I don't know... start dancing?

Another year, another Christmas.

We love Christmas.

We have our traditions; around the middle of December, we go into the woods and cut down a nice tree we might have been eyeballing throughout the summer. Arthur brings us a nice turkey, and John, Abigail, and Jack bring in the rest, homegrown from his ranch. Not to be outdone, Tilly treats us with a new ornament or two to decorate the tree or home. They were always wonderful, handmade things with more character than those in a store or catalogue, with all respect to Wheeler, Rawson and Company. Her painstakingly detailed paper snowflakes, which we use to decorate the trees, and the miniature diorama of Saint Nicholas and his reindeer, which we adorn our fireplace mantel with, are priceless.

A few weeks before Christmas, Dutch and I make a special trip out to Blackwater; a slow, steady train ride (that we don't rob) is good for the soul. When we get there, we sneak around town — well, as well as old men can sneak around — as we buy each other's gifts. We later meet up with each other at the saloon for a drink before making the journey home. Sometimes we'd run into old friends, catch up on what they've been up to throughout the year. Sometimes, we can convince them to join us for a New Year's party; it's fun to see how many people we can get into that little cottage.

At a slower pace, we have our gentle trail rides through the woods on Christmas Eve, and on the big day itself, a sleigh ride through the lupin fields of Little Creek with a pair of fine Suffolk Punches borrowed from Mary and Kieran.

But occasionally, we are gifted with the most unexpected; Christmas is the time of the year for the unexpected, and sometimes, a little magic.

The Christmas of 1928 was one of those Christmases that rewarded us most handsomely — with a visit from some dear friends.

That dear friend?  None other than our old friend, Josiah Trelawny, and wife, Eloise.

Now, you might be thinking, what was so special about a visit from an old friend? Holidays were, of course, a time for dear friends and family to stop in, exchange gifts, spend dinner with, and then depart. Oh, those visits are lovely, of course, but this visit was a little different.

How different, you ask?

Well, that's why I'm here to tell you!

The snow that year was unyielding; I thought I would never live to see another blizzard like the one we braved in May of '99, but this one might have outdone it. It only seemed like an easier winter, given the Pinkertons hadn't been on our trail — Dutch and I had long retired from that life, and it would seem that they may have given up the ghost, but we tend to keep a low profile these days to be on the safe side.

But we longed for our trail rides; our horses, kept safe in their warm, spacious barn, were becoming as restless as we were. As Christmas Eve drew near, and Mother Nature continued her wrath, Dutch was growing glum.  Not only was it looking more and more likely that we would have to put our trail rides on hold, but that several of our friends and family might not be able to make it to our home for the holidays at Hanging Dog Ranch. 

A pity, a great pity.

"Come and sit with me by the fire, Dutch. The snow won't let down just because you're staring at it."

He frowned. I know he was frowning; we've been together long enough to know when we're smiling, when we're frowning, even when we couldn't see each other's faces.

I had made myself comfortable and toasty, wrapped in a giant, snowflake-printed blanket — a gift from the Marstons from last Christmas — in a big chair by the fireplace, while Dutch stared out at the window through the lounge, gloomily watching the snow fall.  He had a wonderful view of the yard that once overlooked O’Driscoll refuse when we first moved here, but after an extensive tidy up, now hosted a snow-covered garden and crop bed — and the expanse of Little Creek.

And snow, lots of snow.

Knowing Dutch so deeply, so intimately as I do — to dare I say, an even spiritual level — I knew he did think he could stare it away, will it away with all his might.

. . . Well, he wasn't so "mighty" these days, but I won't hurt his self-esteem.

Eventually, Dutch gave up the post and trundled on over — and into my lap, paying no mind to the heavy sigh I let out from his weight settling onto my person. Dutch weighs a few more pounds than when you last saw him, but I still wrap the other half of the blanket around him and hug him tight.

Then came *his* heavy sigh, his tension melting in my arms; he was turning into putty.

"Next year, how about we go somewhere warmer for winter?"  Dutch's voice came out wistful, almost purring, and the slight resignation that slipped in hit the pit of my heart; I know how much he loves seeing family over for the holidays.

I considered his question, though, resting the point of my temple against his as my arthritic fingers interlocked with his. For a moment, there was just the soft sound of our breathing, the crackle of the fire, and the wicked wind and snow hitting the windows. And then, the quiet padding of our dog, Matilda II — a lovely black Labrador, gifted to us last Christmas by a dear friend, Reverend Swanson — as she came over to lie by the fire.

"Such as?" I asked, curious, reluctant to break the silence; our old bones could certainly do with an escape from the cold.

