The Hero and the Holly

By Lore Lippincott

Friends from different religious backgrounds gather together to celebrate Yule, Christmas, and New Year's.

Each brings a tradition to the wintry farm known as Cheshire Acres. Each brings personal history, triumphs and tragedies. There are Kate and Piers, siblings who have figured out the business side of the farm, but a few ideas slip through their fingers. Darien, Piers' spouse, is afraid to mention his restlessness. Wiccan Lucy and her wife Marisol haven't spent a Yule away from home in twelve years. Lucy and Marisol's teenaged daughter Tempest tries to discover her own spiritual path with the help of visiting Druid Atticus Klein. And Atticus has his own heartache to battle through. The fun-loving, klutzy Christian, Davis Jude, just wants to reach Cheshire Acres in one piece.

Strangers form a bond as the house is decorated for Yule and Christmas, as Atticus builds a spiritual labyrinth of snow in a field on the farm. When disaster imperils one of them, prayers and spells seamlessly unite.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lore Lippincott
• Release date: Dec 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310259722

Lore Lippincott

Hello, I'm Lore Lippincott and I write stories.I donate to different charities, and anytime one of my books is purchased the money goes to one of these. For more information please browse my blog. I update it with some frequency, even with the occasional relevant thing, and even irrelevant things...Thanks for stopping by!

Book preview

The Hero and the Holly

By Lore Lippincott

Copyright 2014 Lore Lippincott

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental.

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Cover Art © Lore Lippincott

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For all the Noir Gnomes,

with everlasting thanks.

Contents

Note from the Author

The Hero and the Holly

About Lore Lippincott

Note from the Author

This novella, The Hero and the Holly, uses characters from a few of my short tales published by Hyacinth Noir. The previously-published titles include: The Hero and the Chalice; The Hero and the Palace; and Atticus of the Braithwolds. It is not necessary for these stories to be read in order to enjoy The Hero and the Holly. However, if you like the characters, you can always return to Hyacinth Noir and read their adventurous prequels. Thanks to you, readers, and to Hyacinth Noir for your patronage!

L.L.

28 Dec. 2014

The North Hole, MN

I.

Lucy nibbled at a fingernail as she checked the weather report for the third time that day. She was a big enough weather nerd to know that the NWS (National Weather Service, for those who may not know) changed and updated the local forecast once an hour. This was a vital weapon if she was to win the bet. And—ho-oh!—was Lucy going to win the annual Yule: Rain, Snow or Sun? bet!

At the unchanged icons representing the rest of the week, notably December 21st, Lucy's mouth tightened and her eyes flashed with annoyance. So far, her predictions were not panning out. Her wife's, however, were spot on. Marisol had cheekily argued that there would be plenty of sunshine on the Solstice, with a temperature in the low to middle 30s. Lucy predicted clouds and flurries.

She admitted that the clouds and flurries were the result of wishful thinking rather than meteorological acumen. It would be nice to see Cheshire Acres, the place they were spending Solstice, Yule and Christmas, covered in a frothy white blanket. While the small farm was certainly peaceful in all kinds of weather, just the idea of enjoying the woods while on a brisk walk and returning to a warm, cozy house for warm cider sipped around a warm hearth—well, it was romantic enough for Lucy to feel more excitement for the holidays than she had since Tempest was months old, and the complaisant child, not living up to her name, wore her first holly crown with giggles and glee.

Lucy sighed, getting wistful about her growing-up daughter. Tempest was too young, just barely, to participate in the Winter Weather Bet. At fifteen, Tempest had one more year to go before she could start throwing her oar in, as Darien Price had once said. Lucy and Marisol had decided that Tempest needed to learn a little more about weather before she could be included. But Marisol had it right when she'd looked Lucy in the eye and said, She'll get it right, whether she knows what she understands barometric pressure or not. And please note the pun.

Lucy stuck out the tip of her tongue, crossed her eyes. It made Marisol laugh and gave Lucy the chance to stick her own oar in. Phoo! Do you even know what barometric pressure is, Smarty Pants?

