Page 11 of Mistletoe (Monsters of the Nexus #3)

Chapter Ten

Emma

Mistletoe Farm

The next day, Emma found a rabbit in the snow on the front steps. Dead, dressed, and ready to be cooked.

Hal’s handiwork, she decided. When she told him to follow the train tracks out of town, she never specifically said to return to her farm. She thought that was implied, an unspoken understanding, but apparently, it needed to be spoken.

Another rabbit materialized the following morning and a pheasant the morning after. This carried on for a week.

She woke early to speak with Hal, but he never appeared. Instead, the day’s rabbit appeared in the usual spot in the afternoon. Agatha and Oscar had been in the house and heard nothing. No boards creaked as Hal climbed the steps. No snow crunched underfoot. He came silently as the falling snow.

“Another gift from your admirer,” Agatha said, preparing the rabbit for roasting.

“I have no such thing,” Emma replied.

“Jonathan Fairfax isn’t hunting and leaving courting presents?”

“ Jonathan Fairfax ? He’s twice my age.”

“He’s established. There are benefits to an older husband.”

“He’s sixty if he’s a day.” The adult son of their elderly neighbor was the last person Emma wanted to court her. “He just wants a nanny for his dozen children.”

“Three. Honestly, petal. Exaggeration is not becoming.” Once the rabbit was successfully placed in the oven, Agatha grabbed a dishcloth and wiped down the table. “If not him, then who? You’d tell your mother if you were stepping out with someone or had an understanding?”

Emma was far too old to blush this fiercely. “There’s no one.”

“Well, I know those trousers you’re sewing are far too tall for yourself. I hope he appreciates your work.”

Remarkably, Emma’s blush burned hot enough to combust. Even if she were stepping out with Hal—they weren’t—she did not have to explain herself. She was an adult, years past her age of majority, and could do as she pleased.

“No one,” Emma repeated, not even trying to make it sound like anything but a desperate lie.

Her mother hummed and nodded her head, silently saying that Emma was completely wrong but would have to figure out why on her own.

What Emma couldn’t explain or understand was Hal’s insistence on avoiding her. He attempted to break her out of the sheriff’s office. He pulled her into an alley, putting himself at risk just to say hello when he should have been fleeing from that search party. Why the sudden shyness? Unless she had misunderstood their kiss.

She had, hadn’t she?

She kissed him. His initial response told her it had been unwanted. Then he kissed her back and it was very much wanted.

No, she hadn’t misunderstood. The spark between them was real. The rabbits and pheasants, though, were odd, and reminded her too much of the cat sharing in the spoils of her mouse hunting.

When her parents retired for the night, Emma decided to stay in the parlor to avoid missing any late-night deliveries. She’d sleep on the settee if necessary.

By the light of the fire, she worked on the pair of new trousers intended for Hal. Of course her mother noticed the trousers were far too tall for Emma herself; Agatha noticed everything.

Emma’s stitches weren’t terribly even, but they weren’t terribly uneven either. Passable, at best. For most things, work clothes or patching up older garments, it didn’t matter. Agatha did the sewing on the finer items, like Emma’s one good dress. Her mother’s stitches were delicate and fine, as good as any seamstress. Emma’s were adequate. They held the cloth together, and adequate was good enough for a pair of trousers for Hal.

Hopefully, she got the measurements right. Using his height and how poorly Felix’s old clothes fit, she made her best estimate.

As the fire died down, her eyes grew heavy, and she nodded off.

Steps creaked on the front porch, jolting her awake. The trousers and sewing basket fell to the floor.

Emma hurriedly wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and rushed outside.

Silence.

Moonlight sparkled on the fresh snow. Her breath hung in the air. Awareness of being watched pricked down her back, making her shiver as much as the cold. More so.

The only thing on the porch was a set of tracks. Two footprints led up the steps and down again.

Emma followed the tracks until they shifted to a set of four prints. In the half-light of the moon, she discerned that the prints were paws, not the hoofprints a wandering goat would make. Still, she checked the barn. All the animals were accounted for.

Emma hurried back into the house, that prickling sensation of being watched never leaving.

Hal

Mistletoe Farm

“So, you’re the mysterious benefactor.”

Hal paused, as if remaining still could make him invisible. He had observed the family for the last few days. Their schedule was consistent. They should be inside at this time of the evening. Instead, the old man had been napping in a rocking chair on the porch, a blanket over his lap.

Either Hal was not as silent as he thought or the sleep had been a ruse.

Hal’s money was on ruse. The older man turned to face where Hal stood and the gleam in his eyes was pure cunning.

“My eyes might not work, but I can hear you just fine,” the man said.

Blind. That explained the lack of reaction to Hal’s appearance.

“I—” Hal cleared his throat. Despite not having uttered a word in the last four days, his voice still felt raw from his conversations with Emma and Draven. He managed to stumble out, “It’s a gift.”

“While it’s appreciated, I doubt it’s for me.”

“Emma did me a good turn.”

“Did she? She’s a good egg, my daughter. Oscar De Lacey, by the way. Pleasure making your acquaintance and all that.”

Hal remained silent, not introducing himself.

