Darcie's Fan-Fiction

The Lonesome Dove Christmas Carol

DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations of the television
program "Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years" are the creations of Rysher Television, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is not to be published on any ftp site, newsgroup, mailing list, fanzine or elsewhere without the express permission of the author.

Well, Dicken's THE CHRISTMAS CAROL has been one of my favorite holiday stories. I always thought LD could fit into this plot, so this is what I've come up with. Merry Christmas, and I hope you enjoy.

This story does not take place with my Maria stories. Thanks to everyone for all their nice comments, BTW.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

First and foremost, Jesus Christ.

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13.
Excerpted from The Complete Multimedia Bible based on the King James Version. Copyright (c) 1994 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.

Charles Dickens, for giving me my plot. :)

Debbie E, for being a tireless cheerleader, for discussing ZODIAC signs of the characters late at night, and for giving me the angel idea. Speaking of angels, GET YOUR STORY POSTED!!! We love fan- fiction, and yours is great! Check out her other fan-fiction: Debra E's Lonesome Dove Page

Jill, for your PEACE story, located on the fan-fiction archive: Jill Russell: Peace Since I've read it, Jill, I CANNOT imagine Mosby without a pocket watch containing Mary's picture.

Linda, for setting me a deadline. HA! A day early!

The LD List, for all the discussions and all the fun.

DEDICATED TO MY BROTHER DARREN. He hasn't seen the show; he hasn't seen the miniseries; he hasn't read the book; but I love him anyway!

Chapter 1: Ba! Humbug

Setting: Christmas Eve 1880, one month after LOVE AND WAR

"It's cold in here," Josiah shivered as he closed Austin's tent flap and stepped inside. "You shouldn't be in here during weather like this. You'll freeze."

Austin did not bother to hide the sleeping whore next to his side. He had ways to keep warm if he managed to scrape up enough money to do it.

"Father, I'm fine," he replied tersely.

Josiah's gray eyes surveyed the tent. He clearly disapproved of the cigar butts, empty whiskey bottles, and half- dressed whores in the ramshackle of a tent.

"If you say so, Austin " he said without conviction.

Austin's scraggly jaw tensed at his father's scrutiny. Nothing had been right since Mosby tried to hang him. He had no job he had no life. Austin had tried to find some way to get back at Mosby, but nothing came. In the meanwhile, the best thing now was to drink and whore around. Drinking numbed him from thinking about the respect he used to have. Whoring, well Austin bitterly figured he ought to have a little fun.

"What do you want, anyway?" Austin inquired rolling back down on his cot. He was sleepy. Perhaps it was all the whiskey.

He missed the pained look in his father's eyes.

"It's Christmas Eve," Josiah explained with a hint of expectation. "I thought maybe we could spend it together at the newspaper office."

Austin closed his eyes to ward off the headache that was forming. He had completely forgotten. He knew it was too late to get any presents now. The general store was undoubtedly closed. Besides, his credit was no longer good. It was all Mosby's fault. Mosby had robbed him of his life – that was for sure.

"I didn't get you nothing," Austin remarked with shame as he glanced over at the whore next to his side, once again propping on his elbows. Maybe he could have gone without for a couple of nights and saved a few dollars.

Josiah did not seem to care. "Oh, that doesn't matter. I was hoping that you, Newt, and I could get together and - "

"You invited Call?" Austin asked incredulously, anger rising in his chest. His father always seemed to favor him more than his own son.

"Well, yes," Josiah admitted. "But he -"

"He's not family."

"Newt doesn't have anyone."

"He's a bounty hunter," Austin stated in disgust, although he himself was surrounded in filth.

Josiah rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter. God teaches us to forgive, especially during times like these. You should try forgiving, too, Austin."

Austin nodded. It explained it all. His father had to be in one of his religious rants. Austin sighed. At least it wasn't Revelation.

"I don't have time for this," Austin denied him, rolling back down to the whore.

"God showed us the ultimate forgiveness when He sacrificed his Son. It was a sign of good tidings," Josiah preached.

"Good for Him," Austin mumbled, pulling the blanket closer to his chin.

"Jesus laid down His life for us," Josiah continued. "We should follow His example. He forgave us for our sins. We should try to forgive, too."

"And who exactly should I forgive?" Austin snickered. "This girl, maybe, for giving me a good time?" He poked at the whore, who awoke in protest. "Or maybe Creel for not giving me credit at the store today? God, I got a lot of forgiving to do."

Josiah ignored him and took his first question seriously. "You could forgive Mosby for a start. You should also forgive Newt. He was your brother-in-law once."

Austin's mouth tightened in anger. "I didn't do anything to Mosby, remember? He tried to kill me anyway! He took my badge and my life! Now I live like this –" his dark eyes roamed around the tent in shame. "It's all Mosby's fault. I'll never forgive him. Never. As for Call " his voice trailed off.

Ever since Call came back to town a year ago, it always seemed like he was more important in Josiah's eyes than his own son. All his life, Austin had always tried to win his father's approval, but he never got it. All Call had to do was merely show up in town to earn Josiah's instant admiration. It was always "Newt" this or "Newt" that. Call had both Josiah's love and respect. Austin had nothing.

Austin hated his father for it, and that made Austin feel even worse. He loved him, yet sometimes he seemed to hate him even more.

Austin turned away from his father. Perhaps the one man he hated worse was himself. Guilt ate away at him for feeling the way he did.

"Get out," Austin ordered his father quietly.

"But, son –"Josiah protested.

"Just leave, will you?" Austin demanded, trying to mask his pain by focusing on the whore.

"All right," Josiah conceded, obviously hurt. "But you know where I am tomorrow."

Austin did not respond. He heard the tent flap close.

He edged onto the whore.

"Give me just a little," he told her.

She rolled out from underneath him. "You paid for once only," she said in disgust, gathering her clothes. As she lifted the tent flap, she remarked, "You're sure rude to your Pa. It's Christmas, for God's sake."

Then she left Austin alone.

He did not care. He grasped onto a nearly full whiskey bottle and gulped in down desperately. Whiskey could give warmth as well as any whore could.

Austin did not remember passing out.

Chapter 2: Jacob Marley

He woke. A woman sat at the foot of his cot. Austin wiped his eyes. He could not believe it.

Hannah.

Austin's sister was beautiful. Her long brunette hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her skin was as pale as the white dress she wore, and she seemed almost translucent. Her large brown eyes looked down at him in disappointment and sorrow.

Austin knew he had to be dreaming. Hannah was dead, yet she appeared so real.

"I am real, Austin," her voice told him.

Hannah seemed so weary. She looked like she might waft away, but something prevented her.

"I am tired," she admitted. Her voice sounded like it was drifting, too. Her shoulders seemed to carry an unfathomable weight, yet Austin could see nothing upon them.

Austin never did like to see his sister in pain. Even now, even when he knew that she was just a dream, he still saw her anguish. It hurt.

"I don't understand," he said, wondering if seeing her was the effects of the whiskey.

"No one will let me go," Hannah sighed in fatigue. "I'm still bound by earthly ties, Austin. You have no idea what it is like to eternally wander. I get no rest. No one will let me go."

Tears fell from her eyes. Austin watched them disappear onto his blanket.

Her whole body sagged to lament her fate.

Austin could not withstand the torture. He reached to comfort her, yet his hand passed through empty air.

Suddenly, Hannah stood up, her hands on her hips. "You were a good brother once," she reprimanded him. "Look at this place. It's a pig sty."

Austin's mouth twitched in a small smile. That was the sister he remembered.

He felt his shoulders shrug in the way they used to the way they always did when she started lecturing him. Tears began to well in his eyes. He never thought that he miss a "talking to" from his sister.

God, how he missed her.

"What's happened to you, Austin?" she demanded again.

He blinked at her. She was expecting an answer.

He looked around the tent. "Mosby " he explained, his voice trailing off.

"You know it's not Mr. Mosby," Hannah argued with him. "It's you, and you know it."

Austin could not say anything to his sister. What could he say?

Hannah sighed, looking at him with obvious pain.

"Austin, I've come to warn you. I'm not the only ghost you will see tonight. Three spirits will visit you by the dawn of morning. The first –"

Austin scoffed. "You mean like Ebenezer Scrooge? Boy, I really did drink too much."

"Hush," Hannah reprimanded him angrily. "I didn't have to choose you. I could have gone to Father or to Newt –" her face contorted in distress thinking about her husband. Gulping for control, she continued, "but I didn't. I chose you. You are in the worst trouble, Austin. For me, there was no choice. There was only you."

Hannah's warm eyes touched him. He had not felt loved in a long time.

He ached to hold his sister, yet she seemed unreachable.

She smiled at him reassuringly.

"First," she said reverently, "a spirit will help you remember Christmas past, the way things used to be. Then, another spirit will help you see the present. The last ghost will show you what you need to know about Christmas yet to come."

"But, Hannah, tell me –"

"I have to go, Austin," she stated, standing up to leave the tent.

"No," Austin denied her desperately. She had only been here a couple of minutes. She had to stay a little while longer. She could not leave him again. "Don't go. Please," he begged.

Hannah turned her back to him. "That's my problem, Austin."

Austin frowned.

"You know I'll never leave you, Austin."

Austin looked down at the ground bitterly. He did not believe her.

When she did not speak, he looked back up. He did not want to waste a minute of their time together.

Hannah peeked out from the tent flap. She giggled.

"The first spirit looks like Curtis." She turned back to wink at her brother, "Except smaller!"

