The Christmas Spirit (21 page)

Trudy awoke when the sun first cast its golden beam around the bend of the Earth. She had slept soundly and peacefully, with something extraordinarily soft under her cheek. She sat up, wondering what it was, and all at once, her world turned upside down.

She started falling from the tree. Grasping for the limb, her hand found her pillow instead and dislodged it. She frantically called on her magic to stop her fall, but it did not.

Arms flailing, Trudy crashed through the leafless twigs and hit the ground with an, "Oof!" She felt as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of her body. Her back and elbows had been scraped, and a thick piece of cloth had fluttered over her face.

She lay there, blinded and stunned, for only a few seconds before recalling the wish she'd made on Christmas Eve. Had it worked? Did she really have a soul?

She'd never fallen from her branch before. Her head felt beaten like a drum. Her limbs felt heavier, too, as if cream had been ladled into them to weight her feet and hands. A new kind of spirit tingled inside her body.

She'd never been so terrified in all her life.

Gasping for breath, she tore at the material covering her eyes and discovered the green velvet gown, which must've fallen with her. And it was fortunate, too, for it was the only garment within sight.

Her magic cloak was gone. She looked up into the tree, but it wasn't there. Nothing was there, neither her cloak, nor the boot she'd wedged between the branches. The tree was as bare of clothing as she was herself.

Hastily, for she had no time to think of the consequences should she be mistaken, Trudy pulled the gown over her head. She struggled with its buttons, dismayed by the difficulty of such a simple task. Her fingers were so clumsy. She'd never had to use them this awkward way before. If something this simple was so difficult for her, how would she ever do anything more complex?

She found her arms were decorated with thin streaks of blood. The sight of her own blood nearly made her faint. Her pulse was racing, she trembled so mightily. She was almost afraid to stand up. But she could not stay seated in the park on a cold winter morning--Christmas morning--in a wrinkled ball dress with no shoes. Even though by this hour the witches and the dead would have retreated to their normal hiding places, a human or two could easily come along, and Trudy had no cloak in which to hide.

She had no choice but to go immediately to Matthew and to beg his forgiveness. But with a new awareness that caused a catch in her throat, she realized that Matthew might not want her, no matter what Francis had said.

Francis.
With a sudden ache, she remembered that she had not bid farewell to her brother. And without her magic, she had no way to find him if he chose not to show himself.

She mustn't think of her brother, though, or her Aunt Petunia or even that scapegrace Grace or such thoughts would surely make her cry.

Trudy sprang to her feet and felt them sink with a thud to the ground, as if they were lead. It took her more than a few practice steps to become accustomed to this new weightiness. It wasn't that the feeling was unpleasant; it was simply new and bizarre. The realization that she could manage to walk gave her spirits a lift, until she found that the frozen grass and dry twigs she trod were pricking the tender soles of her feet like shards of glass. Every pebble on which she stepped bruised her arch like the meanest blow.

Yet, these same smarting feet would have to carry her the blocks and blocks to Matthew's house without her magic cloak. With anxious tears, Trudy wondered what sort of foolish mistake she'd made, wishing for a soul so far away from where he lived.

Deciding she had best not wait until the streets were filled with pedestrians and carriages, she wiped her tears with the back of one hand and started. Gilbert Street could be as much as two miles away.

Trudy found that this walk was nothing like the one she had taken so blithely the other morning. The pavement beneath her feet was so cold it sent a chill right up her legs until her teeth were chattering, although fear might have played a part. The refuse covering the streets assailed her nostrils with the odor of rot. The feel of dirt between her toes made her shudder with distaste.

An occasional early-riser crossed her path. Some, also, who might never have found their beds or who had no bed at all stopped to watch her pass. As each man stared at her mussed gown and her dirty bare feet, she felt the shame of her appearance. With no cloak to hide her, she could do nothing but avoid their eyes, but still she felt their stares crawling like spiders on the back of her neck. Her own vulnerability made her want to flee, but she was not so sure her legs could run. Instead, she picked her way through the piles of rubbish left from last night's revelry and prayed that no friend of Matthew's would see her in this condition.

