A Winter Story: Visitors in the Night by Meredith Burton

In celebration of Christmas, I invited readers to write a story about the painting below. Enjoy the short stories submitted and have a Merry Christmas!

 Visitors in the Night

by 

Meredith Burton

Father had always despised Bernard.  Vanessa knew this fact as she knew the driana tree bore berries every midsummer.  Now, she watched her brother as he perched upon the makeshift stool before the hearth.  His twisted legs dangled uselessly, yet his hands were never idle.  Even now, he sorted walnuts according to their size, placing the largest in a wicker basket.  His cheeks, though wan from lack of sunlight, never bore a sad expression.

                “Will more people come, Nessy??” Bernard grinned at his sister, watching as she thrust the heart-shaped cutter into the mound of fragrant dough.  The sections of pastry broke apart and plopped onto the wooden worktable in intricate shapes.

                Vanessa smiled at Bernard’s nickname for her.  “There’s hardly enough room for us.”

                “I wish the driana tree had some berries.  They’re my favorites.  You could put them in the cookie dough.”

                Vanessa nodded.  She thought of the heart-shaped red and white berries, their pulpy flesh and slightly tart yet light taste.  No wonder Bernard loved them so.  Mother couldn’t get enough of them before he was born.  “Will apples do?”

                Bernard nodded.  “Can I go with you to gather some?”

                She frowned, blinking rapidly as the tears threatened to fall.  “You know what Father says.”

                Bernard bowed his head and continued his task.  “I saw the snow falling earlier,” he murmured.

                Vanessa nodded and grinned.  The world outside was blanketed with a lovely profusion of white, a tranquil paradise of crystalline sugar.  “I know what you need.” She put aside her baking implements and approached the hearth.  Bernard grinned and allowed Vanessa to lift the stool on which he sat.  He was so light that carrying him was not difficult.  She placed the stool at the cottage entrance, opening the door to allow a few feathery flakes to dance inside.  Bernard gaped in wonder as two flakes fell onto his outstretched hand.  “It’s so cold!”

                Vanessa laughed.  “You best eat it before it—“

                “What is the meaning of this?” Vanessa automatically tensed as a burly form materialized in the doorway.  Father’s eyes were red-rimmed, his straw-colored hair blowing in the winter wind.  “What’s he doing sitting there?”

                Vanessa bit her lip, her eyes flashing.  “He’s doing no harm.”

                Rick Pomeroy trudged into the cottage, slamming the door behind him.  “There are paying guests out there.”

                “I know that.  He just wanted to see the snow.”

                Rick stared at his children, his mind traversing the years in mere seconds.  Vanessa had always resembled her mother, the same kind heart and strong-willed nature.  Bernard? Well, the boy certainly enjoyed life.  He lacked the energy of most children five winters old, but he was the most observant child Rick had ever seen.  His thirst for life had robbed Rick, and the man did not know what to do as a result.  “Put him back to work.  And, what is that you are wearing, Vanessa?”

                The girl looked down at the beautiful royal blue gown, the silver embroidery glimmering in dappled patterns throughout the silk.  “I-It’s just for today.  It’s Bernard’s birth—“

                “I know what day it is,” Father snapped.  “It’s a day of mourning.” He raised his hand, pointing accusingly at the dress.  “Go change.”

                Vanessa gaped.  “It’s been five years! Mother wouldn’t want us to mourn forever.”

                “Just do as I say.  Are the cookies nearly ready?”

                Sighing, Vanessa nodded.

                “Bring them outside when they’re done.” Father left abruptly, slamming the door with a decided thud.

                Vanessa turned to Bernard, her cheeks flushed.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

                Her brother reached out his hand, enfolding it in hers.  If only he could tell his sister he was sorry as well, but he could not remember what he’d done wrong.  Father frightened him so.  “Was Mother pretty?” He asked the question yet again, although he knew what Nessy’s answer would be.

