“The Holly Witch.”

M.J. Downing

[Please note that the action here begins immediately following a previous story call “Obits,” found on this website. MJ]

“Tom?” Albert asked as they cleaned up from the Halloween party. “How come nothing happened to you, you know, when we first went to the Stanzic house?”

“What do you mean, nothing happened to me?” Tom asked, garbage bag in hand as he looked around for party trash.  Finn, with burned hands bandaged, swept Albert’s garage floor, while Stacie Adkins held the dustpan. Finn looked forward to walking her home in peace, now that the vampire was no longer a threat (see the Halloween story “Obit” in Fresh Fiction on mjdowningsplace.com).

“Well, Finn had a killer headache,” Albert went on, “ and I got…well, I got all kinds of things going on in my head, remember? That…old man—”

“The vampire?” Tom asked. “You don’t need to worry.  He isn’t coming back from fire and holy water, right Finn?”

“I sure hope not,” Finn answered, meeting Stacie’s eyes. She gave him a warm smile and touched the place on her neck where the bite mark had been.  No trace of the ugly punctures remained. Finn turned his attention to the broom handle in his bandaged hands. They ached worse at the mention of the monster.

“Yeah, but he did something to Finn and me, hit us with a spell or something, right?” Albert asked. “But you, not so much.  Why?”

“He sure scared me plenty,” Tom replied, going about his work. Stacie stared at Finn, waiting to see what he would say. They had danced together the whole night, and her being a bit taller than Finn had not been a problem.

Albert claimed in almost angry tones, “Yeah, but whatever happened to us, Finn and me, didn’t happened to you, did it? You never had the, the compulsion, to go back there, to that house, without knowing why.  He didn’t get into your head.”

“Yeah, and Tom was the only one of us who saw something,” Finn said, wondering what was eating Albert, “like a hand reaching out to get him.”

“I sure didn’t see anything,” Stacie said, “except what I thought was a nice old man.  I went with mom to offer sympathy at Mr Stanzic’s passing, and all that old man did was look at me. Then, I got dizzy. That’s all I remember until Finn walked us out of that burning house. Before that, I had no control over what I was doing. My mom and I went back there, I guess, because he, you know…” she said, touching her neck again.  Finn had seen them, and she remembered seeing the bruised puncture marks on her mother’s neck, swollen and ugly, seeping blood. But Finn came and got them. Before the next morning, the wounds were gone, like they were never there.  “How did you avoid it, Tom?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders, as Finn said, “Maybe Tom is braver than we are, Albert.”

“What? because he knows how to fight?” Albert asked, again, angry.  Before the party, Finn told Stacie that Albert had wanted her as his girlfriend. She chose Finn. He wondered if that was the source of Albert’s anger.

“It wasn’t bravery, though, Finn. Like I said before, it was just instinct,” Tom said. “I was just as scared as you two and went on guard. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t thought of that at all, before Albert just mentioned it.  Now, though, I’d really like to know.”

“I would, too,” Finn said as Stacie emptied the dustpan into the garbage. “But I guess we’d better be getting you home, right Miss Adkins?”

“I’m ready when you are, Mr. McCoy,” Stacie replied with a grin, taking Finn’s arm in hers. Albert turned back to the clean-up, but Tom smiled at the pair of them walking out into the darkness together.

“See you tomorrow, lovebirds!” Tom called after them, laughing.

It had been a grand Halloween.

*

They strolled along quiet streets, past houses gone dark, bereft of candy, now that trick or treat was over. Stacie did not chatter like many girls, but she held tight to Finn’s in a way that Finn liked. When they reached her street, Mulberry, turning left toward the Adkins home at the far end of the block, Stacie said, “I think I know a woman who might be able to tell us why Tom was effected by the, um, his, spell.”

“You can call him a vampire,” Finn replied. “Like I said, I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“I know,” she said, “but I don’t like to think of all that as real.”

He held up his bandaged hands: “Real enough, if you ask me.”  As they walked, Finn saw the few quiet ghosts whose gentle haunts went on, like vague impressions of people against porches, in yards. This was not unusual for him.  He retained that ability after an unfortunate—or perhaps fortunate–incident with fairies a couple of years before.[See “Eye of the Beholder’” on this site.] Now, though, the thin shades no longer stood around staring in the direction of the vampire’s lair as they did a day ago.  That house was now a pile of cinder and ash. “But tell me about this person. A woman you say?”

 “She’s a friend of my mom’s, really. She has a shop about two miles away, toward downtown, out on the main road. Mom gets some lotions and stuff for her headaches from her shop. I think she knows things about magic,” Stacie said, hugging his arm like she was cold.

“Is she some kind of witch or something?” Finn asked, frowning.

“No…maybe…I don’t know,” Stacie replied with a shake of her head. “It’s just that there’s something…almost magical about her.

“Would you like to meet her?  Mom and I are going to her shop tomorrow.  She is having an ‘All Soul’s and All Saints days sale,’” Stacie said.

“I guess a witch wouldn’t have a shop, would she?” Finn replied. The idea of witchcraft made him uneasy, since he had experienced, firsthand, the effect of fairy magic and the vampire’s compelling spells.

“I know,” Stacie replied, laughing, too, “but something about her makes me think that she might have an answer about Tom.”

“So, you want us, me, Tom, and Albert to go with you to this shop and talk to her?” Finn asked. They had reached her house and stood on the street, away from the porch light.

Stacie hugged him close, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and whispered, “Well, if it’s just you that’d be okay with me. I…” she looked away for a moment, making Finn wonder if she was okay. “I feel safer around you, and…”

“It’s okay, Stacie,” Finn whispered. “I like spending time with you, too.  So, I’ll be there when you tell me to, as long as it’s okay with my folks.” Finn walked her to the door and bade goodnight to her mother as well.

Heading home, he had only to retrace his steps and turn at the burned out house. Its trees, those not caught in the fire, caught Finn’s eye, the left one that gave him sight of ghosts and fairies. There, he saw a shape move in the shadows. It was large figure, tall, bulky, much bigger than the vampire had been. He stopped and stared through the metal pickets, shaped like spears, atop the short stone wall, telling himself that the vampire could not have returned.

 Finn peered hard with his left eye at any movement in the shadowy trees. Through an open spot, something passed, moving swiftly into the deeper blackness of a stand of evergreens and hollies that grew close to the stone wall in front of the property, along Mulberry. There, where some light fell on the holly tree nearest the wall, the stiff leaves formed a face. It was bearded, with long hair, the shadows that formed its eyes and mouth turned up in a smile.  Finn blinked both eyes several times. The tree rustled, startling Finn, and the face was gone, as though the cold breeze coming from the north over Finn’s shoulder had blown it away.

*

The next day, at breakfast, Finn asked his father, “Dad, how come we can see faces in things that don’t have faces?”

“Ummm,” Professor McCoy said behind the morning paper, “it’s a phenomenon called ‘Pareidolia,’ a function of your brain’s innate ability to recognize human-like facial patterns in clouds and things. Why?” he asked, lowering a corner of the paper to peer at his son with mild concern. “What sort of faces have you been seeing, and where?” James McCoy might well be forgiven for taking a precautionary interest in strange things his son mentioned.  Finn’s first mention of the fairy and the vampire incidents had started at that very table. James was beginning to grow a little wary of off-hand things his son said.

“I, uh, thought I saw a face in the trees up by the Stanzic house ruins last night, after I took Stacie home. It wasn’t scary or anything.  Just startled me a little.”

“Ah, good,” His father replied with a sigh. “Likely your young brain was more than a bit heated up by the presence of your red-headed girlfriend.  She is remarkably pretty.”

“Who is remarkably pretty?” Claire, Finn’s mother asked, coming back in the kitchen from the first wake-up call to his little sisters. She and his sisters had almost been victims of the vampire’s compulsion, too, though their memory of it had disappeared like a bad dream.

“He meant Stacie Adkins, mom,” Finn said smiling.  She smiled back and nodded her head.

“She certainly is stunning,” Claire said, “and I’m glad you finally noticed how much she likes you.”

“Wait. You knew about that?” Finn asked.

“Of course, darling. Anyone who goes to your school or sees you two talking has noticed,” she said, poring herself a cup of coffee. “I don’t think your father did, though.”

“Of course not,” James said behind the paper, “though now that we come to it, anyone can see that she has you in her spell.  Your goose, boy, is thoroughly cooked once a woman sets her cap for you.” He offered a rakish grin, let go the paper, and pulled Claire onto his lap, hugging her tight. Claire closed her eyes with pleasure and leaned back against him.