The sound of Christmas bells from the parish church hastened her pace even though her frozen lungs threatened to burst. Whatever it cost her, she must not be found on the London streets when the members of polite society started to emerge from their houses. Counting only six or seven blocks left to Matthew's lodgings, she began to sprint.

The sharp cobblestones made her wince with pain. Bitter wind stung her cheeks. Cold air burned her nose and the inside of her chest, but its dearth made her gasp. She could not manage to run the last block. She was too tired, too breathless, too much in pain.

Matthew's door in Gilbert Street shone like a hoard of gold at the end of a rainbow. The sight of it made her want to cry with relief, even though the possibility of his rejection brought tears of distress to her eyes.

What if Matthew couldn't forgive her for her deceit? What if he decided never to trust her with his heart again? What could she do? Wish for Old Christmas to take her soul away next year? Though she hadn't had much time to get used to it, her soul already felt like an inseparable part of her being. Even as miserable as she was, losing her magic would be worth it if Matthew would love her.

Trudy raised trembling fingers to the door and knocked.

The noise sounded feeble. As feeble as her knees suddenly went when Ahmad's intimidating form filled the doorway. He glowered at her, unspoken curses rumbling in his throat. Trudy's heart plopped into her stomach. In her desperate haste, she had not thought what to do if Ahmad would not let her past.

Painful feelings pressed like a heavy grip on her chest. She could not speak for drawing breath.

Ahmad's face first wavered. Then it faded, to be replaced by swirling stars, spinning faster and faster until all was black.

Trudy felt a bounce. She was bouncing to the cadence of someone's step, moving higher and higher up some kind of hill. She was cradled in his arms like a newborn lamb. Her shepherd had a strong, broad chest and arms like the branches of a sturdy oak tree. But pain kept her eyes tightly shut against the light.

An ache had spread from the soles of her frozen feet to her ankles and her knees. Her back had begun to sting, right along with her arms. All she could do was let her head flop back and groan.

She felt her shepherd pause. Her body was shifted in his arms, and a door clicked open nearby.

"Saab!" It was Ahmad, calling from a region somewhere above her head; his voice was lowered with care. Warmed by the sound of his concern, she slept again.

"Faye!"

Matthew had been sitting up, staring at his fire all night, with the pair of gloves he had tried to give her clasped in his hands. He would have drunk himself into a numbing stupor if the past year or two spent in a state of frequent delusion had not made him value his mental clarity far too much. No matter how hurtful that clarity might be.

Trudy's deception, his pain upon its discovery, the tears that had bathed his chest--all these things pressed heavily on his heart. He had suffered before, but never quite this deeply. The blows and wounds to his body, the scorching burn of others' scorn, even the knowledge of his own foolishness, which had been at fault, could not hurt him as much as his little elf maid had. She had wounded him in his deepest, most secret place. And, yet, he believed she had suffered as much, if not more than he.

To see her limp in Ahmad's arms made his pulse leap into his throat. What had she done to herself?

"Put her here," he said quickly, "on this sofa."

As Ahmad lowered his fragile bundle, Matthew took in Trudy's altered appearance. The ball gown she had worn last night was only half-fastened in back, revealing a large purple bruise upon her shoulder. The gown was stained and wrinkled. Her feet and legs were bare and covered with filth. Her tousled hair appeared to be full of tangles, and to Matthew's horror, he spied streaks of blood on her cheeks, mixed with tears.

"Faye." He fell to one knee and gently smoothed the hair away from her face with a trembling hand. "What's happened to you?"

Getting no response, he raised his eyes to Ahmad's face.

"I found her on the doorstep, saab," Ahmad said with a worried frown. "Could this be another trick?"

"I don’t know." Seeing Trudy in this painful condition made Matthew grieve to say it, but after the events of the previous evening, he could do nothing else. "She looks hurt."

"I will fetch linens and water."