Suddenly, her form began to fade. "Goodbye, my dear brother," she told him lovingly. She was disappearing too fast from his vision.

"No!" he shouted, reaching out for her.

He grasped at nothing as he heard the whiskey bottle clink on the ground. Austin was covered in sweat. It was pitch dark, and he was alone.

Austin felt like sobbing while trying to catch his breath. Hannah's ghost was probably nothing more than a dream from bad liquor. It had to be bad liquor that he drank. It was the only explanation. There was no such thing as ghosts. Hannah was only a dream – or he was as crazy as his father.

Austin rolled back onto his cot and covered his face with a blanket. He fell back into an uneasy sleep, welcoming the dreamless void of darkness.

Chapter 3: The Ghost of Christmas Past

Austin stumbled out of his cot. He had to let out a little water. He did drink too much a couple of hours ago.

He opened the tent flap and attended to his business a little ways off. He returned to his tent.

His hand reached for his gun.

There was someone in there.

With the gun, Austin flipped open the tent and stepped inside.

Austin almost dropped his gun because he was so startled. There was a little man standing on his cot. He was just like Curtis -- the old miner that Austin knew in 1878 -- except that this man was tiny. This Curtis was also glowing. He was just like how Hannah said he would be. Then Austin realized Hannah had not been a dream at all. Hannah's ghost was real.

It also meant that this ghost was real, too. He was there for a purpose.

"Put that thing down, you young fool. You can't shoot me! You'd be shooting at air!" the crotchety old ghost ordered him.

Speechless, Austin did as he commanded.

"You know who am I, don't you?" the ghost questioned him. His one eye wandered off to the side, just like old Curtis' used to.

"Curtis," Austin said with a smile. Curtis was one of those old coots you just put up with.

"Nope! I'm the ghost of Christmas past. We gotta git going, too. We ain't got all night."

The little ghost jumped off the bed. He was at Austin's tent flap in a flash.

"Well, hop to it, boy. I'm waiting for you."

The ghost wanted Austin to follow him, and Austin obliged.

As Austin stepped through the tent flap, he expected to see the outskirts of Curtis Wells.

He was wrong.

They were in a big city. Curtis Wells was nothing compared to this. Brick buildings surrounded them. Snow covered the stoned streets, and wreaths decorated many doorways. It was just like the Boston from Austin's youth.

"You know where you are, boy?" the ghost questioned him.

Still, Austin found it hard to believe. He hadn't been to Boston in years.

Suddenly, two children ran past him, oblivious of his presence. It was like Austin was not there at all.

"Of course, they can't see you!" the ghost exclaimed. "They can't hear you none, either, so don't be thinking you can talk to them, cuz you cain't."

The ghost of Christmas past was quite annoying, Austin thought.

"Be mindful of your elders, boy," the crotchety ghost told him.

"You can read my thoughts?" Austin asked incredulously.

"I can see what's in your heart, or what's left of it," the Curtis spirit remarked. "Now watch those two whippersnappers and tell me who they are."

Shaking his head, Austin did as he was told.

"Bet you can't hit me!" the little girl playfully teased as she dodged behind a step.

The boy, taller and older than the girl, picked up a snowball and tossed it threateningly between his two hands. "Oh yeah? I bet I can."

Then a snowball hit him in the face. The boy grinned in disbelief at the gall of his sister.

"Hannah!" he shouted. "Now I'm going to get you!"

Austin watched as the two youngsters conducted a massive snowball fight.

"It's Hannah and me in Boston," he remarked incredulously. "We can't be more than 8 or 10 years old."

The two children looked so happy, so carefree. Austin could barely remember the last time he felt that way.

Then the young Austin hit his sister squarely in the face. Hannah fell down, crying in the snow. Both Austins ran to her side, concerned.

"Hannah, Hannah, are you all right?" the boy asked, kneeling down to her. The older Austin stood there, not sure what he could do.

Tears fell down from her large brown eyes, tracking her cheeks. A bruise was already forming there.

"I didn't mean to hit you so hard," the younger Austin apologized. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do it."

Hannah sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I'm all right," the little girl said bravely. "It's all right."

Older Austin watched as the boy tenderly helped his sister stand up. Then he saw Hannah sneak a snowball of her own and stuff it down her brother's back. The boy yelped in surprise and ran after his sister, laughing.

Austin laughed himself. He had not thought about that in a long time.

"You were a bunch of whippersnappers, you youngsters," the Curtis ghost commented. "What happened after that?" he asked.

Austin frowned as he watched the two children run up a couple of steps. They were home.

"Father got angry," Austin said, remembering just as if it was yesterday.

Josiah, younger and bearded, stood in the entranceway. Hannah flew into his arms.

"Father, Father!" she shouted happily. "Merry Christmas!"

Josiah held her as if she was precious. He looked over to his son and smiled at him. Josiah then noticed the bruise on his little girl's cheek.

"What happened?" Josiah asked gruffly, motioning them inside the home. He helped Hannah out of her mittens and scarf as the young Austin got out of his wet clothes.

Hannah and Austin regarded each other.

"Nothing," they both said.

"Nothing?" Josiah repeated, examining Hannah more closely. "You don't get a bruise out of nothing. What happened?"

The young Austin looked to the ground in shame. "I accidentally hit Hannah with a snowball. I didn't mean to hurt her."

"I thought I told you never to throw snowballs at your sister," Josiah thundered. "You don't know your own strength, and last time you almost took her eye out. I thought you knew better than that, but I was wrong."

"I started it," Hannah said feebly. "I threw a snowball at him first. We were just playing."

"That's no excuse," her father replied, anger evident in his eyes. "Austin knows that he is supposed to protect you. He's got to learn that he can't act impulsively. Austin," Josiah ordered sternly. "Go to your room."

"But Father," he protested. "We were all going to sing carols in front of the fire tonight. I don't want to miss that."

"Go to your room, Austin," Josiah repeated again. "Write me a two page essay about the folly of your behavior. I don't want to see you out of your room until it is finished."

"Yes, Father," the boy said, downcast. Obediently, he walked down the hallway. He passed his mother, who stopped him when she saw the hurt expression in her son's eyes.

"Son, what's wrong?"

The older Austin stared at his mother. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Her beautiful black hair was tied at her nape, and her large black eyes looked warmly at him.

Seeing his mother made Austin truly feel like he was at home.

"I didn't mean to hit Hannah, Mamma," the boy said. "Honest, I didn't."

Sarah Peale smiled reassuringly at him. "I know you didn't, but you've got to realize that you are much stronger than Hannah. You have to be careful with things much smaller than you. You can hurt them even when you don't mean to. Remember that."

Young Austin nodded in dejection.

Sarah lifted her son's cheek. "It will be all right. Go to your room. I'll talk to your father. We'll all be together tonight, I promise. It's Christmas."

"Did your ma fix everything?" the old Curtis spirit asked when they saw them leave the room. "Did she do as she said?"

Austin nodded. "Mother always made things right. She always made Father so happy. She made all of us happy."

All of a sudden, night had fallen. It only took seconds for the hours to dissolve away. They were in the Peale family room by the fire.

"Let me see, Austin," Josiah said sternly, sitting by the hearth, motioning for the papers. He put on his reading glasses.

Young Austin stood erect, handing the essay to his father. Young Austin, Hannah, and Sarah waited patiently as Josiah read it.

Josiah silently marked up the papers as he edited it.

Old Austin remarked to the ghost nervously, "Father always did that."

"He was a taskmaster, eh?" the spirit inquired. The spirit rubbed his hand in remembrance. "Never liked those durn rulers. The old marms was always hitting my hands."

Josiah motioned the boy to him. The boy stepped up apprehensively. "The correct term in this sentence is 'whom,' not 'who.' You've also misspelled several words here. You need to punctuate this correctly, or it becomes a run-on sentence. Fix it."

Josiah handed back the papers. The boy looked down to the ground in disappointment.

Sarah stepped next to Josiah's chair. "Dear, tell him about the parts you liked."

Josiah grumbled, "Your idea about God's children was well thought out. Indeed, blessed are the meek. I am glad you incorporated the gospel Luke – the greatest among us is the least. That was well done, Austin."

Young Austin beamed. "Thank you, Father."

Josiah sighed, waiving him to his room. "Go on. Go fix it."

Sarah intervened, appealing to her husband. "Can't it wait until tomorrow, dear? It is Christmas. We've been looking forward to singing all day."

"How will he ever learn if I don't teach him? It's my duty to correct him."

"Blessed are the little children, Josiah," Sarah told him quietly. "Let it go until tomorrow."

Josiah's face softened. He nodded.

Young Austin and Hannah cheered as they gathered the chestnuts to roast before the fire. The Peale family began to sing Christmas carols.

Old Austin watched his younger self edge near to his father's chair. He handed a small gift to his father.

"What is it?" the Curtis ghost asked.

Tears formed in Austin's eyes. "I made him something. I remember that it took me months to make it."

Josiah opened the box. A tiny carved angel lay peaceably on delicate tissue.

Holding up the ornament in the light, Josiah remarked, "Thank you, son. Thank you very much."

Josiah walked over to the tree and placed it underneath the ornament that Hannah had made him a year ago. "It looks best here."

Old Austin could barely see it on the tree. Young Austin was oblivious, however, basking in his father's approval.

Old Austin awkwardly wiped the unmanly tears falling from his cheek. "Father always loved Hannah best," he told the ghost.

