“Is that a piano in the corner?” he asked, his eyes never leaving mine.
Merry nodded and pulled off the heavy tapestry cover that Mama had made for the upright. It was one of only three pianos in the Falls, and she was fanatical about keeping dust from it. Reuben Downing, pockets heavy with the gold pebbles his father had been murdered over, bought it as a wedding gift for my parents. It had been shipped in pieces across the mountain pass and reassembled in the sitting room. Whenever Mama had a spare moment, she’d sit on the little tufted stool and run her fingers up and down the polished ivory keys, singing old church hymns or folk songs in her rich alto. Though she’d taught all three of her daughters how to play, none of us were as gifted as her.
“A dance,” Whitaker decided. “I think if I could have any Christmas wish, I’d want a dance.”
“I’ll dance with you!” Sadie exclaimed, easily grabbing his hand and pulling him into the center of the room. “Merry can play something. She’s the best of all of us.”
“I’d be honored,” Whitaker said, sweeping into a bow as Merry began to pick out a careful string of notes, testing the keys.
The piano was a bit out of tune—no one had touched it since the fire—but it was still serviceable, and the carol Merry started filled the house with a warm cheer the holiday had been lacking, despite our best efforts. Even Sam’s disinterest seemed to melt away and he grabbed my hand, happily drawing me into a spin.
Sadie shrieked with laughter as she tried mimicking Whitaker’s footsteps. He stomped his feet and clapped his hands in a complex pattern she was hopeless to follow, missing half the steps through her giggles.
When the song ended, I took over for Merry so she could have a turn dancing. We sang and stomped till the grandfather clock chimed midnight and Sadie huddled in an exhausted heap at the end of the settee.
“What a perfect evening,” Whitaker said over the final stroke of the clock. “But I’ve trespassed too long on your hospitality. It’s time I made my way back to camp.”
“All alone? In the dark?” Samuel asked. He’d just picked up Sadie, and her long limbs spilled over his arms.
“I have a lantern and I know the way well.”
“Even still…there are things in those pines. Dangerous things. You’d be welcome to stay overnight.”
“I could make up the couch down here.” As I pictured Whitaker sleeping beneath our roof, just rooms away from me, I flushed. “We’ve plenty of quilts and…” I trailed off as the memory of him bathing in the river consumed my thoughts. The thought of one of my quilts covering his naked, slumbering form killed any hope of me finishing that sentence.
If he sensed my thoughts, he did not show it. “I couldn’t impose. Truly, I’ll be just fine.”
I wasn’t sure if I was more relieved or disappointed by his insistence.
Whitaker called out a soft goodnight as Samuel carried Sadie’s prostrate form up the stairs.
“I ought to help him,” Merry said, shooting me a surreptitious wink. “You know she’s a bear to change once she’s drifted off. Good night, Whitaker. Thank you again for the horseshoe.”
“You should hang it above the door you pass through most,” he suggested. “That’s what they say, anyway.”
“I’ll make sure to do that.” She nodded. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Merry,” he echoed. “That was neatly executed,” he said once her footsteps had reached the loft. “Did you orchestrate that?”
“What? No! I—”
He laughed. “I know. I did,” he admitted in a stage whisper. “I mentioned to Merry what a shame it was you were at the piano all night long.”
“I didn’t mind.”
“Well, I did,” he confided. “I hoped I’d get the chance to dance with you.”
Pleasure flooded through me, warming my chest. “You did?”
“It was my greatest Christmas wish.” He reached out but did not touch me. Instead his hand hung in midair as if waiting for permission. “Could I tempt you into one now?”
I stared at his fingers, admiring the way the candlelight highlighted their long lines. They were beguiling and hypnotic in their beauty. “There’s no one to play for us.”
“We don’t need a piano.” His hand sprang into action then, wrapping around mine and drawing me onto the porch.
The night air was frigid, but I didn’t notice. I couldn’t feel anything beyond the warmth of his fingers, the brush of his arm at my side.
“Do you hear the music?”
I stared into the night, listening. Everything was still as a new snow fell, dampening and muffling the world. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Try harder,” he insisted. “Close your eyes and really listen. Do you hear that gentle push of the wind?”
Eyes shut, I nodded.
“The orchestra is warming up.”
“A whole orchestra?” I asked, a smile tugging on my lips as his free hand settled at my waist, gently pulling me close against him. This wouldn’t be a rowdy country reel.
“And hear the snowflakes as they fall, landing on branches and limbs? There’s our downbeat.”
His lips were close to my temple, skirting my skin as he whispered, and eliciting a thrill of anticipation.
Whitaker hummed a soft tune, one I was not familiar with, and he began to sway back and forth, pulling me along with the slow shuffle of his feet. When I opened my eyes, his were on mine, as dark as resin.
He slowly turned me into a spin, and I let my hand linger on his arm with far more confidence than I actually felt.
“What a magical night.” The snow clouds striated across the sky, and twinkling stars peeked between their lines. “Look, you can even see Cassiopeia.”
Whitaker’s face shifted into a disbelieving grin. “Who?”
“The constellation.” I pulled him down the steps and out into the yard, and pointed at the zigzag of light. “See that cluster of five stars there?”
“Of course.”
“That’s Cassiopeia, named after a terribly vain queen. To punish her impertinence, the gods made her constellation hang upside down for half the year.”
His laughter was light and easy.
“No, see how the W is faced?” I traced the pattern into the air above us.
“I see it just fine, Ellerie Downing. It’s only…”