“Gerda, your pacing will not make him arrive sooner,” Grandmother said watching me as I went from one window to the other. The front window looked down on the street.
If I saw him there first, then he’d given up on them. And I couldn’t, wouldn’t blame him for it. I hoped he’d make peace with his family. It made my orphan heart ache to think of willingly turning away from blood relatives. Reconciliation could not be impossible. Especially on Christmas night.
The side window looked into his living room. If I saw him from the side window, then maybe I would see the moment. The moment when they really saw Kay for the first time. When they would finally accept and love their last born son for being creative and kind. Maybe they’d wave me over and I’d cross the garden bridge that connected our two houses via our laundry rooms and have some tea before our big supper was ready. And speaking of…
“Okay, okay. What do we have left to make?”
Grandmother and I bustled around the kitchen like two interlocking clock gears. We’d done this dance so many times we just turned and moved and cooked without a word. I wanted to paint this. I wanted to draw our house as the case of a giant grandfather clock and us as two figurines on top that danced a puppet dance around the house. But I clamped down on the urge. There were more important things. The potatoes would not peel themselves.
While the pies were in the oven, I resumed my window walking. From the front window I could see the street as the snow began to gather in heavy clusters, no individual flakes anymore.
“The snow bees are out,” I told Grandmother, using our pet name for the fat snow clusters that moved erratically in the wind. When I was young and had only heard the story of the Snow Queen a dozen times, Grandmother told me that the ‘snow bees’ were precursors of her approach. And once the ‘snow bees’ had landed on branches and then fell off in clumps she was very near. We called the sudden snow drops, ‘white owls of winter’. I used to wait at the window to catch sight of her or Santa but neither ever showed their face.
“She would come on Christmas,” Grandmother muttered. “Mark me if her sudden cold presence doesn’t bring a baby or two into the world this Christmas night.”
Grandmother had delivered most babies on our side of the city and many on the far side and in neighboring cities. I wouldn’t bet against her that she’d be called from our Christmas festivities to help a laboring mother. When I was a child, it used to be a source of bitterness when she was pulled from me. But now as I was preparing for my new life as a wife, I was glad that she’d be too busy to miss me very much.
I was so distracted by the thickly falling snow and Grandmother’s ill premonition that I didn’t notice the commotion next door until it was at its crescendo. Kay’s arms were up as he used them to try and force his words to be heard. Mr. Hansen was red-faced and yelling inches from Kay. His mother was wringing her hands in the background and while I couldn’t see his brothers, I could imagine their wicked grins.
Grandmother saw my sudden stillness and heard the muffled voices from across two windows and falling snow. She came to stand beside me and, with flour-caked hands, wrapped an arm around me. “Not long now,” Grandmother said, an easy prediction.
I nodded and only turned from the window when I caught Mrs. Hansen’s eyes, embarrassed and hurt. It was better not to watch.
We waited in silence for the tap at the laundry room door or the front door. It was the front. I wiped my hands on my once-white apron, now stained with sugar and potato peelings and hurried down the steps.
The Kay that waited for me was almost sizzling in the cold snow. I felt his rage and could almost see the fire blasting beneath his skin. He had a deep bruise starting to form down his left cheek. The purple blooming beneath his pale skin. My own face told on me.
“You saw,” he said, not moving to come in. The snow settled on his bare head blending in with his white blond hair. His fists were clenched with anger not from the cold. Blood dripped from small cuts on his knuckles.
“Yes, I saw. But only for a minute.”
“That was probably as long as I was up there. Gerda, you cannot imagine the things he said to me. I thought we would make peace. But my father called me a disappointment. He said that I should never have been born and that four sons was all any man could need. He said that I was dead to him and should never come back.
“My mother started sobbing. Sobbing, Gerda. The most sound I’ve ever heard her make. She begged my father and when he slapped her across the face, I lost it. I tackled him and started punching. I told my mother to run but she just stared at me. My father didn’t take much time to recover from the shock and Noah and Oscar were ready, as always, to jump to his defense, not that he needed help. One powerful blow had me seeing stars and as I started to pass out I ran out of the house. He ordered no one to come after me. Shouting as I left the house, that… that I didn’t exist.”
Now that the words were out, he sank a little. He shivered as the furious heat left him. I slowly pulled him towards me like he was a wild animal that might spook. He took one step, two, three and I closed the door behind him. I brought him to the stairs and he sat next to me.
“I’m sorry, Kay.”
It wasn’t enough but I just didn’t have other words. I had encouraged him to go over there. I had imagined the best out of a herd of wolves and had sent Kay like a lamb to the slaughter.