Little Hannah reached up to Austin's ornament and tried to place it higher, but she was too small. Sarah lovingly took the angel from her and tenderly placed it on the highest tree branch. "No, Josiah. It looks best here."

Josiah regarded it in the new light. He smiled. "I think you are right. Merry Christmas, everyone."

"What happened after that?" the old spirit inquired to the older Austin. The family hearth magically turned into the bright Curtis Wells landscape. They were outside in the cold of winter.

Austin sniffed, finally getting a hold of himself. "We sang Christmas carols all night. We all had a good time. My mother was the best person I ever knew. Hannah was just like her."

"Real shame that had to end," the ghost remarked. Even the spirit seemed affected by the chilly morning.

"Yeah," Austin agreed, his heart hardening like the freezing of ice. "I don't understand what this is all about. What is this supposed to show me? It only confirms that Father never really liked me."

Austin felt a sharp pain in his hand, like he had been bitten. He clutched his wounded hand. The Curtis ghost wiped his mouth from Austin's taste. "Ow!" Austin protested. "What you do that for?"

"Either you is a young fool, or you is just plain stubborn! Now you listen up. Watch this."

A new scene appeared before Austin's eyes as he realized they were standing where the Curtis Wells church had stood. The church had yet to be built. He saw two people skating on the pond. They were racing.

He recognized them both immediately. "That's Hannah and me when we were about 16 and 18," he told the ghost.

"I'm faster than you!" Teenage Austin taunted as he sped passed her.

"No way," Hannah denied him, hiking up her skirts. She raced a little faster.

Older Austin witnessed Hannah beat her brother. He laughed. It was unusual for someone that small to win over someone that tall.

The brother and sister giggled as they held each other and spun around. Then the brother skated off to rest as Hannah continued skating.

Both Austins watched her skate. She was like a young bird, awkward in some movements, but ultimately triumphing in continued momentum. Hannah grew in grace and beauty. Austin marveled at her courage in jumping, and her cheeks were rosy in health and vibrancy. She was like a majestic bird in flight, and nothing could hold her down. Austin was proud of her. He had always been proud of her.

"Who's that?" the old Curtis ghost interrupted Austin's thoughts.

Austin glanced over to see a short, slender man watching Hannah appreciatively. The man, who looked like a surveyor, went so far as to lick his lips, as if savoring the taste of her. Austin growled protectively.

Teenage Austin noticed the man, too, and liked it as much as his older self did. Teenage Austin skated onto the ice, placing himself between the man and his sister. He scowled at the man.

Hannah stopped skating when she saw the stranger watching her. She skated to her brother's side.

"Who's this?" she asked boldly.

Teenage Austin did not know, nor did he care. "I don't know, but he was just leaving. Isn't that right, Mister?"

Though the man was older, it was obvious that he did not have the brawn of Hannah's brother. The man eyed him cautiously.

"Austin!" Hannah reprimanded him, skating forward to meet the stranger. "It's Christmas! Perhaps the man needs a place to stay for the night."

Again, Teenage Austin placed himself in front of his sister. He wasn't about to let his sister invite a man like that to their Christmas dinner.

"Hannah was too stubborn to spot a wolf until it was right on her," Austin remembered out loud.

Hannah reprimanded her brother again. "Austin, stop this rudeness. At least ask his name."

Teenage Austin refused, standing even more erect. At full height, Hannah's brother was quite imposing.

The man eyed Hannah with a meaningful glance, but with one look at young Austin, he decided it was best to back away. The man left without saying a word.

"Why did you do that?" Hannah asked angrily. "He wasn't doing anything wrong."

"He was looking at you funny," her brother grumbled.

Hannah's frown quickly turned into a giggle. "You wouldn't want any man looking at me at all, if you had your way."

Teenage Austin frowned. "That's not it. I can see you getting married, but it would have to be with the right man. He wasn't it."

Hannah skated around him playfully. "Who do you see marrying me?"

Teenage Austin smiled and grabbed his sister, pulling her along.

"He'd have to be tall, like me."

Hannah giggled. "Tall?" she repeated questionably.

"Well, maybe that wouldn't matter so much," young Austin conceded, whipping her around. "But he'd have to love you and respect you."

"Would he be a good man?" Hannah asked hopefully.

"The best," her brother answered. "He'd have to be in order to win your heart. You deserve nothing less."

Hannah smiled warmly and gave her brother an affectionate hug. Then Teenage Austin grinned wickedly and stuffed some snow down her back. Hannah yelped and raced after her brother.

"What else, Austin?" she shouted after him. "What else would he be like?"

Teenage Austin skated as fast as he could. "Forthright and honest, just like me!" he yelled back to her breathlessly.

Older Austin saw the snowball hit his younger self. His younger self stopped, laughing at his sister. He held her at arms length when she caught up to him.

"He'd have to protect you even better than I do. I'd gladly give you over to such a man," Hannah's brother told her quite seriously.

Hannah smiled. "I'd hope he'd be a brother to you, too." She began to skate around him.

Teenage Austin tried to catch his sister, but she was too quick. He chuckled, "You realize, of course, that I'll tell him about the time your skirt fell down in front of the entire congregation. That was funny."

"Austin!" she squealed. "You wouldn't!"

"Or about the time Chuck Fergus tried to eat your hair"

"No!"

"Or how about that time when you --"

"Oh, there you are," Sarah Peale said breathlessly, coming upon them. "Dinner will be ready any minute." Then she began to cough.

Teenage Austin and Hannah flanked to their mother immediately.

"I'm all right," Sarah dismissed impatiently. "Let's go. It is getting late. The turkey smells delicious. You'll love it."

Older Austin watched them help their mother back to their Curtis Wells home.

"That was our last Christmas with Mother," Austin remembered sadly.

"Real shame," the Curtis spirit said. "She was a good lady."

Austin nodded, his eyes misting.

"So what happened with Hannah?" the ghost asked.

"Hannah took over Mother's duties when Mother died."

"No!" the spirit snapped. "With the young feller she was supposed to marry – did you ever find a man good enough for her?"

Austin did not want to talk about Call.

"Well, did you? Did you find anyone good enough in your sights for her?"

Austin growled. "I was his best man at their wedding. Call was a different man then."

The Curtis ghost harrumphed. "So was you."

"How much more do I need to see?" Austin asked impatiently. "Is there a point to this?"

"I'd shut my trap, if I was you, boy. You is too durn stubborn. Open your eyes, boy. Open them."

Austin shook his head. "Call ain't worth remembering."

"He was the brother you never had, and you know it."

"Can we get on with this?" Austin demanded again.

"Your sister needed him, remember?" the old Curtis spirit snapped. "Well, you is gonna remember before the night is out."

As if on cue, it turned into nightfall. They were no longer at the pond, but outside the back of the newspaper office, where the old home used to be. Austin's eyes adjusted to the night. He saw a tall silhouette on the tree line. The man's shoulders were slumped. A woman walked out to greet him.

"Austin?" he heard a young woman's voice inquire in concern. "Are you all right?"

Both Austin and the young man turned to her. "I'm fine, Hannah," the man on the tree line said, obviously lying.

Austin watched as his sister placed a comforting hand on his younger self's shoulder.

"I had to be about twenty then," Austin remarked to the ghost. "Hannah was only eighteen."

"She grew right pretty, didn't she?" the ghost commented.

"Yes " Austin agreed absentmindedly, trying to hear what she had to say to his younger self.

"It's Christmas, Austin," Hannah told him. "Come on inside. I'm sure Father didn't mean it."

"He meant it, alright," the young man said, kicking a piece of ice in disgust.

"You said some mean things, too."

Young Austin frowned, then nodded in agreement. "I shouldn't have said those things, but he never thinks that anything I do is right."

"That's not true, Austin," Hannah argued with him. "He just doesn't want to see you get hurt. It hurts him to see you make the same mistakes he has made."

Young Austin grumbled, "Maybe, but he doesn't need to keep treating me like a child."

"Perhaps it is his way of holding onto you," Hannah suggested quietly. "You know how Father has changed since Mother died. You know how hard it has been for him."

Both young Austin and Hannah frowned thinking about their mother. "I don't think a doctor could have saved her, Hannah. It's only been a couple months since she died, but it feels like forever. I miss her so much."

Hannah hugged her brother. "I do, too."

"She always made Christmas so wonderful, " the young man remembered when they came apart.

Hannah's mouth twisted in resolve. "We can, too. Come on."

Austin watched as Hannah dragged his younger self inside their Curtis Wells home.

Josiah sat dejectedly in front of the fire. He clutched a picture of Sarah to his chest.

Young Hannah and Austin glanced at each other.

"Father didn't let go of that picture for several more months," Austin told the Curtis spirit. "He loved my mother dearly."

"Your pa was of great feeling," the spirit remarked. "Now watch."

"Father, I'm sorry," the young Austin apologized.

Josiah continued staring at the fire. After awhile, he nodded to his son.

Young Austin frowned impatiently as Hannah gave him a reassuring smile.

"Father," Hannah encouraged. "You said some mean things to Austin, too."

Older Austin sighed. "Hannah always tried to keep us together after Mother died."

"She don't giggle like she used to, either," the old ghost commented.

"No," older Austin agreed sadly. "She didn't."

Josiah grimaced impatiently, but then his features softened. "I'm sorry, too, son."

"Good," Hannah commented, her hands coming together in a clap. "It's dinner time. Let's eat."

The father and son gathered around the table as Hannah went into the kitchen to get the feast. As they sat down, they heard her cry of dismay. Something smelled like it was burning.

