Betrayed

brushing the hair from her eyes with a tender touch.

“Merry Christmas, Brooklyn,” he whispered.

She snuggled in and answered, “Merry Christmas, Lance.”

There was excitement in the air, similar to that of holidays past, when Brook was a child. As an adult she still loved Christmas, but hadn’t felt that old enthusiasm for years. Now, it was back.

Lance cleared the new-fallen snow from the paths and completed his chores while Brook had a quick bath. He carried in the eggs and set them on the counter, then waited his turn in the bathroom. Brook started breakfast while he showered. She was getting better at working the old black stove.

After eating, they sat before the decorated tree. Lance was surprised to note a second gift sitting under the tree next to the one he had placed there last night before bed. He reached for his gift to Brook and placed it gently into her hands. Brook’s hands shook slightly as she removed the paper from around the gift. Inside she found a small wooden box. Lance had crafted the container to look old fashioned, with brass corners and delicate carvings. He watched anxiously as she opened the lid, relieved as a smile raised the corners of her full lips. Inside, she found a steampunk charm bracelet with dangling metal pieces that included tiny gears, wheels, hearts, and miniature antique keys.

“Oh, Lance! It’s absolutely lovely.” Her eyes sparkled. He reached over and helped her put on the bracelet. His touch lingered on her wrist. They shared a slow tender kiss. “Thank you so much. I’ll treasure it always. And the box, too! It’s so pretty, so unique. I just love it.”

“You’re welcome, Brooklyn. I’m glad you like them.”

“Open yours now!” Brook handed him a gift wrapped in brown paper from a grocery sack and tied with twine. She had fashioned a bow from the same cord creating a package with homespun appeal that was pleasing to the eye. He hadn’t really expected a gift, knowing she had no way to get him one. He untied the string and pulled the paper apart. Inside he found a small cloth-covered book made from scraps of a flannel shirt that he recognized as the one she had resized to fit her. It was bound with a thin suede strip looped through two holes and tied in a knot. In the middle was a small pocket with a little scroll sticking out. He unrolled the small piece of paper and found it said ‘to Lance from Brooklyn’.

“How did you do this?” he asked, turning the book over in his hands.

“Oh, it was really nothing,” Brook said, thinking of how she had taken the cardboard backing of her writing pad and covered it in fabric for the back and front. “But open it! Read the inside.” She looked down, suddenly shy.

The pages were sepia, and Lance recalled Brook asking for tea bags one day. He now understood that she had treated the paper to make it look old. Page one featured a simple ink drawing of his cabin in the snow. On page two, he found the first poem.

If there ever were a place to be

lost, reduced to a painful crawl

It would be here in the piney trees,

God guiding me through nature’s sprawl.

If there ever were a man to find me,

to rescue me from savage harm

it would be you, so strong and kind

to soothe my grief and mend my heart.

If there ever were a way to stay

where hurts are healed and tears are dried,

somehow to you I’d find my way

And stay forever by your side.

“I did the best I could, but they’re not very good. I’m anything but a poet,” Brook said.

“It’s beautiful,” Lance told her, his eyes warm. He wanted to ask her if she really meant the words, if she would really stay by his side. Then he read it again and focused on the line, if there ever were a way to stay and thought he had his answer. But he refused to be sad this day. He turned the page.

He found more poems; one about the comfort and warmth of the cabin, a humorous one about Gilbert’s impending motherhood, and an intense sonnet about their lovemaking that was so intimate it caused a slow wave of heat to wash over his body.

“Oh, Brooklyn,” he whispered, his eyes meeting hers. “You’re right, these aren’t good; they’re excellent. I would say you definitely have a way with words.” He moved closer to her. “You have taken my heart, you know. And your writing captures that feeling exactly. Thank you.” She smiled at his praise, her cheeks flushed.

He looked through the book again, stood, and offered her a hand up. He set the book in a place of prominence on the mantle before taking her in his arms.

“Brooklyn.” He spoke her name like a song. “I don’t know whether you want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. I love you. I love you so much.”

She laid her head against his chest, lifted high by the words she had longed to hear. Her heart swelled with emotion, and she looked up into his eyes. “I love you, too, Lance.”

The kiss was long and intense, and led them to the passion that was always humming between them, just below the surface. They sank onto the daybed in the corner and surrendered to the heat of their ardor. Afterward, Lance cradled her in his arms and stroked her hair. They were drowsy and satisfied. Eventually, they rose to prepare their Christmas dinner, having decided to eat at noon and then snack on leftovers throughout the rest of the day.

Gathering the ingredients for her holiday cake, Brook was sharply aware of the grief her family would be struggling with at this time. She said a silent prayer for her loved ones. In spite of a pang of guilt, she also said one for Clark and hoped the Lord would listen to her under the circumstances.

Lance kindled the fire in the cook stove. He carried the thawed duck to the sink area and washed it thoroughly, rubbed salt into its cavity-and placed it in the center of a roasting pan. Collecting a couple of apples and an onion, he chopped them and mixed in some pecan halves and spices. He stuffed the duck with this mixture, and then smeared butter over the breast. Covering the pan loosely with foil, he slid it into the oven.

 He glanced over at Brook. She was mixing ingredients in a bowl at the table and seemed preoccupied.

“Missing your family?” he asked, perceiving her thoughts, as usual. Sometimes she was shocked at how well he could read her.

“I am,” she answered. “But it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” With a force of will, she pushed her worries to the back of her mind. She was not going to taint this day with sorrow. “I just need to keep reminding myself how relieved and happy they’re going to be when I come home,” she continued. “They’ll probably feel like I’ve returned from the grave. What about you, Lance? Do you miss your family?”

“Sure,” he answered. “In fact, I’m going to visit them as soon as I can. I’ve decided it’s time I stop being so selfish. If I want to hide from the world, that’s fine. But it won’t hurt me to go see my folks more often. I guess I feared it would be too painful to be around them, with their eyes full of sympathy and concern for me. I thought it would rip down my defenses, break my heart all over again. Somehow I’ve been able to shut off the emotions for a long time. Having you here has kind of changed that.”

“Is that bad?” Brook gave him an intent look.

“No, no, baby. It’s good. It’s opened up some areas I had been trying to ignore, but I feel more alive than I have in years. It’s a change. But it’s not a bad one.” He paused and reflected for a moment. “Are you aware this is the first Christmas I’ve celebrated in…wow, five years? And, this is one of the best I’ve ever spent, special, with gifts from the heart.”

Brook smiled as she played with her bracelet. “I know what you mean. Christmas has gotten so commercialized. It’s wonderful to have a small celebration. Your gift means more than the ones I usually receive. I’m glad I could bring the happiness of a holiday back to you.”

Lance smiled to himself. She had no idea how close she came to tons of gifts. He had wanted to give her all the steampunk items he had finished and make a few more besides. But, he had controlled himself and she seemed to be happy.

Brook, for her part, thought about Christmases past. She recalled holidays in Denver with piles and piles of