The Twelve Days of Christmas

Prologue

The Twelve Days of Chirstmas: Prologue

I curled up my toes and wished the day would never end.

“Come along, Addie!” my mother called

I pretended like I hadn’t heard her, keeping my eyes trained on the sunset before me. Pink melded with red and then collided into purple before fading into orange with perfectly orchestrated resplendency above the ocean.

“Now, Addie!”

I leaned down and captured a tiny seashell in my chubby fingers before beginning my slow trek across the sand.

“Your daughter defines procrastination,” I heard my mother say to my father, only half-kidding.

Daddy laughed and jogged down the beach, lifting me easily. “We’ll come back tomorrow, all right, Addie Bell?”

I pouted, wriggling in his arms. “But I wanted to get more seashell.”

“Will a shoulder ride suffice?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

I considered this offer momentarily. “Okay. But you promise we’ll come back, Daddy? You promise?”

He laughed again, a great, booming laugh. “I promise.” He set me on his shoulders and we ran back to where my mother stood, smiling and shaking her head.

“You spoil her, Richard.”

“She makes it easy. She looks just like you.”

Slightly mollified, my mother smiled and held out her arms. “Come on down, Addie.”

Wanting to please my mother, I obliged and she set me on my feet, taking one hand as my father held the other. I dug my toes into the sand. “Swing me!” I said, tugging at my parents’ hands.

My father squeezed my hand. “What do you say, young lady?”

“Please,” I corrected. “Please swing me.”

“One… two… three!”

Suddenly, my feet left the sand and I was soaring through the air at an unheard of altitude. The shells looked tiny! I giggled and shrieked in delight. “I’m flying!”

When we arrived back home, my mother combed my dark hair and set me on my bed. I sat cross-legged, tracing the carving of a sun on the headboard that my father had created. “Daddy?”

He’d been standing near the window, but turned to look at me when I spoke.

“Hmm?”

I held out my hand, palm up, to display the shell I’d taken from the beach. “Will you put this seashell on a chain for me? Please? I wanna wear it like a princess.” I waved my hand to show him how important my request was.

My father smiled. “Like a princess, huh? Well, I think we can manage that.” He took the shell out of my palm with two fingers and left the room. When he returned. He was holding a golden chain. He held out his hand and I placed the shell in it.

“It’s so small,” I said, wrinkling up my nose and smiling.

“Just like you,” he said, and he strung the chain through a hole in the shell. “There.” He clasped it behind my neck and I reached up to finger it gently.

“It’s so pretty, Daddy,” I said in wonder.

“I’m glad you like it, Princess Addie.” I giggled as he tapped me on my nose.

“Come on, Addie,” my mother said, laying me down. She tucked a wisp of hair behind my ear and then shooed my father out of the room. “Honestly, Richard, you’re just as bad as she.” She put one hand on her hip. “I’ll deal with you later.”

“I’m counting on it.” My father winked and then was gone.

My mother blushed as I pulled my fingers reluctantly away from the intricate contours of the shell.

“Why’s your face so red?”

“Never you mind,” she said sternly, though she was smiling. “Goodnight, love.” She pulled the covers over my shoulders and I snuggled down into my bed.

“Mommy?” I sat up.

She turned in the doorway. “What is it, sweetheart?”

I looked to the window, where I could see one star shining faintly. “Will you leave the window open? Please.”

She smiled and crossed the room, lifting the window and allowing the warm summer breeze to enter the tiny bedroom.

“Thank you.” I settled back into the cool quilts, yawning.

“You’re welcome, Addie. I love you.”

“We’ll go back tomorrow, right Mommy?”

“Of course, darling.”

“I love you, Mommy…” I murmured.

“I love you too, my sweet Addie,” I heard her whisper, and then I fell asleep.

***

My eyes flew open.

My room was bathed in moonlight. I heard the old grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. Something was wrong.

I flung the covers off my legs and lowered myself to the ground carefully, my bare feet touching the wooden floor. Plodding softly across the room, I reached up and turned the knob.