Not exactly. Has something to do with the wind, doesn't it? Marisol looked thoughtful for a moment, setting aside a serving bowl of cheesy broccoli. H'mm, nope, you got me. I haven't got a clue. Don't tell me, though, sweetie. Tell me at Yule. It'll be the most thrilling present you give me this year.

Ha, ha, Lucy responded, shaking pepper over mashed potatoes. Generally speaking, Lucy was dreadful at buying presents. Everyone she knew was familiar with this shortcoming, and it'd become an on-running joke. The thought of gifts stuck with her as she stirred another bit of butter into the potatoes. I wonder if we should get Temmi something religious this year. You know, like her own cloak—or a very pretty walking stick.

Marisol just snort-laughed. How about her own singing stones, or her own Stonehenge?

Lucy stared into the distance, examining her feelings about the whole situation. Tempest was becoming less of the household witch Lucy thought she'd turn out to be, and more of a Druid who stepped lightly on sacred earth. Sometimes Druids aren't made, they're born—hewn from the elements and flung into the world.

Tempest was the reason that Cheshire Acres was having two additional guests for their week of holiday celebrations. At least, that's what Darien kept averring. I'm inviting my Druid friend, he'd repeated again and again. Don't worry, he'll talk to Temmi. And Temmi will like him.

They were also having Davis Jude in for the holidays. As Davis Jude was an old friend of Cheshire Acres, Piers had always extended an open invitation to Jude, to come when he wanted, if he ever wanted, if he ever needed. Davis Jude was a Protestant.

Rita, Darien's sister, would be around part of the week. And Piers' sister Kate would be there, too.

Of course she'll be there, Lucy chided herself with an inner voice. She lives there, silly!

Kate did still live at Cheshire Acres, even after her and Piers' parents had shuffled themselves into retirement and now resided in South Carolina. Kate was a grand veterinarian, and her expertise, along with her brother's business savvy and sensitivity, were needed at the animal rescue and rehabilitation center.

Rita, like her brother Darien, was an Undeclared Deist. (Darien always wrote it out with proper-noun capitalization.) Kate was more of a pantheist with polytheist tendencies. Darien's visiting friend was a Druid. Piers' visiting friend was a Protestant. Lucy was a Wiccan. Marisol was a straying Catholic. The menagerie of religious affiliations had prompted Darien to giggle into the phone one night.

Sounds like the start of a bad joke, doesn't it? 'A Druid, a Protestant and a Witch walk into a bar…'

Lucy wondered what the punchline would be.

II.

If Tempest wasn't yet old enough to partake in her mothers' strange annual rituals, chiefly the bet about Yule weather, she had at last fashioned for herself some solitary but useful hobbies. Rita had put a crochet hook in Tempest's hand in September, and the hook had hardly left the teen's hand since. She'd plowed through a phase of crocheting scarves and learning new stitches, and was entering the more challenging cycle of crocheting mittens. Tempest had a feeling everyone she knew would be getting a pair of mittens for Yule. Seated on the comfortable sofa, her feet stretched out in front of her, she was most at home with the strands of bright pink yarn over her—and her cat, Lady Morgana, on the back of the sofa, as if on guard.

It was nice to be at home. Winter Break was just underway, and Tempest had yarn and crocheting to do for the foreseeable future. How had she never learned about crochet before? It was perfect for her. It gave her something to do while still appearing social at family gatherings. It let her use her imagination, her love for color and design. And her love for giving presents to others. She'd knitted all sorts of child-sized hats last month, and gave a sack full of them to her English teacher, who saw that they got to the charity Tempest had crocheted them for.