                Vanessa lifted Bernard’s stool, placing it once again beside the hearth.  She marched to the worktable, slamming lumps of dough onto pewter baking pans.  “She was lovely.  Her eyes were as brown and rich as those walnuts you’d best get back to sorting, and her hair? It was—“ Her voice broke as the tears finally burst forth.  Clearing her throat, she murmured, “Her hair was as golden as molasses.” She gestured to the jar which she was using to prepare the cookies.  “Mostly, though, she was pretty because she was kind, and she loved to sing.”

                Bernard grinned.  “Me, too.” Immediately, he launched into a rollicking tune, his off-key caterwauling bringing a smile to Vanessa’s face:

“Oh, the Driana tree sways in the inn’s dooryard.

It stands firm though the frost freezes hard.

Hey-dee, Hey-dee, Hey-O!

The tree will stand as ages roll

And bloom in midwinter when Darkness is struck a blow.”

                “You remember,” Vanessa murmured.  Retrieving a freshly-baked cookie, she hurried to her brother’s side, handing him the heart-shaped treat.  “That was Mother’s favorite song.”

                “Did I kill her?” The boy’s question emerged so softly that Vanessa could bearly discern his voice.  Even so, his query hit her like a slap.

                Vanessa snatched her brother’s hand, clutching it so tightly that he winced.  “Did Father say that to you?”

                “No, Nessy.  I-I’m not dumb.”

                “Of course you’re not! So, you should know that you didn’t kill anyone, Bernard.  It was an accident.”

                “Did the Season-Maker cause it? What about the Dark-Maker?”

                “Don’t say such things.  I’m going out for a minute.  I’ll be right back.” Vanessa gathered two bulging trays of cookies and staggered toward the door.  After a moment, she turned around.  “Tonight, we’ll have your party like always.  Won’t that be fun?”

                Bernard laughed, his eyes gleaming with excitement.  “And there’ll be—“

                “Two dozen guests, same as last year.” Vanessa smiled, though her heart thudded with sadness.  Thank the Season-Giver for the gift of imagination, she thought.

                As she trudged to the door, she realized she had forgotten to change.  Well, so what? The guests would be glad to see a little color.  Deliberately, she retrieved a red cape from a hook by the door, a cape that Mother had woven for her a month before she died.  Wrapping it round her shoulders, she stepped from the cottage, her head held high.  The hood was thrown back, and Vanessa allowed the rollicking snowflakes to kiss her cheeks and caress her hair as they tumbled about with joyful abandon.

                Rick stood in the small enclosure, a hovel that barely deserved to be called a barn.  Daisy, the one milk cow, mooed contentedly as she munched hay, and the two plow horses enjoyed their supper of oats.  It was going to be another frigid night, for the snow was continuing to fall.  His wife had always loved snow.  “It is the Season-Giver’s way of helping things sleep,” she had told him once.  “The world slumbers in winter, and things that sleep need a coverlet, don’t they?”

                Rick had tousled Driana’s hair.  “You and your stories, sweetheart.  A benevolent lantern-bearer who dances in the seasons? All I know for certain is that the season’s come like clockwork, and each time they do, King Heinrich demands our taxes.  He wants more and more each year.”

Rick thought of these things as he shuffled from the barn, his back bent with the rheumatism that always troubled him this time of year.  Driana would have been thirty today, he thought.

The yard surrounding the tiny cottage teemed with people.  The guests chatted among themselves as they drank steaming mugs of hilma, a drink made from molasses and fermented apple juice.  Father stipulated two mugfuls be given to each guest but no more than that.  Vanessa smiled at this thought as she placed the cookie trays on a makeshift table.  Much good his precautions would do him.  Many of the guests were bone weary from a long day’s journey, and the air was so frigid that the drink was needed for warmth more than anything else.

“Curse kings and their uppity ways,” she heard one man murmuring.  “Why a census has to be conducted at this time of year is beyond me.”

Vanessa circulated among the guests, making sure that all was well.

