On a Clear Winter Night: An Irin Chronicles Short Story by Elizabeth Hunter Page A

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    “Hello, sister.” Bruno peeled off his jacket and put his boots by the door before he walked over and placed a hand on Ava’s shoulder. “And brother! Hello, Malachi. I didn’t see you there. What were you watching?”
    “Christmas movies,” Ava said with a smile.
    Bruno frowned. “But Irin don’t celebrate Christmas.”
    Ava threw her head back and moaned as Mal sat up with a know-it-all expression on his face.
    “That’s what I told her,” he said. “But she insisted. I have been forced to watch White Christmas , Miracle on some street, and It’s a Wonderful Life .”
    Bruno frowned. “I was surprised by how dark that one was.”
    “See?” Ava said. “Bruno watches Christmas movies.”
    Bruno shrugged. “I’m more of a Jimmy Stewart fan. That is how I learned English. But the bit at the end with the bell…”
    Malachi said, “Thank heaven I am not the only one. Ridiculous. That child would start crying if she saw a real angel.”
    Bruno nodded. “Agreed.”
    “That’s not the point,” Ava said. “The point is that Christmas is… a wonderful holiday and there’s no reason Irin shouldn’t celebrate it. It’s about family and good cheer and love for your fellow man. People give presents—”
    “What do you want?” Malachi asked. “I’ll get it for you.”
    “That’s not the point.” Ava shook her head and looked around the treeless living room.  
    The house in Karlštejn, forty minutes out of Prague, was cozy and beautiful. Snow fell on bare trees and evergreens blanketing the hills. It was the middle of December and the otherwise picture-perfect winter house had not a single red bow or pine bough. She’d been drooling over some of the glass-blown ornaments in the small village near the house, but she felt silly buying them because there was no tree.
    Christmas had been one of the few bright spots in Ava’s childhood. For much of the year, she’d been shipped off at this school or that camp. But at Christmas, her mother told her stepfather to stuff it, which usually meant Carl went skiing in Utah with his buddies, leaving Ava and her mother alone to celebrate the holiday quietly.  
    Lena would send the household employees away, making the mansion peacefully empty while mother and daughter decorated a small tree bought for Ava’s room. Her very own tree. Not the large, lushly ornate tree that was for the benefit of guests, but one just for a little girl. Ava’s collection of ornaments had been moved to her house in Malibu, but she and Malachi were hardly ever there.
    Malachi leaned closer and peered at her face. “Now you are sad.”
    She sniffed. “I just like Christmas, okay? It’s not a big deal. I know Irin have midwinter holidays, too. You celebrate the Winter Solstice, I heard Karen and Astrid talking about it yesterday. I’ll learn those traditions over time.”
    “No,” Malachi murmured. “I think this is a big deal. Canım, you must tell me these things. You have given up so much to be with me—”
    “I gave up nothing.” She grabbed his hand. “Nothing. You have given me everything. You and all your brothers. And my sisters. I have everything I need.”
    Home. Family. History. Purpose.
    He nodded slowly. “But you also want a tree.”
    Well, when he put it like that, Ava felt like an ungrateful brat. “Malachi, I’m fine. I’m being silly.”
    “Memories are not silly. Traditions are not silly,” he said. “We know that better than anyone.”
    Their first Christmas, Malachi had been a confused wreck. They’d been together, but most of his memories had been gone. He hadn’t remembered the traditional foods or songs the Irin sang at winter solstice and Ava had felt lost, even as she tried for Christmas cheer. It had been the saddest winter she could remember. The next Christmas had been better, but still quiet. They’d been in Germany, but they’d both still been recovering from Vienna.
    And now…
    “Let’s not tempt fate, all right?” She