Home in Time for Christmas (14 page)

Mark.

“Seriously, can't we get out of here, please?” he asked her, spinning her around. He grimaced. “A little alone time? Away from the craziness. Honestly, even my old Sunday-school teacher has gone nuts. She took my hands and held them and then read my palm. She went on and on about how I was such a new soul, and needed to look to the past. She called me a fuddy-duddy!”

Mark was indignant. His expression actually drew a smile from Melody, and the Wicked Wiccan Willy was
already warming through her system. “Mark, you are an old fuddy-duddy.”

“Pardon me? What on earth does that mean, Melody?” He was hurt; she hadn't meant to hurt him.

“Mark, you're living…or you want to live…in the past. You think everything has a time and place. Women should be barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen.”

“That's not true at all.”

“Oh?” she asked, wondering if he had changed his thought pattern at all.

But no. Mark was simply a realist.

“Don't be ridiculous. It's freezing or cold a good third of the year. No one should be running around barefoot,” he said.

“Mark, colleges are filled with women these days. Mothers work outside the home. Fathers stay with the kids at times. And guess what—they love their kids, and don't mind changing diapers.”

He shook his head, slipping an arm around her. “Kids. That's the whole point, don't you see, Melody? Kids are the future. They need to be shaped and molded, supervised. I don't want my kids growing up with strangers.”

“No one wants that, Mark.”

“And the thing is, I can provide for a family.”

“Mark, everyone needs a sense of accomplishment and worth.”

“Yeah? Is that how you feel—or does it have something to do with this new guy from Boston you've suddenly brought home?” he asked her.

She opened her mouth, startled by the bitterness in his tone. “Mark, it has to do with me. Do I want children? Yes. Do I think that you can have something of a
career and children, too? Yes. Both my folks worked. I couldn't love anyone more.”

“Oh, please, Melody! Your mother is half-crazy—just look where she's brought us all tonight!”

She stared at him, stunned by the depth of fury that suddenly seemed to be burning throughout her.

“My mother is not crazy!” she said, enunciating every syllable.

“Melody, Melody, I'm so sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I am so sorry. She's a dear and kind person. But I don't want our children growing up with all…with all this weirdness surrounding them.”

“When I have children,” Melody said, “she will be their grandmother. And I will want her in their lives. I will want them touched by the love and
craziness
that she has within her. That's just it, Mark, don't you see? We cannot be engaged to one another. Now. Or ever.”

“You don't mean that, Melody. We're perfect together. I can't help but believe this all has something to do with your friend from Boston,” Mark said.

She took another long swallow of her Wicked Wiccan Willy. As she did so, Peggy Winston—apparently relieved of her duty as hostess at the door—swept down upon them. “Jake, dear, I wanted to ask you about—oh! You're not Jake, are you?”

“No, Mrs. Winston, this is another of my friends, Mark Hathaway. Mark, please meet Peggy Winston, our official hostess,” Melody said.

“Lovely to meet you,” Peggy said, taking Mark's hands and studying him curiously. “You must have slipped in when I turned over door duty to one of the
other women. But goodness! You certainly do resemble Jake. Are you two related?”

“No!” Mark said firmly.

“Genetics are so strange, aren't they?” Melody said. She looked at Mark. It was true that he and Jake had a similar look. Same hazel eyes, green and tawny. Dusty-brown hair. And yes, strong handsome features. Mark was a very nice-looking man. She was just aggravated with him. She wanted to be his friend. She cared about him.

She just didn't want to be engaged to him, and now, the very thought of marrying him made her twitch.

“You're quite sure?” Peggy asked.

She still had Mark's hands. He looked as if he wanted to rip them away from her. He somehow refrained.

Because he was a decent human being. He just had different beliefs and desires.

“I'm quite sure,” Mark said.

“Well, this is New England,” Peggy said. “So many of us had ancestors long ago, and every once in a while—just as you said, Melody—genetics pop up here and there. Absolutely intriguing.”

