As the days grew shorter and colder and Christmas came closer, there was an electric hum in the air. It wasn’t just because Troll and Mr. Rabbit had spent days fighting with the heater, or Bear had been outside splitting piles and piles of wood. Betty made sure he put aside one special perfect log for the Yule Log.
“Why?” Bear shrugged as she dug through his pile. He shivered at the cold Pittsburgh wind, even in his thick fur and red plaid flannel shirt. “It just…some old log.”
“It’s an old family tradition,” Betty explained as she inspected a thick log. “If you burn it for 12 days, you’ll get good luck for the New Year.”
Bear raised a furry eyebrow. “I don’t think logs burn that long.”
“It’s hypothetical. Ah ha!” She finally tugged out a huge log, almost thicker around than her slender torso. “This one will do nicely. Help me get it inside please, Bear.”
“Ok.” Bear shouldered his ax and took the other side of the log. “Oof!” Even sticking his claws into the side, he still wobbled with it. “Log heavy! Hope this burns long and we get good luck.” Those wide amber eyes gazed up at the young woman in the heavy woolen coat and old galoshes. “Betty, after we put log inside, can we write story?”
She nodded, smiling back at him. “Of course. We have to finish our story and make those copies for the others, so they can have them for Christmas. They’re our Christmas presents.”
Hilary and Troll watched them from the warmth of the hot house as they hauled the log inside. “They’re really something else.” Troll sighed. “But as much as I hate to break up their lesson, we need to get him looking at those codes again.”
“They’re really that important.” Hilary clipped two pink roses, then two lavender that were very nearly a shade of soft blue. “Did Bear always break codes?”
She rolled her eyes as Troll coughed again, almost knocking over his basket of scarlet and coral and yellow and white roses. “Yes…well, no, he had other jobs. One very important one for me. He was the one who…” His huge, hacking cough shook every rose bush in the entire building. “Well, believe me, he had other work before.”
Hilary reached over and clipped one of the unique lavender-blue roses. “So, why are you so hard on him? Why is he chopping wood and working in the kitchen instead of doing whatever it is he does for you?”
“He can’t do that anymore.” Troll growled as he clipped another scarlet rose. “He can’t think well enough to do it. He’s worthless for his original job now. I didn’t know what else to do with him. Bear is very strong. You saw what his claws and paws did to those robbers back in January.” He gazed at the piles of wood, which Betty loaded into neat pyramids. “ I sent him to work in the kitchen and to tend to the fires and the furnace. He’s…well, he’s a servant. He sleeps in the servant’s quarters with Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Cat. He doesn’t know anything else.”
She put aside more scarlet roses. “I’ll dry these. Put them in books, or make potpourri for the girls. They’ll like that. Maybe a bookmark for Bear.” Her sharp, dark eyes gazed up at him as snow began to fall silently outside of the hot house. “You never did tell me how you happened to get records with the voice of my ex-husband and his secretary on them.”
For a moment, the only sounds were the hissing of the boilers that kept the room warm, the gentle brush of the snow outside, and their own breathing. “Let’s say…I got them from friends,” he finally rumbled. “Dear friends, who were attacked by Pavla and her monsters. The codes contain information about every group she works for.”
“Sco…” He coughed so hard, he knocked petals off the coral rose in his hand, “the cleverest of the men had broken codes during the Great War. He could break any code his friends gave him. He was able to get a little more than half of them done before…” The next cough nearly knocked him to the ground. “Before she found out what they were doing and hurt them.”
She nearly tore the last lavender-blue rose off the bush. “What I want to know now is, how can we change this? You saw Betty. She’s crazy about your friend Bear. I haven’t seen her so happy in years. She doesn’t spend all of her time hiding behind her typewriter anymore. She’s too busy helping him think of stories. I don’t want her to be hurt when you all have to go away at the end of the year.”
That was when Hilary saw another familiar figure, this time in the sky over the hot house. She could just see Maple, bundled in her green coat and felt cloche hat with the fake grapes, clinging to Eagle’s back. She was cuddling him and rubbing his chest with her gloved hands, even as he carried a bucket of fish from the stream in his beak. He managed to rub her with his wing before he went back to focusing on making their way through the cold, wet snow.
Troll sighed. “I wish he’d go back to focusing on his work. I understand that he’s fond of Maple, but we’re almost at the end of the year. If they can’t get those papers decoded…if she comes back and gets her hands on us…”
“I won’t let her!” Hilary growled, shaking every rose bush nearby. “The girls won’t let her! You saw them. They love those two!” She took his claws firmly. “You do, too. I can tell, even though you try to hide it. Even though you bully Bear something terrible. You don’t want your friends to be hurt, any more than I want my sisters to be hurt. And the best way to keep them all from getting their hearts broken…” She looked into those glittering, dark almond-shaped eyes. “Is for you to tell me how we can break that curse.”
He stared right back. “Love, Hilary. They’re ready for love. You say you want your sisters to be happy. Marry me, Hilary. I can give you everything. Get your career back.”
