Winter Star, page 2
“Yes, ma’am.”
Julie watched her go, wringing the towel in her hands. Am I making the right decision? Are we going to be able to carry this off? Will it work? She picked up the spatula, finding comfort in her baking.
Chapter 3
Sitting in the passenger seat, Belle watched the landscape passing by. The trees, most of them barren, reached toward the heavily blanketed sky—she hoped that meant it was finally going to snow. They’d gotten a dusting here and there, just enough to create a slushy mush during rush hour. Never enough to actually enjoy or do anything with.
And the forecast had whispered about an approaching storm.
As sad and forlorn as winter usually wound up being, it was by far Belle’s favorite season, reveling in the beauty that most people overlooked. She especially loved the many strands of lights that were strung upon pine trees and bare limbs, outlining windows and tracing rooflines. The way they sparkled and lightened up the night like stars fallen to Earth.
If only society didn’t consider it so taboo to leave them up year-round. The sight of them always brightened up a gloomy day, which was why she kept a strand up in the living room.
“I think we’re making good time,” Julie said, turning down the radio, the songs cutting away to advertise a holiday play. “We should be there before dark.”
“Think it’ll snow?”
“The forecast said we might have a foot by morning.” Julie leaned a little forward to make a show of peering out the front windshield. “But I question the validity, since we’re still flake-less.”
“Yeah…”
Julie patted her thigh. “Snow or not, this is going to be a wonderful two week period. Your parents are going to wish they were here instead.” She shook her head. “Why anyone wants to live in the south is beyond me. Can you imagine going through the year with weather that’s always summer-like? What is winter without snow?”
“Yeah,” Belle said again, turning her gaze once again to the houses, which grew farther and farther apart. The normally green spaces between them had gone brown and gray with the arrival of the colder temperatures. The barren farm fields lay dormant until next growing season, having been transformed into slabs of hard-packed, rutted mud. She absently fiddled with the hem of her sweater. “Thank you for this.”
Julie smiled, barely taking her eyes off the road. “Anything to make you happy, my love,” she said.
“We could have stayed in the city.”
This earned her a firm head shake from Julie. “Nope. You’re going home for the holidays, and you’re going to like it.”
“Okay.”
Julie hesitated, then asked, “You’re okay with Hector joining us?”
At first Belle had wondered why Julie might want her friend along, worried she was missing a key piece of evidence. Did she extend the invitation to avoid the two of them being alone? That, of course, was ridiculous, since they’d been sharing an apartment for nearly a year now, and before joining their households they’d spent considerable time at each other’s places.
Could it be Julie liked male companionship now and then? Did she have a casual thing going with Hector? An absurd thought, surely. Still, Belle glanced at Julie. She loved Julie, heart and soul, from her blond blue-tipped pixie cut to her button nose. She often snorted when she laughed, refused to tan, and missed her calling as a professional baker. The idea of losing Julie to anyone, especially Hector, needled at her, especially since he was capable of providing Julie with certain aspects of a relationship Belle didn’t offer.
Ah, there you are, insecurity, my old friend. She clenched her hand into a fist. Why must you plague me? Why must you whisper these ugly things to me in moments of weakness? Why must you make me second guess her, this woman who makes me feel so alive? She told me about her past, about the girls before me. The girls. Always girls. So why do I continue to feel threatened by Hector?
“Belle? Are you okay, hon?”
Tears burned her eyes. Belle sucked in her bottom lip. Irrational. I’m being horribly irrational. Again. My parents have ditched me and technically they have a good reason. Even if I feel slighted, they have a right to visit Prue. She’s their daughter too. “I’m okay,” she said, not even buying it herself. “Just tired,” she quickly added. And yet, I’m sitting here with the love of my life feeling sorry for myself.
“We’ll be there in, what, fifty minutes? How about you take a nap on the couch, and I’ll whip up dinner?” Julie offered, flipping on her blinker and navigating a tree-lined turn. The number of cars on the two-lane stretch of road dwindled the farther out they drove. With the concealed sun sinking low toward the horizon, darkness began to rush in. Julie flipped on the high-beams in case any deer dared to dart across the street.
“Okay.”
“Oh, look,” Julie exclaimed, pointing out the window. Tiny flakes of white slowly descended upon the world. She smacked her hand against the steering wheel, letting out a peal of laughter. “It’s about time the snow got here. Now it’ll definitely feel like the holidays. I just hope the bulk of the storm holds off until Hector can join us. The idea of him driving this road in a heavy snow…” She shivered.
“Yeah,” said Belle, completely lacking enthusiasm. While the snow pleased her, she continued to fret about Hector’s role in their time away from the rest of reality. When Julie had first proposed the idea, it had caught Belle by surprise. Then, while frosting the gingerbread folks, Belle realized that two weeks away with her love might be the thing she needed to get out of her slump. How the hell does Hector factor in? She wanted to ask…
“Oh, I love this song.” Julie twisted the knob, turning up the volume. A second later she belted out the lyrics of the upbeat little ditty.
* * * *
“Thank heavens, we’ve arrived,” announced Julie, slowing to turn into the gravel drive.