“It’s not your fault for being so wonderful that the ways of madmen are inscrutable to you,” he said graciously.
He took several deep breaths and exhaled in a loud burst. “There was talk of apple pie,” he said, pulling himself up and giving me a hand. “That is if it’s not all on this apron,” The glint in his eyes told me that my Kay was still with us.
I huffed, reading my lines from the playbook. “If that’s how you feel then you are welcome to make yourself some sweet potato pancakes and eat that while Grandmother and I feast.”
“Don’t deny our dear Kay food just because you are cranky, Gerda!” Grandmother hollered from the kitchen.
We each shook off our sadness and anger and left them by the door with Kay’s coat and boots. It was Christmas, after all, and there was food and presents and secrets to share. I nearly ran up the last steps.
Having been in the kitchen all day I was nearly nose-blind to the aromas wafting from the oven and stove and fireplace but it knocked Kay back a step as he took a deep inhale. His grin went all the way to his eyes and I knew that his family was forgotten and he was really here.
Kay bowed to Grandmother from the top of the stairs and then walked to her side to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“You surpass even yourself this year,” Kay said winking. “It’s a shame to eat and destroy this feast but it’s a far greater sin to let it go to waste.”
Kay pulled back a chair for Grandmother and then me before sitting in his usual chair, the one with its back facing the window next-door.
“To good friends and true family and apple pie,” I said, lifting my glass of apple cider. The spices and fizziness made it the exact right drink for Christmas night.
“To the blessings we have received and the love we share with others,” Grandmother said, adding her glass.
“To the end of winter and the start of a new year and new life,” Kay said, meeting my eyes at his last words.“Merry Christmas,” we said in unison, clinking our glasses together before taking deep sips.
We ate the feast in-between bouts of laughter and memories of Christmases past. Now that dinner was over it was time for desserts and presents. I felt my heart start to thunder in my chest. I had momentarily forgotten about what I had done and suddenly felt nervous. I jumped an inch out of my seat when a steady stream of pounding started on the front door. Grandmother took a long sip of coffee and then started to gather her things while I headed to answer the door.
“I’m sorry, Grandmother,” I said. “You knew you’d get a call. But maybe it’s not about a baby. Maybe it’s Santa Claus and he forgot a present for me.”
“Or maybe it’s the Snow Queen,” Kay said.
I laughed as I walked down the steps.
Kay’s laughter and joke floated after me. “If she tries to come in here, I’ll just throw her on the stove and she’ll melt. This is an exclusive dinner after all and she was certainly not invited!”
I was still smiling when I opened the door but a small worried face brought me back to reality.
“Ma’s baby is coming,” little Leon Gordon said with snow settling on his hat and shoulders. Leon was the first of five children and his poor mother was expecting her sixth.
“Grandmother is coming,” I said. “Come inside for a moment and sit by the fire.”
“No. Pa said I was to hurry back with Grandmother Larson. Is she coming?” he asked, peering behind me. He hopped from one foot to the other.
“I’m coming. I’m coming, Leon,” Grandmother said, putting on her thickest coat, hat, scarf, boots, and gloves. “I was there when you were born and Gemma, and Miles, and Vickie and Lana. I won’t miss this one. I wouldn’t give Midwife Ellen the pleasure of delivering one of your mother’s beautiful children. Let’s go meet the newest Gordon, shall we?” She took Leon’s arm and gave me a kiss. “Be good tonight, Gerda. I told Kay he can stay an hour. No longer. Merry Christmas, my sweet girl.”
“Merry Christmas, Grandmother. I promise, only an hour.”
I closed the door behind Grandmother and each step up the stairs was echoed in the loud thud of my heart. An hour alone with Kay. A wonderful Christmas gift indeed.
Kay was sitting by the fire with a wrapped gift, the notebook of our rose drawings, and a mug of coffee. His pie plate was empty save for a lone crumb or two.
“The Snow Queen or Mrs. Gordon?” Kay asked.
“Mrs Gordon. I didn’t think she was due for another few weeks but with Grandmother there all will be well.”
“Do you think the Snow Queen ever hitches a ride with Santa Claus? It would save them both some trouble. It’s snowy and cold most places on Christmas Eve.”“Not on Summerton,” I said smiling.
“Well of course. Since it’s always summer there. Sometimes I do envy that it’s always eight-five degrees. But on Christmas… Seems such a shame to have a hot sunny Christmas.”
“True,” I said. I had known no others.
“I’ve got it. I bet the Snow Queen and Santa Claus live next door to each other. They probably hate each other. He’s up at all hours making toys and singing carols. And she’s plotting icy destruction with a penguin army.”