Oscar De Lacey offered a polite grin and carried on as if unbothered. “Now that the formalities are done, come and sit,” he said, gesturing to the empty rocking chair.

“I’m not sure that I should.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been wanting to talk with you for days now. If you had come yesterday morning, we would have enjoyed coffee.”

“You have coffee?” Hal wondered if it was real coffee or some locally grown coffee lookalike.

“Costs a pretty penny, but I have my little vices.” Oscar gestured to the empty chair again. “If you like, we can have some now.”

He desperately wanted the coffee. His mouth watered at the memory of sweet creamer masking a bitter brew.

“You’ve given me several filling meals. The least you can do is drink coffee with me,” Oscar cajoled.

“I can’t,” Hal said, backing down the steps. Snow crunched under every step.

“Perhaps a poetry book? Then we can discuss the merits of the work.” Oscar paused for Hal’s answer. When none came, he carried on and said, “It’s purely selfish on my part. I don’t get much opportunity for new conversation.”

“I’m not much for poetry.”

“I have other books in my collection. Botany? History?”

“History,” Hal said.

“Any particular subject? My collection is rather varied. Earth history?”

“Not Earth.”

“Then a history of our fair colony.”

“Yes,” Hal agreed. Hopefully, the book could fill in the gaps in his memory or at least give him an idea of the world he found himself in.

“The transcript says…hold on—” Hal flipped through the pages. The book felt both ludicrously small in his hands and ungainly thick. A paper book. How primitive. In his day—and yes, he was aware that made him sound a thousand years old—books were read on tablets with special ink screens that mimicked paper, not actual paper. The old man had loaned him several books that he devoured, but he still wasn’t over the novelty of a physical paper book.

“There is no transcript,” Oscar said.

“It’s right here.”

“No, the original transcripts were digital recordings. What’s in the books are the recollections of witnesses.”

Hal lowered the book to his lap. He sat on a simple bench. Oscar had offered him a rocking chair but Hal decided it looked too fragile for Hal’s size. Best to sit on the bench and not smash the nice furniture like a particularly clumsy beast rampaging in a china shop.

“The trial happened before the mutation,” he said, remembering Draven’s story.

“Yes, the Great Data Wipe. Do they still call it that? Young scholars are always trying to put their mark on academia, and I can’t keep up.”

“I don’t know what they call it,” Hal said honestly. He had devoured the book Oscar loaned him, reading it in one night.

“Regardless, that’s the weakness of history. It’s written after the fact, often by the victor. Firsthand accounts, memories of the witness and participants, must be taken with a grain of salt,” Oscar said. “I’m sure the facts of the event cannot be disputed, but imagine what Ethan Radcliffe would say if we had his memoir.”

Hal tried to recall what information Draven shared: the dangerous radiation levels, the genetic manipulation to adapt, and the unforeseen consequences once they arrived on the planet. What Draven failed to mention was that he acted against the captain’s orders and that people died as a result.

What a convenient bit of information to forget to share.

Draven also failed to mention that he had been arrested and put on trial as soon as the ship landed.

“I wouldn’t trust a word out of his mouth,” Hal said.

Oscar nodded. “Sound advice. The text regarding the trial, in particular, should be regarded with skepticism. It is not reliable and has several inconsistencies.”

“Where?” Hal flipped the book open again. He hadn’t noticed any obvious discrepancies but he did read it quickly. Perhaps he missed the finer details.

“The mention of Radcliffes awaiting trials. Plural.”

A chill swept over Hal. “There was another Radcliffe.”

“It’s possible. Entire families joined the colony, and not just as passengers. Crew members often recruited family members.”

“It’s hard to leave your family behind, even with the promises of a better life.”

“The promise of a better life is a powerful motivator. It can drag entire families onto a ship. It certainly motivated the De Laceys,” Oscar said, excitement in his voice. He leaned forward, facing Hal’s direction. “Unfortunately, the original manifest was lost, along with so much. The passenger list and crew roster were recorded from memory. There is no mention of another Radcliffe.”

Hal scratched the back of his neck. “A typo,” he said at length.

“Certainly a possibility. Some scholars believe there were siblings on the crew. Others believe it was a slip of a pen. The manifest is gone but the trial records are very much intact. There was only one Radcliffe on trial.”

This book was supposed to help fill in the gaps in his memory, but as Oscar pointed out, it was not a reliable source. It contradicted his own experience. His own existence.

“Well, don’t you two look cozy,” Emma shouted from across the yard. She made her way toward them, her face flushed red from the cold. She glowed.

Hal rushed to his feet. “I should go?—”

“Stay,” Oscar said, pushing himself out of the chair. “I can tell from our petal’s tone that she has things to say to you.”

She didn’t sound upset, but she looked determined. Her coat hung open, the fabric billowing with her swift steps. She wore trousers, which Hal had not seen her wear before, and he very much liked how they displayed the generous curve of her hips.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, pointing as she approached.

He climbed down the steps to meet her. She stopped just a breath away from him, her head tilted back in a position very much reminiscent of their time in the alley.

“I’m trouble,” he said, quoting her own words. “It seemed prudent to keep my distance.”

“How’d you like a job?”