“Okay, okay, you two. That’s how I got little sisters” Finn replied. “I get it. I have a girlfriend now. So, I hope it will be okay if I go with her and her mother today to some shop where Mrs. Adkins gets her hand lotions or something.  Stacie asked me.”

“Okay with me, lover boy,” James said, burying his face in Claire’s blond hair.

“I think you mean The Holly Lodge,” Claire said, not caring to move. “I’ve been in there myself and hope to go back soon. I know you’ll love it. It’s like Christmas central! Just remember that dinner is at 6:00 sharp.” Finn nodded and pushed away from the table, more than willing to give his parents a bit of privacy before the girls came down.

 As he walked to school, Finn’s thoughts turned over the notion that the shop he would visit was named for hollies, and the face he had seen in the tree the night before formed in a holly. His father once told him that holly trees were said to drive away witches. Therefore, it was hardly reasonable to associate this unknown woman or her shop with witchcraft.  Or was it? It could all be a ruse.  However, the notion that his mother had called her shop Christmas central was somehow important.

Finn loved Christmas.  Though he had never believed in Santa Claus and the whole north pole thing, Finn saw in the feast of the Incarnation a wild magic, something no amount of commercialism could tame, like winter itself.  His father was the same way, insisting that his family celebrate the entire twelve days, from Christmas Day itself to Epiphany. It was as though his family’s rituals, decorations, feasts, movies, and games, wove a spell of peace over their home and all who entered it. It was a time out of time, a real place and a season to which he always desired to return.  That was the only magic in which he firmly believed. And now, Stacie was to be a part of it, he hoped. Finn could not wait, then, to visit the Holly Lodge and meet Stacie’s “magical” woman.

*

Wind turned southerly that day, warming early November, and there was a large kickball game at recess. With Stacie at his side, Finn, waiting with the others for his turn at the plate, told Albert and Tom about Stacie’s thoughts on the lady at the shop. Tom nodded his head, eyeing Finn and Stacie.  Tom asked, “I’d like to hear what she says, but it sounds sorta like we’d be crashing your date, doesn’t it?” Albert paid no attention to them.

Finn started to say that it wasn’t a real date, but he caught Stacie’s sidelong glance and said, “Well, yeah, okay.  How about if we check it out and get back to you?” Finn leapt to the front of the line, eyed the field, noting that two people were already on base, and watched the ball roll toward him. He stepped into it and angled a hard kick down the first base line, where it landed fair and rolled past the outfielder. Finn ran hard and reached second base before the ball zipped past him.  The two other runs scored, and the recess bell rang.  They all formed up in lines to head back in, with Albert just behind Finn.  Stacie and Tom were already heading through the door.

“So, you’re ditching us for some girl?” Albert asked over his shoulder.

“What? Ditching you? Don’t be stupid. And Stacie is not just ‘some’ girl. I’m just going with her and her mom to the store.”

“Yeah, on a date,” Albert said with a smirk, and shoved Finn hard enough to almost knock him down. “Go on and see the witch, then, lover boy.”

A teacher, Miss Bennet, caught sight of the shove and pulled the boys out of line. St Andrews school insisted on quiet, orderly assembly as well as movement between classes. “What’s this about, men? I thought you too were pals?”

“We are,” Finn said, eyeing Albert. Clearly, Albert had not accepted that Finn and Stacie considered themselves a couple. Finn never considered Albert the sort of hold a grudge.  Something else was at work.

“Not if you’re visiting witches,” Albert shot back. Finn frowned at Albert’s, whose face reddened. Finn and Albert had never fought, not had other of them fought with Tom

“Well, whatever this is about, I suggest that you go cool your heels for a minute in the Principal’s office, Mr. Miller.” Albert lumbered away, into the school, as Mrs. Bennet held Finn by his shirt sleeve. “Witches, Mr. McCoy?”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but Albert doesn’t know what he’s talking about.  There’s a store down the main road that sells candles and lotions and such—”

“The Holly Lodge!, yes, I’ve been there,” she said. “It’s mostly a Christmas shop.”

“I’m going there later with Stacie and her mother. As far as I can tell,  Albert’s the only one who has said anything about witches.”

“Odd, that,” Mrs. Bennet replied with a scowl. She shrugged, then, and said, “Patch things up with Albert.  Make good decisions, okay?”

“I will, ma’am,” Finn said as she let him go return to class with the others. He would need to have a good talk with Albert, and with Tom there, he hoped they would be able to talk it out.  Albert, at the end of the day, though, avoided his friends and left Tom and Finn to walk home alone.

“He’s having a hard time,” Tom said, “what with the influence of that damned vampire and you and Stacie getting together.  I didn’t know that he had liked her that much.”

“He did, I guess,” Finn replied, “but the way he said ‘witches,’ like it was a dirty word, tells me that something else is going on with him.”

“I’ll go over and talk to him later,” Tom said, “feel him out, before Dad and I go work with our coach.”

*

The Holly Lodge was located in an old house that sat between two other old houses of the same kind, camelback shotgun houses, they were called, long narrow buildings with a second floor bedroom in the back over the kitchen. The one on the was a barber’s, where the old barber lived in its rear section. The other was a secondhand clothing store, which was hardly ever open. Finn had been past the spot many times with his mother or father as they drove into the city, so he had paid little attention to it.  Now, though, he looked more closely at the house in the middle, which bore a sign over its door which read, “The Holly Lodge.” It looked freshly painted in dark green, with deep red on the trim and shutters.  It’s tiny front yard appeared wild, like a thicket, from the street. As he entered the gate, Finn saw that it was an ordered garden, with a winding rock path that ran to the door around small, trimmed holly shrubs and bright red knock-out roses. The ground between them was covered by fresh pine needles, and long, heavy wind chimes hung from the small porch roof. The chimes made low, comfortable, bell-like tones in the slight breeze.  Under the influence of the plantings and the delicious scent, Finn thought of his mom’s notion that this was Christmas central. The holiday sensation, though, was unmistakable, comfortable, wholesome, with a hint of some wonder yet to be revealed. Finn held his breath as he opened the door and went inside.

A cool breeze caressed his face, and it had the clean, crisp scent of snow, and with it came the word “Welcome!” from back in the store, a warm female voice, whose tones were lower than is usual in  women’s voices. Finn could not see her because of the shelved stacks of evergreen wreathes in front of him, which were surrounded by holly leaves, whose red berries shined in the soft light of candles burning high above them. Then, a woman’s face appeared above them, dark eyes and broad smile being the first ways he saw her breathtaking beauty. Thick hair of deep brown, almost black, was piled atop her head, though its volume was so great that it spilled out all around, in dark, stray whisps framing her oval face and gracing her neck. A crown of holly leaves sat atop the mound of hair. Finn thought that she might be Spanish or Italian, for her skin tones were darker than his. Her voice held no accent, though.

“Um, hi,” Finn said in a nearly breathless reply. She came around the display and extended her hand towards him.  Only a couple of inches taller that Finn, she wore a white, floor-length, long-sleeved dress with an oval collar that had holly leaves and berries worked into it. Though of a generous figure, she moved with grace on silent steps. She said,

“You must be Finn, Stacie’s young man. Do come in. We’re just sitting down to cups of tea.” With her gentle hand on his shoulder, she led him back into the shop.  They passed displays of Christmas ornaments in boxes, manger scenes in all manner of wood and clay, candles of all sizes, small pots and bottles of creamy liquid, sweaters and scarves, small figures of clay, brightly painted, among which stood plush and wood images of tiny, bearded men in tall, pointed  hats of red or green.

“Gnomes,” Finn breathed in delight, pointing to them.

“Do you like my Tomtes?” she asked in merry tones. “They were called ‘Nisse,’ too, in some of the north countries of the old world. These all came from Norway. I’m very pleased to have them,” she said,  as though they were guests, not things to sell. Finn quite liked that.

They wound their way past shelves laden with more ornaments, manger scenes, and wreaths toward the rear of the shotgun house toward a corner lit by candles with one large stained-glass window behind it.  This caught Finn’s eye, for it depicted a gigantic man holding a long axe, man and weapon all in shades of green, as was the monstrous horse on which he sat. Finn knew the story, “Gawain and the Green Knight,” instantly, for he and his father had read it many times at Christmas. The gorgeous woman noticed his glance and asked,

“Do you like my green giant? I think of him as my protector,” she whispered. Finn nodded, hiding a shiver of recognition, though he had no idea of whom. On odd sense dtruck him, as though he stood looking into the deep past, a dizzying notion that also made him feel delightfully small in comparison. Something beyond the old poem his father read him played in his thoughts, something of great age, something as old as Christmas itself or even older. Stacie was seated under the window, though, and seeing her face soon put other thoughts out of his mind.      