I laughed imagining his vivid story.
“Well I hope she’s in a good mood tonight,” I said looking out the window. “The snow bees are really flying right now.”
Kay rested his hand on mine pulling me from the silliness and snowy view and bringing me back to just him.
“Presents first or roses first?” Kay asked.
One of our favorite traditions were the secret roses we drew each other. Every winter we would sit back to back and perfect a beautiful rose that we would give to each other on Christmas. Though this year I had changed the rules, without telling him.
“Roses,” I answered. My wrapped gift was only a small trinket, I hoped it wouldn’t be important with the magnitude of the fresh tattoo on my arm.
I opened the notebook where we stored our finished roses but only Kay’s folder was in there, right where I had left it earlier. And come to think of it, I hadn’t seen my folder this morning. Maybe it had fallen out and was hidden among the books. I stood to go look for it when Kay said “Don’t bother, I have it right here.”
He pulled the folder from his bag and I felt my eyebrows raise all the way up. Kay had taken my drawing… My next thought was impossible. It was impossible but I found my hands reaching for his sleeve all the same. I slowly slid his sleeve all the way up and familiar white petals met my eyes.
How?
How could Kay have known what I did? How could he know that a fresh rose tattoo rested on my forearm? He couldn’t have and yet somehow he’d had the exact same idea. But this was just another puzzle piece in the giant scheme of our lives that spelled out that we were one. That we were meant to be. I could see the moment of shock when he realized that I had done the same thing. We had both gotten each other’s rose drawings tattooed on our forearms.
“Impossible,” he said, shaking his head as his fingers trailed slowly up my sleeve. “I can’t wait to see it. I thought of you with every line,” he said. The touch of his fingers on my arm gave me chills. His crimson rose appeared slowly, one petal at a time. I remembered how serious he had been as he’d drawn it over many nights. The lines were bold but delicate. It knew what it wanted. The stem was brown with thorns and one green leaf. We always drew thorns. It felt like a lie to pretend that life didn’t include them.
“Did it hurt very much?” he asked, tracing the sore red skin around the edges.
“No,” I said, absentmindedly studying my white flower on his arm. I’d drawn it bold and strong. The lines were thick and sure and I was impressed by how well the white showed up. I slid my hand into his and our roses were locked in a bouquet more permanent than the frame that hung on the wall of the past years roses. A sigh escaped his lips as he looked down.
“This is permanent, Gerda,” Kay said, looking at our locked fingers. “You and I. You are mine now, my sweet rose…”
“I’ve always been yours, Kay. But you forget that you are mine, too,” I rotated his arm and pointed to a small set of lines on the stem. He followed my finger with his eyes and smiled wide.
He’d found my secret. I’d drawn my name on the stem. Gerda. But I’d never imagined that it would end up etched on his skin. I’d thought it would secretly rest in the picture frame until next year’s flower replaced it.
“You are a minx,” he said laughing. “Gerda, does it ever frighten you that we are the same? And here I was thinking I’d been so clever.” He rotated my arm to draw my attention to the rose’s center. It said ‘Kay’s.’
“Noooo,” I said looking closely. I couldn’t believe it. I felt a surge of pride at having Kay’s name on my skin. I was Kay’s and I wanted the whole world to know.
“I can’t believe you got a tattoo,” Kay said, tracing his fingers up and down the rose’s outline on my arm.
“Victor said my mother had a tattoo. Isn’t that wonderful? I wish I could remember it.” I said. I looked at the red rose on my forearm and was unable to stop smiling. “I think you won this year. It’s so complex and fragile. It looks like it might blow off in a breeze. It’s so alive. I don’t know how you did it.”
“Thank you,” he said, kissing the middle of the rose on my forearm. “I didn’t know this is where it would end up but I’m so glad it has been my best rose yet. But I’m sorry for you that the best rose of the year is on my arm. You will forever be marked with the second best rose. Somehow you’ll come to terms with it, I guess.”
I smiled and started to disagree but he stopped me with a finger at my lips.
“No, don’t say one negative word about this rose. Art is my life but I’ve never been tempted to mark my body with it ever before. But when I stole a glance over your shoulder a week ago, I knew that I needed this white rose with me always. It’s like I have a piece of you that no one can ever take from me. This rose is divine. It is you and somehow also me. It’s like you’ve drawn me without knowing it. I love it. I love you.”
I don’t know who moved first but our arms were pulling and we found each other’s lips with a deep urgency. His hands were in my hair and I slid my hands to his check.His hands released my hair and pressed my back until there was no space between us. That eternal space that we’d kept and cultivated all our lives was suddenly gone. And I knew it would never return. There was no reverse from where we were now.