Both young Austin and Josiah went to her to see what was the matter.

"The turkey the turkey " she cried.

The turkey was burnt.

Hannah held the heavy roasting pan. The weight of it sagged her tiny frame.

Young Austin and Josiah took it from her, yet her form did not change. She looked like a heavy burden was still upon her.

Older Austin gasped. That was just how his sister had looked when she appeared to him earlier on that night.

"I'll never be like Mother," Hannah muttered, entirely dejected.

Older Austin heard her, but Younger Austin and Josiah did not. They were fussing over the turkey.

"I know exactly how she feels," Austin whispered. Austin could never measure up to his sister. He could never measure up to Newt Call. Now he understood that Hannah felt that she could never measure up to their mother. He wanted to comfort his sister. He understood her pain.

"It's all right, Hannah," he told her, thinking that she might hear him. "I never wanted you to be like Mother. I always wanted you to be yourself. I wanted you to be free."

Hannah did not respond, but tears welled in her eyes. She was still upset about the turkey.

"She can't hear you, boy," the Curtis spirit told him quietly. "But you loved her. She knew that."

Austin felt the tears in his own eyes. He could not speak.

"She wasn't ready for the load you two put on her," the ghost said. "She was like a bird in a cage. She needed someone to set her free."

Austin could not argue with him. Hannah, though she had wiped her tears away, still looked haggard and tired.

"I wish I could have done that for her, " Austin commented, wishing that it was he that could have set her free.

"Yes, I'm sure you did, but you weren't the one to do it. What was your Hannah like when she met Newt Call?"

"Different," he remembered, smiling. "Happier."

"Newt Call did her a world of good, then."

Austin, though he wanted to disagree, could not.

"That was why you loved him as you did. Plus, he came like a brother to you. You know it, too."

Austin bit his lip, trying to stave off his tears. "Newt Call ran away."

"You did, too."

"That's not true!" Austin shouted angrily.

"Hmfff," the ghost snorted.

Suddenly, Hannah and her family disappeared from view. Austin and the Curtis ghost stood on a spot of charred embers and ashes.

Austin knew exactly where they were.

"No," he begged the ghost. "I don't want to remember this. Please, not this. Anything but this."

"It's your heart that is taking us here, " the ghost commented.

"No," Austin begged again, tears falling from his eyes. "I can't stand this."

"Where are we, then?" the old ghost questioned relentlessly.

Austin fell to his knees. He could almost taste the ashes now. "The explosion Hannah " he stuttered painfully. "Hannah Hannah"

The hole that her death ripped out of him never seemed to heal. The pain was fresh and gnawing as it ever had been.

"Please," Austin begged again.

Mercifully, they were no longer at the burnt ruins, but at the old house. Josiah, clean-shaven and dreadfully thin, stared at the fire. In one hand, he clutched Hannah's wedding photo. In the other, he clutched a whiskey bottle.

"Austin!" he growled. "Where are you?"

It saddened Austin to see his father so changed. He remembered how lucid and strong he used to be.

"Austin!" he shouted again, his speech slurry.

Austin could hardly believe his younger self's appearance. He looked so much different than he had when Hannah was alive. His hair was long and scraggly. His cheek was rough from lack of shaving and cleanliness.

"What do you want?" the young man snapped.

"Get me that Bible," Josiah ordered, motioning with a drunken hand.

The young man frowned, but did as he was told. Josiah did not open the book but clutched it to his heart along with Hannah's photo.

Hannah's sweet smile mocked them in their misery.

"Go away," Josiah demanded hopelessly to his son.

Young Austin's jaw twitched slightly, and then he turned to leave.

"Austin?" Josiah asked in a child-like voice. "Where are you?"

The young man turned to him expectantly.

Then Josiah growled again. "You never are where you should be. You should have been here. You should have been here."

Josiah only confirmed what the young man already knew.

"Father, I'm sorry," he apologized pathetically.

"Go away!" the father ordered again.

Young Austin turned away dejectedly and left the room.

"Father was never the same after Hannah died," Older Austin stated. He felt his younger self's pain all over again.

"He went crazy in the head," the ghost commented.

"Yeah," Austin agreed quietly. "He's not so bad now."

Young Austin reappeared with a tote sack. He reached in and brought out a box. He handed it to his father – almost fearfully.

"Merry Christmas," Young Austin told him.

Josiah stared at the box.

"What's this?"

"Something I got in Miles City."

"What else is in the sack?"

Young Austin did not answer him. The young man was overcome with emotion.

"What's in the sack?" the Curtis ghost whispered to the older Austin.

"They were gifts for Hannah and Newt, " older Austin finally brought himself to answer.

"Well, I don't want it," Josiah said, trying to get Austin to take the gift away from him.

"But Father –"

"You got this from Miles City, didn't you?" Josiah questioned him, his tone accusatory.

"Yes, but –"

"You were getting these things when your sister –" Josiah paused, unable to speak. He took a swig of whiskey.

"But, if you'll just open it," young Austin pleaded. "It's for you. It's for the newspaper office."

"Go away."

"Father –"

"I said, 'go away!'" Josiah shouted, throwing his gift into the fire without even opening it.

It might have been better if he had just punched his son by the expression on young Austin's face.

"Where's Newt?" Josiah demanded. "Get me Newt."

Older Austin could not help the tears from falling from his face.

"He's not here. He's –"

"Get him. I don't want you here."

Young Austin shook his head hopelessly. He seemed confused and angry at the same time.

"I lost her, too!" young Austin shouted to his father.

"Tell Hannah that I like her burnt turkey," Josiah smiled fondly, remembering their one Christmas together. "Go get your sister."

Young Austin bit his lip in anguish and to stave off his tears.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked to no one in particular.

"Get Newt. He'll know what to do."

"He's not here!" Austin shouted in frustration. "He should be here, but he's not. He's gone!"

Josiah turned towards his son angrily. "Get Newt."

Young Austin answered his father with a story stare of his own. Rage was evident in his eyes. His fists, one tightly clenched on the tote and the other clenched solidly, shook with fury.

"He's not here!" he shouted one final time, throwing the tote against the wall. A cracking sound indicated something had broken inside the tote.

Both young Austin and Josiah stared at it, and then young Austin stormed out of the house without a word.

"What broke?" the ghost asked.

Older Austin looked down in guilt. "I bought Hannah a wooden whirligig that flew when you pulled a string. It broke in half."

The old Curtis spirit shook his head in disgust. "Did the others break, too?"

"No," Austin replied emphatically.

"What were they?"

Austin could not speak for a moment. "I bought Newt a journal. Hannah was always pestering him to write more. She meant letters, but I thought it might be better for him if he kept a daily track."

The ghost approved, snorting. "I thought I heard clanging, too. What else was in that sack?"

Austin looked away. "A horseshoe."

"You bought a horseshoe for your horse or something?" the Curtis spirit asked incredulously. "That must be some prissy horse!"

"No! It was for Hannah and Newt's ranch! It was for luck. It was supposed to hang over their doorway." Austin frowned, adding, "I guess I got it for them too late."

"Luck ain't yours to make," the ghost commented. "So where did you go after you left your pa?"

"I don't know," Austin lied.

"You do, too," the spirit argued. "We're going there right now."

The former Pig's Eye Saloon appeared before them. Young Austin clamored upon the door. It was closed early for the night.

Mosby, in his band-collar shirt, opened the door in irritation. He himself looked like he had been drinking to forget something painful.

Mosby's eyes narrowed in recognition. "Oh, it's you, Austin. We're closed early for the night. Go home to Josiah, will you?"

"Give me a drink," Young Austin demanded desperately.

Mosby regarded him for a moment, and then began to close the door. "Go home, Austin."

Young Austin barred the door. Mosby's eyes glinted dangerously.

"Sell me a whiskey bottle then. I'm good for it."

Mosby's features softened somewhat, and then he shook his head. "It won't do you any good," he commented. "It may numb your pain for awhile, but it will never go away. Believe me, I know."

Young Austin looked at him doubtfully and stalked away in disgust, muttering, "If you don't give my any, I know where I can find some." He had been there before – Sweetwater.

"Sweetwater. Hmfff," the old Curtis ghost snorted in disgust.

Austin could not deny it. "Yes."

"So you became a drunk. That was a fool thing to do. You drank for months, like your pa. You ran away just like everybody else. Who got you out of that one?"

Austin became angry. "Mosby cleaned me up, but --"

"Ha!" the ghost remarked triumphantly. "He gave you a job. He began trusting you. Then you test him like a two year would to his pa."

"I didn't betray him!" Austin argued.

"Not in actions, boy, that's true. But thoughts make you guilty in the Lord's book as next person."

"If that's true, then we'd all burn in hell," Austin muttered.

The ghost actually smiled. "God is good about forgivin' and all. You just gotta ask for it."

Austin shook his head in disbelief.

The Curtis ghost laughed. Then his face turned serious again. "But you didn't go to Sweetwater that night, not just yet. You went someplace else."

"No," Austin denied him. "I went straight to Sweetwater."

"Nope."

Suddenly, Austin could taste the ashes of the burnt building. They were at that place again.

"No," Austin begged. "Not here."

"Why not?" the ghost contradicted. "You came here before."

"Leave me at Sweetwater. Leave me with Father," Austin suggested frantically.

"I ain't here for your pa, if you ain't noticed by now. Now watch."

Austin glanced over in misery. He saw his younger self kneeled in the ashes of the burnt building. The young man looked hopeless.