Dutch let out a snort, half laugh, as if in disbelief of the words he was about to speak.

"Saint Denis."

I raised an eyebrow. We were equally not fond of Saint Denis — the crowds, the choking air, and several years ago, the looming feeling that something could have happened there but hadn't — but I let him speak his reasoning. The soft squeeze of my hand that he gave me was a subtly pleading gesture to tell me that he was serious.

Dutch still insists.

"Close to Tilly, and . . . " I saw a telltale blush to his cheeks.

"Josiah."

Josiah Trelawny.

For many years, Josiah and his wife, Eloise, shared a relationship with us, built on all the makings of a good relationship: trust, love, honesty, and maybe a little mischief.

And it's been a long time since we last saw each other.

Far too long.

I softly rubbed Dutch's old, scarred knuckles in thought and brought them to my lips to kiss; a light, fluttery butterfly kiss.  They were my favourite kisses to give, and they never failed to turn Dutch’s frowns upside down.  But would it work tonight, whenever everything looked so bleak?

A twitching of his mustache told me everything;  I might have cheered him up.  

I suppose we could put aside our distaste of the noise, the bustling crowds that still walk into the path of our horses; when people inadvertently get trampled, their silliness sets off a city-wide police pursuit for a few days.

And then, I smirked.

"Bastille Saloon Hotel?"

When Dutch rested his fire-warmed cheek against mine, I might have felt a little warmer. And then, he purred; well, the closest sound to a purr that a man can make.

"Yes . . . Maybe take in a show."

I leaned in with a smirk. "This time, we can watch the show and not get involved in it."

1925.  

What a year. And I'm sure, they still remember.

It was a lively production of A Christmas Carol, and Dutch thought it would be a good time to tie up the actor who played Scrooge while he got to steal the spotlight. And well, things got a little silly from there; old Chief Lambert — yes, he still holds the title as chief for Saint Denis — sent his men on a merry chase clear to Rhodes. The only reason they gave up the chase was that they were out of jurisdiction, and given it was on Christmas Eve, perhaps Rhodes felt like locking up a couple of old men for the holidays, took pity on us instead, and maybe pretended they hadn't been able to find us when the call came through that such desperate, dangerous wanton criminals had entered town.

Rhodes Parlour House's room was vacant.

There was a twinkle in Dutch's dear old eyes; I knew he was reliving every moment. There were times I worried about his memory retention, but he would surprise me.

"We'll make sure the actor has a tighter gag on him this time."

I snuck a hand up his pyjama top, and gently, playfully gave a soft, supple love handle a pinch; not enough to hurt, but just enough to keep him in line, something Dutch needs that now and then, even now.

Sure enough, Dutch let out a *squeak*, and maybe he blushed as he realized he had made such a silly sound. With my point made, I kissed him on his cheek and patted his belly. Now my putting his ego in its place may have been counterproductive, as he pushed himself up against my hand and tipped his head back against my shoulder — subtle demands for affection, which I granted for some reason.

One tummy rub and scalp massage coming up, a combination that will ensure that I *will* have a puddle of Dutch on my lap. But who needs circulation?

"I'll get us the best seats in the house."

Oh, he's using that voice, buttering me up, manipulating me to the very core. I shouldn't have looked into his eyes all those years ago; I should have left him in that jail, but I'm a man of weak willpower.

Oh well.

What has been done has been done.

