Rating:  PG-13
Disclaimer:  Clones on Loan

Written for Haven's "Ornament This: Haven Challenge"

Thanks:  To Tess and Carol for preview and beta - thank you, Ladies!

NOTES:  At the end!

This story is an addendum to my "A Life" series that I completed
last year.  To better understand this story, you should probably read
the other installments, which you can find here:

http://char.chaffin.com/life_page.htm
 
 

"Home for Christmas"
 

"Dad, what about this one?"

He's cold and his ears are red, but patience abounds in this ten-
year old boy as he trudges ahead of his father and points to one tree
after another.  It's vital that they choose exactly the right tree;
he knows this.  It doesn't matter if the cold seeps through to his
very bones or the wintry wind bites at his cheeks.  Kevin tugs his
hat down tightly over his ears and rubs warmth back into his face as
he walks through the woods.  Two men with a mission, that's what they
are.  Kevin is just hoping to find the best tree without having to
tromp over more than fifty or so acres.

Frank considers the tree Kevin's pointing at.  A balsam, it looks to
be full enough and tall enough; easily seven feet.  The needles are
in great shape, though they have had more than their share of twenty-
below nights.  Snow is crusting every branch but that will all melt
off as soon as they take it into the barn.  Frank's eyelashes are
iced into clumps and he stopped feeling his left toe about an hour
ago.  Tree perfection is one thing; frostbite quite another.

Nodding to Kevin, Frank grips the chain saw firmly and instructs,
"Hold it steady, Son.  I'm taking' 'er down."  His silly attempt at a
Texas twang sets Kevin to giggling as he locks his gloved hands
around the upper section of the tree and plants his boots in the knee-
high snow.  His dad really does the worst dialect imitations Kevin
has ever heard.  Probably on purpose.

Between the two of them, they manage to cut down the tree, knock off
the worst of the snow and get it strapped onto Kevin's toboggan.
Both man and boy grab at the steering ropes and tug, dragging another
Christmas tree behind them.  It will take them roughly twenty minutes
to maneuver the tree through the woods and over an acre of snowy
pasture, before they get to the farmhouse and the large mugs of hot
cocoa waiting for them.  At the thought of such chocolate nirvana,
Kevin finds himself almost running, and his dad's longer legs keep
easy pace.

Dang, it's cold... but wonderful.

At the farmhouse a fire is roaring in the living room and the pot
bellied stove in the kitchen has been stoked and is ready to light.
Briggs huddles close to the table, his liquid brown eyes hopeful as
he watches June drop spoonfuls of cookie dough onto a baking sheet.

On the window seat Megan has lined up every stuffed teddy bear she
owns and is busy trying to teach them how to sing.  Her three-year-
old voice warbles sweetly and tunelessly in the otherwise-quiet
kitchen and June bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing
aloud at her daughter's singing abilities; it seems there are a few
things Megan inherited from her mother, after all...

"'Roodoff th' rednoze raindeeeer. . . you'll go down in Hiss-tor-
eeee...'  Mommy, where's Hiss-tor-eeee?"  Megan looks over her
shoulder at June, her big blue eyes earnest and curious.

June pops another tray of cookies into the oven and considers her
daughter's question seriously.  "Do you mean, where is it in terms of
a place?  Or what is it really?"  She dusts her hands off on her
apron and moves to the window seat to sit next to her adorable child,
brushing the soft red hair off her little brow.

Megan thinks about it for a second; then asks, "Is it up th' road?"
Kevin's always saying he's going 'up the road' to see his friend
Danny; maybe Danny lives in 'Hiss-tor-eeee.'  Megan figures as much
as people sing about 'Hiss-tor-eeee,' the place must be kinda neat;
besides, if Roodoff goes down there all the time...

"Ah. I see.  You think Hiss-tor-eeee is a city, or a town.  Honey,
it's not a place.  It's not 'where,' but 'when.'  You understand?"

Megan shakes her head frantically.  "Noooo, it's a PLACE, Mommy!
Roodoff lives there, don't he?"