“Hey, hello,” he called to her, as the woman urged him to take a seat beside Stacie, still in her school uniform skirt and blouse. She greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek and pulled him onto the loveseat beside her.  Mrs. Adkins, making “tsk, tsk” sounds at her daughter’s forward behavior, stood at a nearby counter, examining bottles of lotion. She looked up and smiled at him.

“Introduce our young hero to Justine, Stacie,” Mrs. Adkins advised.

“Yes. Finn McCoy, may I introduce you to Ms. Justine Rousseau, “ Stacie said. “Isn’t she beautiful?” gesturing to the dulcet shop owner who was busy poring tea into a fragile porcelain cup. Finn could only nod.

“Nice to meet you, Ma’am,” Finn said, giving her his hand.

“I can’t help but notice these bandages, sir. How were you hurt?” Justine asked, taking his hand in a light grip.

“Just some burns, ma’am,” Finn said.

“Which he got from saving mom and me from a terrible va—”

“Justine,” Mrs. Adkins said, interrupting. “My daughter and Finn have some rather far-fetched ideas about a man who, um, somehow, compelled us to come into his house, which caught fire as we were there. I confess, the whole business was rather spooky. I don’t know how he did it or why. It was quite confusing, really, though Finn and some others did, clearly, get us out of there when the house caught fire.  We had, um, no capacity to do so ourselves. However, their story might be hard to believe.”

“With such evidence,” Justine replied, holding Finn’s hand still, “I might find it hard not to believe.” She turned to Finn, looked him in the eyes and said, “I’d like to hear it, though first I would like to offer you some of my white willow bark salve.  I make it myself.  Do you have much pain?” she asked removing the tape and gauze.

“Not bad,” Finn murmured as she ministered to him. Once the wrappings were off, she looked at the burn marks on Finn’s hands. The spots that had blistered still throbbed, but Finn remained still, partly enchanted by Justine’s beauty and tender care, partly worried about revealing his story to another adult. “Doubtless, she will find a way to make it seem like the vampire wasn’t real, no matter how magical she seems, though Stacie was right about that.  She has something about her…”

Finn, however, found that it was easy to tell her the whole tale, starting with the “Stanzic” obituaries. Justine stopped him once when he mentioned that fairies and ghosts shunned the property.  Finn explained about his “sight,’ which she took at face value, or at least the steady focus of her dark eyes and appreciative nods of her head suggested as much. Finn had to give her credit; she listened with great care and did not judge.

“So…you understood that the man you met…was a vampire… an actual vampire, not just someone who looked like one?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he whispered. “As I said, with my left eye, I can see some things as they truly are, even when others can’t.”

“Seeing things as they truly are could be a burden or a blessing,” Justine replied, holding his gaze.

“I suppose,” Finn went on, “but what we, that is, me, Stacie, Tom, and Albert, were wondering is why Tom didn’t fall under his spell? I had a killer headache every time I thought about him, and Albert, like Stacie and her mom, had some sort of compulsion placed on them to return to him, whether they wanted to or not.”

Justine sat across from Stacie and Finn, who held hands as though lending each other support. Her teacup sat in her quiet grasp. Finn found Justine’s searching gaze disconcerting, realizing that everything he revealed sounded like a bizarre fantasy. She did not laugh, though.  He knew his father and Tom’s believed it, having fought the monster, which had the strength of many men. However, telling it to a stranger was a different thing. He shared a quick glance at Stacie, whose wide eyes suggested that her thoughts mirrored his. 

“And so,” Justine said in easy tones, “you tell me this because…” suggesting with a hand motion that they go on.

Stacie spoke up: “I suggested he tell you, because I thought you might have awareness of magic because…” Stacie fell silent, at a loss for how to go on.

“Justine,” Mrs. Adkins said, “I fear that I’m to blame.  See, I told her how the lotions you make have done wonders for my skin, how your fragrances calmed me down, like magic, you see…”

“But that is just bee’s wax and lavender, for the most part,” Justine said. “Though I pride myself on the use of natural herbs and minerals, I do not practice magic, however magically my products sooth jangled nerves or refresh skin,” Justine replied in a quiet voice. She did not seem at all alarmed, which Finn noted.

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I claimed that your abilities were…how did I put it Stacie?”

“’Delightful witchery,’ was how you said it to dad,” Stacie said in a small voice. She turned to Finn and mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’

Finn, though, saw something in Justine Rousseau that he trusted.  Sure, it might have been her beauty which would make most men desire to have her confidence, but he thought it was not just that. Anyone who imagined the Green Knight as her protector seemed as though she would be a kindred spirit. Despite his discomfort at telling her his truth, he wanted to trust her.

“Do I—we—sound crazy to you ma’am?” he asked.

Justine looked at him, held his candid gaze in one of her own.  “At the very least, she thinks people are honest,’ he thought.

“I… have known many people, especially men, who have told me things that they thought I needed to hear.  My father warned me, long ago, that men would do so because of how I look.  They…think they want me…need me…to be…theirs, when all I really want is to be my own.  If I am right about you, and I think I am, you two hope I know magic, but I’m no witch, though I have met women who were.  Some called their religion Wicca, and some actually try and control things with magic, which is against my Christian faith. I’m not even sure that I believe you met—and killed—a vampire without police involvement, but then, what could they do? Arrest a vampire?”

“Good for you, Justine,” Mrs. Adkins added. “I only ever saw an old man there who bore a striking resemblance to the man who died in that house. Ghost of some kind? Maybe.  Vampire? It’s hard to—”

“But you don’t dismiss it as false,” Finn burst in, “you know, just made-up kid stuff, right? Which, I think, means that you have some kind of magical ability.”

“I believe I know people, “Justine replied, smiling at Finn and Stacie. “Is it magic to recognize honesty when I see it, or—?”

Before she could finish her sentence, the door to the shop opened as though from a great wind.  They heard it strike the wall behind it and bounce off. Someone entered with great force.  A man cried out “Justine! I…I need you!”  Finn heard both fear and anger in the man’s plaintive tone, a voice at once sad yet demanding, confused. Finn intuited what the man’s needs were by the longing in his voice. Her three guests looked at Justine in alarm. She closed her eyes, sighed and called out,

“I’m with clients now, Mr. Barden.  Please be patient.”

“Clients!? What’s his name?” Barden demanded, cementing Finn’s understanding. He knew the voice of Jeff Barden, who coached the boy’s basketball team at St. Andrews.  Barden, once a player of some renown, was now a powerful businessman, and had cut Finn from the squad the previous year—for being too short. Albert had made the cut both years, though he was rarely played. Jeff Barden was not on Finn’s list of favorites.  Barden’s son Steve, something of a minor bully, had graduated from Finn’s school the previous year, too. Finn also knew that there was a Mrs. Barden, his realizations of Barden’s needs making the boy blush: somehow, Jeff Barden wanted to possess Justine Rousseau.  Looking at her face and form, it wasn’t hard to imagine what had stirred Barden’s ardor.

Finn looked at Stacie, who blushed, as though the same thoughts occurred to her.  She mouthed the word “Creep,” to Finn, who nodded.  Her mother said, “Justine, perhaps we should go…” and started to rise, though not before Barden’s heavy footfalls brought him into their midst, frowning, looking around for another man.  Justine maintained her poise, picked up her cold teacup.

“My answer to you is the same, Mr. Barden. No. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have paying customers to whom I wish to give my full attention.”

“Get out of here, you three!” Barden yelled, his face dark with anger. Finn saw that Barden had lost control of himself, to be yelling at others, as though his feelings, somehow, gave him the right to do so.  Or was it just because, like his son. he was nothing more than a bully? Finn looked at his companions. Justine stared at the stained-glass window, and Mrs. Adkins sat staring up at the Barden as though she would run.  Stacie’s hand shook in his, though she glared at the man. Barden, taller than Finn’s father, was imposing, but in Finn’s mind, he was just a bully.

“No, sir, Mr. Barden. We have not finished,” Finn said in measured tones, rising to his feet.

Barden started to reach for Finn, then thought better of it. The boy stood his ground, staring at the big man’s florid face. “Has she bewitched you too?” Barden growled, and at that moment, Finn recognized that he would, on no account, ever mention magic in the same breath as Justine Rousseau’s name. For him, Barden’s presence signaled a threat as bad as the vampire he and his cohorts had faced. Finn’s steady eyes looked hard into Barden’s flinching gaze and saw tyranny unmasked. In the presence of the warm Christmas feeling in Justine’s shop, Finn saw an injustice: Barden only wanted to possess her beauty, as though he ever could. For Finn, associating a creative, enterprising woman with magic of any kind was an evil he would resist to his last breath.

