Cottages and Christmas

July 1927

The day after school let out, Steve was packing his bag, and waving goodbye to his mother from the back seat of the Barnes' car. Bucky had invited him to spend the month with his family on vacation in Maine. Maine! Steve had never been farther from home than Long Island.

And it was a house on a lake. Which meant swimming every day, Bucky said, and his father would rent a motorboat and they would go fishing and climb trees– Steve's mother had frowned at the climbing trees part. But after making him promise several times over that he would not climb trees, or do anything else very strenuous like swim out of his depth, and be very careful not to catch a cold, she had relented.

Lying in bed that first night, too excited to sleep, Steve whispered to Bucky, "Is your dad rich?" Bucky had to stuff a corner of the sheet into his mouth to keep from yelling with laughter.

Steve just stared at him. "Most of the people on our street don't have cars."

That sobered Buck up plenty quick, though Steve could still see his grin, gleaming white in the dark. It was warm enough that they had the window open a bit, and Steve could hear the waves swoosh, swoosh, swoosh on the shore.

"No, we're not rich," Bucky said, sitting up and pushing the blankets aside. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees. "Our tin can ain't exactly a Cadillac. We don't have any more money than most people, I think."

"We're just poor."

"I didn't say that," Bucky protested.

"But it's true," Steve said, sitting up as well. "Sometimes I hear Mama crying at night when she thinks I'm asleep and she's asking God to not let us starve."

Bucky was silent for a long moment. "Did you ever?"

"Ever what?"

"Starve."

"No."

"Well, then." Buck sounded triumphant. "You can't be poor, because poor people starve. 'sides, your ma makes the best gingerbread in the universe. You can always live on that, if all else fails."

Steve suddenly cocked his head. A wild, wavering cry echoed across the lake. He shivered.

"That's the loons," Bucky said, suddenly yawning. "These crazy birds."

They fell asleep with the calling of the loons, and Steve dreamt he was eating gingerbread and dancing with crazy birds.

On Monday morning Steve was shaken awake by Bucky, grinning like an idiot. "Happy Birthdaaay!" he whispered, bouncing quietly.

"Ughumm," Steve groaned, rolling over and swatting at his friend.

"How about we wake everyone up at once?"

"How in the world would we?" Steve dug his knuckles in his eyes, and stretched.

"We'll jump in the lake!"

Steve stared up at his friend, dumbfounded. Bucky's face was alive with mischief and excitement, that daredevil look.

"Come on!" Bucky grabbed Steve's arm, dragging him bodily out of bed.

"But I'm in my pajamas," Steve started to protest.

"Wear 'em."

Then they were out in the hall, tip-toeing past the girls' room to the stairs, which fortunately did not creak, and moving in a barefooted rush to the back door. Outside the grass sparkled with dew, the morning mist was rising off the lake, the first rays of sun were rose-gold spilling across the landscape.

Steve stood, knocked breathless by the sheer beauty of it. In all his life, he had never imagined…

And then Buck had his arm again, towing him across the lawn toward the water. He blinked, sucking in the deepest breath he'd had in… ever.

"Ready?" Bucky said, gesturing to the wooden dock that stretched out into the water. Steve knew instantly that he would be out of his depth. And he didn't actually know how to swim. But Buck did. And…

He grinned at Buck. "Definitely." Almost in tandem they stripped off their shirts, rolled up their pant legs.

"Go!" Bucky yelled, the sound a gunshot across the lake.

They were off, running pell-mell, their feet thundering on the wooden planks, whooping suddenly, loud enough to wake the dead. There was one step left and Steve instinctively grabbed Bucky's hand, fear meeting—but not conquering—the exhilaration. Then they launched into freefall, opposite hands coming up to grab their noses, before the shrieks were stifled in the overwhelming SPLASH.

They came up gasping, Steve feeling like he'd been dumped in the Arctic. Buck was yelling and splashing, shaking off Steve's hand. Steve went under again, only for a moment, but he was having trouble catching his breath. A hand gripped his arm, towing him through the water, and then he stumbled, finding solid ground beneath his feet. He choked, spluttered for a moment, found his breath.

"Hey. You 'kay?" Buck asked.

"Yeah–" A wave of water caught him in the side of the head.

Despite his fears, he did not have an asthma attack that day, and there were presents waiting at his place at the breakfast table. Two crisp dollar bills—one each from Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, a big bouquet of wildflowers from Rebecca (and the twins), a swell penknife from Bucky—with Steve scratched on the handle, and from his mother a set of six of the finest drawing pencils he had ever seen, along with a thick, thick sketchbook.

"You're a rich man now," Buck observed, drowning his cereal in milk, and ignoring his mother's scolding.