Suddenly, Vanessa heard a strange sound in the distance.  She strained her ears to hear above the din of voices.  Sure enough, a high-pitched, plaintive cry could be heard.  Vanessa hurried from the yard, following the sound.

 Belona was a small village, and the inn was on its outskirts, so Vanessa kept to the well-worn path traversed by multitudes of travelers.  As she shuffled along, she delighted in the crunch of the snow beneath her feet.

The sound grew closer, and Vanessa soon realized the sound was coming from her right.  She’d have to step from the path, but the piteous cry was beginning to worry her.  Tentatively, she turned and crested a small hillock, treading lightly on the uneven ground.  At the top, she beheld a driana tree, its branches grey and bent with frost.  In the distance, she glimpsed trees of varying shapes and sizes, the crystalline flakes wrapping each one in a soft embrace.  But, where was the cry coming from?

Vanessa knelt on the ground, scanning the area around her.  Then, she saw a sight that made her heart melt.  A kitten, its shimmering orange-striped coat gleaming against the snow’s whiteness, huddled beneath the driana tree.  The kitten was so thin that its ribs protruded, and its eyes were wide.  Spasms shook the poor creature’s body.

Vanessa held out her hand, murmuring gently.  The kitten shrank from her, his tail bristling and his skeletal frame shaking more than ever.

 “I have a warm hearth,” Vanessa coaxed, “and warm milk as well.”

The kitten seemed to hesitate.  Its bell-shaped ears flicked toward her, the long whiskers twitching.  Finally, it began to inch forward, its paws leaving intricate prints in its wake.

As Vanessa continued to coax the kitten, her eyes were arrested by the bridge in the distance, the one that spanned the River Athenda.  Who was that? A figure was advancing toward her.  The person, (sex was impossible to judge at this distance), wore a flowing cape of green, and cascading jet-black hair flowed down the figure’s back.  Yet, the most astonishing sight was the lantern the figure held aloft.  Light poured forth in a dizzying array, blinding against the snow.  Just beyond the figure, a host of shimmering lights glimmered.  These lights seemed inferior to the lantern, yet they were still dazzling in brilliance.  They hovered in the air, shining upon two figures who were stumbling along in the snow.

The kitten had reached Vanessa’s side.  Gently, she allowed his freezing nose to caress her hand.  “Will you come with me?”

  “Mree,” the kitten squeaked, its voice barely audible.  Gently, Vanessa enfolded the trembling creature into her arms, compassion tearing through her as she felt his heart racing.  As she turned around, she took one look behind her.  The lantern-bearer was still advancing.  She also saw the pitiable figures just beyond the lantern’s light more clearly.

 A man and woman huddled close together, their drab clothing crusted with frost.  Their breaths steamed in the air.  The woman stumbled repeatedly, often stopping to clutch her distended stomach.  Vanessa realized that the woman was pregnant.

 “Um, hello?” Shaking, Vanessa tried to speak loud enough that her voice carried to the bridge.  “Are you all right?”

The man and woman hesitated, scanning the area for the speaker.  “Is someone there?” The man’s voice was rich yet filled with weariness.

Vanessa waved her hand, standing so that her red cape would reflect upon the snow.  The kitten shifted in her arms.  “I-I’m here.  Do you need help?”

“Oh, thank the Season-Giver!” The man and woman quickened their pace.  As they stepped from the bridge and drew closer, Vanessa sucked in her breath.  The woman was really a young girl, probably only two or three years older than herself.  The man was young as well.  They both smiled when they saw her.  “Oh, miss.  I didn’t think there was anyone around here.”

 “Yes, sir.  I’m Vanessa.  My father owns the Pomeroy Inn.  Are you all right?”

The man shook his head.  “My wife.  She’s—That is to say—We—“

Vanessa nodded.  “I don’t know what Father—“ Her voice trailed away, and she watched as the girl stopped to catch her breath.  “M-M’am? Have you been hurting long?”

The girl nodded.  “Since midday.  D-Do you have any place we might stay?”

