you know -- then bring in the rest of what little wood they have left in the back, just so they don't freeze overnight. By the time they're done piling up the snow, they're already knee-deep in it and it doesn't look like it's going to let up anytime soon. So Brad tells his son to put the shovel away and to come with him out back to start bringing the wood inside. The two make their slow way to the back, the snow getting deeper and thicker fast. Rounding the corner, they stop dead in their tracks when they see that, instead of the handful of logs and the bark and twigs left to them, there's a whole cord of wood sitting there."

"No!" Carolyn exclaimed, elbows on the table, totally caught up in the story.

"Yep, as sure as I'm sitting here," Bernie affirmed. "So, of course, after they're done scratching their heads, they start looking around for tracks, to see where the wood came from."

"But they couldn't have seen anything because of the snow, right?"

"Well, the wood hadn't been there at the time the snow started, an hour or so earlier, when the girls had gone all the way to the stable to make sure the animals would be all right for the night. Some of their footsteps were still visible, barely, through the fresh snow; so they thought they might be able to find fresher tracks that weren't completely covered yet. But there were none to be found." Bernie sipped from his tea, letting the words sink in. "Now, I'm sure you use your share of wood throughout the year." Carolyn nodded. "Then you know what a chore it is to move that much of it around. Yet, it took someone but one hour – less, even – to stack it up neatly against the back of the house and leave without a trace."

Carolyn shivered, caught between the thrill and the spookiness of the event, and loving every moment of it. "What did Brad and his son do next?"

Bernie spread out his hands and shrugged. "There wasn't much to do but grab as much as they could carry and thank whoever was looking after them for pretty much guaranteeing they would live through the night. So that's what they did. Then, loaded down with timber, they shuffled back to the front, where another surprise awaited them."

"What?" Carolyn asked almost breathlessly, finding it hard to endure the suspense.

"A big canvas bag was sitting on the porch, looking just about ready to pop from all the stuff inside. Turns out it was full of food – more than the Gilliams' larder had seen in a few weeks. There were even a few toys for the young ones." Bernie shook his head. "And again, no fresh tracks. Darndest thing anybody ever saw. Considering what day it was, that family knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. So they just counted their blessings and sent a prayer the way of whoever had been so kind toward them before bunking down for the night and getting ready to celebrate Christmas as they never thought they could that year."

"Wow," Carolyn said softly, overwhelmed at such kindness being shown. She picked up her mug to sip from her coffee, only to realize it was stone cold. She signaled the waitress for a refill. "And this sort of occurrence has been taking place ever since?"

Bernie shook his head. "Not quite. Nothing happened two years straight after that first one, which reinforced the idea that it was just what it looked like – an act of kindness from either a friend or a stranger. A rather incredible one, mind you, but nothing more. Then, on the fourth Christmas Eve, it happened again. Different family, different part of town, but the same kind of happening. And it hasn't let up since. That's how the Midwatch was born."

"The Midwatch – is that what it's called?" Bernie nodded. "Because people go out in the middle of the night – "

"— in the hopes, if they're very fortunate, of catching a glimpse of the Old Man, or at the very least, of finding some proof of his passage: a hair from his beard, a piece of lint from his jacket, a footprint… Anything, really." He smiled at Carolyn's reaction to the nickname he had used. "We call him the Old Man because it's become a custom not to say his name out loud too far in advance of the Watch, in case he might hear about the whole shebang and decide not to come. We also figure he's been around long enough not to really care about this sort of thing anymore. Personally," he continued, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "I don't think he really cares either way; if he decides to stop by, it's because he's made up his mind to, regardless of what people are saying. But I figure it can't hurt to respect that particular tradition."

Both fell silent as the waitress was finally able to make her way to their table to pour fresh coffee into Carolyn's cup, while leaving a new teabag and fresh hot water for Bernie. Carolyn stirred some sugar into the hot brew while mulling over the story Bernie had just told. Putting the spoon down, she took a grateful sip and shook her head wonderingly. "It's pretty amazing that people have remained hooked for this long, just on the off chance of seeing someone you only hear about."