"What were you thinking?" the ghost asked.

"I don't know," Austin mumbled. "I don't what to think about it."

"We're gonna stay here until you tell me, so you best spit it out."

"Angry, I guess!" Austin snapped.

"At who?"

Austin did not answer for a moment. "Newt."

"Who else?"

"Father."

"Is that all?"

"Mosby, for not giving me a drink."

"Now you're reaching, boy. Who else?"

"Myself, I guess. I should have done something."

"If it was me," the ghost spitted out an translucent wad of tobacco, "I'd be mad at Hannah for leaving like she did."

"Never at Hannah," Austin lied, trying to make himself believe his own words.

Then young Austin shouted in agony, "Why?!? Why?!?"

The young man picked up the ashes and threw them away from him, as if trying to furiously rid himself of the thing that caused him such misery. When he was exhausted, his body dropped to the ground. His body wracked in painful sobs. He cried like an abandoned child. When he could cry no more, he reached for the very thing he tried to rid himself from – the ashes. He brought a handful to his heart and clutched it there – Hannah's ashes.

Older Austin wiped away his tears. "Please, no more," he whispered.

"Wait," the ghost told him.

Older Austin saw a man riding into town. He passed the younger Austin in the ashes and got down from his horse in concern.

The stranger asked, "Hey mister, are you all right?"

Young Austin looked up into the man's eyes. His voice had hardened. "Leave me alone."

"You ought to be inside. It's a cold Christmas to be out like this."

"Leave me alone!" young Austin shouted again.

The stranger would not be put off. "Come on, mister. I'll buy you a room at the hotel. Heard the Lonesome Dove was real nice."

The young man winced at the name 'Lonesome Dove.' "Newt," he muttered bitterly.

"What?" the stranger asked.

The rage and anger that had built inside of him exploded onto the man. Young Austin grabbed him and began to punch him. It felt good to feel the release. It felt good to have that power over another human being. It felt good to be in control.

"Austin!" a woman's voice shouted. It was Ida. She tried to pull Austin off from the stranger.

Young Austin finally came to his senses and got off from the man. Ida looked at the young man in disappointment and disapproval and helped the stranger up. She took him to the hotel.

"She probably thinks you is a monster by the way you acted," the ghost commented.

Austin nodded, unable to argue with him. "Probably."

"Your mamma wouldn't have liked what you did just then, either."

"No," Austin agreed, remembering his sweet mother. He was overcome with emotion. "She wouldn't."

"Hannah wouldn't either."

Austin nodded again, this time in shame. He knew he had changed, and not for the better. "I know."

What could he do?

"What can I do?" he asked the ghost.

There was no response. Austin suddenly realized that the Curtis ghost was not there. There was no one not even his younger self just the ashes. The taste of it never left him in the two years since her death. Booze couldn't wash it away and neither could the bullying. Austin truly did not know what he was doing. He knew both his mother and his sister would not approve. Austin could only remember Hannah's disappointed eyes earlier that night. No wonder – he was a failure. It crushed him. Once again, he fell to his knees. The ashes sifted through his fingers. It seemed like the ashes were all he was now – the burnt out remnants of a boy not even a man. You could make nothing out of him. He was useless. Austin was lost. What could he do?

He was so tired. He lied down on the ashes like he did years ago and stared into the night.

Then he heard a gun shot. Austin's eyelids snapped open to find that he was back in his own cot. The covers were all tangled around him. He was back in 1880. He heard gunshots and merry laughing. It was only drunken revelry celebrating the Christmas Eve night.

Austin straightened his covers and pulled them to his chin. He was afraid. He felt very alone, though he knew that two other ghosts would visit him soon. That was Hannah's promise.

Austin prayed to God that Hannah could be with him now.

Chapter 4: The Spirit of Christmas Present

"Austin?" he heard a child-like voice inquire.

Austin did not think that it was possible that he could fall asleep, but he did. It was still the middle of the night.

Austin squinted. It was Unbob.

"What is it, Unbob?" Austin asked, wiping the fatigue out of his eyes.

"Oh, I ain't Unbob," the man said, stepping into the tent.

Austin stared at him. He looked just like the town handyman.

"She told me I was to go to Austin Peale's tent," the man said nervously, shuffling around.

Austin blinked at him, waiting for him to continue. He looked a little different than Unbob on closer inspection. He was taller.

"My name's Bob," the man offered generously. "I have a twin brother, but I'm older cuz I was born first. My ma and pa named me 'Bob,' but they weren't expecting my brother, so they called him 'Un'—"

"Wait," Austin interrupted, confused. "What are you doing here? Who told you to come to my tent?"

Bob shut his eyes really, really tight. He was trying to remember was he had been told.

"I'm supposed to say that I'm the ghost of Christmas present." Bob opened his eyes and looked sincerely at Austin. "But that ain't really true. I cain't be a ghost cuz I'm not dead yet. The pretty lady just said my soul was leaving my body for a short while. She said I was just like a spirit. Don't that beat all? I wish I could see my brother while I'm here, but the pretty lady said that only Austin could see me. That's okay. I wanted to thank him for telling my brother where to write me. I was awfully sore at my brother, but his letter made me forget what I was even mad at. Anyways, do you know where Austin lives? I gotta find him."

Austin stared at him, dumbfounded. It was the spirit of Bob Finch, twin brother to Unbob Finch in every way, except Bob was taller. This spirit was his guide to Christmas present.

If he had not been so tired, Austin would have laughed.

Instead, Austin settled for a bemused smile. "I'm Austin," he reassured the man er spirit. "What are you supposed to show me?"

Bob smiled happily, pleased with himself for accomplishing his first task. Then he shut his eyes really, really tight. "I'm to take you to three places. I'm not supposed to tell you until we get there, but then you'd know." Bob reopened his eyes.

Austin grimaced impatiently. Well, at least Bob wasn't crotchety, he thought.

"Where are we going?" he asked again.

"I'm supposed to open the tent flap. It'll take us right there," Bob replied. Bob opened the tent flap. Austin could see nothing beyond it except Curtis Wells.

Austin thought it was best to get this over with as quickly as possible. He gallantly motioned for Bob to go first. Bob stepped through the flap, and Austin followed.

His foot landed on wood, not frozen earth.

They were in a building. They were in a room richly, but modestly, furnished. Bookshelves were on the wall, and a desk stood near its center.

Austin recognized the place immediately. Mosby's study.

"Why in the hell are we here?" Austin demanded, perturbed. He thought at least that they would be somewhere interesting.

Bob looked at him nervously. "She told me that you might be angry coming here, but I was to stand my ground. She said to say, 'You are to stay here, Austin Peale, and learn' she said. So you stay here and learn." Bob sounded like he was reprimanding a fond pet.

Austin sighed impatiently. "Who? Who is the lady?"

"I dunno, but she was right pretty. Cain't remember much except her hair was curly."

Austin nodded. "Fine, fine. We are here. Now what?"

"I'm supposed to say this is how Mr. Mosby spends Christmas this year. You are supposed to watch."

Austin did not care about Mosby, but he felt like he ought to humor Bob. "Where is he, then?"

"I dunno," Bob replied, confused.

They heard the clank of a whiskey bottle fall on the floor. Startled, they both realized it was in the next room.

"Sometimes Mosby slept there," Austin remembered.

They did not even have to walk into the next room. Their own thoughts seemed to transport them there.

Bob fidgeted in awe. "That's even better than the tent flap!"

Austin ignored him. He saw Mosby. Mosby was asleep on his cot. He was dressed only in his shirt, suspenders, and trousers. One hand grasped something to his chest, while the other obviously had let go of the whiskey bottle on the floor. Mosby must have passed out.

Austin did not see the town proprietor drunk very often, and it was usually when something caused the Southern man much distress. The last time Austin saw him drunk was when Mosby had him tied to a chair. Austin frowned angrily.

"Damn you, Mosby."

"Mr. Peale," Bob reprimanded worriedly. "You ain't supposed to say things like that."

Austin gave him a stony stare. Bob swallowed nervously, backing away.

Austin turned back to Mosby. Mosby stirred somewhat. They heard a small noise. Whatever was in his other hand fell on the floor, too.

"Hey!" the Christmas spirit exclaimed excitedly, pointing to something on the ground. "That's the pretty lady. That's the pretty lady who came to me tonight! She's the one that wanted me to help you."

Austin kneeled down to get a closer look. It was a pocket watch. A faded portrait stared at him from the other side of the face.

He looked at it in shock, and then his fists balled in anger. It was Hannah. That son of a bitch Mosby had a picture of Hannah in his pocket watch. He did not recognize when the photo was taken, but her pretty image smiled at him. Austin wondered how Mosby got a picture of her, and by damn, he was going to find out.

"Mosby!" he shouted. "Wake up, you son a bitch!"

Bob stepped in between them in concern. "He cain't hear you none, Mr. Peale. Stop, Mr. Peale. Stop, please!"

Austin regarded the spirit for a while and backed off. "Why does he have a picture of Hannah?" Austin demanded.

"I dunno," Bob replied. "But I'm supposed to tell you to look on the pocket watch."

Austin frowned, but kneeled back down to the watch as he was told.

The watch was engraved. Austin had to squint to see it. It said:

To my darling Clay,
I will love you always.
Your Mary.
Christmas 1860

Austin looked up in confusion. He did not know about any 'Mary.' The watch was dated back in 1860, yet the date did not give him any clues.

"Why, Mosby? Why?" Austin asked again.