As soon as Ahmad left the room, Matthew hurried to the tray by his chair to pour a glass of his untouched brandy. Kneeling, he raised her head and tried to get her to take a few sips.

She coughed and spluttered. The warm, amber liquid seemed to bring some color to her cheeks, though not the bloom that had been there before. She opened her eyes and saw him.

"Matthew." Moisture filled her eyes.

Before Matthew could ask her what had happened, Faye threw her arms about his neck, and instantly he felt a difference. She felt warm and soft and full, like a woman of flesh and blood. If he had not known better, he would have believed her to be one.

"Matthew," she whispered again. "I asked Old Christmas for a soul and he gave me one. I can stay with you forever now, if you'll have me."

Fear, the fear of being tricked again, robbed him of speech. Could he believe her?

But, as Matthew held her away, he caught a glimpse of her imperfections--a new pallor; small lines about the eyes he hadn't noticed before--the intensity of her green eyes had faded. But, even with these changes, she was still the most beautiful being he had ever seen.

"How long is forever?" he said, when he might have asked any number of things.

"For as long as we both shall live, but--" She swallowed, and Matthew could see the desperation in her eyes. "Oh, Matthew, I am ever so much older than you."

"It doesn't matter," he said, scooping her up into his arms to take her place on the sofa. She was still fragile, still smaller than other women, but she filled his arms as completely as she filled his heart, and he exalted in the feeling. "We shall be together just as long as we can."

"And you forgive me?"

"Of course. But how could you give up your magic, your very world, to be with me?"

"That's what Francis said, but I thought you would understand."

"I think I do." A barrier in his throat made it hard for him to speak. "I have been sitting here all night, wondering what kind of fool I was to let you go. But I would never have asked you to give up all those things you described, for I love you far too much."

He cradled her face tenderly in his hands. "Why did you, dearest? Why would you sacrifice the only life you've ever known?"

Her eyes bathed him with a gentle glow, and Matthew could see her new soul shining out from them. His heart skipped a beat.

"I couldn't live without you, Matthew," she said. "I didn't want to be an elf--my magic meant nothing--if I couldn't be with you."

A shuffling noise made them turn their heads towards the door. Ahmad appeared in the doorway, a blanket draped over one shoulder, a basin of water and strips of linen in his hands. He paused just inside the room to gaze back and forth from Matthew's face to Trudy's before permitting himself to smile.

"I have brought water for the mem'sahib," he said with a deep salaam. "And a blanket to wrap her in, for she will be cold."

"I was cold. Thank you, Ahmad--" Trudy struggled to straighten herself, but it was hard to sit with proper decorum in Matthew's lap--"but Matthew has warmed me up already."

"All the same--" Matthew took the bowl from Ahmad and gestured for him to wrap the blanket around her shoulders--"we can't have you freezing to death. Not on Christmas. What would Francis have to say?"

His joke made Trudy bluster. Matthew ignored her indignation and set about wiping her face and hands with a damp cloth. But when he reached her legs and feet, he had to ask, "What happened to you anyway to cause so many scrapes?"

"I fell out of my tree this morning."

He paused in the act of wringing out his rag. His eyes met hers with the purest joy she had ever seen. Yet, all he said was, "I think we'll be having rather more fascinating conversations round the dinner table than typical newly-weds."

The sight of his overwhelming happiness was too much for Trudy's conscience. She had to make him see what she truly was. "But are you completely sure that you want me, Matthew?" she asked with a quiver in her voice. "For I don't know how to perform the slightest task. I know absolutely nothing about work, and when I told you I was an indifferent housekeeper, I was speaking the truth. I am next to useless without my magic."

Matthew looked at her, still smiling. "You speak Arabic, do you not?"

"I--" Trudy paused, uncertain. But when she checked, she found she had not lost that ability at least.

"Yes," she said, pleased. "I'm still fluent in many languages."

"Well, I should say that your particular talents will be of greater use to me than a little cooking and cleaning ever would. We shall leave those chores to someone else. I had far rather you helped me with the books I'll be writing, and I can tell you right now, you will make the most perfect travel companion a man could ever have."