I gave him another kiss on the cheek, and as old men often do, drifted off to sleep — and Dutch — satiated from the slow scalp massage and belly rub he nagged me for (had I been a stronger man those would have been the only Christmas gift he would have got from me) — got to meet the Sand Man not long after.

~~~~~

Eloise and Josiah slipped quietly through the threshold, and Mattie, ever protective of her elderly owners and *her* homestead, greeted them in her lively, lovely manner of hers, and guided them to the old men snuggled up by the fire.

I groggily awoke to Josiah kissing the top of my head, and Dutch, still in my lap, using my shoulder as a bony pillow, the very picture of contentment. He tipped his (empty) head back as Eloise leaned on the arm of the chair to stroke his long silver hair, his soft jawline, the now crooked cleft of his chin. He was still asleep, perhaps with memories afresh from receiving those scraps of affection I was kind enough to cave in for; he's terribly affection-starved.

Josiah saw me stirring awake and put on the charm; once the eyes open, the show starts!

"Don't mind our intrusion. It's just that Saint Nicholas left the door open, and we can't have that in this dreadful weather."

It was then that I realized that the chair we had fallen asleep in . . . Wasn't the chair that we fell asleep in. It still had with it, its "D" and "H" embroidered into the red velvet, but was bigger, longer, wider, and maybe now a *couch* made for more than two people — wonders never cease. But I had no time to focus on the newly, mysteriously acquired furniture and how it got here, for his Trans-Atlantic, spoken lower in tone than his usual jovial manner, grabbed me in that way it does.

"We've missed you two."

I let out a slow, contented sigh and leaned my head in toward him as he pressed another kiss to the top of it.  I really did miss his stupid voice, his almost spicy scent, his confusing ways.  I even missed the way Dutch had been fascinated by him — and enabled him.

"Missed you both . . . "

I gently took a hold of Josiah by his wrist — noted it was frigid but won't be for long — and guided him against me, awkwardly wrapping a portion of the blanket around him while my other was still around Dutch.

And then, Dutch stirred awake, softly kissing, even nibbling the tips of Eloise's fingers as she teased his mustache. And then, sleepily, he wrapped his arms around her and eased her into his lap, as if she were a mere soft toy to cuddle.

"Ellie . . . " He loved calling her that; she let out a half snort, half laugh as she gave him a playful tweak of that nose. She once took an annoyance to that nickname that had been a little too well used when she was a little girl, or at least pretended to — an actor doesn’t limit their skill to only the stage or screen.

"Oh, Dutch."

They haven't missed a beat.

I hadn't minded being at the bottom of the cuddle puddle; my joints might, but they've had worse happen to them, and I hadn't needed to use them for anything important right now. And most certainly, there was nothing wrong with my shoulders as I wrapped them around the bundle of Dutch and Eloise —and Trelawny, who might as well have been in my lap.

Josiah read my mind.

He was now partially in my lap, his head resting on my shoulder. There were more comfortable places to rest one's head, but for our dear Trelawny, a plush pillow wouldn't do because it wasn't me, it didn't have my scent, he thought was ‘delicious’, it didn't have the slow, ragged breath.

I still stand by that his handsome head would be more comfortable on the cushion, but each to their own.

"Familiar territory, this," Josiah's trademark mustache twisted into a wry smile, twirling one of Dutch's beautiful curls. "New York, wasn't it?"

Dutch smirked, a certain impish glint in his eyes. "It was. "And that smile grew into a full grin. "That room in Fox and Lion. Coldest night up until tonight — "

I had to cut him off with a resounding snort.

"It wasn't *that* cold Dutch, you were just wanting to be the centre of attention."

"Which is always," Eloise teased, patting the top of Dutch's hand. "Christmas of 1886. I got us all that room by convincing the receptionist that I was the sister of the mayor."

"She learned from the best of us," I teased, maybe stretching out a little credit from where credit is due; in truth, we all met up at a repertory company in Chicago, and though we all had a bit of talent already, a little polishing set Eloise on the straight and narrow of being a proper con artist.

Josiah beamed with pride, and either convinced that my hips were about to break or that Dutch was going to steal her away, took Eloise by the hand and eased her into his lap.

"You got them good, so good, they thought the real sister that showed up was an imposter!"

Eloise laughed; her laugh was infectious and bright since we met. It came as no surprise to me that her laugh was one of the first things about her that grabbed Josiah's attention. "The only time I've had a five o'clock check out time!"

When they were in their prime, oh, they were an unstoppable duo. She slowed down a bit in her scheming when Tarquin and Cornelius were born, but they still have their moments, particularly with them having flown the coop a bit ago, as it were.

And then, Dutch slipped into a nostalgic mood — I knew he did as his eyes took on a certain sparking, the most they have in some time —that cataract surgery had been a success, so much so that now he can't keep his eyes off of me.

"That was some police chase," Dutch grinned, the crow's feet putting on a strong performance and those lines on his face being a strong supporting cast. "I think they brought out the whole department, Old Girl! We had a reputation!"

Yes, a *reputation* — why not add overstaying past our check out time to the list of grievances we brought forward?

I'm convinced Dutch misses those police chases, so I have to still keep an eye on him just in case he misses them a bit too much.

"But then . . . " Dutch rested his hand on Josiah's arm, his voice taking on that soft lilt that I love so much when he goes deep into his memory bank; it's smooth as silk and rich as good butter, and soothing to the ear as the purr of a cat.

"You evaded the whole department when you snuck into that hospital and . . . " The lights from the tree, the fireplace, reflected onto my husband's face, highlighting those cheekbones as he smiled ever so handsomely.

"Pretended to be a magician who was putting on a magic act in the children's ward."

I leaned over and kissed our Trelawny on the cheek and settled my head against his, fondly remembering."They needed that, dear. It has to be awful in a hospital for Christmas, but . . ." My hand rested on top of Dutch's, who was still holding onto Trelawny's; a bit of a hand sandwich, if you will.

Josiah looked down at the layered hands for a moment, with just a hint of blush on his cheeks. "Oh, it was just — "

But I wasn't going to let him downplay his role. It may have started as a mere act to fool the police, but I knew then that Josiah would be a fine father, with the way he had captured their attention, their imagination, and how he made every one of them feel special for being part of the greatest show on earth. Eloise, and then Dutch and I, also got involved and decorated the ward; we didn't have anything better to do. Where they got the decorations for heaven's knows, but over the years I've learned it's best not to wonder about the hows of Josiah Trelawny, but rather of the whats he could pull out of his hat.

"For that time you entertained them, they were feeling the way children are meant to feel: joy, innocence, wonder. " I paused; I knew I would sound sappy, I probably already sounded so, but well, it's the season for that, isn't it?"

"Some gifts . . . Well, what they bring is immeasurable."

Eloise had become quiet, reflective as she rested her head in the crook of Josiah's neck, and perhaps just needed a bit of a bridge for the news she was going to deliver. She reluctantly pulled away from her comfortable position, but still righted herself up, and took one of Dutch's and one of mine in hers as she positioned herself to face the two of us.

"Dutch, Hosea . . . "

We looked to her with a concerned curiosity, but a warm smile across her round face eased away thoughts that the impeding news was anything darker than candlelight. Her smiles had that effect; they would turn the darkest, most menacing skies over the sea into sunlight. Now, if only she could smile away that snowstorm!

"Josiah and I decided that we will move in with you, and when winter comes, you will stay with us."

It wasn't an *asking* if they could move in with us, but that it was decided they would.

I closed my eyes as I felt Josiah giving my shoulder a soft, reassuring squeeze, knowing there was a chance that I would protest; he knows me well.  He knew that I would probably tell them that they had already gone out of the way for us for visiting us in such wicked weather, and that we were fine with Arthur, John, Tilly, Abigail, and Jack stopping in when they could. 

"Oh, we . . . " My voice cracked, along with the hopes and dreams of any protest.

I couldn't turn down their decision, their gift.

And neither could Dutch.

It was one of those immeasurable things; a gift too grand to wrap, a gift too grand to turn away. Oh, I knew that even if I couldn't accept their gift, Dutch would team up with Eloise and Josiah, and I would be a man outnumbered, succumbing to the dread of puppy eyes and gentle pleas for me to reconsider. A hopeless cause!

Without turning to look at his reaction, I could *feel* Dutch's smile, could see the brightness in his eyes — but, then, I still turned to look for his reaction.

And sure enough, my assumptions — say what you may about them— were correct.

And then Dutch hugged them both, a tight hug that maybe sucked the air out of Trelawny's lungs (he showed mercy with Eloise), but so be it. Broken ribs could form character, I thought. He peppered soft kisses to their foreheads before hiding his face into the crooks of their necks, their collarbones, possibly, even crying into them — he's a bit emotional, don't judge.

Deep down, I knew Dutch needed this gift more than I did, in the event that — well, it's Christmas, I won't speak of such dark matters.

Josiah — when his death grip was released — let out an exasperated laugh, but hugged Dutch back.

"Well, merry Christmas to you, too, Dutch."