"Look, Mr. Peale!" Bob exclaimed, pointing back down at the pocket watch.

The portrait had fallen out. There was something written on the back.

The writing was even more difficult to see than the engraving, but Austin made it out:

Mary Mosby, April 1860.

Austin's jaw dropped. Mosby had been married. Not only that, but Mosby had been married to a woman that was the spitting image of his sister. Austin had always wondered why Mosby helped him out of Sweetwater, and now he understood. Austin was Hannah's brother, and Hannah looked just like Mosby's wife.

Mosby stirred in drunken delirium. "Mary Mary " he called out. His eyes opened, but they did not focus. He blinked several times, and then he spotted the pocket watch. He reached for it and the portrait, clutching it back to his heart. Mosby's eyes closed. "Merry Christmas, Mary," he whispered, falling asleep.

Austin felt sorry for him. Back in 1878 when he told Austin that the pain never went away, Mosby was right. Mosby did know about pain. Apparently, he knew about it all too well.

Seeing Hannah die must have been another blow for Mosby, Austin thought. No wonder Mosby helped bury his sister.

"Well, I'll be damned," Austin muttered.

"Mr. Peale," Bob hemmed. "You ain't supposed to say that!"

Austin regarded the spirit, then looked back at the passed out man. Austin frowned. Though he felt sorry for Mosby, the man still had tried to kill him. The anger was still there.

"That's okay," Austin finally answered to Bob. "So is he."

"No, no," Bob denied him, shuffling his feet. "We are all supposed to go to heaven."

There was no place in heaven for Mosby, Austin knew.

"Is that all that I was supposed to see?" Austin inquired impatiently. "Can we get on with this?"

Bob looked around in confusion. "I guess you see'd everything here, but I think you missed something. I feel it."

Austin regarded the sleeping man in anger. "I didn't miss a thing."

"Well, I guess," Bob hemmed. "But something ain't right."

Austin only stared at the spirit. He did not want to think about Mosby anymore. "Let's go," Austin ordered.

"We's supposed to go out that door," Bob replied, indicating the door to Mosby's study. "But I'm not sure if we's supposed to go yet."

Austin ignored him and headed for the door. He opened it, and stepped into a dimly lit room. He expected Mosby's study, but he was someplace else entirely. A man sat in a chair in front of a fire. He clasped a whiskey bottle in one hand and in the other clutched something else to his chest. His pale eyes stared at the fire.

Father.

Josiah swigged a little from the bottle and shut his eyes tightly. He moaned.

Father was drunk again at Christmas, Austin knew. It had been that way for the last couple of years.

"Hannah Hannah" Josiah muttered, reaching for the fire. "Where are you?"

It broke Austin's heart. Josiah was still in a world of pain and suffering.

"Father," he tried to comfort him. "It'll be all right."

His father did not hear him. Josiah regarded the Bible for a moment, and then he tossed it aside. He stared at the fire in dejection.

"I wanted a Christmas where we all could be together," Josiah wished out loud.

Austin frowned. He should have been with his father at Christmas. Instead, he settled for a bottle and a whore. No wonder his father did not like him.

"I'm sorry, Father," he apologized, tears in his eyes.

Austin heard someone sniffing. He looked back to find Bob, who was crying.

"He's your pa?" Bob asked, wiping his tears.

Austin nodded, looking back at his father. "He loved Hannah," he stated. "Never me. It's not like he should, the way I've been acting."

Bob shook his head emphatically. "Fathers love their sons. It says so in the Bible."

Austin smiled at the irony of it, and then stared back at his father. "I wish."

Josiah fell asleep. Austin wished that he could have been there. At least he could have put a blanket on him or something.

Josiah turned in the chair. Something fell out of his hand. Whatever it was, it broke on the floor. The noise of it startled Josiah out of his sleep.

Josiah got out of the chair and examined the broken object. A piece had broken off.

"Austin, Austin," Josiah cried, holding an ornament in his hands. It was the old wooden ornament that Austin had made for him when he was only a boy. Josiah feebly tried to fit the broken angel wing back into place.

Tears streamed from his father's eyes. "I didn't mean to do it," Josiah apologized pathetically. "Austin, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Austin. I'm sorry. Forgive me, son, please."

His father sobbed painfully as Austin felt tears wet his face. "Father! Father!" Austin cried out, reaching for him. His hands passed right through him.

Austin turned back to Bob. "Can't I comfort him somehow?" he begged desperately. "Isn't there something that I can do?"

Bob could not speak himself because he was so touched. He only shook his head.

Austin turned back to his father. "Father! Father! I'm sorry!"

"He cain't hear you," Bob finally said through his tears. "But I told you that fathers love their sons. You gotta believe it now."

Austin nodded, finally understanding.

"We gotta go back through that door now, " Bob suggested, wiping his tears.

"No!" Austin denied him. "I can't leave Father."

"But the pretty lady said you had one more place to go."

"Who?" Austin asked in confusion. "Who are you talking about?" Somehow Austin remembered that Bob had tried to tell him about her at Mosby's.

"That pretty lady there," Bob said, pointing to a photograph on Josiah's dusty side table.

She smiled prettily at him. Hannah.

Austin sobbed. Somehow Hannah arranged all this from beyond the grave. Hannah had been trying to tell him something all night. He tried to understand, but he could not. Tears of confusion and sadness streamed down his face. He sighed. He knew that he had changed, but he did not know what he was supposed to do.

"Where are we supposed to go?" he asked in defeat.

"Through that door," Bob answered, indicating the door to the old kitchen.

Head down, he followed Bob through the door. They were no longer at the old house, but they were standing on frozen ground. Dawn was beginning to peak out from the horizon.

It took a moment for Austin to realize that they were standing in the churchyard cemetery. They were standing right at Hannah's gravestone.

"No, not this," Austin whispered.

As if out of his control, he kneeled down to the stone. It read:

In Loving Memory of
Hannah Call
Born September 9, 1858
Died December 5, 1878

He remembered her funeral. There was nothing left to bury. Her stone was placed next to Sarah's, and they pitifully placed a few ashes underneath the earth.

Austin stood and turned away. He could not stay there any longer.

"Who's that?" Bob asked, pointing to a man on a white horse.

Austin squinted. It was Call. Call looked almost afraid to come down from his horse. He kept staring at the stone in the cemetery.

"What does he want?" Austin demanded.

Awkwardly, Call dismounted. He grasped a whiskey bottle in his hand, and he had to lean against Hellbitch to steady himself. Call had been so drunk that Austin wondered how he even managed to ride.

"Is that Newt Call?" Bob wondered in disbelief.

"Yeah, what's left of him," Austin nodded.

"He looks so sad," Bob whispered.

Austin ignored him. "What's he doing here?" he demanded again.

Call staggered over to the headstone. He fell on his knees, stared at it, and took a swig. Then he awkwardly traced Hannah's name with his finger.

"Call, get away from here!" Austin ordered angrily. He had no right to his sister. Call had run away.

Call did not hear him. He took another swig. Call's pale blue eyes shut tightly, trying to ward off pain or memories. The bottle reached to his lips again.

"He's gonna drink till he falls asleep, Mr. Peale!" Bob exclaimed in pity.

"Who cares?" Austin snapped.

Call moaned. "Hannah " he whispered. "Just one. Just one Christmas with you is all I ask."

It angered Austin that he would even talk to her. "Call, you have no right --"

"I'm sorry I'm so sorry!" Call muttered, hugging the headstone for support. "Forgive me, Hannah, forgive me."

It shocked Austin. Call was begging. Call was frightened. He was in such misery.

He knew exactly how Call felt.

"I should have been there," Call moaned. "It should have been me. I wish to God it was me instead of you."

Austin watched as Call's body wracked in painful, silent sobs. Call knew exactly how he felt, too.

Austin stared at him in wonder. Hannah was the one that first tied Austin and Call together, but Austin never understood that their bond was much deeper than that. How could he have missed it?

"Newt," he whispered.

Call's head came up, alert.

"Newt?" Austin repeated again more urgently.

Call looked around but saw nothing. He thought it over, then shook his head and leaned back down over the stone.

"Can he hear me, Bob?" Austin looked over to the spirit desperately. "Can Newt hear me?"

Bob regarded them curiously. "I dunno, but I get these senses with my brother sometimes. I can feel what he's thinking."

Austin looked back Call. Austin's body shook. "Newt, listen to me!" he shouted. "I'm sorry I'm so sorry. I need you, too!"

Before Austin could reach out to Call, Bob interrupted him. "I gotta go now," he said through his sobs. "Please tell my brother I love him, even though you cain't tell yours."

Austin regarded him in confusion. Bob was fading away.

He quickly looked back to Call. Call was still leaning against the headstone. He was passed out.

Austin glanced back over to the spirit. Bob was gone.

"Newt!" he shouted, turning back to his brother. He had to wake him up. "Newt!" he shouted again, this time reaching out for him.

His hand passed right through Call. Austin fell down on the gravestone.

He felt the coldness of the stone against his cheek. He looked up. Call was no longer there. Somehow the cemetery was different. There were more gravestones than before. Austin stood up and wandered around. He saw some graves marked in 1882. Tent town was gone, and wooden shanties stood in its place.

Austin's heart pounded rapidly. He was in the Christmas of the future. It scared him like nothing ever had.

Chapter 5: The Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come

Austin looked around for the ghost. There had to be a ghost. Hannah had told him about it earlier.

He saw nothing. He heard stirring in the town, but he could not sense anything else.