Bernie chuckled as he refilled his cup. "Yes, well, things have heated up some over the years. See, after a while, people got more antsy and really bent on seeing the deed take place. So, sometime after the turn of the century, a well-to-do merchant of the area decided to offer a reward to whoever could show him tangible evidence that they had caught the Old Man in the act."

"Did it work?" Carolyn asked eagerly, intrigued.

"No, but people sure got creative in the process!" Bernie sipped from his tea, shaking his head with a grin. "For instance, there's this story about the Pruitt boys going around the village, scouting out the most likely places for a visit by the Old Man, then proceeding to spread soot and ashes they'd saved up all year all around those houses, except for one narrow lane leading to the front door." His eyes twinkled merrily as he watched Carolyn stifle a giggle at the mental image. "Needless to say, that didn't phase their prey any – come Christmas morning, the boys found all of the soot and ashes sitting right in front of their front door, except for what had been used to spell out 'Merry Christmas' in the snow bank."

"Ha! That's a good one," Carolyn said with a laugh.

"Sure was. Then there's the Frankens, who used yarn to crisscross the whole area around their house, in the hopes of tripping the poor man up. They woke up Christmas morning to find the surrounding area pristine and a piece of that yarn dangling from the roof. When they pulled on it, the rest of the yarn they had used followed in the form of a bag filled with a few goodies for their trouble. Needless to say, when everyone saw that the Old Man seemed to have a sense of humor about the whole thing, all hell broke loose and some mighty impressive stunts were pulled, but to no avail." Bernie took another sip from his drink, turning pensive. "You know, sometimes I think he does it mostly to get people to come together – to give them a chance to spend time with their friends, as well as with people they're not so well acquainted with, and to do something as a group. As a family, even." He shrugged. "But that's me."

Carolyn shook her head, her eyes shining in wonder. "There are worst ways to spend Christmas Eve, don't you think? Imagine – to go out as a community in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Santa..." She stopped suddenly, her hand flying to her mouth as she realized what she had just said. "Oh my God, I'm sorry!" she said, mortified, visions of lynch mobs dancing in her head. She kept her eyes on Bernie, waiting for him to either blow his stack or leave in a huff.

Instead, he shook his head at her in confusion. "Santa? Who said anything about Santa?" Looking around to make sure he wasn't heard, he leaned forward and said, "I'm talking about Tricky Dan."

Carolyn was about to ask who that was when the name finally sank in. Bernie's reaction to the look on her face confirmed her suspicions. Looking frantically for some way out of this one, she cursed her brain inwardly for freezing up on her at a time like this. She opened her mouth to speak, but Bernie stopped her with a kindly smile.

"One thing you have to know about this town, Carolyn," the older man said softly. "Everyone believes he's for real, no matter how much they swear to the contrary. Now, you have two kinds of believers: those who believe he's a mean, old spirit; and those who believe he's a good soul." He smiled knowingly. "You're probably in a far better position than anyone here to make that assessment. But, for what it's worth, I think that anyone who goes to this much trouble for so long, simply out of kindness for the sake of total strangers, has to be a good soul." Sitting back, he looked at his watch and started getting up. "Gotta run. I still have a bunch of things to pick up, and from the looks of things, it's going to be a stampede out there." Fitting his scarf snugly around his neck, Bernie patted Carolyn's hand before putting his gloves on. "Thanks for letting me share the table – and for the chat. You have a good day, dear." He turned to leave, then moved back, leaning in close to whisper, "And if you get the chance, give the Captain my best for the Watch, will you? There's going to be a lot of people on the lookout for him this year." With a nod and a wink, he turned and walked out, leaving Carolyn utterly befuddled.