Steve glanced up to grin at his friend. "And how!" he blurted.

Christmas 1928

Steve held his breath, pressing against Bucky's side. He could sense that Bucky was getting dangerously close to exploding; probably into laughter.

With agonizing slowness, the slippered feet of Aunt Margarita shuffled past. She paused once, to dim the lights even further, before making her way to the stairs and, just as slowly, ascending. Not until they heard the soft click of her bedroom door shutting did the two boys finally let out a long breath: Whoosh.

"Gee whiz," Buck said, as they crawled out from under the dining table. "I thought the old bat would never go to bed."

A giggle exploded out of Steve, before he clapped his hand over his mouth. "Bucky!" he gasped.

"Well, that's what Dad calls her." Bucky did a little jig in his stocking feet, stopping as the clock chimed the half-hour. "Gosh, it's only ten-thirty. Santa Claus isn't coming 'til midnight." He winked furiously at Steve as he said Santa Claus.

"And just for calling your aunt names, he'll leave you nothing but a hickory switch."

"Ish kabibble," Bucky said rudely. "Let's go find some ginger bread. I doubt even Cousin Hattie ate it all, though she eats enough for an elephant."

Steve scampered after his friend, barely stifling another giggle. It was probably just the intrigue surrounding staying up all night that made Bucky sound so reckless. Though he was right about his cousin Hattie Barnes; she did eat far too much.

In the kitchen Bucky already had his hands on the bread box. "Ha," he said, triumphantly, peering in. Steve was only half paying attention. It didn't matter how many times he saw it, the Barnes' kitchen still amazed him. Everything: the stove, the ice-box, the cupboards, the table, was twice as big as the Rogers'. And the food… He and his mother had enough, but for a growing ten-year-old boy nothing is ever really enough.

"Stevie."

He started, and took the (large) piece of gingerbread Bucky was holding out to him.

"Let's go scope out the living room," Bucky suggested. "Find a good hiding spot."

Steve and his mother had been invited for Christmas last year, but Steve had come down with a terrible cold. That cold had earned him an extra week of holidays, but he'd still regretted it.

The Barnes' living room was resplendent with cedar boughs, sprigs of holly, and, most stunning of all, the colored lights on the tree. The light danced off the glittery papers and bows piled underneath.

He wiggled his bare toes in the carpet, his stockings still not dry after the evenings' outdoor antics. The dozen or so cousins, which for one glorious evening included Steve, had gone out to play in the snow. In the middle of a spirited snowball fight, Bucky's two biggest cousins had ambushed him, knocked him into a snow bank and made off with his shoes. Bucky had been furious and personally seen to washing their faces. Steve had made Buck promise not to tell any parents, he didn't want his mother worrying about him catching a cold now.

"Behind the armchair in the corner," Bucky was saying. "I think we'll both fit." Their plan was to hide and scare whichever of the adults came down to fill the stockings.

Steve glanced over at the fireplace, where the ashes were banked up over the coals, and stopped. "Uh, oh," he said, mouth full of gingerbread, "I think we're too late."

Staring at the full stockings hanging in a row, Bucky's mouth opened and closed several times before he blurted, "Applesauce! Rats! Phooey!"

Steve barely suppressed a snicker at Bucky's indignation. "Probably what Aunt Margarita was doing."

"Applesauce!" Bucky said again. Then suddenly he whirled, a devious light in his eyes. "Let's open them now."

Steve looked at him, startled. "Our presents?"

"No, the stockings!"

"But… it's not Christmas yet."

"Oh, come on," Bucky groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Don't be such a wet blanket."

"Wait. Where is my stocking anyway?" Steve moved to run his hand along the line of fat bundles, searching for his worn little sock, the one his mother had made for his father when they were married, with Joseph embroidered on it. Now it had Steven on it too.

"Here," Bucky said, shoving one of the big, fat red ones at him. "Next to mine."

"But that isn't–" Then Steve caught sight of the faded red yarn poking out and stared. "You mean this is… all mine?"

"Yup." Bucky grinned and dragged him over to the tree. "Let's dig in."

They fell asleep there, slumped over on each other, surrounded by candy wrappers, oranges, and small trinkets. Only to be woken Christmas morning by indignant squeals from Bucky's sisters and the rest of the small fry, a good-natured shaking from the older cousins, and the laughter of the adults.

Notes:

Words from the day:
Ish kabibble: a common retort, in the sense of "What do I care?"

So, some folks might not agree with how I portray the differences between the boys' families, but remember I'm just telling the story the way I see it.
Also, these are snapshots, memories, without full background. Seen through a kid's eyes.
Please keep any criticism constructive.
Hope you enjoyed!