Vanessa hesitated for only a moment.  “Yes.”

As she turned to lead the way to the inn, the woman shuffled along beside her.  “That’s a lovely kitten you have.”

 Vanessa blinked.  “I just found him.”

“Out alone on a night like this,” the woman murmured.  “Wonder what happened to his mother?”
As they prepared to descend the small hill, Vanessa hesitated.

 “Um, isn’t your friend coming?”

“Friend?” The young man looked at Vanessa in confusion.

“Why, the person who led you across—“ Vanessa turned to stare at the bridge.  No one was there.

The barn was bitterly cold.  Rick placed burlap sacks in the animal’s stalls, murmuring to them as he worked.  “Gonna be mighty frigid.  Best hunker down and—“

The barn door flew open.  Rick spun around, his eyes nearly popping from their sockets as he beheld his daughter propelling a young girl inside.

“Vanessa! What’re you—“

 “She’s hurting, Father.  It’s a baby.  She’s hurt since midday.”

Rick’s face grew ashen, and his thoughts began to race.  Driana, he thought wildly.  “G-Get away from here,” he stammered.

“B-But, they can’t! She’s—“

 “I meant you, girl.  Get me some hot water and some cloths.”

Vanessa gaped and hurried to obey.  As she left the barn, she saw Father approaching the woman.  He trembled, and she could tell that he was petrified.

Outside, the young man stood like a watchful sentry, his eyes wide with fear.  “W-Will she be all right?”

“I don’t know,” Vanessa answered truthfully.  “Father’s in there with her.”

The man nodded and turned back to the barn.  After a moment, he entered, closing the door behind him.

 “Is it a boy or girl?” Bernard perched upon his stool, his eyes translucent with excitement.  The kitten, its belly filled with warm milk, lay curled in a ball in his lap.

 Vanessa smiled wearily.  It had been such a long night.  Running to and fro with buckets of boiling water, murmuring soothing words to the pain-wracked girl.  For several harrowing moments, they had all been fearful for the baby’s life.  “It’s a boy.  He has small tufts of black hair, and his eyes are molasses-colored.”

 Bernard abruptly turned his head, his eyes intense.  “I wanna see him, Nessy.”

 “Bernard, I—“

“Please?”

Vanessa bit her lip.  She’d defied Father once tonight.  Dare she risk a second time? Bernard’s pleading stare gave her the answer.  “You’d best leave the kitten here, though,” she said, grinning.  He hadn’t let the kitten go all night.

 Bernard shook his head decisively.

“And so, we had to come for the census.” The young man sat beside Rick, both of them shaking with fatigue.  Rick stared at the sleeping mother, her flushed cheeks suffused with a tired smile.  The infant lay in Daisy’s feed trough.  He kicked his legs, cooing and flexing his chubby fists.

“What’ll you name him?” Rick murmured.  He had actually wept like an infant himself during the delivery, so terrified that the child and mother would die.  The weeping had been so cleansing, as if a dam within him had burst, and he had cried out to the One whom Driana believed in, the Season-Giver, for help.

“We’ll name him Eloam,” the man murmured.  “It means Light-Bringer and Dark-Dispeller.  It’s the name we were told to give him.”

Rick frowned.  As he was about to speak, their came a knock at the barn door.  Rick blinked and went to investigate.

Beyond the door stood a mass of people, stretching as far as the eye could see.  All the guests were there along with several shabbily-dressed farmers.  “Did we wake you?” Rick asked hastily.

 “The light outside did,” one man said.  “It’s shining bright as day out there.”

 One of the farmer’s spoke from the crowd, his voice cracking with wonder.  “Me and my cousins were watching our flocks, and these dancing blazes of light shone down upon us.  A figure wearing a green cape told us that a king had been born in the town of Belona.”

 One of the guests snorted.  “A king? Born in this small place?”

 “The man said we’d find a babe in a barn,” the farmer murmured.

