“What?”
His dimples winked. “Even the stars have to have names?”
I raised my shoulders, shrugging. “It’s not as though I christened them myself.”
His eyes fell upon me, surprisingly serious, given the grin on his face. “But you know their names? Their stories? All of them?”
“Don’t you? Papa used to tell us their stories as we fell asleep when we were little. And there was a book in our schoolroom—I loved reading that.”
He shrugged. “It just seems silly to me, I guess, naming something so very far away. Those stars don’t know our myths. Why would they want to be named after heroes and legends they’ve never heard of?”
“I think they’d be happy to know they’re so often thought of,” I reasoned. “Their names give them importance. Otherwise they’re just a scattering of light up in that big, vast void.”
He tipped his face up, admiring the night. “It is awfully big and vast.” He pointed to a cluster of stars. “What about those ones? They look as though they’re important. They must have a story. And I know you’ll know it.”
“The Harp,” I said without hesitation.
He laughed. “Why would there be a harp in the sky?”
“It’s Orpheus’s.” He looked at me blankly. “He was a musician. When the love of his life died, he followed after her into the underworld. Using his music, he persuaded Hades to return her soul to earth, so they could be together forever. Hades relented, saying she would follow the musician out, but Orpheus was not to turn around to mark her progress. He made it through trials and torments, but just before he reached the mouth of the river separating the underworld from the realm of men, he faltered and looked back.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“She was dragged back into hell.”
Whitaker looked horrified. “And he gets his harp immortalized forever? All because he failed?”
I glanced up to the little diamond-shaped constellation. “I never thought about it like that. It is rather terrible, isn’t it?”
Our shoulders brushed as we leaned against each other with a cozy familiarity.
“Would you follow me to the underworld?” he asked. His voice was deep and low, tinged with suggestion.
A smile blossomed across my lips. “If I did, you know I wouldn’t look back.”
The wind shifted, sending a scattering of snow over us. The flakes danced across my cheeks and caught in my lashes like tiny cold kisses. When Whitaker brushed them aside, I nudged my cheek against his fingers, wanting to feel more of their warmth, wanting to feel more of him.
“You never told me your Christmas wish, Ellerie Downing,” he murmured, drawing the pad of his thumb down the curve of my jaw.
I could not answer. My breath was caught in my throat, every fiber of my being waiting for his lips to descend upon mine. I wasn’t sure what to do, how to initiate it, where my hands should be. I wanted to pull him down to me then and there but worried he’d think me too brazen, too bold.
But oh, I wanted him.
Before I could throw my caution aside, a gust of wind picked up, blowing past us with a spray of snowflakes. The cold broke us, and the moment, apart as we raced for the cover of the porch, laughing.
“Too cold for dancing, I suppose,” Whitaker said ruefully.
“It was a lovely thought,” I allowed, aching to rekindle the intensity we’d just shared. He’d wanted to kiss me, I was certain of it. “Come back inside? I can make you a cup of tea—warm you up before you go?”
“A tempting offer.”
Disappointment crashed through me as he went inside to retrieve his heavy coat. As he stood at the threshold, tucking the ends of his scarf deep into the collar of his sweater, he glanced up and spotted a sprig of mistletoe. Sadie had hung it earlier while decorating, though I was certain Samuel had taken it down before Whitaker arrived.
But there it dangled now, poised like a promise.
“Very tempting.”
“Is it?” I asked, stepping forward, twisting my fingers in knots. It wasn’t the cold of the night that sent shivers down my spine.
“Ellerie, I…” Whitaker leaned in, nudging my forehead with his, brushing knuckles across my cheek, his touch softer than the snowfall. I tilted my chin, encouraging him to close the little space remaining between us. Our breath fogged gently about us, mingling together like the kiss about to come.
But a flurry of movement drew our attention.
Sam was back, dousing candles.
Instantly Whitaker stepped away from the mistletoe and grabbed his lantern before fleeing into the yard. Another gust of wind blew by, making the distance between us feel like miles. He turned back, a rueful smile playing at his lips.
I leaned against the nearest porch rail, bewildered by his sudden departure. I’d never yearned so badly for something in all my life, and he’d walked away from it today with utter ease. Three times. My stomach churned, embarrassment and vulnerability mingling together into an unpleasant combination.
“Safe travels,” I offered, knowing that goodbye must be somehow said. Empty platitudes seemed the easiest way to go.
“I…There’s something I need to tell you.”
“There is?” I hated the rising hope ringing in my words.
Whitaker rolled his tongue over the front of his teeth. “There’s not an easy way to say this, but…Sam’s supply run…I’ll admit, it’s gotten under my skin. I’m always looking over my shoulder, letting our campfires grow brighter and higher than ever.”
“I’m glad you’re being cautious.”
He twisted his fingers together. “It’s just…have you ever wondered what really happened that night?”
“What do you mean? Sam said—”
“Sam said how terrible the attack was. All its horrifying aftermath. And…I saw the remains; it was awful. So…how did he escape?”
“Well, he said….” I stilled, thinking over Sam’s account.
Whitaker raised his pointer finger. “He said the animals were fast. He didn’t have a horse. They scattered when the things struck.” A second finger popped up. “He said the animals were ferocious. He didn’t have a weapon.” His eyebrows furrowed together unhappily. “How is he still alive?”
Silence fell between us as I struggled to form an answer. I’d envisioned my brother running through the woods, hiding behind fallen trees, sheltering in a hollowed log. But that was my imagination. What had truly happened? “Maybe he…He could have…” I shrugged helplessly. “Dumb luck?”