"'Doesn't,' Megan Mine."  June corrects her gently.  "And Rudolf
lives with Santa at the North Pole.  Remember when we read "The Night
Before Christmas?"  Well, Rudolf lives there with Santa and all the
other reindeer.  History is a kind of 'when,' honey.  Like today is
now, but yesterday is 'history.'  Because it's when and not where.
It's already happened.  You'll understand when you're older."

Megan snuggles one of her teddy bears and thinks it over briefly,
then brightens.  "Will the cookies be hiss-tor-eeee when they cook,
Mommy?  Can I have one after they go to hiss-tor-eeee?"

June can't help but laugh aloud as she scoops her child and the
ratty old stuffed toy into her arms and hugs them both.  Megan shows
every indication of being as brilliant as her brother.  Her little
mind shouldn't be able to wrap itself around a concept such as
history, and yet she has more or less figured it out.  Once worried
to death about her son's genius, now June embraces it with gratitude
and thanks her lucky stars that Megan shows such promise.  Her
children have both inherited the very best from her and Frank.  It's
a blessing, not a curse.

A commotion at the back door has Briggs springing to his feet,
barking like mad.  Frank and Kevin enter and stand in the mud-room,
stomping off snow and shedding layers of wet outer garments.  They
both walk into the toasty kitchen dressed in their thermal underwear
and thick wool socks, and Briggs makes a beeline for Kevin, almost
knocking him over in his eagerness to slurp a wet tongue over every
inch of his young master's face.  Giggling, Kevin and Briggs go down
in a tangle of arms and fur, with Megan shrieking excitedly and
jumping onto Kevin's back, unwilling to be left out.

Frank moves to the stove and lights it quickly, then wraps both arms
around his wife and shoves his icy hands down the back of her jeans,
earning him a string of high-pitched gasps and several cuss words
smothered into his shoulder.  June squirms, trying to get away from
those cold hands and Frank merely hangs on tight and laughs at her
antics.  It's a scene that has repeated itself every mid-December
when her men go out to chop down the family tree.  Some traditions
are meant to be upheld whatever the cost...

"I'm going to KILL you, Frank.  Later on, when you least expect it.
I'm going to damage you severely."  The dire threat is muttered into
her husband's ear as June resignedly waits for Frank's hands to warm
up against her bare backside. She's married to a sadist but the day
isn't over yet.  She'll find a way to get him back, and Frank knows
it.

"Oooh, promises, promises.  Now I'm really scared."  Frank presses
his cold nose into her neck and June hisses but stands still and lets
him torture her, thinking that payback is a bitch and her husband is
going to get his.

Frank finally releases her and June takes a hasty step back, the
kitchen table now between them.  "Did you get the perfect tree?  Is
it in the barn, warming up?  Did you knock off all the snow?  Did you
remember to check for bird nests this time?"  Last year Frank and
Kevin had brought home a lovely tree, but it had been riddled with
the remains of bird nests, and Kevin had insisted on keeping every
one of them regardless of its condition.  He'd decorated his room
with them and after a few days of warming up, all these little
'caches' of hibernating insect larvae had hatched throughout the
nests.  Kevin had returned from a sledding session with Danny, to
find his room overrun with tiny worms.  He'd run screaming down the
stairs, leaving June and Frank to dispose of the nasty little
wrigglers.

Frank patiently answers all of his wife's demands.  "Yes, the tree
is perfect.  Yes, it's in the barn and no, it's not dripping too
badly.  Yes, we checked for nests.  And no, we won't be harboring any
little worm fugitives this year, I promise."

June nods, "Then you have done well, Husband.  You have done well,
Son," addressing both of her men formally.  "Your reward is large
amounts of cocoa and many cookies; that is, if they haven't all
burned by now!"  She rushes to the oven and pulls out the sheet in
the nick of time.  Her cookies are a bit brown but that's not a
problem; Frank and Kevin will soak them in their cocoa anyway.  She
could serve them charred lumps and they'd never know the difference.
June pours cups of cocoa and heaps cookies on a plate shaped like a
snowman.  Warmed and dry, the family sits at the kitchen table and
consumes their snack, Megan dozing on her father's knee and Briggs
begging for crumbs.