Suddenly, the mass of people parted to let someone pass.  Vanessa strode through the crowd, carrying her brother on his stool.  Bernard clutched the sleeping kitten in his arms.

 Rick gaped as his daughter entered the barn, her head held high.  Her bearing was as regal as a queen’s.  She paused by his side, her eyes asking a question more eloquently than words ever could.

                Rick swallowed, tears coursing down his cheeks once more.  “Does he want to see the child, Vanessa?”

Vanessa swallowed and met Father’s gaze.  “Ask him,” she whispered.

Rick turned to Bernard, blinking as if seeing his son for the first time.  “D-Do you want to see him?”

His father had actually spoken to him! Bernard’s eyes opened wide in astonishment.  He nodded vigorously.  “Yes.”

Vanessa carried Bernard to the trough.  The boy gasped as he beheld the wriggling infant.  The baby’s chubby hand was continuously flexing, and Vanessa gently placed Bernard’s hand on top of the baby’s fist.  The infant gurgled in delight, his fist fastening onto the boy’s index finger.  Bernard’s eyes grew round with wonder.

 As Vanessa stared at Bernard’s transfixed countenance, the air seemed to shift above her head.  For the briefest moment, she thought she glimpsed a hovering shadow, a shadow with fathomless eyes and a gaping mouth.  The shadow seemed to pulsate with anger and fear.  Then, just as quickly, she glimpsed a green-cloaked figure with an extended hand.  The figure bore a shimmering lantern.  When the lantern touched the pulsating shadow, it seemed to writhe in agony and terror until it dwindled away.

At that precise moment, Bernard cried out in shock.  “My legs! Nessy! My legs!”

Vanessa spun around, her eyes growing round and a scream erupting from her throat.  Bernard’s twisted limbs were perfectly straight.  Moreover, the boy was standing, tears coursing down his cheeks.

“They don’t hurt anymore, Nessy,” the boy whispered.  He flung himself into his sister’s arms, and the two siblings whirled round and round, completely forgetting the dumbstruck people outside.

 Rick stared at his children, his eyes showing him what was surely impossible.  Surprisingly, he no longer cared if things seemed impossible.  Hadn’t a king chosen to be born in his humble dwelling? What type of king would this child become? Rick slowly approached his rejoicing children, tentatively standing just beyond them.  Bernard held out one of his arms, (for the kitten still nestled in the other), and drew Father into the circle.  Life would be full of difficulties, but they were a family, and they would weather the storms together.

The next morning, Vanessa took a pail of warm milk to the barn.  When she opened the door, no one was there.  Shaking, Vanessa stared around the small enclosure.  Had it all been a dream? Had the multitude of people not entered the barn in small groups to stare at the child? Had they not shared a modest but satisfying meal, a birthday celebration for Bernard afterward? Most disturbing of all, would Bernard awaken and find he was not healed?

Vanessa trudged toward the cottage.

Father and Bernard stepped from the house.  Bernard skipped toward his sister, the kitten cavorting in the snow.  The kitten couldn’t bear the dampness and mewed piteously until Bernard picked him up.  “I-It was true,” Vanessa gasped.

Father nodded.  “The man came to me this morning.  Said he’d had a dream that they had to leave.  How about a walk before breakfast?”

Vanessa nodded and took Bernard’s hand.  She stared at the kitten he held.  “Let’s name him Herald,” she said.  He had arrived first the night before, a humble crier announcing the eminent arrival of a royal visitor.

Bernard nodded.  The brother and sister skipped toward the path upon which Vanessa had trod the night before.  The inn’s guests still slept in makeshift tents that had been erected for that purpose. 

As the family stepped onto the path, Vanessa stopped dead.  In the distance, the driana tree under which the kitten had crouched was no longer covered with frost.  The tree shimmered with blossoms of dazzling white, and heart-shaped berries glinted on the quivering branches.

The End

 ~

Did you know Meredith Burton is an author? Learn more about her and her stories at her website here!