“You have a wife and family who probably wonder where you are,” Finn said, staring into the glaring eyes. “Mrs. Adkins, Stacie, and I have not yet completed our business. Maybe you should go see your family or come back another time?”

Stacie asked, “Mom, weren’t you also going to ask Justine about a wreath for our door?”

“Y…yes, I was—am,” Mrs. Adkins said, startled out of her fear. Her face reddened with resolve, though. “Could we look at what you have in stock…now?”

“Certainly, my dear,” Justine replied, her warm gaze falling on Finn, who stood firm, his gaze still on the intruder. The picture of the Green Knight behind him gave Finn a sense of calm, of comfort, though he had no reason for it.  He was just a lad, and the man before him was large and overcome with his own needs.  Barden, whose hands were clenched into fists, mastered his emotions with a visible effort and turned on his heels, pushing past displays, knocking things to the floor, in his hurry to reach the front door.

When the door slammed shut, the spell of Barden’s frustrated anger lifted, and Finn sat down again and reached for his cup of tea, though his hands shook. Justine sighed and said,

“I am so sorry, my friends. I fear to think what he might have done were you not here. That man has become a problem since he first darkened my door a month ago.  Calls me at all hours and is often parked across the street, watching for me. It is as my father told me…”

“No need to apologize, ma’am,” Finn said.  Stacie smiled at him, hugged his arm.  Justine placed a shaking hand on Finn’s shoulder.

“I think that the only person here who is magic is this one,” she said, bending down to kiss Finn on the cheek. “Come, my dear,” she said turning to Mrs. Adkins, “let’s look at a wreath or two if that bellowing blowhard has left any on the shelves.”

Justine and Stacie’s mother left Finn and Stacie on the love seat,  Stacie still shook with fear, but she held onto Finn’s arm and smiled.

“I…I don’t know…how you can do things like that, Finn,” she whispered. “What would you do if he hit you?”

“Bleed, probably, but I wouldn’t have given up my choice to risk it, and he can’t take that from me.”

*

  With a month and a half until Christmas, Finn and Stacie saw as much of each other as they could.  It was first love for each of them, and they delighted in one another’s company, each of them struggling with youthful passions and succeeding and failing, though not dangerously. Stacie liked to kid Finn, especially when he was around his friends, that she had him under her spell.  Finn blushed, and Tom laughed, but Albert said nothing.  Like all young men besotted with their first love, he found that he wanted to spend more and more time with her, especially alone. And, he struggled with all the confusing messages he had learned about relationships.

Almost nightly, those days, Finn dreamed of the figure he thought he saw in the Stanzic house yard. It began to look more and more like the stained-glass figure of the Green Knight in Justine’s shop window, which Finn thought was simply the way dreams worked.  Yet the pareidolia phenomenon only grew stronger as the days went by.  In most trees, especially evergreens, Finn saw something like the Green Knight’s bearded face. In his dreams, the face in the leaves moved its mouth, as though it had a message for the boy.  The only thing the figure in his dreams ever said was, “The seed dies to live,” in a great hollow voice that echoed in Finn’s head as he woke.

He told this to his father one day who merely nodded. “Sounds like you’re dreaming of the Green Man, to which the Green Knight is somewhat akin.  Originally, he was a fertility deity, some say, and is very ancient, “James said. “You can see the Green Man’s likeness carved in stone in many places in Europe and the United Kingdom. Rosslyn Chapel, in Scotland, for one, has maybe a hundred such representations. He is quite an ancient mythic figure.”

“Is he a kind of fairy” Finn asked.

“Why do you ask? Have you seen him, Finn?” James asked.

“If I have, would that be a bad thing?” Finn replied.

“It would be strange, I think, for anyone, but you,” James replied. They fell then to talking of the ancient poem, its tale of the ‘beheading game” into which Sir Gawain was led to exchange blows of the great axe, Gawain going first and striking off the Green Knight’s head. He did not die but picked up his head and put it back. Sir Gawain had no choice but the follow his quest and let the Green Knight have his turn in one year. He knows that his quest for Green Chapel will likely claim his life. However, he undertakes the journey, facing dangers to his body as well as carnal temptations and a challenge to his honor.

“I just don’t think of a ‘Christmas Game,’ like the Green Knight called it, as being  about, um, fertility and all,” Finn said.

“Well, the story occurs at Christmas, does it not? And the story is about Gawain’s virtue being tested,” James said. “And you’ll notice that Arthur makes all his knights wear a green belt like Gawain had to.  It’s as though the poet wanted all men to remember that they are subject to the allure of sex. Besides, the Green Man is a figure of the power of nature, you know? Birds and bees, like. I should think your feelings about Stacie would help you see this.”

“I guess…they do,” Finn replied,

 James said. “Perhaps your sensitivity to fay things is at work in your imagination?”

“I don’t know,” Finn said with a shrug.

“You’re growing every day, boy, and the sap is really rising in you, isn’t it?”

Finn blushed but nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, I think of Stacie all the time, in a lot of ways, that, before, I didn’t think of.  Sometimes, she’s—

“Let me stop you right there, son,” James said with a smile. “I am familiar with the ways that men think about women and how they get into our imaginations.  The thing is, you’re still a pretty young fellow.  And, as you grow into manhood, you might understand more about all this, um, fertility stuff, huh? Stacie is a wonderful young lady, but you are both lacking in experience that you will need. You’re not Sir Gawain, not yet, my lad. Just don’t try to get all your experience at once. Pay attention to what your dreams tell you, but don’t try and become a man too soon, okay?”

Finn closed his eyes tight, hoping that his dad wasn’t going to talk more about sex. Honesty was one thing but embarrassment was something else. For Finn, though, there was something more going on that just youthful passions, as far as he thought about it, something that went on beyond his desire for Stacie.  There were worlds of mystery there, he knew, but he also recognized that his Green Man sightings were different, almost magic. Could it have come from Justine?  Finn did not want to think so.

Of course, he recognized that his father was right about not trying to grow up so fast, though that had been his constant preoccupation, wanting to be as big and strong as his father. Yet having earned his father’s trust, of late, made Finn think less about needing to be bigger than his dad. They understood each other better. So, Finn concentrated on doing what he usually did,  school and friends, playing sandlot football and basketball at the school goals, as the weather grew colder and the holidays drew nearer.

 Most times, Stacie and her friends would show up wherever Finn and his friends played.  Sometimes, they joined them or merely lingered to watch. The boy and girl mystery lived in the teasing, the admiring glances from either group. Albert was the only one who derived no benefit of these meetings. If Stacie was around, Albert spoke to neither her or Finn, which created a darkness that tainted the time together. Finn wondered if the Green Man was trying to tell him something about this darkness. Neither Finn nor Tom nor Stacie had any idea what to do about  Albert’s bleak attitude. And seeing the Green Man, waking or sleeping, did not clarify anything,

*

Though Albert would not come, Tom joined Finn on trips to visit The Holly Lodge as often as they could. Tom began to keep company Stacie’s quiet, blonde headed friend, Anna. Often, they all walked to Justine’s shop just to say hello, though the boys kept a watch for Mr. Barden, especially on the afternoons the basketball team did not practice. Still, Albert would not go with them, even with the prospect of meeting Kate, who was as tall as him and a standout volleyball player.  He refused and claimed that they should not be going to such places.

“What do you mean, such places?” Tom asked him.

“You know, with all that magical stuff she sells,” Albert replied.

“I’ll agree that she sells magical stuff if you mean that it has to do with Christmas,” Finn said. “Otherwise, Albert, my friend, you don’t know what you are talking about.”

“She sells potions and things that make you feel better by magic.  Even Stacie says so,” Albert replied.

“Lotions, not potions, Albert,” Tom shot back.

“Oh yeah? What about the love potions that Stacie and Anna used on you two?” Albert demanded, going red in the face. “I heard Mr. Barden talking to his assistant the other day at basketball practice, complaining that she used one on him.”

“Albert, that’s a lie,” Finn said with some heat. “He’s a liar. Miss Rousseau wanted nothing to do with him.  He just has a crush on her because she’s beautiful.  If you met her, you—”

“Be put under her spell?” Albert finished, giving Finn a shove that knocked him down.

Finn was on his feet fast, glaring at Albert, though Tom stepped between them. “Look Albert, we’re glad that you made the basketball team this year, and we know that you respect your coach, but you’re saying things that have no basis in reality.  Look, Justine even helped find an answer to why I was not susceptible to the vampire’s spell.”

“Makes sense, since she cast spells herself,” Albert replied in anger.