**************************

They have lived in Simmons for almost five years.  The town has
remained a safe haven and comfortably small, despite the inevitable
encroachment of civilization all around them.  There have been two
new families joining the residents of Bluff Ridge in the past few
years; one family purchased the old Chase farm a mile up the Ridge
and the other family cut a deal on an abandoned farmhouse off Emmett
Road, a foreclosure.  The latest Ridge residents have a son Kevin's
age, the afore-mentioned Danny, and Frank and June have spent some of
their past two summers assisting both families with necessary repairs
and such.  They haven't forgotten the way their Ridge neighbors
helped them out when they first moved onto their homestead and tried
to learn what farming was all about.  It has been their pleasure to
pass on the kindness they have enjoyed.  It's helped to keep their
tiny community tight.

With each passing year in the Bluffs, Frank and June feel more and
more secure.  They've had no troubles; not even an inkling of danger,
of worry.  Yet they remain cautious.  It's a habit too ingrained for
them to just relax, merely because five years have gone by and their
lives have held steady.  Their fellow neighbors and friends are
unaware of that other life of theirs, the names they never mention.
Three years ago Adele Pennington was apprised of some of their past.
Not all, but just enough.  As much as Frank and June trust Adele,
they certainly couldn't tell her everything.  Just that her friends
have led another life fraught with danger and the less the world
knows about them, the better.  Adele Pennington comes into contact
with the outside world a lot more than Frank and June do, and it's
been a good precaution to have someone who keeps their ears open when
the occasional tourist comes to town.  Someone who can let them know
if a stranger has been asking questions...

The constant worry Frank had, that their oldest child might
accidentally 'spill the beans,' has disappeared.  Kevin has the
ability to live a secret life and still act like any other normal ten-
year-old.  Popular and outgoing, he has many friends and yet keeps
his own counsel as tightly as his parents do.  It's a balancing act
that they've all learned to cope with, and when Megan is old enough
she'll have to be told, the same as Kevin was.

The past three years have been especially bittersweet for June and
her mother, Cora.  Their amazing reunion a few days after Megan's
birth gave June a much-needed emotional boost.  She's counted herself
fortunate and has been comforted by the knowledge that if she can't
be with all of her family, at least her mother is safe and close by,
living at the pretty farmette just two miles up Emmett Road.

Cora spends as much time at her family's homestead as she does at
her place.  More than once in the past few years June and Frank have
begged her to sell and move in with them. They'd feel better if Cora
lived with them.  They'd feel she was safer... but Cora loves her
little house and the small amount of acreage she has; loves her
garden and her apple trees.  Loves her freedom and her independence,
most of all.  She has a dependable car and a snowmobile that gets her
around just fine in the winter.  She can drop by the homestead any
time she wants to see her beloved family.  Cora feels safe.  Until
proven otherwise, she's staying put and happy to know her daughter
and family have the privacy they're entitled to.  Everyone needs
their privacy, especially them.

The outside world has forgotten them, and that's a blessing as well
as a hurtful thing.  Somewhere in a cemetery in Falls Church,
Virginia, is a family plot.  In that plot the Scullys share
gravesites and headstones.  Father, mother, two daughters... a son-in-
law, and a grandchild.  The surviving members of that family have
spent years of holidays visiting the plot and placing wreaths of
flowers, small mementos.  The remaining Scullys endure, with their
memories and their regrets, their triumphs and their pain.

June doesn't speak of it.  Neither does Cora.  And Frank respects
their need to find a way to grieve as well as rejoice that their
family is as safe as they can be.  For that safety Frank and June,
their children and Cora, will remain forever buried in two places:
in a quiet old cemetery in Falls Church and in the lovely, remote
Bluff Mountains.

*******************************************

Early evening finds Frank outside splitting logs and chopping
kindling, with Kevin helping to stack firewood and Megan doing her
best to gather up the leftover chips of wood.  Actually, she does a
decent job of tossing the larger pieces of kindling into the bin, and
Kevin keeps an eye on his sister to assure she doesn't hurt herself
or collect any splinters.  Her thick mittens do protect her little
hands, but kindling can have sharp edges.  Yet if they'd kept her
inside, Megan would have been protesting loudly by now, feeling left
out.  That's the last thing Kevin wants his baby sister to feel.