I wandered down the hall, past the grandfather clock, which was announcing the midnight hour. The door to my parents’ room was cracked open. I reached up and pushed it with one hand, the wooden rectangle creaking open.

“Mommy?” I whispered.

A hand clamped itself over my mouth and I screamed. Though it was muffled my parents sat up in their bed and I heard my mother gasp.

“Don’t move,” the voice said.

My father, who was easing out of bed, froze.

“Good. Now go to that box on the table.”

My father made a motion as if to stand.

“Not you,” the voice snapped, then became soft again. “Her.”

I could see my mother’s dark eyes wide with fear in the moonlight. Clutching a blanket to her chest, she climbed out of bed and crossed the room, her bare feet silent. She lifted the wooden box, which I knew contained my mother’s solitary diamond necklace and some savings. I wasn’t allowed to go near the box.

“Open it,” the voice commanded.

My mother lifted the lid.

I looked at my father, whose teeth were clenched and his face was pale.

“Take out any jewelry and coins and bring them here. I want you to put them down in front of me. Don’t try anything.”

I felt one hand release me momentarily. Before I could wonder at its absence, I felt something cold against my neck. I stiffened and looked to my mother. Pure terror filled her eyes. “Please don’t hurt her,” she whispered.

“Bring the box here.”

Uncertainty was added to the emotions raging across my mother’s face. “Do you want me to take the things out or just bring the box?” she asked.

“Don’t stall, lady,” the voice said, pressing the cold metal to my throat.

“I’m not stalling,” my mother insisted. “Please, just tell me what to do.”

“Just bring it here!”

“Which?”

“Amy,” my father warned.

“Stay out of this!” the man yelled, pointing a knife in my father’s direction. Was that what had been next to my throat? Fear welled up in my throat. “Mommy…”

“Shh, Addie, be still.”

“Bring it to me!”

“Amy, please do it.”

I could hear the sneer in the man’s voice as his sweaty palm stayed clamped across my mouth. “Yes, and that lovely ring on your finger too.”

My mother clenched her face and looked uncertain.

“It doesn’t matter,” I heard my father say in a choked voice. “For the love of God, Amy, just the man what he wants.”

She took a step forward, and then the conflict in her eyes was resolved. Flinging the box away, she snatched me out of the man’s arms.

I saw a flash of silver as a scream pierced the air.

“Daddy!” I screamed.

“NO!” My father shoved the man to the ground, but like a rat, he scrambled away, snatched the box and fled the room.

“Addie!” He scooped me up. “Where is it? Oh, Addie Bell, where did he hurt you?”

I was sobbing. “Daddy, Daddy.” I clung to him.

I saw fear and anger in my father’s eyes as he peeled my arms off his neck. “Let me see, sweetheart. Where did the bad man hurt you?”

I looked down at my white nightgown and saw a stain of dark red. I touched the fabric with one finger. “It’s not mine, Daddy,” I whispered.

Comprehension dawned on his face. “Oh, God… oh no…” He set me down and reached for my mother. She wasn’t moving.

He turned her over on her back and I saw the knife lying on the wooden floor next to her, a dark pool gathering quickly.

“Amy,” he moaned. “Oh, Amy.” He lifted her in his arms, cradling her like a child.

She reached up slowly, as though it were a great effort. “Richard…” Her voice was hoarse.

“Shh…” He put his finger to her lips. “Don’t…” he choked. “Don’t try to speak.”

“I love you. Take care of Addie. She’s… she’s got to fly.”

“Don’t go, Amy. Oh, please don’t go. We need you.” A tear rolled down my father’s face and fell into the dark puddle at his knees.

“Mommy?” I scooted closer, touching her foot. It was cold… so cold.

“I love you…” she whispered, then her eyes closed.

My father’s fist clenched as he drew my mother up to his chest, his body wracked with sobs.

I stood, shaking my head. No. I stumbled backward, disbelieving.

And before I fled the room, the last thing I saw was my father rocking my mother’s dead body back and forth. His face was haunted, streaked with tears, and his eyes shone with hatred.

Then I ran.