“No. Not at all. There’s nothing magic about it. We think, Justine and me,” Tom said, “that having the discipline of studying a self-defense system like my dad and I do, creates a sort of a mental posture that helps block out fear.”

“That’s right, Albert,” Finn said. “You know that Tom doesn’t feel fear when big guys pick on him.  It’s his discipline, Justine said, that helps him respond to an attack without panic, like we did. There’s no magic to it.”

Albert would not listen and walked away from them, mumbling about going to practice at home. Finn, though, saw the redness in Albert’s face, like embarrassment. He glimpsed more of the darkness that ate at Albert.

Tom called out after Albert that they would see him later, but the bigger boy walked on. Finn said, “I don’t know how, but this has something to do with Stacie and me, maybe you and Anna, too.”

“Yeah? I’d like to know what it is,” Tom mumbled. “Besides. He knows Kate, knows she is a knockout.”

“Time will tell, maybe,” Finn said, but he did not know that before he had an answer things would get much, much worse. The cold winds and longer darkness of late fall and early winter would grow chillier and darker between the three friends.

*

A week before Christmas, Finn and Tom headed back to The Holly Lodge to buy presents for Stacie and Anna. Justine had helped them pick out an imported scarf for each of the girls.  They were more expensive than the boys could afford on their own, but she gladly discounted them.  The joy of the coming holiday season was upon them.  Mr. Barden had not darkened the door of The Holly Lodge since Finn’s first visit there, and he had stopped calling Justine at all hours. Their spirits were high.  Finn even had his father’s permission to select something for his mother from the shop that the professor would pay for and pick up later. As they neared the shop, though, they saw Albert and his parents going into the store. A sudden fear struck Finn and Tom. They hurried into the shop in time to hear Albert’s father saying,

“We think, Miss Rousseau, that your practice of the magical arts is harming our children, and we think you ought to shut your store for a time or, perhaps, leave our community.” Albert stood flanked by his stout father and worried looking mother, who held Albert’s hand in both of hers. Tom called his name, but Albert would not turn to look at him.

Justine stood before them, her winter white dress shining, the holly crown gleaming on her mass of dark hair that tumbled over her shoulders.  With her hands folded in front of her, she replied in a quiet voice,

“Mr. Miller, is it? I don’t know why or how you come to think that I practice magic. I assure you, I do no such thing. If you look around, you will see that my one true passion is Christmas.  To close down now is unthinkable. This is the season that helps me make my living.  I barely make enough to keep the store open through the year as it is.”

“Selling potions and such isn’t making you money?” Mrs. Miller asked in acid tones. “And what is this pagan crown thing on your head?”

“A…wreath of holly, of course, which has, according to tradition, been a plant that wards us against witches and dark powers. It—”

“Really, William,” Mrs. Miller cried to her husband, “do you need to hear any more of this pagan nonsense? It’s God and God alone that protects us from evil.”

“And she sells love potions.  She used one on Mr. Barden and on my friends,” Albert said, which caused a flash of lightning like anger in Finn.

“Selling love potions? Are you nuts, Albert? Miss Rousseau has done no such thing.”

“She’s a witch, like I always said,” Albert claimed, not daring to look at Finn. “She used her magic on you and Stacie.”

Finn was struck silent for a moment by the coldness coming from Albert and his parents, in the midst of the warm, loving, Christmas atmosphere of Justine’s shop. How any reasonable person could see the shop and think it was evil, Finn could not tell.  Yet, his good friend stood there attesting to the lies he had decided to believe.  Finn thought of Justine’s gentle ministrations to his burns on the day that they first met, of her merriment as she spoke with him and Tom about the sorts of things they could get their girlfriends for Christmas. These thoughts swirled with anger and disbelief that Albert would say such things.  What Albert’s parents were saying was worse, though. They wanted to drive her out because of,

“Lies!” Finn shouted. Mrs. Miller jumped at his shout like she had been stung.  Albert and his father flinched and turned startled faces toward him. “How can you say such things, Albert, when you know they’re not true?  And how dare anyone demand that this free woman shut her doors and give up her shop? That’s…that’s…outrageous!”

Mr. Miller recovered faster, and said, “Son, that’s enough out of you.  I can see that she has worked her wiles on y—”

“Worked her wiles?” Finn shouted. “You haven’t heard near enough, sir, if you believe these things. Yes, she is beautiful—and kind, helpful, and good! Just look at the evidence of all you see around you. All she cares about is Christmas—and helping people feel better,” Finn cried.

“Young Finn McCoy, how dare you raise your voice to me?” Mr. Miller replied, going red in the face.  “I’m calling your father as soon as I get finished taking the steps Mr. Barden has prepared.”

“What steps do you mean, sir?” Finn demanded, with as much politeness as he could.

“Not that you need to concern yourself with such matters, young man,” Mr. Miller said in stentorian tones—which further raised Finn’s hackles, “Jeff Barden is an important businessman and intends to take this case before the City Council tomorrow.” Finn looked to Justine, who had turned paler as Mr. Miller spoke.

“Please call my father, too,” Tom said, his voice impassive as his expression. “Detective Sergeant Edward Doughty. He likes to be aware of people doing crazy things in our neighborhood.” Mr. Miller made a “hmph’ noise and turned to leave.

“I always though you two are godly boys,” Mrs. Miller said in pleading tones, “like my Albert.  I know that you think you’re doing right, but this woman,” she said in more bitter tones, “is an evil influence. You must—”

“Ma’am, she is not!” Finn replied, stepping towards her, his anger flaring.  She fetched him a sharp slap across his left cheek.  Albert cried out “Mom!” Finn, though shaking with anger, turned and offered her his right cheek, glaring at her.  Justine moved swiftly to put herself between Finn and Mrs. Miller.

“Madame,” Justine said, “you will not assault my clients on these premises, as long as they are mine by rights.  I’ll thank you to leave immediately.”

“Janine,” Mr. Miller called from the door. “We must go.” They all rushed out together, though Albert looked back at them, as though horrified by his mother’s actions. Justine closed the door and locked it.

Tom looked at Finn’s cheek, where angry red welts from Janine Miller’s rings marked him. “You should have blocked that one. I saw it coming.”

Finn turned to look at him, still angry, but his anger disappeared at the good-humored look on Tom’s face. A good friend knows when kidding works best.  Finn sighed and smiled, though it was short-lived, for Justine reeled and almost fell, catching herself on a shelf of ointments and lotion bottles, for her eyes were vacant, hands shaking. Both boys took her hands to steady her, and it was Finn’s turn to try a little humor

“Careful ma’am.  You’ll spill some of your potions and bewitch yourself.”

Justine turned her shocked face to him, It took her a moment, but she stood firmer, found a smile, and drew both boys into her embrace. They stood like that for a minute, supporting each other, evidence that fear cannot have sway forever, though at length it reasserted itself in the quiet shop, where images of Christmas still held sway.

“Oh, you good, good friends,” she said, drawing them into the shop toward the back, “let’s have a pot of tea and forget this horrible business.”  They went with her and took seats under the stained-glass image of the Green Knight, whom, Finn thought, looked at him accusingly.  Justine left them, went into the rear of the shop amidst her waxes, oils, and minerals to put the kettle on.

“Tom, we cannot let this happen,” Finn said just above a whisper, casting glances to the Green Knight’s face, hoping for inspiration. The image in the glass did not move, though the face that appeared in trees in Finn’s dreams had something to say to him, and he was sure, then, it was about Justine’s desperate situation, Albert’s darkness too. Nothing else made sense.

“I agree, but what can we do against the City Council and people like Mr. Barden and Albert’s dad?”

“I…don’t know,” Finn said, “but I really do hope that Albert’s dad carries through with his threat to call my father.  He’ll not stand for this, and neither will mom—or Stacie and her mom–” Finn stopped.  As he gazed at the lone figure of the Green Knight, it occurred to him that he was not alone. He needed help, and he had it.  It just needed to be mobilized.

After a moment, Justine came back with a tea tray. She looked more composed as she sat down after pouring each of them tea and offering them a plate of biscuits. Tom and Finn sat quietly as Justine relaxed and looked around her shop.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose this will all be gone in a while.  I’ll miss it, I don’t mind telling you, but it was worth the risk.”

“What risk, ma’am,” Finn asked, drawn to the idea  because his own plan looked risky, as it took shape in his head, “that your shop wouldn’t make it?”

“No, dear boy,” she said with a shake of her holly crowned head, “Christmas is and always was a risk.”