In the living room window their tree glows softly, multicolored
lights dancing along all the branches.  They haven't added any
ornaments; that will happen after dinner when their outside chores
are finished.

In the kitchen June and Cora work side by side; talking softly,
laughing a little, cooking together.  Briggs thumps his tail on the
floor and begs for scraps, and Cora slips him pieces of roast
chicken.  They've had a mutual-adoration thing going on between them
for years, and Cora spoils him shamelessly.  June catches her mother
'accidentally' dropping a piece of stuffing on the floor, Briggs
gobbling it up almost before it touches down.

She's smiling but she chides, "Mom, you're only adding to that dog's
addiction, you know.  He's already a crumb-hound."  As she speaks
June also 'knocks' a little chunk of potato off the counter and onto
the floor, chuckling when Briggs dive-bombs it.

Cora drops to her knees to give the devoted dog a hug and Briggs
enthusiastically swipes at her face with a large tongue.  "He's my
third grandchild and he can have anything he wants.  Wait till you
see what I put in his stocking."  She smiles up at her daughter and
June catches her breath at how lovely her mother looks, even after
all these years.  In the soft kitchen light Cora seems ageless, the
habitual worry lines around her eyes much less pronounced, her skin
smooth and her smile as sweet as ever.  Her dark hair has a few
streaks of silver here and there but her figure is still trim and
slender and she could easily pass for an older sister instead of a
mother.  Life in the Bluffs has been very good for her.

Suddenly June can't help but think of what could have happened to
her mother, three years ago when Cora's life was in danger.  She
tries not to dwell on such things but sometimes she can't avoid it.
But for the grace of God and the help of some very devoted friends,
her mother might have been forever lost to her.  Instead of such a
tragedy, Cora is healthy and safe and able to kneel on the kitchen
floor, hugging Briggs, her 'third' grandchild...

"Mom, you're so beautiful."  The words sigh their way out of June's
mouth and Cora's eyes blink back sudden moisture as she gets to her
feet and wraps her arms around her daughter.  By mutual consent they
don't often speak of the overload of emotion that both feel,
especially this time of year.  Holidays are sometimes hard to get
through when all of the family can't be together, and their situation
is compounded by their inability to contact anyone.  Isolation has
its own detriments and their need for secrecy takes its toll as time
goes on and the years pass.

Dinner is momentarily forgotten as the women hold each other.  June
presses her face into her mother's neck and Cora strokes her child's
hair soothingly.  She murmurs, "They're all right, honey.  They're
together just as we are, having a good Christmas.  Having a safe one.
That's all that has to matter, right?"  Cora leans back a little
until she can look into June's sad eyes.  "Remember what you told me
last year, when I had such a hard time during the holidays?  You said
that anything can be endured as long as the family lives on; as long
as nothing touches them or hurts them.  You told me that as long as
there's an inkling of doubt concerning their safety, this life we
have to lead is a blessing and a responsibility that we need to
embrace.  It's far from idyllic but it's all we have."

Cora kisses her daughter's cheek, adding, "It's a good life, honey.
We're alive and together and that's more than some families share.  I
get down on my knees every night and give thanks that I have you and
Frank, the kids.  And my third grandchild."  Her words are meant to
tease and draw a smile, which they do quite nicely.  June manages a
watery laugh and gives her mother a huge squeeze that is lovingly
returned.  No other words are necessary as they resume their dinner
preparations; if a few small sighs are heard over Brigg's renewed
whining as he cadges morsels, neither feels the need to hide their
emotions.

After the dinner dishes are cleared, boxes of ornaments are opened
and the tree decorating begins in earnest.  Most of them are handmade
but there are a few that are old and had been preserved from June's
'other' life, years ago when she first took Kevin and fled north to
await Frank's return.  She holds up a tiny French horn made of brass
and decorated with holly berries and a sprig of evergreen.  The
ornament had always been a favorite of hers and had graced the family
Christmas tree for as long as June can remember. It's one of four
ornaments that she managed to think to grab when she was packing in a
rush that cold, autumn day she and Kevin left Virginia.