By now the snow fell in earnest and with the occasional gust of wind it had made it hard to see the road. As much as Belle reveled in the arrival of the season’s first decent snowstorm, she was glad to be back home safe and sound. The winding country road to the farm where she’d grown up could have left them in a ditch waiting for another car to pass—which likely would have meant Hector. This kind of weather prompted people to stay indoors. She guessed by morning everything would be drifted over.
“Maybe we’ll be spending these two weeks snowed-in.”
With Hector. “Maybe.”
The farmhouse came into view. It was two-stories, not counting the attic space, with a wraparound porch. Over the years her father had fussed over it, upgrading the majority of it, and even in the driving army of flakes Belle could see they’d gotten new siding since her last visit. The porch light glowed to welcome them, as did one of the lamps in the living room, the space beyond concealed by drawn curtains.
There wasn’t a single Christmas light in sight. A stark reminder her parents planned to be gone for a while and a definite difference from how they were greeted last year, the first time she’d brought Julie home for Christmas. The farm had looked like someone plucked it from a snow globe and settled it amongst the white blanketed fields, and her mom had greeted them at the front door with warm hugs. Even as they sat around the tree no one mentioned Prue. To Belle it had been a magical time, though there remained a trace of sorrow at the hole left by the missing daughter.
Usually returning to the farm, her childhood home, brought a sense of peace and comforting familiarity. There were more happy memories in these walls and on these grounds than bad. She wanted desperately to keep it that way.
Julie parked, shutting off the engine. Outside the wind howled. “Are you ready to make a mad dash for the front door?”
“Afraid of a little snow?”
“I’m not exactly dressed for it,” Julie pointed out, “and neither are you.”
She was right, of course. The two of them wore similar outfits, jeans paired with a previously weather appropriate top: a sweater for Julie and a hoodie for herself. Julie had foolishly opted for sneakers on the way out, while Belle had slipped on her boots. There wasn’t a single glove, hat, scarf, or coat between them.
Belle sighed, gazing out the window at the vanishing world, feeling caught up in a snow globe someone had violently shaken. She fought the urge to smile. By morning they’d be surrounded by a winter wonderland. She could hardly wait to roll out of bed and peek outside at the fresh blanket of white. Maybe the clouds would break, revealing a soft blue sky and allowing the sun to make the snow sparkle and shimmer.
The only thing keeping this from being a perfect moment were the unadorned evergreens. Her dad usually wrapped each one in its own color and they were always visible from the road. And growing up, her mom always greeted the first snowstorm with a mountain of French toast covered in powdered sugar.
She was home, but the holidays still felt miles away.
“Alright, I’m going for it,” Julie said.
Belle turned to watch her pocket the car key. While Belle was lost in thought, Julie had retrieved her bag from the backseat, setting it in her lap. The cold of the wind began to drive away the warmth in their now silenced car. Belle unbuckled her seatbelt and snatched up her own bag, mentally bracing to be walloped by the wind.
“On the count of three,” Julie said.
Belle placed her hand on the handle.
“One, two, three!”
They threw open the car doors.
Chapter 4
By the time they reached the shelter of the porch, they were giggling, their hair tousled by the wind, snowflakes on their eyelashes and soaking their shoulders. It was one of those moments Belle wanted to linger in, carefree, the joy on Julie’s face truly a beautiful sight. Had she not been shivering, the fingers of the storm tearing away her body heat, Belle would have grabbed Julie for a kiss.
“What a rush,” Julie said, running a hand through her short hair.
A kiss like the one in the kitchen yesterday.
Instead she reached for the dog statue sitting beside the door. It was too obvious a hiding place, she’d told her parents back when they’d first showed it to her, but they insisted on using it nonetheless. From the false bottom she withdrew a key, having misplaced hers in the hubbub of the holidays. She slipped it in the lock. As the front door swung open, a cloud of blessed heat rushing out, a new sound reached Belle’s ears.
She paused, listening, turning to look out into the swirling mass of white. A heavy weight settled in her stomach, especially when she heard it again and realized what it was and where it came from.
“Belle, don’t just stand there, get in here,” Julie said, taking hold of her arm to tug her into the foyer.
Belle shook her off, quickly tossing her bag over the threshold. Her eyes met Julie’s. “The animals. It sounds like Mom and Dad left the animals out. They must have thought we’d arrive sooner or beat the storm, if they even knew it was coming to begin with.” Could Julie detect bitterness in Belle’s voice when speaking of her parents?
Her eyes grew wide. “Are you going out there?”
“I have to,” Belle replied, already at the top of the porch steps. “They can’t stay out in this, it isn’t fair.”
“At least grab a coat or a hat, even a flashlight,” yelled Julie.
But she was already off the porch and back out in the fury of the storm. The wind stung her eyes, forcing them to water, and her cheeks felt like they were being pricked with hundreds of needles. She was walking into the wind, almost certain she heard Julie yell her name. Belle didn’t turn around to look. Arms crossed over her chest, teeth chattering, she made her way toward the barn.
How could her parents forget the animals? Much the same way they seem to have forgotten about you. She bit her lip. Now was not the time to dissolve into tears. Sure, she understood their overwhelming glee, or at least thought she did, but she was their daughter too—didn’t she matter? And how could they forget about the animals?