Then he heard it. It was a breath.

Austin whirled around, but nothing was there. "Where are you?" he shouted. "Show yourself!"

He heard the breath again. Austin rounded about another time. He squinted. There was something faint. Its form was barely human, almost like a deformed vulture, and it hovered. It did not say anything. It floated expectantly.

Austin blinked at it, trying to collect his senses. "You're the ghost of Christmas future, aren't you?"

The ghost did not respond. It merely hovered.

Then Austin heard something very odd. The sound was so faint that he thought that it was his own imagination.

A train whistle.

Drawn to the noise, Austin ran to find it. It took him right through Curtis Wells.

The mud was frozen. Its odd sculpture preserved the twists and strains and groanings of the town. New buildings were thrown up between the old ones. Mosby's Ambrosia Club looked larger, and Twyla's Sporting Club looked like it had a few more competitors on the street. The Lonesome Dove was still there. It used to be the finest building in town, but a house at the end of town surpassed it. Austin squinted at it. Mosby stood there on its balcony, coolly assessing the town as cigar smoke curled out of the side of his mouth.

Austin shivered.

The whistle sounded like it was getting closer. Austin knew there had to be train tracks around here somewhere, but he could not find it.

Then he heard a breath. Austin whirled to spot the ghost hovering around the newspaper office.

Austin's fists balled protectively. "Get away from there!"

He ran towards it, trying to shoo it away. It only disappeared inside the office.

Austin reached for the door, only to find that he grasped at air. Gulping, Austin willed himself to walk through the door.

The newspaper office was the shambles it always had been. It looked like no one had been in it for months.

Austin grew more afraid as each minute passed. Where was Father?

"Father!" he shouted.

There was no response.

Austin made his way through the office to the back. The old home was located out there.

Austin walked through that door, too. Hannah's picture was dusty.

Father was not there, either.

Austin could then hear the chugging of the train. Perhaps the tracks were located at the back of the old home. He walked through the wall.

He spotted his father.

Josiah sat hopelessly on the tracks. His gun was feebly aimed at the train. Tears streamed down his scraggly, hollow cheeks. Austin had never seen his father look so old.

"Father!" he shouted, running up to him. The train was chugging straight at them.

"Father, get up!" he begged desperately. Austin could not move him. He only grasped at air.

Then he heard a horse ride up.

"Help! Help!" he cried out to the man.

It was Newt Call. His hair was longer, and lines creased his face.

"Newt!" Austin shouted with relief. "Help me with Father! Hurry!"

Call did not hear him. He assessed the situation and dismounted immediately. Call was clearly horrified.

"Josiah!" he shouted, running up. "Move!"

The train was almost there. Its whistle blew loudly at them.

Josiah just sat there hopelessly with his gun, staring at the train.

"Josiah!" Call shouted angrily, finally reaching him. The train was almost there.

Austin feebly tried to move his father, but it took Call to finally shove Josiah off from the tracks.

Austin screamed as he felt the train pass through him. He heard a sickening thud.

Dear God. Newt.

"Newt!" he screamed.

It took an eternity for the train to pass through Austin's body.

When the train passed, Austin searched for his brother. All he could find was blood.

Josiah sat off to the side and began to wail. Soon the townspeople were there, gawking.

Then Austin heard the breath again. He turned upon the ghost angrily, but the ghost did not hover this time. It rushed at him.

Austin tried to ward it off with his hands. That did no good. Darkness overwhelmed him, and he felt like he was falling. He had no control, and it scared him.

His body hit the ground hard. It was almost dawn.

Austin looked up to find Hannah's gravestone staring at him. He shoved himself up quickly, only to see his father sitting off to the side. A shovel was next to him. It was broken. The ground was too solidly frozen.

Somehow Josiah managed to carve a makeshift marker out of wood. He placed it next to Hannah's stone. It read:

Newt Call
Born 1856
Died December 25, 1882

Austin still could not believe the horror of it. This could not be the future. It could not be.

Austin then began to wonder where his future self was. Surely he had to be here somewhere. Where was his future self when his father was on the train tracks? Where was his future self when his father needed him most? Surely he was not gone like he was when Hannah died. He had to be there somewhere.

Then Josiah began to weep. "Oh, Newt Newt."

Austin wept, too. His brother was gone. He could not stop another of his sibling's deaths.

He wished that there was something he could do.

"Father I'm sorry," he apologized pathetically.

"Austin Austin where are you, son?"

"Father, I'm here," Austin cried.

Josiah stared right through him, his expression blank. Then his eyes wandered down to something in his hands.

A gun.

Josiah put the gun to his head. His finger tensed on the trigger.

"Father!" Austin shouted in horror. "No!"

Then Austin heard the breath. He rounded about to the ghost. It hovered shortly off from Sarah's headstone.

"Stop this, damn you!" he ordered to the ghost. "Make him stop!"

The ghost did not respond. It continued to hover.

"What the hell am I doing when all of this is going on?" he shouted to it desperately. "I have to be here somewhere. I have to stop this!"

The ghost still did not respond.

Josiah gulped, trying to gather his courage.

"I know I have to change!" Austin yelled. "Just make him stop!"

Josiah's eyes shut tightly, muttering a prayer underneath his breath.

"Please!" Austin pleaded, falling to his knees. He reached to the ghost for mercy. "Anything anything please!"

Austin heard the breath again. Then he realized that the ghost hovered over a headstone placed on the other side of Sarah's. It read:

Our Beloved Son
Austin Peale
Born June 11, 1856
Died April 15, 1881

"I tried to stop the railroad for you, Austin," Josiah mumbled piteously. "That's what you wanted to stop Mosby" Josiah then began to sob. "I know it was an accident, but you were killed. I should have stopped it. I should have stopped it."

Josiah hunched over, sobbing.

Austin was dumbfounded.

"All this is my fault!" Josiah moaned, placing the gun to his head again. "Now I have no one left!"

"No, Father!" Austin shouted at him, tears falling down his face. "It's all my fault! Stop!"

"Why couldn't you just forgive?" Josiah whispered. "Why couldn't you just forgive?"

Austin then knew that everything he had done in the last two years was madness. All the anger and resentment that he held towards Hannah, Josiah, Mosby, and Newt had destroyed his entire family, himself notwithstanding. None of it was worth all this. It was not worth holding onto.

"I'm sorry," Austin whispered. "It's all my fault. Forgive me."

"I always loved you, son," Josiah stated quietly, his finger tensing on the trigger. "I should have told you."

"I love you, Father," Austin replied rather hopelessly. He knew there was nothing he could do. All of it was such a waste. Josiah could not be stopped now.

Austin could not bear to look. He hunched down into a ball and covered his ears.

A gunshot rang in Christmas morn as the sun peaked over the mountains.

Chapter 6: Christmas Day, 1880

Austin sat in a balled position until his body ached. He could not bear to look.

He heard more gunshots. Austin thought that odd.

Then Austin realized he felt something covering him.

A blanket.

He jumped out of his cot. He was still in his tent! There were no gravestones or markers with his or Newt's name on them, but just cigar butts and empty whiskey bottles. Hannah was right. This place was a pigsty.

Austin heard more gunshots. He peeked out from the tent flap. Several men were shooting into the air in drunken revelry. The gunshot he had heard was theirs!

Two children, a brother and sister, ran passed him, playing and singing Christmas carols.

"Hey, boy!" Austin called out. "What day is this?"

The brother and sister regarded each other. The man was obviously loony.

"Uh Wednesday?" the kid told him.

Austin laughed. "No, what day is this?"

"It's Christmas!" the little girl exclaimed.

Austin jumped up and down excitedly. He had made it through the night! Maybe it was not too late to change. Perhaps there was something he could do after all!

The little boy and girl backed away from him. The man was as nutty as a fruitcake.

Austin chuckled. "Go on! Go and play! Have fun!"

Austin was too excited to think. He had to go find everyone.

He ran from the tent, and then stopped. He could not go out looking like this.

He dashed back into the tent. The water was freezing cold, but Austin managed to shave. He had several nicks by the time he was done, but he knew he looked more respectable. He slicked his hair back, and grabbed his duster and hat. He had people to see, and time was a wasting.

Austin stopped once again when he was only a few feet from his tent. He returned and grabbed his blanket.

He ran to the cemetery.

He found Newt Call passed out on Hannah's grave. He did not want to wake Call, so he tenderly placed the blanket over his brother's form. He smiled warmly at him.

As quietly as he could, Austin weaved his way out from the head stones. Then he raced through Curtis Wells. He accidentally ran into Unbob.

"Are you okay, Austin?" Unbob asked in concern as they both shook their heads from the impact.

Austin laughed. "Never better, Unbob."

Then he grabbed the town handyman and gave him a big smooch on the cheek. "That's from your brother," Austin told him.

Unbob was dumbfounded as he clutched his hand over where Austin kissed him. "Gee, thanks."

Austin chuckled. "Gotta go now. Gotta see Mosby."

"You didn't hit your head none, did you?" he heard Unbob yell after him.

Austin laughed so hard that he had to stop running. He was still laughing when he reached the Ambrosia Club. It was not open yet.

Before he knocked on the door, Austin settled himself down. He swallowed nervously, and then straightened his hair. His held his hat in his hands. This was not going to be easy.

He knocked. He heard shuffling inside, then the opening of the door.

Mosby was just putting on his brocade vest. When he saw that is was Austin, he looked at him dismissively. He could not believe that Austin had the gall to come there.

