Chapter 20
San Juan Capistrano, CA - 1871
As the house stood completed, an unexpected stillness settled over it on Christmas Eve. Buck had decorated the tree with care, hanging ornaments one by one, but the holiday cheer felt incomplete. Miguel and Rosa had just left with their newborn daughter, Marciella, their laughter gradually fading into the crisp night air, leaving behind a heavy silence.
Buck joined Isaac and Megan as they eagerly tore into their presents, the crackling of the worn wrapping paper a soft contrast to their joyful squeals. A small smile tugged at his lips, their happiness a fleeting comfort against the ache in his heart. He knew he was merely going through the motions, but he had to keep going for his children. They were missing Halona too - she had been the only mother they'd truly known.
After indulging them with another warm cup of cocoa, he kissed them goodnight and sent them off to bed. Alone once more, Buck settled in front of the crackling fireplace, the soft pop and hiss of the flames a calming presence.
Memories washed over him, vivid and tinged with a bittersweet ache. Last Christmas, they had still been in Texas. Halona had shared stories from her childhood, and Buck had opened up about his own past. That exchange of vulnerability had deepened their bond, making the present emptiness all the more profound.
"Never knew my father," he finally said, his voice low. "He was a soldier who forced himself on my mother."
"I'm sorry." Halona rested her hand on his arm in comfort.
She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, a flicker of suppressed anger. "My brother found her... near the edge of the camp. Broken neck. They said she fell from the cliffs."
"But you don't believe him?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I saw the sadness in her eyes every day," he confessed, his voice cracking. "Every day, I reminded her of him. I think... I think she jumped."
Silence settled between them, heavy with grief. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, hot against his cool skin. He didn't wipe it away. Halona didn't either. Then, slowly, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him. She held him tightly, stroking his back in a slow rhythmic motion.
"Didn't mean to dampen the Christmas spirit," he mumbled as he rose from the couch.
"You didn't," she reassured him. Walking with him down the hall, she felt a pang of longing. "Goodnight, Buck."
"Goodnight, Halona," he murmured.
Her hand rested on the open door. Turning back to him, she spoke softly, "Buck," a single word loaded with unspoken emotions. "I had a really nice Christmas."
"Me too," he replied
He could almost feel her warmth radiating next to him, the scent of pine needles clinging to her hair. The weight of her absence pressed down on him, a dark cloud against the flickering firelight.
The fire slowly died down, leaving behind glowing embers. Buck rose, the weight of the watch a tangible reminder of his past joy and present sorrow. He carefully placed it on the mantle, a small piece of Halona forever a part of him.