The wind whipped around her and the air filled with the sound of cracking wood. Belle hesitated, trying to get better bearings. She’d walked this path countless times a day as a youngster, had worn the path down, but in the storm she could see how easy it would be to lose her way. A glance back showed the faint glow of the porch light. It looked miles away and out of reach.
Belle shivered.
She’d make her way back. If all else failed, the barn was heated and she could bunk there for the night. Then again, if she failed to return, it might send Julie looking for her and…Belle pushed away the morbid thought. Why, oh why had she shoved her phone into a pocket on her bag? What she wouldn’t give to have it snuggly in her back pocket.
A panicked whinny got her moving forward.
The security light outside the barn came into view and brought with it a rush of hope. Belle ran for the door, gripping the icy handle in her already numbing hands. She gave it a tug. Nothing happened.
“No,” she whimpered. “Please.”
She put all her weight behind the next attempt. The door scraped along its track. She opened it wide enough to slip inside, hurriedly closing it in her wake. Doing so plunged her into darkness. Why weren’t the rest of the security lights on? Belle fumbled along the wall for the switch, hitting it. Bright light washed over the cozy place. There was no time for Belle to reminisce on happier days when what sounded like a hoof hit the pasture door.
“I’m coming, guys,” she promised.
Belle prayed the second door opened easier than the first. This time her yank was strong enough that when the door slid smoothly along she nearly wound up knocked on her butt. Almost instantly the handful of critters poured in, seeking warmth and shelter from the raging snowflakes. Belle counted, making sure everyone got in, then slammed and locked the door.
To her, it sounded like the wind howled louder, angered, and the barn shook. Bless her father and his handyman ways. The structure had been old when she was young, but much like the house, routine maintenance and upgrades left it standing sturdy as a rock. Belle let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding.
Animals milled around.
“Alright, guys, time to get you properly put away and make sure you’ve got dinner. Tomorrow I’ll bring you all a treat and,” she said, directing the three goats to one of the stalls, “if you’re really good, St. Nick will leave something extra special.”
By the rise of the sun tomorrow it would be the fifth of December. The day after that was one of her favorites, especially from when she’d been knee-high to a grasshopper. Most people probably didn’t even know the traditions of St. Nicholas Day, much less that it existed or even on what day.
A pony, now considerably aged, nuzzled her shoulder. Belle smiled faintly, planting a kiss on the white-gone-pink splotch on Pinecone’s velvety nose. The bay pony may not have looked like much to some people, his pedigree a mystery, but to Belle he was a dream come true. The year she turned six she had rushed downstairs on the sixth of December to see what St. Nick had left for her overnight. She had expected a handful of sweets and a tiny present or two.
“Imagine my squeal of delight when Dad gave me your lead rope,” Belle said to the pony. She scratched her old friend on the forehead, recalling how she used to tell the snobby girls at school that he was a small Mustang. She had pestered her parents all year in hopes of getting a pony of her own, having looked up to her sister and all the ribbons she had won at local shows. “You became more than a show pony.”
Belle led Pinecone to his stall, locking him in for the night. She quickly tucked everyone else into their beds, so to speak, and wandered back to the entrance. The horses were munching hay and the cows had lain down, one with a chicken roosting on her back. She inhaled, finding pleasure in the earthy aroma of the barn, a place where she used to spend countless hours.
For the first time since leaving home for college, Belle experienced a pang of regret. Living in the city…I should have come back home. Then I met Julie and…Belle braved the storm, her boot prints almost erased. She made a beeline for the house, wanting the warmth Julie provided and thinking it might be nice to curl up on the couch for a movie, much the way they had last night.
But a car she recognized as Hector’s had joined theirs in the driveway. The hint of cheer she’d mustered dissolved. Trudging up the steps, the wood creaking, Belle finally made it into the safety of her childhood home. She ditched her boots on the designated mat. Voices came from the kitchen.
Surprisingly they hadn’t heard her come in. Belle tiptoed along the hall, able to avoid the floorboards that squeaked. She stopped outside the entryway to the kitchen. She hazarded a peek around the corner.
“Are you sure she doesn’t know?” asked Hector, leaning against a counter with his arms crossed. She ducked back out of sight, afraid of being spotted. This was the perfect opportunity to get some insight into their private relationship.
“Positive,” Julie replied. Something bubbled on the stove, its delicious perfume wafting through the house. “Our secret is safe.”
“For now. Belle’s a brilliant woman. She’ll figure it out. Though I give you props for trying to pull this off.”
A sigh from Julie, followed by the ringing of plates being gathered. “Soon enough, yes, until then, just keep your mouth shut. I need this. I need you.”
“I hate lying to her.”
“I know. Me too.”
Belle decided she’d heard enough, peering around the corner again to see the two of them occupied, Julie at the stove and Hector setting the table in the adjoining dining room. She crept by, waiting until she was halfway up the stairs before making noise.
“Belle?” Julie called.
“Just going up for a quick shower,” she replied, amazed that she kept the heartache out of her voice. A tear slipped down her cheek.
Chapter 5