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Carolyn closed the door behind her and, barely taking the time to take off her boots, started for the stairs before turning instead toward the parlor, fairly certain she would find the Captain there. Sure enough, she found him tidying up his writing desk, where he had obviously been working on another one of his seemingly endless sea charts. He looked up and smiled a greeting at her. Carolyn eyed him silently as he approached, waiting until he was leaning against the mantle to blurt out, "You're Tricky Dan". She fought the flush that she felt starting to creep into her cheeks as she realized how accusatory that sounded and how likely he was to reprimand her for her tone.

Not for the first time since their initial meeting, he surprised her by grinning widely and bowing to her with a flourish. "At your service, dear lady."

For all her certainty, Carolyn was still taken aback by his admission. A dozen questions flooded her brain, all begging to be asked, but the one that rose to the surface was, "Why?"

"The simple answer to that is, because I could," the Captain replied with a twinkle in his eye. Turning more pensive, he added, "Christmas is supposed to be a time for caring and sharing and, the house being uninhabited, it was rather difficult for me to do either of those things. So I thought there would be no harm in my doing a little something for the community. And as it seemed to be appreciated, I saw no reason to stop." Turning toward the flames dancing in the fireplace, he went on in a quieter voice. "Truth is, the first few years of my afterlife were difficult, what with being both so near to people, yet so far, and at no other time was that made as painfully clear as at Christmas time. So that became my way of making things more bearable for myself, and a few other souls besides." Looking back at Carolyn, he smiled, his eyes tender on her. "You see, my dear? You're not the only one acquainted with some of the little wounds the Holiday season occasionally brings."

Carolyn just stared at him, stunned, then whispered, "How did you know?"

"I live here," he replied simply. "I also know how difficult it is for outsiders to make themselves at home in a town such as this." He stepped closer to her, his eyes warm with support. "Don't give up on them, Madam; they'll come to embrace you as one of their own."

Carolyn looked away, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Maybe so," she conceded, "but frankly, I have no saintly idea what to do to speed up the process," she finished as she looked back at him, trying her best to keep the hurt from coloring her voice, knowing all the while that his all too perceptive ears would pick up on it anyway.

"Hmm," was all he said, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets and pacing slowly toward the front windows, where the Christmas tree would be standing in a few days. "Seems to me a nice Christmas dinner served by Norrie would work wonders," he said innocently, concentrating on the pipe he had just pulled out of his pocket rather than on Carolyn.

Carolyn looked at him in puzzlement for a beat, her eyes suddenly widening as his words finally sank in. "You're not really suggesting what I think you are, are you?"

The Captain shrugged. "Why not?"

"But that's cheating!" Carolyn protested.

"Nonsense!" the Captain countered, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. "You're a writer, accustomed to doing research; it is entirely possible that you came across a tidbit of information that most other people here have overlooked. That's one of the advantages of being able to look from the outside in," he reminded her gently. "You have an edge, my dear; I say use it."

He made a good case, Carolyn had to admit. Still... She stared into the flames for a moment or two, chewing on a thumbnail as she thought. She looked back at him, cocking her head questioningly. "What's in it for you?" she asked a little suspiciously.

"Madam! Truly, you wound me," he said in an affronted tone, his hand over his heart as if hurt. When all he got was a raised eyebrow, he harrumphed, his lips pursed. "O ye of little faith," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Very well. If nothing else, I get to sample a delightful Christmas dinner, as well as enjoy the pleasure of your company," he replied smoothly.

Carolyn gaped at him. "But I can't be seen with you!"

The Captain chuckled. "And you won't be, never fear." The grin he was wearing melted into something warmer, gentler. "Although, I daresay, you shall most certainly be seen by me." He bowed to her with a smile. "Think about it. Until later, my dear." He vanished.

Carolyn stood in the middle of the room, her mind awhirl with unanswered questions. She sat down on the couch, turning the idea around in her head, liking it more with every turn. She looked up at the portrait with a crooked smile. "And just what am I supposed to bait you with?"

"Ah, Madam, but a simple word from your lips would suffice to summon me from the ends of the earth," the Captain said from behind her, reappearing with a hand resting dramatically over his heart. "But," he continued, dropping the pose, "in the interest of fairness toward the rest of the participants, I will let you figure that one out for yourself. I'm sure you'll come up with something suitable." With a wink and a roguish grin, he was gone once more.