Tom and Finn exchanged a look, though neither of them knew how to answer her question.  Justine smiled at them and said, in explanation,

“Christmas itself is the risk, one that God took for our sake, coming to teach us how love can change a cold, unfeeling world.  Can’t you see how risky the whole venture was? To come to us as a helpless infant, without support of governments, armies, or any authority except love?  See, my love for God has always expressed itself in caring about Christmas and all of its trappings, ancient and modern. God always takes the risk of just reaching us with love alone.  The Incarnation is the very cornerstone of my faith, but I guess you could tell that from the huge number of creche scenes I’ve imported.”

Finn nodded. She was right. There was at least one on every shelf, on every display surface.  They were from all over the world. In every one, the near naked infant in the manger stood out as vulnerable, guarded only by two parents, some adoring animals and various on-lookers, with no protection from the powers of self-important men and governments. Finn saw that Justine stood similarly unprotected, although she was a grown-up. Probably because it was a pagan image, the Green Man’s face did not appear anywhere in the shop, other than the picture in the window. But he weas there, in the shadows, in every shade of green and the blood red berries.  Justine did not practice magic, but magic was there in every part of her shop.  Finn could feel it, like a huge presence, a giant, like the Green Knight himself, whose size dwarfed men. The Green Man was her protector, Finn knew, and though that was a pagan notion, it was, somehow woven through the whole of Christian faith. 

“Do you have family who could help you?” Finn asked.

“Or a lawyer?” Tom added.

“No, my dears,” she said, with a sad smile and a shake of her head. “I am far from my home and my people, having left to avoid the sort of thing that Mr. Barden wants of me.” She looked around wistfully, shrugged and said, “Tomorrow, I’ll start boxing things up and look for some temporary storage space to put my things.”

“Maybe you could just move them to your house and sell them from there?” Tom added.

“Well, this is my house.  I sleep in one room above, and I have the kitchen in the rear.  Really, I was lucky to get it.  Just as soon as I closed on it, someone tried to buy the whole corner, tear down these old homes and build something else, although the attorneys who contacted me didn’t say what.  The barber and the boutique owner don’t want to sell, either, but they will.”

“It was Barden, wasn’t it?” Finn said. His plan unfolded itself. He knew that the basketball coach was a powerful businessman. His son had often bragged about his father buying people out and building strip malls with cheap stores that never lasted long.

Justine looked at him and nodded. With a squinting eye, she asked, “Did you see this with your magic eye?”  Finn only smiled and shook his head ‘no.’

Tom laughed and spoke up: “I think Finn just doesn’t forget things he learns, especially about people.”

“Maybe,” Finn added. “but what you told me shows me a plan.  May I use your phone and borrow a screwdriver?”

Justine gave him a wry smile and motioned to the hallway and led both boys  into her small kitchen. From a side drawer near the old gas stove on which sat the tea kettle, she withdrew two screw drivers with different tips. “Slot or Phillips head?” she asked.

“It depends on the sorts of screws holding the sign above your front door,” he said, going to the old black phone sitting on her counter. Before he punched in Stacie’s number he said to Tom, “Take what you need and remove the sign above the front door.”

“Finn, I don—” Justine said, squinting and smiling, though her natural color was back in her cheeks. Tom, long used to following Finn’s lead, said,

“I think I know what he’s doing.  You might want to write a note to tape to your front door.  Make it say, ‘Please ring bell or knock.’ Okay”

“But what if people come by before I close today?” Justine asked.

“I think we’re just changing this place from a business to what it truly is, Ma’am: your home,” Tom said, fetching both screwdrivers and a step ladder from the back corner of the room.

Finn looked up at her after he finished dialing Stacie’s number, “If this is just your home out of which you sell things only to people you let in, they will have more trouble closing your shop.  I don’t think Barden and the City Council can take away your home, at least not right away.”

Justine nodded, as Finn began to speak to Mrs. Adkins. Soon, he had alerted her to the problem that beset her friend, Justine Rousseau, as well as his plan to help her. Then, he spoke to Stacie for a moment, telling her the same things. When he finished, Finn turned to Justine and said,

“As long as you have a business license, you can sell things that you own out of your own home, especially if you pay your taxes.  You might even take a little less for some products, like you would for a friend. See? And people will not be able to just walk in.  You only need to let in your friends, even my friends, or Stacie’s—anyone whom you would allow to come in and visit.  If they happen to make an offer to buy something, you can decide if you want to.  It won’t be a shop that folks can walk into. It’s just your house. That might hold off any official actions on the City Council’s parts, maybe just for a while, of course.”

“But, Finn, what if someone comes to the door whom I don’t know or don’t want to let in?” she asked.

“Then you can tell them to go away and leave you alone,” he said, “but with people like my mom, Mrs. Adkins, and all the people they have spoken to, coming by for visits, I think you can stay here longer. Maybe.  It’s a risk, isn’t it? Like the Incarnation, the very heart of Christmas itself. I think it’s worth a try.  In the meantime, you might like to look around for another space to rent after Christmas.”

*

By the time Finn got home that evening, he found his mother waiting for him, a smile on her face.  She hugged him hard, kissed his forehead, and said, “I’m proud of what you’ve done for Justine Rousseau, but your father has had a call from Albert’s father and wants to see you in his study right away.”

“Yes ma’am,” Finn said, knowing his dad would be upset by hearing that Finn exchanged hard words with Mr. William Miller.  She held her son’s face in her hands and saw the red mark on Finn’s cheek, where Mrs. Miller’s rings had reddened the skin.

“These are almost cuts! How did you come by this?” Claire McCoy asked, the corners of her mouth turning down.  Finn told her and saw the blush of anger rising to her lovely cheeks. “Okay.  You go on and talk to your father.  I’ve already been on the phone with Stacie’s mother, and I’ll be right outside the study door, in case you need me.”

“Okay.  And thanks, mom,” Finn replied.  He marched to his father’s study and went in.

“Dad, I know you’re upset with me about what Mr. Miller sa—”

“Just how much of this business about Ms. Rousseau being a witch is even likely true, son?’

“None of it, I think, sir,” Finn said somewhat taken aback by his father’s first question. He knew, too, that somehow, it was all magic, caught up in the power of the Green Man. He just did not know how.

“So, you have seen no evidence of anything, er, marvelous or unexplainable about what she does there?” James McCoy persisted. Finn looked at him, trying to read the worried look around his father’s eyes.

“No, nothing…about what she does… or sells.  She’s a devout woman of faith.  I mean, she’s really pretty, so a man like Mr. Barden might think she has done something to him, but…I’m sorry, sir, but I thought you wanted to dress me down for talking back to Mr. Miller.”

James sighed and nodded his head. “Yes, you know better than to talk to adults with anything like disrespect, no matter what they’re doing.  That’s something you should leave to me to do on your behalf.  But are you sure that she isn’t, I don’t know, in league with fairies or that she doesn’t cast a few spells now and then?”

“Yes, sir. She’s a Christian, dad, absolutely dedicated to the Incarnation—to Christmas, I mean, though I still…”

James nodded his head at all that Finn said. “ But, son, you were imprisoned by the fay a couple of years ago and you singlehandedly identified an actual vampire and took upon yourself  his destruction,” James said. “I think it wise to make sure that nothing, er occult, is going on in anything you do.”

“Oh,” Finn replied, watching his father’s tense features relax some. “I just thought…I mean, no, I have seen nothing of Ms. Rousseau that suggests she’s an actual, um, witch.” This was despite the very strong sensation that the magic of the Green Man ran through this whole business.  It did not run through Justine, though.

“Then, where in blue blazes does this notion come from?” James demanded at increased volume. “Who put that name on her, if she doesn’t take it on herself? Such things usually happen when someone wants to destroy someone.” Finn thought about it, remembering all that had occurred since Halloween.  He knew that Albert and maybe Mr. Barden, were the only ones to have done so.

As soon as Finn thought about it, though, he saw that Stacie’s joke about putting a spell on him had touched something in Albert that strengthened his belief that Justine was a witch.  It was so absurd that Finn wanted to laugh at it.  So, he explained it to his father, who listened with care. He asked several questions along the way, and when his son finished his tale, James McCoy asked,

“Is Albert truly your friend?”

“Yes, I always believed so, until now because I’d like to punch him in his big, fat nose.”

“Well, son, I think that if you appeal to him as your friend, maybe take Tom, too, you will find that Albert is already hurting, though I don’t know why. It isn’t like you to fight with your friends.  Did he give you those red welts on your cheek already?”

“No sir,” Finn said with ease. “That was his mom.  She slapped me.  She wears a lot of rings, and—”

“Albert’s mother did that to you!” James cried, rising from his chair like a great cloud. He swelled with anger. Finn saw his father’s hands become fists.

