Her Christmas Wish

“What should I wear?”

“My sister has some clothes in a room down the hall.”

“She won’t mind if I wear her clothes?”

“Nah. She’s nice, you’ll love her,” he says.

“When do I get to meet her?”

“She’ll be home from college in a few weeks.”

“College?” While women were going to college back in my day, my father wouldn’t let me.

“Yeah, of course.”

“That’s interesting. Your father lets her go?”

“My father passed away seven years ago. As did my mother. In fact, it was December 23rd when my life changed all those years ago. I was her guardian, but she is nineteen now and I don’t let her do anything. She’s her own woman.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I have a life-size picture of me trying to tell her what to do or not to do.”

“It wouldn’t go over well?”

“Not at all.” I nod, realizing that things have surely changed in the last hundred years. Brett heads downstairs while I continue down the hall.

I walk into a room down the hall and see nothing but boxes. I find one labeled “Anika clothes” and pull on a green skirt. It’s much shorter than anything I’ve ever worn, and I love it. I then pull on a pair of black stockings that have a waistband. I have never seen anything like these, but they feel amazing against my skin. Next, I pull on a pair of heavy black boots. I then grab a white, long-sleeved cable knit blouse of some kind. I deem myself dressed well enough and clunk my way downstairs in these boots. When I get downstairs, I see Brett setting up a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. I also see a giant dog, who lumbers over to me. I stick out my hand for him to smell.

“Hello, pretty boy. Brutus is such a perfect name for you” I say getting down on his level. He lets me get my fill of petting him, then he walks away and lays back down on the big pillow off to the side of the fireplace. Standing, I turn to Brett. “I thought you didn’t like Christmas?”

“I don’t. But you do. You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thank you,” I say blushing. “Where did you get this?” I ask, remembering that he told me all of his things weren’t here yet.

“The movers are here,” he says. I have been so focused on him that I didn’t even notice the other men in the room. “There are more decorations in those boxes,” he says.

“I’ve never decorated before,” I tell him.

“You love Christmas and you’ve never decorated before?”

“Um, my father’s servants did all that, but I loved looking at the lights and the garland strung up on the mantle.”

“I believe there is some garland in the box,” he says smiling at me.

I get to work decorating the mantle and then help him with the tree. After it’s all done and the movers have gone, we have our very own little tree lighting ceremony.

“It’s beautiful,” I say before he lifts me in the air. His hands are on my ass and I can look him directly in the eyes. I see all the love in the world behind them. I am the happiest I have ever been, but then I remember my parents.

I slide down his body and stand in front of him.

“My parents? Can we look them up now?” I am anxious to know what happened to them.

“Right. Of course. Over here,” he says leading me to a desk that hasn’t been set up yet. He shows me what a computer is and how to turn it on. He pulls up something called a webpage and a search engine. I watch as he types out Marshall and Kitty Hollybaker. It’s like magic. The news article that comes up is not, however.

Marshall and Kitty Hollybaker died in the early morning hours on December 23rd, 1919. They were brutally bludgeoned to death. Their home was ransacked, and their daughter taken from her bed. She has been missing for over a week and the worst is feared. -The Boston Patriot, December 30, 1919.

The more I read about the incident the more I begin to think that my leaving was for the best. About a year after his death, my father’s business partner, Ethan Pennyworth, was indicted on racketeering charges. My father’s name came up in conjunction with that, with proof positive that he was involved in Ethan’s schemes. Ethan was also indicted on fourteen murder charges, four of them being his wives and my parents. I begin to click out of the article and see an ad. It’s red, white, and blue. It says, “Denise Longford for President, 2020”.

“What is this?” I ask, pointing to the screen. A woman?

“A political ad,” he answers.

“Women can run for president?”

“Absolutely. We’ve never had one, but they can run.”