Cora unwraps a wreath made of woven cotton ribbons, little jingle
bells and lopsided bows.  One of the boys made it for her in school,
and June had liked it so much that Cora had impulsively given it to
her one Christmas years and years ago.  It makes her smile to know
that of all the ornaments her daughter could have packed, the crooked
little wreath was chosen.

She hangs it on a front bough, commenting, "It's a bit worse for
wear, isn't it?  But I'm glad you remembered this one, June.  I think
Charlie was the creator; I seem to recall him tearing through the
front door, screeching at the top of his lungs that he'd made me
something for the tree.  He couldn't have been more than six or seven
at the time."  Cora turns to smile at her daughter and June smiles
back at her, pretending not to notice the way her mother wipes at her
cheek.  It's a cherished memory and whether painful or happy, those
memories are precious and meant to recall and enjoy.

Frank opens a box of crocheted candy canes, remembering the hours
June sat in front of their narrow living room window in the tiny
house they rented in northern Maine, the year before they moved to
Simmons.  She'd struggled to teach herself to crochet; then had
whipped up a dozen red and white yarn squiggles, wrapping the
finished curls around thick pipe cleaners, forming them into the
familiar cane shape.  He gives the box to Megan and she eagerly grabs
for the ornaments.  This is her very own holiday job, granted to her
last year after she begged for the privilege.  Frank had told her
everyone has a 'tree job,' and since Kevin's was stringing the
lights, Megan's would have to be hanging the candy canes.  Megan
takes her job very seriously, and all tree action stops while she
painstakingly arranges each cane to her liking.

There are decorated pine cones to hang, sprigs of baby's breath tied
with red ribbon that are tucked into sparsely-needled branches,
pleated lace fans and macrame hoops tied with gold trim.  There's a
set of quilted squares, all in holiday colors, that Cora and June
made just last year.  Boughs are tied up with wide, shiny plaid
ribbon; popcorn balls wrapped in colored plastic are hung, ready to
be consumed as the real countdown to Christmas begins.  Layer by
layer the tree is adorned with the old and the new, with fun and with
tradition.

Frank lets Kevin place the angel when everything else is done,
hoisting him up on flannel-clad shoulders to reach the highest bough.
Made of stiffened cloth, a hardened paper cone for a body and a
porcelain face and hands, the angel was a group effort created their
first Christmas at the farm.  Kevin had found the angel's head and
hands at the local five and dime in Simmons and had bought it for
June with some of his allowance money.  Frank had made the cone and
June and Cora had cut and sewn her gown, stiffening the material with
corn starch paste.  Last year, Megan added the halo herself, with a
little help from Kevin who'd shown her how to form it with cotton-
covered wire and a little gold paint.  The resulting angel is rustic
yet resplendent in her handmade finery.  She graces the top of their
tree like nothing else ever could.

Sipping at the cooling tea in her mug, June watches another tree-
decorating evening pass by, too quickly.  In the background holiday
music has been playing softly.  Briggs slumbers in front of the
fireplace on his back, all four legs in the air, snoring away.  Megan
has fallen asleep on the sofa, curled around yet another of her teddy
bears, and Kevin sits on the floor with his head in his grandmother's
lap, her fingers stroking through his tousled hair.  Across the room
June's eyes meet Frank's as he gathers up the last of the empty boxes
and stacks them for storage in their attic.  The look they share is
ripe with promise, tinged with only a touch of sadness.  It's a
feeling that comes with each holiday and is as familiar as the
stockings that are hung at the mantle.  Another Christmas will pass
with a prayer and a hope that their loved ones are engaging in much
the same traditions, and perhaps thinking of them, too.

******************************

With a sigh of weariness, Frank climbs into bed and pulls the covers
up to his shoulders, shivering a little in the cooler room.  June is
still in the bathroom and the children are asleep, Briggs curled in
with Kevin and Cora sharing a bed with Megan.  Snow had started
falling right after dinner and June had no problem convincing her
mother to stay the night instead of riding home in the dark on her
Arctic Cat.  As Frank relaxes against the pillows, he thinks that
tomorrow he'll talk Kevin and Megan into helping him make pancakes
for everyone.  Hot maple syrup on apple pancakes sure seems like the
perfect way to start Christmas Eve morning...