“Yes,” Finn replied in a quiet voice.

“That will be all, son,” James said through tight jaws as he picked up the phone on his desk.

“Am I still in trouble?” Finn asked.

“No, son, but someone is,” his father replied, shooing the boy from the room with a gesture of his free hand.  When Finn got to the door, his mother was opening it and ushered him out, closing the door on the first sounds of James’ call going through, “Hello, Mr. William Miller. This is James McCoy.  We spoke earlier today about my son, which was before I saw the red mark on his cheek from your wife’s rings…”

“Come away, now, dear,” Claire McCoy said, smiling. Finn saw that she was enjoying something about this moment, though she drew him away from the closed door, through which his father’s rising tones could still be heard. “Let’s give your father the privacy that he deserves, good man that he is.”

“What’s he gonna do, mom?” Finn asked, though he knew what a terror an angry James McCoy could be.  He had seen him battle the vampire, though outmatched in strength many times over by the fell monster. Finn blushed a little as he imagined what Mr. Miller was hearing. James McCoy’s final words rang through the house, so that all—and perhaps a near neighbor or two—could hear:

“Anyone who lays a hand on my boy will answer to me!” There was a clashing sound of the phone receiver being hammered back into its cradle so hard that the house shook. In the next second, James burst from the study door.

“James! What is it? What do you need?” Claire asked, half smiling, half in awe.

“I—I need to use the phone. Something’s wrong with the one in my office,” he said in tones rough with anger.  Claire smiled and hugged Finn tight, watching her husband. Finn looked back and forth between them, wondering about the joy that registered in his mother’s face, when she said in a breathy voice,

“Of course.  Use the one in the kitchen. Who are you calling, sweetest?” she asked, practically giggling.

“Oh, er. Professor Halvard, a friend of mine from our Law School, love,” James said, trying to calm himself as he turned to see his wife’s beaming smile and Finn’s bemused expression.  “We’ll just see who can push a free woman out of her house and business!”

“Isn’t he something to behold?” Claire whispered to her son.  He could only nod in agreement.

*

Finn may have started the plan, but it was Stacie’s mother, as well as Claire McCoy who brought it to fruition. He did not go to the shop for a day or two, until after the first day of winter arrived.  After he saw his plan in action, Finn had the sense that he, and the Green Man, perhaps, had merely cast a pebble down a mountain side, starting a rush of much bigger stones.  The red marks on his face were still visible when he and Tom walked to Justine’s “home” and found it full of friends and visitors of all kinds, young and old, men and women. They had rallied to her cause.

Even with the noise of afternoon traffic behind him, Finn heard the sounds of talk and laughter as he stood at the front door. “It sounds like a party,” he said to Tom, who scanned the street and saw no sign of Mr. Barden. Finn knocked at the door loud enough to be heard, he hoped.

“I’ll say, and there isn’t a parking spot for two blocks or more.  I imagine the small lot in the back is jammed up, too.”

After a second, harder knock, the door opened just enough for an elderly woman to say,

“Yes? What do you want? Oh, it’s her boys, I’ll bet,” the woman said, throwing open the door. “She said to let Tom and Finn in.  I guess you’re them?” she said. Finn smiled and nodded, for the elderly woman, whom he had never met, wore one of Justine’s Nordic sweaters and her very own crown of holly leaves, which slid in a rakish fashion toward one side of her iron gray hair. “Come in.  Justine is, ah, in conference with her legal advisor.  I’ll take you to her.”

Both boys followed, moving through a crowd of people, one of whom was Finn’s mom, who was busy talking to Mrs. Bennet, his teacher, as they sniffed sampler bottles of different lotions.  Claire waved and smiled to her son and motioned him to go on. In the next second, Stacie and Anna moved to take the hands of their respective fellows, smiling and giggling.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Finn?” Stacie cried. “Justine has sold every wreath she had, oceans of lotions, and three quarters of the manger scenes. And, wait ‘til you see what else has happened.”

Their elderly escort let the girls take over. They approached the “tea” area beneath the Green Knight’s picture and saw Justine sitting on the loveseat, in an ivory dress of soft, clinging material, her gleaming hair down over her shoulder.  Her face was more radiant than ever, for she held the hand of a man sitting at her side. It wasn’t Barden.

“Finn and Tom, look what you have done?” Justine exclaimed, rising to take their hands. The man beside her rose, smiling, too.  Finn saw that he was possessed of fiery red hair and a slightly darker beard.  The man wore a deep green suit of heavy tweed and sported a festive red tartan tie. When he stood, it was as though he took the place of the Green Knight in the window, for he was very tall and strong looking, though not as big as Finn’s dad.

“I…I don’t think…we did all this,” Finn said waving his hand to the people who stood all around.  He saw Mrs. Adkins making change for a man who was buying a sweater, and an elderly couple he had never met were bringing a fresh pot of tea from the kitchen, where, clearly, cookies were baking.  The smell was delicious. Stacie squeezed his hand. Finn looked around for Tom, but he had been led away by Anna, perhaps to seek out a quiet spot over which the mistletoe hung.

“But you did, my friend,” Justine said, “just by knowing people. It’s your magic, I think.”

“Maybe it’s your protector, the Green Knight,” Finn said, gesturing toward the tall man who stood before the window.

“Oh, yes. Let me introduce you to him,” she said turning to reach for the man’s hand.  “Mr. Peter Halvard, I’d like you to meet Mr. Finn McCoy.”

Finn grinned, taking the man’s strong hand in his. “My Dad’s friend, the law professor,” he thought “and already a bit more than friend of Justine’s. Maybe, at last, she has found a man who only wants her to be who she is, not what he wants from her.”

“Finn, we’ve never met,” Mr. Halvard said, “but as a good friend of your father’s, I feel like I know you a little.  Thinking of your concern for Justine, I think I know you a little bit better.  Thank you for whatever you did to have your dad call me.” As he said this, he took Justine’s hand in his and sat back down, inviting Finn and Stacie to join them.

As they talked, Finn could not help but think that something like the Green Man’s magic had led him to make the one suggestion which led to the ongoing party at Justine Rousseau’s home for the last days before Christmas.  Later, he went home with his mother feeling as relaxed as he could remember. “Let the holidays commence! For there’s even more reasons to rejoice.”

His father came home a little bit later than usual, bearing a large parcel, wrapped up in the gift paper that Justine used.  He  asked Finn to hide the package in his room until Christmas morning. Finn obliged, thinking that the struggle was over, whatever happened in Justine’s future.  She had friends, now, who desired to see her do well and keep her home. Still, he wondered about Albert, wondered if they could ever be friends again. The next day and the day after, he and Tom went back to the shop to help with Justine’s unofficial Christmas sale. Professor Halvard came each day, too, just to spend time soaking up the yuletide ambiance, which he often missed, being single and far from his home. It was marvelous, as Tom agreed, though they knew that Albert should be there.  Kate asked about him every day, though he would accept no offer of Tom’s to join them.

On Christmas Eve, James took Finn to midnight mass, since his sisters were too little and were already asleep.  They walked home through the deep cold of night, and Finn asked,

“Dad, why would that ancient poet use the figure of the Green Man as the Green Knight? Does it have to do with something deep in Christmas that people miss?”

“I don’t know son, but maybe, with your abilities, you’ll know, someday.” They walked on, with Finn thinking that this night was blacker than any he had ever known, Something was still wrong, but he saw no sign of the Green Man in any tree or dark bower. The stars above were distant, icy pinpricks in absolute black.  Finn wondered if such darkness could ever be conquered.

Later, deep in sleep, the presence of the Green Man became more intense, more personal.  In his dreams, Finn, clad just in his pajames, followed the gigantic green figure through a dark, snowy forest. He called out to the figure who trudged through the frozen forest ahead of him,

“Who are you, really?” but the figure did not turn to speak to him. Finn watched the Green Man stagger and heard his moan, like the groaning of a tree in the wind that said only “Come, O Man.”

Finn could only follow on his bare feet gone numb with cold, nearly running to keep up with his host’s long, though faltering strides. “Where are you leading me?” Finn asked, for they were climbed higher, as though up a dark mountain, for soon, all the trees were dark evergreens.  The ground became rockier. His legs burning, Finn refused to give up, for he needed to hear the Green Man.  That much, he understood, as sometimes happens in dreams we would rather not finish.

Icy wind struck him, piercing cold as the trees fell away behind him. Finn followed the Green Man up a mountain side, where all was show and ice. Why he was not frozen to death, already, Finn could not imagine. He marched on, barely keeping up with the staggering figure.