“I…might consider it.” Her voice was hesitant. “Under all that smelly slime and annoying bluster, you’re not bad. I’ve almost enjoyed this year. It’s been…something different, anyway.” She quickly picked up the basket. “Why don’t we get these inside, before the storm gets worse? I just hope Eagle and Maple are on their way back. They don’t need to be out in this.”
Troll just nodded. “Yes.” His voice was husky, almost sensual. He started rubbing her fingers in that familiar way again. “We’ll talk about this later.” Her knees felt weak, almost like they were made of water. She wobbled all the way back to the house.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When they weren’t attending to Christmas preparations, they were in the music room. Being around music seemed to soothe Bear’s head. Maple played Christmas carols softly on Miss Organ as Betty guided his paw and Hilary played the records.
“How’s it coming?” She looked over her shoulder. Eagle was shuffling through the remaining papers. Troll paced up and down the small room, his warty, pea-green face heavy with concern. “Has he finished that paper yet?” He nodded at the record. “We don’t have much time left. It’s five days before Christmas. We need that done.”
“Almost there.” Betty squeezed Bear’s paw, but it shook badly. “You can do it! You know you can.” She gently stroked the fur over his blue cotton shirt. “I know you can.”
“But…” Bear gulped. “It hurts, Betty. She hurt…” He continued to move his paw, clutching the pencil as well as he was able. “Light…black light…it hurts! Like lightning. It hurt Bear. Hurt Bear’s head. Make Bear…” He gulped, his big brown eyes dropping to the page. “Make Bear forget. Make Bear forget friends. Black light make Bear useless.”
“No!” Troll was by his side in an instant. “No, Bear, don’t think that! You’re not useless. You’re strong and kind and good. You’re always friendly and helpful.”
“He’s right.” Betty squeezed his paw. “Didn’t we write a story, and are almost finished with another? We just have a few pages left! The princess is going to rescue the bear and his friends when the jealous lady who owns the house tries to hide them away. You came up with most of the story, and it’s wonderful.”
“No…” He gently rubbed her tiny hand in his rough ebony paws. “Betty…make story. Betty smart. Bear…just type.”
“That’s not true. You came up with just as many ideas as I did. Maybe more.” She put her arms around him and gently lay her hand on his paw, guiding it back over the page. “Come on. You can finish this little bit.”
Hilary grabbed Troll’s arm. “First of all, after they finish here, we need to work on our Christmas Eve version of Hilary Booth-Bloom’s A Christmas Carol. We can do it in the ballroom. It’s barely been used. Second,” she frowned, speaking softer, “the second Bear finishes that decoding, I’m going to take it to the authorities. My brother C.J says the FBI has been hanging around the Nixon, where Pavla’s starring in my…in The Rivals. They’re looking for information on her activities in Europe. If anything could deport her back to Europe and let her land hard on her rear, this would be it.”
“That will get rid of her.” Troll’s dark eyes were still haunted. “But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m…undecided.” Hilary suddenly became very interested in her Christmas Carol scripts. “Why is getting married so important to you?”
“It’s…” His cough was so loud, Eagle fluttered over and put a wing on his shoulder in concern. “It just is. It’s what…” He grabbed a glass of eggnog from a nearby table and gulped it before continuing. “It’s what I want.”
Maple looked over from the organ. “Eagle says we only have a few more pages and two records left to work on. Two?” She raised an eyebrow. “But there’s three records left we haven’t listened to. What’s on the third one?”
Bear moaned before Eagle could even wave his wings. “Owww!” He threw down the pencil. “It hurt more! Bear can’t. Not today. Bear useless! Black light hurt!”
“Shh.” Betty rubbed his paw. “Let’s go upstairs and work on that story now. It always makes your head feel better, and I like it, too. We could ask Newspaper to read it as Richard Bartholomess or John Barrymore.”
Bear nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing “Bear go. Story good. Makes head feel good. Only hurt little.”
“Eagle n’ I will finish with those records.” She settled down by the player. “Maybe we’ll find a clue or somethin’ in them.” Eagle squawked and perched next to her, gently putting a wing around her shoulders. She leaned into him, rubbing against his soft, downy chest.
“This isn’t done, Hilary.” Troll gave her that deep, intense almond-eyed stare that usually sent everyone but her scrambling out the door. “I need your answer by New Year’s Eve. Or I’ll…” His hacking cough nearly doubled him over. “Well, I need it soon.”
Her heart hammered in her chest, but all she said was, “why don’t we go work on our parts in that play?” She dashed out the door first, hoping he didn’t see her flushed cheeks and quickened breath. Yes, she’d grown very fond of him. She was beginning to wonder how she’d imagined life without him. And her sisters certainly cared about his friends. But love? Was it love? She wasn’t sure anymore…but she had to figure it out, and soon, before she lost him to that Czechoslovackian goulash just like she lost her Jeff.
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