My True Love Gave to Me: Twelve Holiday Stories

I looked into her big brown eyes. “I would hate that, too.”

And at that moment I meant it.

I swear, I really did.

*   *   *

“She’s so quiet.” I could make out the words, but I couldn’t place the voice. Or the room. Or the house. Or the overwhelming stillness that seemed to permeate everything around me. There were no honking horns, no dinging elevators or room-service carts being pushed down anonymous, never-ending hallways. That was when I told myself that I was still sleeping, that it had to be a dream.

“It’s a long flight. She must have been exhausted,” someone else said, and I remembered: Aunt Mary. The little white farmhouse with the big Christmas tree.

Ethan. Iceland. Hulda.

I threw off the covers and bolted upright in bed. The sun was too bright, burning through the white lace curtains that covered the windows. It felt like a spotlight, and I knew I had to get away—to get out of there before someone looked too closely, asked too many questions. By now, it would be obvious that I hadn’t shown up in New York, and people would be looking for me. If they found Hulda, they could find Ethan. And if they found Ethan, they’d find me.

“Hulda!” Aunt Mary called from the door. “Good. You’re awake. Come on downstairs, hon. Everyone’s waiting.”

“Okay … I … Everyone?”

Turns out I just thought I’d met all of Ethan’s family.

Clint and Mary had a younger sister who had a set of identical twin girls a year behind Emily in school. They stared at me in stereo. It felt like something from a horror movie as they tilted their heads in unison and asked, “Do we know you?”

“Nope. Sorry. One of those faces,” I said, and moved on through the crowd.

Clint’s older brother had three daughters, two of whom were already married, one of whom had a baby boy of her own. The names and faces all ran together. The kitchen was a blur of smiles and hugs and plates full of eggs and biscuits and gravy. So much gravy. I started to shake.

“Hulda, why don’t you tell us about your family?”

I heard the question, but I didn’t know who’d asked it.

“How was your flight, Hulda?” someone else asked.

“What do you like to do?”

“How do you like Oklahoma?”

“Have you ever been on a ranch?”

The questions swirled around me so fast that I was almost dizzy.

Aunt Mary’s hand was on my arm. “Honey, have you called home? Does your momma know you made it?”

“My mom is…” I started but couldn’t finish. “I … I need to go to the bathroom,” I blurted and ran for the tiny room and locked the door.

There was a narrow window, and before I even had time to think, I pushed open the glass and threw a leg over the edge. I was halfway down when I heard a deep voice say, “Good morning.”

The voice made me freeze. I dangled from the window. My feet didn’t touch the ground, but I didn’t have the upper body strength to pull myself back up again, so I just hung there, listening to Ethan laugh until I finally gave up and asked, “How far is it?”

Two hands gripped my waist.

“Drop,” Ethan said, and I did.

“Well, thank you.” I tried to sound as cool as possible as I pushed my hair out of my eyes. It had snowed overnight, and I shivered without a coat, but Ethan was in his boots and jeans, a heavy jacket, and very worn gloves.

He looked at me, eyes mocking. “Does your room not have a door? It wasn’t nice of Aunt Mary to put you in a room without a door.…”

“I…”

“You thought you’d run away this morning,” he said. “Better than running away last night at least, I’ll give you that. But if I know Aunt Mary, there’s gravy inside. A person should never run away from Aunt Mary’s gravy.”

I’m not allowed to eat gravy, I wanted to say, but instead I asked, “How far is it to the nearest town?”

“Define town?”

I glared at him. “I thought I was the one who was supposed to have English as a second language.”

“Bethlehem is three miles that way.” He pointed to the east.

“Bethlehem?” I practically rolled my eyes. “At Christmas. Perfect.”

“It’s not much of a town, though. Just a post office and a Baptist church. If you mean town with a grocery store and a school, you’ll have to go forty miles that way.” This time he pointed due north. “If you need a movie theater, Walmart, or hospital, well, then that is sixty miles that way.” This time he pointed to the south. “And, as you saw last night, the nearest airport is in Oklahoma City, which is literally hours away, so tell me, Not Hulda, what kind of town exactly are you needing?”

I walked away from him, toward the fence. Sunlight bounced off the smooth white hills, and I squinted against the glare. I needed a cab. A hotel. A different life.

I would have given anything for a different life.

“Real Hulda texted me, by the way,” Ethan yelled after me. “She made it to New York.”

I spun on him. “Did she…” I trailed off as I realized I couldn’t exactly ask Did she see anyone waiting for me? Did they find her? Do they know where I am? So I didn’t say anything at all.

But something shifted in Ethan’s eyes. Like the wind, he was growing colder. His heart was freezing over, and this wasn’t the adventure it had been the night before. Now, in the light of morning, Ethan was worried, and I couldn’t blame him.

“Who are you?” He covered the distance between us in three long strides. “What are you doing here? Who are you running from?”

“No one. Nothing.” The cold metal of the fence pressed through my shirt as I stepped back.

“Then tell me why I shouldn’t march in there right now and have my parents call the police or the FBI or whoever you’re supposed to call when there’s a stray teenage girl who needs to be taken back to her parents.”

“Is that what you think?” I didn’t mean to shout, but I couldn’t help it. My nerves had been fraying for days. Weeks. Years. And right then I felt them starting to snap. “Well, you’re wrong, Mr. I’ve-Got-a-Whole-House-Full-of-People-Who-Love-Me. My parents are not looking for me. There is absolutely no one who loves me who is worried about me at this moment. On that you have my word.”

“Okay.” Ethan took off his hat and ran his hand through his wavy brown hair. “Tell me your name at least. Please. Just tell me your name.”