At length, though the giant labored on, they climbed to a flat stony place where a grotto was cut out of the rock of the mountain. In its center stood s short stone plinth, wide and old and covered with moss, except on its top, which was deeply scored. The grotto glittered with ice, and suddenly, in its midst, there stood a female figure in silhouette against the shimmering background. Bitter winds swirled, stirring her long hair and the folds of her long gown. Finn saw that, whoever it was, she held the Green Knight’s long axe   She stepped closer. At first, Finn thought it was Stacie, yet as she stepped forward, he saw it was Justine, who looked like a witch, indeed, though crowned now with holly leaves and berries that blazed with light. Stars, moons, strange symbols like old runes covered her clinging white gown. She brandished the axe, and the Green Man knelt at the plinth, and Finn yelled “No!”

 He knew this story, the beheading game that the Green Knight played with Sir Gawain.

Finn said, “No. Don’t do it!” for he could not bear to see the Green Man killed. He moved forward to clasp the Green Man’s gnarled hands folded together across the stone altar.

“Tell me what you are, what you mean, why you’re here, why, how you’ve been helping me? What have you to do with Christmas?” Finn cried.  The last words came out as a shout.  The figure of Justine, a tear falling down her face that shimmered like a star, held the axe aloft. Everything stopped, frozen in place, and then the Green Man spoke.

In a sad, voice, like an ancient tree given mouth to complain of its ill use at men’s hands, the Green Man leaned on the stone altar,  as though he would fall otherwise and said,

“I was made by the one who made you, through whom all things came into being,

By the One who is Three, who from the beginning knows the worth of all.

I am the dream of your making, the power in your blood,

Of dying and rising, made necessary before life was;

Thought of by the Light that cannot die, by the wind that blows where it will.

I am pattern and plan. I am the seed and the ground. I am the risk and reward.

I die to rise, so that you can know

You are never alone.”

With his last words, the axe in the Holly Witch’s hand fell in a swift arc, the blade singing through the chill air. Finn closed his eyes, and a concussion knocked him off his feet. Eyes wide, now, as he lay on the snow. Finn beheld an explosion of light, as though the sky all around was filled with countless holiday lights that blazed in a sudden rush of power. A sound like thunder rolled as the Green Man’s head rolled off the plinth and struck the ground.  Droplets of thick, resinous blood spattered Finn’s face. A sadness gripped him, as though he saw every loss that he would ever know, though the images passed in a second, one that he prayed not to remember.  As it faded, he gasped with relief.  Some things are beyond the power to carry. He blinked to get his sight back and saw that Justine, the Holly Witch, was gone. The Green Man’s head lay  before Finn’s feet, his leafy hair and beard a fading green, while his red blood splashed across the pure, white snow, the body still beside the plinth.

“But I don’t understand…” Finn started to protest.  He could not finish, for the Green Man’s hand shot out, grabbed its head, and plopped it back upon its neck, like a man would put on a hat. The Green Man’s laughter rang loud in the night, like the belling of a great horn, and he rose tall, mighty arms stretched to the stars. Finn jumped, for the horn sounded again, though he knew, then, it as a car horn. A car door, somewhere, opened and closed.  Finn leaped to his feet, though he took a second to recognize his own room. Another car door closed, and Finn started running down the hall, down the stairs.

 On swift feet, Finn entered his dark living room, the Christmas tree a dark, spooky bulk in the far corner, like the evergreens on that cold mountain side. He was in time to see his father in pajama bottoms, going out the front door. His mother came through the hallway on Finn’s heels, calling for him to stop, but Finn followed his father.  Outside, in the ancient seeming dark, Justine, disheveled hair, wrapped in a blanket, her face dark with soot, stood on his driveway in the protective embrace of Peter Halvard. Finn saw that he, too, was dressed in pajamas, slippers, and a robe.  Their faces were masks of shock.  James McCoy was shouting, “Pete, Ms. Rousseau, what happened?”

Justine reached for Finn to hug him to her as Peter Halvard was saying, “Jeff Barden fire-bombed Justine’s home.  The old barber next door heard a man in a drunken rage, screaming “Death to Witches,” or some such nonsense, so he went out in time to see Barden heave a Molotov cocktail through that beautiful stained-glass window on the side of her shop. Fortunately, the barber’s cries woke Justine, who ran out through the back even as fire engulfed the main floor. It didn’t take long before it spread into the kitchen, where Justine keeps her paraffin. She got out, the barber said, just as the smoke and fire belched from the back door. She called me from the barber’s shop after calling 911.  I hate to bother you at this hour, but I thought it best to find somewhere safe for her.  I have to go back and talk to the police.”

“Of course,” James said, “she can stay as long as she needs to.” As Finn began to lead her into the house,  Claire came out to help him, though Justine, just a woman, not the Holly Witch, leaned on Finn the whole way, sobbing a little as she clung to his shoulders.

“It will be okay, ma’am,” Finn said as they entered the warm living room, though he had no idea how anything would be okay. His mind reeled with all that had occurred in his dream and after. Yet, somehow, he knew he was right and repeated, “I know it will be all right.”

Inside, Claire flipped on the light switch by the door.  The hallway light was on, too, and Justine looked at Finn’s face as the tree lights bathed the room in a multitude of soft, jewel-like twinkles.  She drew back and put her hands on Finn’s face. She ran one curious thumb through the drops of blood spattered there.

“Has he tried to hurt you, too?”

 Slowly, Finn let his fingers touch the Green Man’s blood on his face.  With a sigh,  Finn recognized that during Christmas, all time–past, present, and future–can all become one, that accepting the risk to love makes our dreams of Christmas magic come true.  It’s something older than the first winter and new as the coming spring. He held her hands in his and said, “No, ma’am, the blood…isn’t mine, though I’d have risked anything to keep you—and your home—safe,” he said to Justine. James McCoy  came in, closed and locked the door. He touched the blood on his son’s face, held it to his nose and said in a hushed voice, “Smells like pine resin. Hmm.” He looked Finn in the eye, man to man.  Finn gazed back at him, hoping to find the words, someday, to tell his father about the Green Man’s part in Christmas. Someday, sometime. Not now. Finn’s father nodded.

So, James turned to Justine and said, “It will be morning, soon.  What do you say to getting cleaned up, getting into some warm clothes, and having a cup of tea, Justine?”

Epilogue.

Justine slept much of Christmas Day, until Peter Halvard returned, bearing one present for her in a very small box. The McCoy family had a quiet Christmas morning, since they had a sleeping guest.  Overall, it was a joyous time, though a quiet one, with a special dinner that evening, which Peter and Justine attended, along with the old barber, Tom and Anna.  At Finn’s request, Tom called Albert and extended the invitation, but he would not come. Almost always, there is some sad thought at Christmas, about someone who is not present.

No one bothered to find out what became of Jeff Barden, though.  That was a matter of the past to be forgotten.  And on Boxing Day, while Tom and Finn were up in his room, Albert knocked on the front door. He offered his hand to Finn, who was glad to take it and invite Albert in.  Tom smiled to see them enter Finn’s room, where they all sat down and talked.  With a heavy sigh, Albert began:

“I’m sorry about all that witch stuff. I guess I made it up because I was mad,” Albert confessed.

“At us?” Tom asked.  “What’d we do, Albert?”

“Well, you got girls to like you, and I wanted that too. I wanted to get Stacie as my girlfriend because she’s the prettiest girl I ever saw. I thought that might get my mom off my back.”

“Registering confusion over here, Albert,” Finn said. “What has Stacie being pretty got to do with your mom?”

“Ever since I was little, my mom has told me that I ought to become a priest.  I always thought that was okay, until last year, when I started thinking about girls–a lot, you know?”

“Yeah, we all did,” Tom said with a laugh, “and they started thinking about us!”

“So,” Albert went on, “I thought if mom saw I had the prettiest girlfriend ever, then she’d…you know, sort of forget the idea of me being a priest. And when coach started in on that stuff about your friend, Ms. Rousseau, I let it get into my head. Got sorta crazy, I guess.  Maybe I wanted to get even.  I don’t know, but it was stupid, and I’m sorry.”

After a good deal of ribbing, calling him Father Albert, and Pope Miller the first, the boys began to laugh about it. Finn mentioned again that Stacie’s friend, Kate, really wanted to meet him. There was plenty of Christmas left, after all.

Justine stayed with the McCoy family all that time, until, on New Years Eve, she was married to Peter Halvard at a simple ceremony in the rectory of St. Andrew’s parish. All the boys and their dates attended, along with the barber and Finn and Stacie’s parents. All in all, it was a fine holiday, one that lived in Finn’s memory for the rest of his life.

The End,

For now.  High School awaits, as do other things that only Finn can see.