~~~~~~~~~

By morning, Christmas came — and so beautifully so.

Dutch and I were the first to awake in that cuddle puddle; yes, it came back with a vengeance. Our bleary eyes settled on the pretty sight of gifts under the tree, those from Dutch, myself, Arthur and John who stopped in the day before, with a smattering of others in bright, colourful wrapping that neither of us had used.

Who could *those* have been from?

Oh, we felt like little boys again!

Oh, how we wanted to open those mystery packages in particular! But, we chose to be nice rather than naughty — well, I did catch a slight mischief glint in Dutch's eyes — we decided to cuddle a little longer until the Sand Man gave Eloise and Josiah the all-clear to start the day.

But still, I gave Dutch a gentle poke to the ribs as a reminder to let everyone wake up first. Predictably, he squeaked, but in true Dutch fashion, denied making such a silly sound.

"I did not squeak!"

I smirked, lazily ruffling his "bed head." Between you and me, I think it's my favourite look of his; it's wild and untamed, much like he was in his younger days — and I’ve never been fond of the smell of hair pomade.

"I suppose it was a mouse."

He wrinkled his nose in that manner he does when he's annoyed, but pulled me up close against him, and drifted off again with his nose, that beautiful nose, nuzzled into my neck.

Such is my married life; Eloise and Josiah may be getting more than what they bargained for, but c'est la vie!