“Yes, of course.” Mark cleared his throat, indicating his hands.

But Peggy didn't give up easily. “There's a strength in you,” she said somberly.

“Thank you,” Mark said stiffly.

“An old strength,” she said.

“Great. I was just told I'm a new soul.” Maybe he didn't intend to sound so sarcastic.

But Peggy wasn't put off. “A new soul…with a strange old-time strength. Ah, that's it. Old-fashioned to the core!” Peggy said.

Mark was very straight. “And there's something wrong with that?” he asked.

“Only when it hampers the present, and brings out the pain of the past,” she told him. She released his hands. “Pleasure to meet you, Mark. Blessed be.”

Mark was silent. Melody responded by rote. “Blessed be.”

When Peggy had turned and disappeared through the crowd, he swung on her. “What the hell was that? You belong to a normal religion!”

“Oh, Mark! What is wrong with anyone saying ‘blessed be'? It's like ‘God be with you,' or ‘through the grace of Allah,' or ‘Jehovah.'”

“No, it's not. That's it. You've given up your faith. I don't know why. There's no reason for you to have turned against Christmas and all that it stands for,” he said earnestly.

“I haven't turned against Christmas! Oh, Mark, please, I'm Christian because of my world, because of what I was taught, because I even love my church. But others have learned differently, or they've come to believe differently, and I'm really sorry, but my
Christian
teachings have made me try to understand and be tolerant of others, especially when they're trying to do good!”

She was growing so angry and aggravated with him. Maybe that was good. Maybe she could say right then and there that there was no hope for them, even as friends.

And then he could go away and stay in a hotel!

She winced. No. Her mother had invited him. Honor code of Mona—he had to stay, and she had to start being more patient.

But Mark looked at her and exploded. “They're
witches,
for God's sake.”

“What? And you want to hang them, or go back to medieval Europe and burn them at the stake?” she demanded. “Mark, the Wiccans—those I know today, certainly!—believe in doing nothing but good to and for others. Evil deeds come back on you threefold. Mark, open your eyes, please. We may be New Englanders, but we're not single-minded Puritans anymore. Oh, Mark. Please. Enjoy the party. These are nice people. It ends at one, we'll pack up and go home then.”

She spun around and left him there, standing by the drinks table.

Rude. Terribly rude. Her mother would be appalled.

Her mother was welcome to deal with him.

Melody wasn't sure where she was going then, what she wanted to do, or how on earth they were going to handle the situation.

It had all gone mad.

Now, her mother had talked to her father, and as unbelievable as it might be, her father seemed to believe that Jake had fallen in from an alternate universe, as well.

She made her way back to stand in front of the band. Jake was now on guitar. She marveled at his love for instruments, for his ability to pick up one after another, and play so easily with a group he had just met.

He looked up and saw her. She smiled weakly.

He looked away.

Melody looked at her watch. It was almost time for the evening to end. She prayed that in this instance, time would go quickly.

 

The castle was emptying.

There was no more music, and the food and drinks stands were closed. Servers cleaned up, quickly and efficiently, eager to get home.

Melody saw her folks at the door, chatting with Peggy. Her brother was helping the band pack up along with Jake.

She stood alone, watching as the last of couples, singles and groups exited the castle.

She didn't see Mark.

Anxiously, she scanned all the rooms she could see, and then hurried over to her parents.

“Mom, I can't find Mark.”

“He came in his own car, right?” Mona asked.

“Um, I think. Or maybe he went to the house, and then took a cab. I don't know, Mom, I never asked him.”

“I'll take a look out on the balcony,” her father said.

“I'll go on down to the basement area,” Mona offered.

“Mom, I'll go,” she said. “You just stay here.”

But Mark wasn't on the lower level. Melody came back upstairs to find that the band had packed up completely, and Jake and Keith were with her parents and Peggy Winston and the castle representative.

They were ready to lock up for the night.

