The oaken door blasted open, carrying in a gust of cold winter wind. Tall and gaunt, Baron von Helfin appeared within the frame. I rose from my place before the fire, my body trembling with fear. The words to my beloved Christmas carol trapped within my throat. Fearfully, I backed away until my spine connected with the firebox.
"Silence!" von Helfin roared. His round eyes bulged fiercely from his ashen face.
Hastily, the Baron strode toward me. Raising his hand, he struck my cheek forcefully. I staggered, and my knees buckled. I grappled for the mantlepiece, slipped, and fell to my knees.
"Uncle!" Ranulf exclaimed, rushing to kneel beside me.
"Be gone!" Swiftly, von Helfin grabbed his nephew's arm and hauled him to his feet. Propelling the young man toward the door, he continued, "If I required your assistance, I would demand it."
"But, Uncle," the Baron's ward pleaded, "you needn't use violence. She's just a young girl."
"I said be gone," my adversary repeated, swinging the heavy door closed in Ranulf's face.
A firm hand shot out, preventing the closure. The nephew leaned in the entryway, his arms crossed defiantly. Von Helfin surveyed him coolly, then turned back to me.
"It's…it's K…k…Christmas Eve," I stuttered, re-finding my voice.
von Helfin flinched at the word 'Christmas.' Nevertheless, I stood my ground. He would not prevent my celebration of the holy season.
"I forbid the word in my presence," my capturer hissed, a nerve in his cheek pulsating. "Bring her," he ordered, shoving me manfully toward Ranulf.
Stunned, I collapsed into the Baron's nephew's arms. Gently, he pulled me against his chest. The rapid thump of his heartbeat calmed me. Encased within his embrace, I allowed him to lead me down the spiral staircase. Nicolai von Helfin followed on our heels, occasionally prodding his ward's back. We continued downward until we reached the dank cellar and halted at the nursery door.
Mama barely glanced at us when we entered. She perched on a faded divan with Vanda and Luiza cozied against her side. In hushed tones, my mother read to them from 'The Brothers Grimm.'
Vlad occupied a school desk. He leaned over a slate filled with arithmetic problems. Peering over his shoulder, Ranulf offered his assistance on a tricky response. The younger boy scrubbed his answer away and began again.
"Your daughter, Madam," von Helfin coolly stated, "will join your class. She requires instruction and a keen eye. You will keep her occupied from now on."
Hastily, the Baron withdrew. Wordlessly, the children stared at his retreating back, then cast their eyes downward. Ranulf remained. His smooth brown eyes traveled from my toes to my head as he leaned against the wall. I shuddered at his cool observation and shot him a hate-filled glare.
"Christmas Eve, Mama," I announced dolefully. Swiftly, I squatted before her and laid my head in her lap.
Her blue eyes surveyed me dully. A momentary light filled them and swiftly dissipated. Rapidly, I began talking about the yule log, mistletoe, and decorating the vicarage Christmas tree. Silently, Vlad rose. Vanda ran to him and buried her head in his stomach. His long fingers combed her straggly black hair. Luiza approached and placed her hand protectively on the back of her little sister's head.
"Shush," Mama balefully admonished.
"It's Christmas, Mama," I whined, unashamed.
Silently, Ranulf ushered the children from the room. They ogled me as they passed, their complexions as white as a bleached sheet. The door swung shut, leaving Mama and me alone.
"We should celebrate, Mama," I pleaded imploringly. "Papa loved the holiday. Don't you remember? He would want us to rejoice with glad tidings; he would…."
"Your Papa's dead, Norah," my parent exclaimed unmercifully. "We have a new life and must accept a new way of living. The Baron does not celebrate; he does not wish…"
"I don't care what the Baron wishes," I rapidly stated. "How can you live with a man against all our beliefs? How can you forget Papa and Grey Friars and…?"
Waith-like, my mother rose from the divan. Absolute terror filled her eyes, and her mouth turned downward in a snarl. Believing her emotion rose against the Baron, I advanced on her. Stretching out my arms, I attempted to embrace her. The touch of my fingers against her shoulder caused her to flinch backward.
"Oh, Mama, what has he done to you?" I exclaimed mournfully. I suddenly realized she did not act in fear of the Baron. My words and my movements terrorized her.
I paused, staring at her sorrowfully. Folding my hands together as though in prayer, I fell to my knees and pleaded with her. She looked past me blankly as though she could not see me. Gathering her full skirt in my fist, I buried my head and sobbed.
"Don't allow him to destroy you, Mama," I begged imploringly. "You're good, Mama, good at heart. I love you. Please love me back."
Impassively, Mama stepped around me and drifted toward the door. Remaining on my knees, I crawled toward her, grasping for her gown's hem. She hesitated momentarily in the frame, then stepped beyond it. The Baron emerged from the shadows, and Mama walked into his embrace. She cast one last look over her shoulders toward me. Then, they seemed to evaporate into the stone wall. I threw back my head and screamed like a banshee.
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Startled, I awoke in my turret bedroom. The morning sun shone a meager shaft of light through the window slit. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I bolted up and gawked at the solemn room.
'Nightmare,' I muttered, half in terror-half relieved.
A glowing fire crackled warmly in the fireplace. My black stocking bulged from where it hung from the mantle. Recalling the day, I leaped from the bed and dashed for it. Hugging it against my body, I plummeted triumphantly to my bed. Gleefully, I reached inside. My hand circled a hard lump. I pulled it out and stared at the black coal.
"Naughty little girls get coal in their stockings," Papa admonished. His grave gravelly voice floated from the bed hangings.
My back stiffened, and I turned toward the sound, expecting to see my beloved father. For a moment, I believed I saw a wispy man's form. Then, I blinked, and he disappeared.
"Oh, Papa, I try to behave," I whispered, tears forming, "but I want to go home. I'm unhappy here."
I absently counted the coal—sixteen pieces—one for each year of my life. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished for peppermint candy. Nevertheless, when I reopened them, the black coal remained.
"Papa," I cried, reaching toward where I believed he stood. "I need you, Papa. Oh, why did you have to die?"
Rising slowly from my bed, I gathered up sixteen lumps of coal. One by one, I flung them through the window slit. Exhausting my supply, I flailed my arms and, tripping on the carpet, fell to my knees. Filled with fury, I balled up my fists and beat the floor, my feet thrashing behind me.
"I have never had the patience for spoiled children," Mrs. Balan remarked, slamming the breakfast tray onto the table. "Stop this at once."
Roughly, the housekeeper grabbed my arm and pulled me up. She pushed me into the embroidered chair and, swinging her arm back, slapped me across the face. My neck lashed to the right, cracking loudly. I began to flail madly again. Mrs. Balan slapped my other cheek.
"How dare you!" I hissed menacingly. "How dare you strike me!"
"I'll give you that and worse if you continue," the chatelaine threatened.
"How dare you," I sputtered again, less enthusiastically.
"Be silent." Mrs. Balan drew her hand back again, and I cowered. "Eat your breakfast." She straightened her back and marched through the door, slamming it behind her.
I remained in my seat, staring into the fire. Finally, I rose and, lifting my plate, flung the morning scone into the fire. The porcelain teapot followed it and shattered on the firebox bricks. The yellow and orange flames crackled when the hot liquid touched them.
Crossing my arms across my chest tightly, I plunked into the chair and stared into the blaze. A deep frown cut across my face, and I pouted.
"A fine way to spend Christmas day," I muttered.
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