"Oh, it's only you. What would an illustrious man such as yourself want at this hour?" Mosby wondered ironically. Then he nodded his head. "Why, of course. You want a drink." Mosby's voice lowered dangerously, "Go to the Number Ten. They serve all kinds there."

Austin bowed his head. He had deserved that. "I had something happen to me last night, Mosby -- something that really made me think. I have to talk to you. Can I come in?"

Mosby's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and then he graciously motioned for Austin to step inside.

"Care for your usual breakfast, Austin? Wine? Whiskey? After all, it is Christmas."

Austin shook his head, sighing. It was going as well as he thought it would. "I wanted to say that I was sorry for everything I did to you. I was stupid."

Mosby stared at him for a moment, his face expressionless.

"Really?" he drawled. "What game are you playing at this time, Austin?"

Austin replaced his hat. "I am sorry, Mosby. I wish you'd believe that. I just wanted you to know that I'm not going to try to get back at you anymore. Revenge is stupid."

Then he turned and walked away.

"You expect me to forgive you?" Mosby asked incredulously. "Why would you expect me to do that?"

Austin turned to face him. "Because we all gotta let go of it sometime." Then Austin thought for a second. "I don't know what happened between you and Newt, but I think maybe you ought to tell Newt about Mary."

Mosby blinked at him. "What?"

"Hannah looked like Mary. Don't worry. I'm not going to tell Newt, but I think maybe you ought to. It might help you both."

Mosby's features twisted in anger and pain at the mere mention of his beloved wife's name. "Get out!" His body shook with fury. "Get out, you son of a bitch! Don't you ever mention her name to me again!"

Austin frowned, and then he did as he was told. It was too bad that Mosby could not have a wake up experience of his own.

Austin sighed when he stepped out of the Ambrosia Club. He wiped his eyes, gave a good stretch, and kicked his feet. It was too stuffy in there. The sun brightened everything in sight. It was a lovely Christmas morning.

He knew where he had to go next. Hopefully, he was not yet awake.

Austin sneaked into the old home behind the newspaper office. His father was asleep in the chair, clutching the broken angel. Gently, Austin retrieved it from his father and placed a blanket over him. Then he quietly searched in the house for something else. Finding it, he left the home, carefully shutting the door so not to wake his father. Austin smiled. Father was going to enjoy his Christmas gift.

Fortunately, he found Newt Call exactly where he left him. He was still sleeping.

Austin tried hard to keep himself from laughing as he straightened up and put on his best "sheriff" pose. "Get up, Call!" he snapped, smiling as he kicked the bounty hunter's leg. "You ain't supposed to be loafing here!"

Call stirred underneath the blanket, moaning. Austin ripped the blanket from him like a magician with a cape.

"Come on, Call. You got no right to be here," Austin snarled as surly as he could.

Call sat up slowly, holding his head. He looked annoyed.

"I thought them days was over," Call muttered, looking up to see "Sheriff" Peale looming over him. "Ain't Halloween, is it?"

Austin could not stop the grin on his face. "No, it's Christmas. You're a damn sorry sight, too."

"I've woke up to better ones than you, I 'spect," Call reckoned, slowing easing himself up. "What's wrong with you, anyways? Someone hit you over the head?"

Austin chuckled, no longer able to contain his good humor. "You ought to know, Call. You've been hit enough times."

Call looked away, irritation evident. "What do you want, anyways? To pester me?"

"No, I came to give you something."

Call looked back at him. His pale blue eyes showed his uncertainty.

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

"Here," Austin replied, throwing him a small object wrapped in a cloth.

Call awkwardly caught it, and then straightened himself. He looked away aloofly.

"What is it?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could.

"Open it. You'll find out then."

Call rolled his eyes at the craziness of it and fumbled open the cloth.

"It's a horseshoe," Call stated, wondering what the hell this was all about.

"Merry Christmas," Austin told him.

Call regarded him for a moment. He nodded, concluding that Austin must have hit his head. "The Hell Bitch will think it mighty fine."

Austin chuckled. "No, turn it over. There's writing on the other side."

Call, though irritated, did as Austin suggested. He read it out loud:

"To Newt and Hannah – May your lives together be as rich as you've made mine.
Love, Austin."

Shock evident on his face, Call's pale blue eyes gazed at Austin in wonder.

"I was supposed to give you that a long time ago," Austin told him quietly. "It was supposed to be for luck."

Call did not know what to say to him, lost in torment. "Our luck ran out," he finally brought himself to say, his eyes fixed upon Hannah's headstone.

"Yeah," Austin nodded reverently. "But you'll find it again someday. When it does, I'll hang that horseshoe over your door."

Call gave him an odd look. "What's gotten in you, Austin?"

"Remember when I said that you were my only bond to Hannah?"

Call nodded, uncertain what Austin was getting at.

"I was wrong. You're my brother, Newt. I was too stupid to see that. Forgive me."

Call's eyes began to well, and then he turned away from Austin.

"If this is some trick, Austin "

Austin frowned. "I know I can't ask you to trust me, but I hope one day to prove it to you. Father wanted you to come spend Christmas with us. I want you to come, too."

Call's back was still turned to him.

"I want to tell you about all my Christmases with Hannah. You never got to spend one with her. I know my stories are a sorry substitute, but I'll give that to you, if you want."

Call took off his hat and held it to his heart. His head rose towards the sky. Austin could hear him catch his breath. Finally, he replaced his hat. He turned towards Austin.

"Don't know much about Christmas here," he said as nonchalantly as he could. "The Captain let us take the day off. Gus used to tell stories on the porch. Wouldn't know what to do at Christmas, anyways."

"Well, we used to sing carols."

"I ain't no singer," Call spitted out, pointing his finger for emphasis.

"No," Austin agreed, hiding his smile. "I've heard you."

Call's eyes narrowed. "Neither are you. Look, I ain't said I was coming or not. Don't know if I want to spend my Christmas with the likes of you."

Austin frowned in hurt and disappointment. "Come for Father at least."

Call pondered it for a moment. "I'll think on it."

Austin knew that was about as good as he could get with Call.

He sighed, walking away from the bounty hunter. Now he thought it best to work on Father.

First, he had to find some glue.

Austin knocked on the door to the old home. He held a turkey in his hands. He examined it. It was pretty scrawny, but it was the best he could do.

Josiah answered the door. He appeared to have just wakened.

"What the " he mumbled when he saw his son in front of him.

"Can I come in, Father?" Austin asked, almost fearfully. "I changed my mind. I do want to spend Christmas with you."

Josiah blinked at him, then smiled jovially. "Of course, son, come in."

Austin stepped inside. Josiah took the bird from him and rolled it over onto the dusty table. Somehow, Austin knew Hannah would not approve.

"Sit down, son. Sit."

Josiah sat in his chair by the fire. He motioned for his son to do the same.

Austin gulped. He edged closer to his father's chair and handed him a small box.

"What's this?" Josiah inquired, untying the string. He gasped when he saw what was inside.

Josiah tenderly held the wooden angel in his hands. The wing was almost good as new. Josiah sniffed. "It's beautiful."

Austin gently kissed his father's forehead. "Merry Christmas, Father."

"But we don't have a tree."

"That's okay."

"Then I'll put it right here next to Hannah."

The small angel complimented her photograph beautifully.

Austin smiled. "It looks perfect."

"Should we sing carols or something?" Josiah asked. It was still pretty early in the day for that.

"I guess we should fix the turkey first, " Austin suggested. They both walked over to the dusty table.

Josiah sized up the turkey with a critical eye. "Do you know how to fix turkeys?"

"No."

"Neither do I."

Then they heard a knock. Josiah walked over to answer the door.

Austin hoped that it was one particular person.

"Newt!" Josiah exclaimed. "You came after all!"

Josiah's arms reached to encircle the blond man, but Call shrugged him away. "Josiah."

Josiah looked over at Austin, and then he glanced back to Call.

"Austin, you all right with this?" Josiah inquired.

Austin grinned. "Yeah, I'm fine with it."

"Wonderful!" Josiah exclaimed.

The three of them stared at each other awkwardly. Then they meandered over to the bird.

"Scrawny, ain't it?" Call assessed the situation.

"Yeah," they agreed.

"What do you do with it?"

"Cook it," Austin answered. "But we don't know how."

Call shuffled around the table, examining it. "Looks like a lot of work to me," Call shrugged.

The men nodded.

"Biscuits sound better, Newt," Austin opted instead of the turkey. "Maybe eggs, too."

"Yeah, less chance of burning those," Josiah added.

"That so?"

"We'll help you," Austin offered.

Call coolly looked away, then worked his way back to the men. "Where's the kitchen?"

The three men spent their Christmas eating eggs and biscuits and swapping stories. All in all, Austin knew it was one of the best Christmases he had ever had.

Josiah offered to let them both stay the night. Austin agreed readily. It sure beat the tent. Call had to be reasoned into it, but it did not take a lot of arm-twisting.

All alone in his own room, Austin sighed as he savored the security of his own bed. He snuggled in the covers, ready for sleep. He needed it.

He felt a weight sink on the end of his bed. Perhaps Father had come to say good night.

He propped up on his elbows. "Good night, Father."

But it was not Father. It was Hannah. She grinned affectionately at him. Her finger tapped her cheek, expecting a kiss.

Smiling through his tears, Austin could feel the warmth of her cheek as he neared his sister. His eyes closed as he gave her a brotherly kiss. When they opened, she was gone.

"Thank you, Hannah."

END

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