There will be gifts to finish wrapping and put under the tree.
They'll head into town in the early evening, to catch the seven
o'clock Christmas service at St. Matthew's.  At midnight they'll
gather around the tree at the farm, and light candles; sing a few
carols... say a few prayers.  Megan and Kevin will each get to open
one small gift, and Briggs will get a new Greenie to take to bed with
him and gnaw on.  The stockings will be filled with fruit and
homemade candy.  The children will dream of Santa and the adults will
get some much-needed sleep.  Christmas Eve is always celebrated in
much the same fashion, year after year.

But tonight it's all about the way June looks as she moves to her
side of the bed and sheds her robe, revealing soft skin and lush
curves, hair that tumbles over her shoulders... love that shines from
her blue eyes.  It's all about the way she comes into Franks's arms
under the covers, up against his body, warm and silken and so, so
eager.   It's the deep kiss she gives to him, the tender dance of
tongue to tongue.  It's hands that stroke, caress; it's limbs that
entwine and sighs that collect in the quiet of their bedroom and
float on the pine-scented air.  It's love that's made in the deep of
the night while the rest of the world sleeps and the snow falls
outside their frosted windows.

It's a life they cherish and protect, one they never imagined they'd
ever have and one they treasure above all else.

In two days it will be Christmas, and they'll dive into it with
gusto, enjoying the excited shrieks of the children as they unwrap
their gifts.  They'll stuff themselves on glazed ham and pie, they'll
toast the holiday with eggnog and hot toddies.  They'll hold hands
around the table and give thanks for what they have and ask for
protection for their loved ones who cannot be with them.

But tonight it's just the two of them, Frank and June.  Just them in
their old feather bed, making love in the glow of a single candle;
bodies moving together under a handmade quilt and warm blankets.
Deep, then deeper; slow and then fast, rough yet oh, so tender... the
dance is ageless and uniquely theirs.  The silence of the night is
broken by soft moans and a sigh or two; a groan of want, a cry of
completion.  An exchange of beloved names, shared between them in the
wee hours when they know it's really, truly safe...

"Mulder, God... I love you so.  I love you..."

He kisses her as she forms the words, taking them in and breathing
them back to her.  They rest against each other, damp skin pressing
close.

"Thanks for making good on that promise, baby.  I may never
recover."  His voice rumbles in her ear.

"What promise?"  She pretends she doesn't know, but she's smiling in
the dark, waiting.

"You promised to damage me.  Severely, I might add.  I must say, you
sure know how to deliver."

She snickers sleepily.  "Well, you asked for it.  You'll have to
wear a turtleneck tomorrow, by the way.  Or else face intense
questioning from your nosy children and behind-the-hand chortling
from my mother."

"It'll be worth it."

They cuddle, spooning tightly, slipping under fast.  Frank presses a
kiss on the back of June's neck, right over a very old, very faded
scar.  He cups her gently and she sighs in her sleep.  He curls
himself all around her and lets his mind drift, lets sleep take him
over.  Murmurs a final, "Love you, Scully," into her hair.

The wind blows outside their window; the snow dances on its current.
In the Bluff Mountains, all is calm... all is safe.

End

AUTHOR NOTES:  This was one universe I had no plans on revisiting!
But when Haven issued their "Ornament This" challenge, somehow it
just seemed right to go back to the Bluff Mountains and the story of
Frank and June, and add a little holiday to the series.

I hope you enjoyed it!  Many of the traditions I mentioned here are
actually my own family holiday traditions, including the handmade
ornaments and the Christmas Eve celebrations.

And, 'His-tor-eeee' was actually something my husband Don believed
when he was a little boy.  He thought Rudolf lived there.  I've
always loved the thought of a sweet little child imagining that
'His-Tor-eeee' was a place!

Thanks for reading!  And have a very Merry Christmas!

You can find all of my stories here:  http://char.chaffin.com

Drop me an e-line when you get a chance!  char@chaffin.com