His lips were so soft and kissing him was as divine as heaven. I wanted to do this everyday until the end of time. He left my lips to travel to my neck whispering my name as I whispered his.
But as my eyes opened, I was startled out of our bliss when I saw a shape in the window. There was a vicious face made of white snow staring at us. I gasped and fell back. We were on the second story. Yet a face stared at me. The eyes were filled with icy hate and I felt a terror seep into my blood. But by the time I blinked the face was gone. I must have imagined it.
“What’s wrong?” Kay said, looking behind me. “What happened?”
“I… I don’t know. I thought I saw something. A face… I don’t know. Maybe too much apple pie. Maybe your kisses are too wonderful. But it was chilling,” I said, bringing my hands to my heart. “And look, goosebumps,” I said, offering my arm as evidence.
Kay smiled but looked once more out the window to humor me or to prepare to defend me from a monster, I don’t know. After a moment he turned back to me.
“Come here,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “The snow can’t get in here. Don’t you see our garden,” he said, locking our flowers together. “They protect us. It’s always spring wherever we are.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the window shattered as glass and ice and snow whipped through the room. Kay staggered back releasing me as he yelled, clutching his face.
“My eye! Something is in my eye,” Kay yelled. Blood was leaking from under his fingers. I rushed toward him but I made no leeway. The gale blew so hard I couldn’t gain an inch. Where the wind held me fast it tossed Kay like a rag doll. He fell forward and screamed.
The wind stopped as suddenly as it had arrived and I staggered from the lack of resistance as I ran towards him. I flipped him on his back and saw what had made the last scream. A long jagged piece of glass was sticking out of his chest.
“My heart,” Kay said. He looked at me as he raised a hand to try to touch me. But before he made it all the way to my cheek his face transformed into a sneer, a vile snarl on his lips, and disdain in his eyes. Blood still poured from his eye and through his shirt. I pulled back without thinking. Even dismissing the blood, I’d never imagined Kay could make that face. Let alone at me.
“Kay?” I said reaching for him but now he pulled back. “Let me help you. What has happened? I’ll fetch a doctor.” But even as I said it I saw the icy glass melting as blood and water trickled from his wounds.
“Don’t touch me,” Kay said, standing up and straightening his rumpled clothes from my previous disheveled discoveries. He pulled his sleeve down but not before a sound of regret escaped from his mouth accompanied by a substantial eye roll.
Who was this man? The face I knew as well as my own was completely alien to me.
“What am I even doing here?” he said, shaking his head and looking around. When I moved closer to him he lifted his hand to stop me. “What did I just say? Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me again.”
“No. What is going on, Kay? Is something wrong? Are you hurt? I don’t understand.”
“Of course, you don’t,” he said exhaling and rolling his eyes as if seeking the heavens for understanding. “You are an idiot girl with no beauty, talent, or brains. How could you ever understand anything about me.”
“Kay?” I asked again. It seemed to be the only thing I could say. Because I didn’t know how to go back in time. Something had broken, in the blink of an eye. Something had gone terribly wrong. Tears were pooling from my eyes. Was it just his pain speaking so cruelly or had I done something? Was my inexperience so terrible? Had I imagined his response to me?
He uncovered his wounded eye and the change was shocking. I’d expected to see a bloody raw wound but his eye was whole.
But different.
His eyes were the most stunning blue color but now the injured eye was grayed out, dull. His blond hair had dried blood tangled in it and I could see a white healed scar through the hole in his shirt. What was going on? What kind of ice or glass wounds so sharply and then partially heals itself while still leaving scar damage.
“You look really ugly when you cry,” he said as the broken window rattled behind him. I staggered at his words and the loud sound. I wiped my face and felt the tears I had not known had fallen.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here but I’m leaving now.” He said as he started walking towards the stairs. “This place is boring and you are so dull.” He turned back to kick our drawings and the wrapped gifts into the fireplace.
“No!” I yelled going after the papers but I was too late and the fire was too hot. By the time I turned back to the stairs I heard the front door slam and Kay was gone.
In total shock and raw pain, I stood sobbing. My heart felt like a piece of ice had stabbed through it. I even felt my chest but I wasn’t bleeding. A thought hit me that somehow made me feel even worse. The thought had been “this is the worst winter ever,” and it made me feel like a monster. This was worse than my parent’s death? No, it was just fresher.
I walked to the window and saw his footprints had crushed the single boldest daffodil that had thought it might be spring. But it wasn’t spring yet. Who was this man? And where was Kay?
Megan Allen Books 