Morgana, a soot-black cat with a white stripe, like a diadem, bisecting her brow, unfurled from her loaf-of-bread position with one long, sleek, shiny foreleg of ebony, and a great yawn that showed off her spiny pink tongue and strong, white incisors. For a moment, Morgana's green eyes were honed in on some shifting leaf visible in the back garden, then closed again. Her head rocked a bit from a blasting purr. Even Morgana's purrs of contentment were tough and intense. Piers had given Morgana to Tempest, after receiving the okay from Marisol (of whom he was still a little afraid) and Lucy (whom he loved like another sister). Tempest had never had a pet before, not so much as a dust bunny. But not even Moms could deny that Morgana had a slight affection for Tempest, that Morgana liked no one but Tempest. It would've been too cruel for Marisol and Lucy to separate a cat in need of a good home from the only human she respected. Morgana didn't even mind traveling in the car, and had gone back to Cheshire Acres twice so far. She was as comfortable there as anywhere. Tempest liked it, too. She snipped at the yarn with tiny scissors, tightened the knot, and fell into welcome reveries of a Yule that would be more than Yule.

There'll be our Yule log, Darien had told her over video chat the other night, "and there'll be this foreign thing called a Christmas Tree. Never heard of them myself. He laughed at his own humor, being a lighthearted, merry soul that couldn't help but find himself amusing. And there'll be some other Christmas and Solstice stuff, too. It's going to be a panorama of religious iconography around here! I'm thinking of getting a menorah and a yarmulke just for the heck of it."

Tempest thought he might, too. Darien was like that. He'd go far to bring cheer to others, as long as he thought it was funny, too.

Tempest started working on the thumb of her friend Elysha's violently pink mitten. Crochet allowed her overactive mind to wander. She did hear someone creep into the living room, and looked up to find Mom staring at her.

Do you want a snack? Lucy asked, almost hypnotized by Tempest's fast-paced crochet. Lucy marveled at her daughter's agility. It seemed to take a lot of patience, skill and coordination to work yarn into something that resembled a mitten. I'm feeling kind of hungry myself. Let's break out the caramel dip and some of those good apples! Lucy bumped her hands together, grinning. All Tempest saw was a youthful and excited mother. Mom always did get a little more excited in December, when the days shortened to the shortest day of the year, when the Spirit Child was born again and the days lengthened.

Tempest couldn't always wrap her head around it, Spirit Children, Yule logs, and the Whatnot of Whatever. But she knew there was something bigger than she, something that moved the sea, nurtured the earth, breathed life into fire, and gave the wild winds their names. It was bigger than she, that Universal Power, but she'd reached the startling conclusion once that she was unlimited in strength and awareness, too, that she could be as big as It, if only for a moment.

She finished the thumb of the mitten just in time to join Mom in the kitchen for crisp apple slices dipped in warm caramel sauce. She was thoughtful, not even sure what she was thinking about. Her mother munched, swallowed, and tucked a piece of hair behind an elfish ear.

I have an idea. How about we get up early tomorrow, get some takeaway breakfast from one of those disgusting fast-food chains, and eat at the park, then go for a nice walk. Then—shopping! I haven't even started buying any gifts yet. But! Lucy pulled a small piece of notepaper from the back pocket of her jeans. I have a list started! For Darien, a new cable-knit sweater because Piers told me that Viola nibbled a hole in Darien's.

Tempest chuckled. Piers and his squirrels! Poor Darien hadn't gotten used to all those squirrels yet, or their willingness to go in and out of the kitchen as if they lived there. Or the pigeons who kept trying to get into the garret room. Or the all-hours drop-off that invited people to knock on the door in the middle of the night with their injured or sick animals. It was like living with Radagast the Brown, minus the hedgehogs and evil in the woods. Tempest loved Cheshire Acres, but could see the pros and cons of actually living there.

And for Marisol, Lucy mused, I'm deciding between a practical gift, and something frivolous.

What's the practical gift?

New floor mats for her truck.

Tempest tried not to frown. Why, Mother! I didn't know you were such a romantic!

"Yeah, I know. Isn't it dreadful? But she needs them! I want to get her a set of winter ones. The vinyl kind. Lucy sighed and dipped another apple into caramel. Or a trip to Miami. Which do you think she'd rather have?"

Marisol's family lived in Miami, and she hadn't gone back in two years. Tempest thought about this, weighing the practical with