Carolyn could only glare at the empty spot he had just occupied, quite unable to come up with a proper retort. She turned the glare on the portrait over the mantle, her eyes suddenly crinkling into something far more mischievous as an idea struck her. She stood up, a devilish grin spreading on her lips, and made her way out of the parlor, a definite spring in her step.

&&&&&&&&&&

I can't believe Christmas has come and gone already, Carolyn thought a few days later as she sighed contentedly, reveling in the decadence of sitting in front of a crackling fire in her favorite bathrobe and slippers, undisturbed by anyone or anything, the embers of the most wonderful of dreams, given to her by the Captain, still glowing in her heart. The kids were in bed, having dropped off exhausted after a very full day of opening presents and enjoying their contents; Martha was reading in her room, glad to finally have a chance to put her feet up, literally, and take a well-deserved breather. All was quiet in the house, save for the logs crackling away happily in the hearth. It was quite a change from the mayhem of the last two days: Claymore bringing the baby to Gull Cottage; getting ready for Christmas Eve; the dream; then the Captain's velvety voice waking her around midnight so she could take part in the Midwatch. The sudden quiet was almost deafening. Stretching her arms over her head, she smiled as she saw a cup float down within reach. She took it gratefully, smiling wider as she inhaled the unmistakable aroma of mulled cider. "Hmm," she purred after her first sip, looking sideways to her right, a teasing twinkle in her eye. "What, no Madeira?"

Captain Gregg appeared, holding his own cup, a slight frown on his handsome face. "After you had the gall to raid my stock last night without my permission? I think not!"

Carolyn shrugged. "You did leave the bait up to me," she reminded the seaman. "Besides, you didn't seem to mind too much, as I recall. You downed the contents of the flask eagerly enough."

"What else was I supposed to do – leave my Madeira out in the open for any man jack in Schooner Bay to guzzle down so he could keep warm while on the lookout for me? Preposterous!" he pronounced, burying part of his outrage in a sip of his cider. "Hmm. That IS good. Not bad for a hundred-year hiatus," he said with a self-satisfied smile.

Carolyn's eyes widened in surprise. "You made this?"

"Aye. Don't look so surprised, my dear. I'm not entirely useless in the kitchen, you know."

"So I see." They drank in companiable silence, the snapping of the logs a pleasant counterpoint in the background. Carolyn suddenly smiled into her cup, recalling the aftermath of the Watch. Some people had looked at her a little strangely as she had proudly emerged from a pell-mell pile-up to place in Norrie's hands an old pipe of the Captain's that he had consented to part with to bring their plan to fruition. But for the most part, the other participants had only groaned good-naturedly and congratulated her on her great good luck. Actually, now that she thought about it, they had been more than congratulatory; they had been genuinely grateful to her for making this Watch particularly special. She shook her head; heaven only knew what people would come up with next year now that they had proof positive – the pipe occupying a place of honor in Norrie's window – that Tricky Dan could be caught in the act. Sobering, she looked back up at the Captain. "Speaking of kitchen, I'm really sorry you didn't get to try the dinner. I know you were looking forward to it," she said a little regretfully.

He shook his head. "Don't be; I think little Slugger's family could make far better use of it than I." He smiled tenderly down at her. "That was very good of you, you know. And I daresay it should impress the natives greatly."

"Thank you," she replied softly, at a loss to explain what that newfound acceptance from the townspeople meant to her, not to mention his support in attaining it. Clearing the lump in her throat, Carolyn smiled at the Captain and raised her cup in a toast. "To Tricky Dan – long may his kindness reign."

The Captain bowed, touched, then raised his cup in return, a meaningful look in his eye. "To the Lady of the Watch – may she see her dreams into safe harbor. Merry Christmas, my dear."

Carolyn's smile widened, her eyes twinkling merrily at him over the rim of her cup. After last night's dream, finding this particular harbor had turned decidedly easier.

The End