“I can't find him anywhere,” she said worriedly.

“All right, well, he might have gone on to the house,” her father said.

“He might have, but…I don't know,” Melody said. She was trying not to look at Jake, but he was studying her seriously.

“Were you two arguing?” Mona asked.

“No, no, of course not. Um, maybe we were exchanging a difference of opinion,” Melody said.

“Why don't you go home, and I'll stay here,” Jake suggested. “Donald Ferguson is still packing up. He can bring me back when he's ready to leave.”

“Jake, dear, we wouldn't leave you. You're our guest, and…well, frankly, you know the area the least,” Mona said.

Jake laughed pleasantly, giving Mona a squeeze on the shoulders with a deep and appreciative affection. “I do know my way, if need be. Not that much has changed, honestly. But Donald is still here, so I'm fine. And you'll probably find that your friend is at the house.”

“I'll stay, too,” Keith said.

“I'm the one who should stay,” Melody said.

“Except that he might be at the house, out front, waiting to get in,” her father said.

“Shall we look for his car first?” Keith suggested sensibly.

They all stared at Keith and nodded.

But Mark's car wasn't parked in the lot. “Go on home, please,” Jake said. “All of you. I'll be on the lookout for Mark.”

“Just remember that sunrise comes early,” Mona said.

“Of course,” Jake said. He looked at Melody. “We'll find him, don't worry.”

Melody winced. She wanted to make him understand.

She didn't want to do so with an audience.

Keith said, “I'll stay.”

“But three of us won't fit in the van,” Jake said.

Keith tossed Jake his cell phone. “You've learned how to use it, right?” he asked.

“I hit the word
answer
to answer. I hit the word
end
to end. I think I've got it,” Jake said.

“Right,” Keith agreed. He flipped open his phone. “And if you want to call us, hit my sister's name right here, and then
talk.
”

“I understand,” Jake assured them.

He waved to them. Melody's mother slipped an arm through hers and firmly started toward the car. “Come on, dear, don't be worried. We'll find Mark.”

“Thanks, Mom,” she murmured.

She looked back. Keith and her father were following behind them. Jake had started out in the cold of the night, circling around the castle and the cliffs and lawns that surrounded it.

“I'm sure we're going to find him parked in front of the house, or maybe on the porch,” Mona said. “He really didn't enjoy the ball at all, you know.”

“He doesn't believe in witches—or Wiccans,” Melody said.

“Well, dear, every man and every woman out there has a different way of thinking,” Mona said gently. “Some people just come with tolerance, and for others, well, with any luck, they get to learn it. Here we are, at the car.”

Melody slid into the back. She was surprised when her brother, seated beside her, set a supporting arm around her shoulders.

“We're going to find him, and he's going to be okay, and everything is going to get straightened out,” he told her.

“How do you know?” she asked bleakly.

“Well, it's Christmas. I think it's a time when we just may be able to make little miracles happen, when the right will and love are in our hearts, don't you think?” Keith asked.

He gave her such a grin, she didn't know if he was serious or not. The scientist, who seemed to believe in the absurd, as well.

“Sure,” she said.

The castle wasn't far from their house. As they approached it, she found that she stared at the lights, and she was surprised that the colorful glow seemed to touch her heart, even over her fear for Mark. Lights, angels, crosses, beauty and belief, all shimmering against the snow.

What if something terrible had happened to Mark? It would be all her fault.

His car was in the driveway. Melody leaped out of her father's car and went racing along to look in the driver's-side door of Mark's car. Empty.

Mark didn't drink and drive. Maybe he thought he might be drinking at the party and had called a cab to pick him up at the house.

So where was he now?

The castle sat on cliffs that fell dozens of feet to the sea.

No, no, no. Nothing had happened to him.

“Oh, God,” she said, feeling ill.

“I'll check out the porch, the lab, the backyard,” her father said.

“Give me your phone, sis. I'll give Jake a call and let him know that we haven't found him here,” Keith told her.