That Christmas Feeling by Catherine Palmer, Gail Gaymer Martin

grabbing Rob’s arm and pulling him toward the door that led to the backyard. They crossed the kitchen to the darkened corner beside the old refrigerator. Claire leaned close enough that he could hear as she spoke just above a whisper.
    “I’m talking to you now as the chief of police, Rob,” she began. “I’ve just found out from Aunt Flossie that this house is filled with treasures from Austria. Most of what you see was sent here right after World War II, and its worth is probably…well, it’s priceless. I’m a historian, Rob, and I’m telling you right now that nothing better disappear from this house. Your cleaning crew is not to touch one painting—not even the frames. If lemon-spray polish landed on that fragile artwork, it would—”
    “Calm down, Claire.”
    “I’ll calm down when you assure me that everything here will be treated with the utmost care and respect.”
    “Okay, okay.” He set his hands on her shoulders. “Relax.”
    “Historically this is so important, Rob. Not just for my aunt and our family. It’s important to Buffalo. Maybe even to the world. I don’t know what she has in this house. It could be very significant. The furniture needs to be professionally restored, if at all possible. The lamps have to be taken down, and each crystal removed and washed separately. The rugs that are totally ruined can be tossed, but if there are just a few holes—”
    “A few holes? The rugs are shredded and soaked in cat urine. You can smell it all the way in here! Claire, this place is a disaster. I was hoping to get those fire hoses inside and just spray everything right out the door and into a Dumpster.”
    “What? Are you nuts? There’s a clock in the parlor that is amazing…and a music box filled with jewels…and no telling what else. It’s all hers, too. It belonged to her husband—to Hans Schmidt and my aunt.”
    “Flossie Ross had a husband?”
    “Don’t call her that. We hate that dumb name.”
    Rob stared at her. “Claire—”
    “Just don’t let anything happen, Robert West. I’m counting on you to protect those valuable possessions out there.”
    His blue eyes searched her face. “Claire, what’s going on? Do you honestly think it’s worth trying to save all the junk in this house?”
    “It’s not junk. Not under the mess. These are my aunt’s treasures. They belong to her.” She took a breath, trying to collect herself. “Something happened to Aunt Flossie years ago—a terrible tragedy and loss. Her husband’s death started her down this long road of mental illness, Rob.”
    “I told you she hadn’t been born bitter.”
    “That’s right, and I’m going to see that my aunt gets help now. If she wants to keep these things, I’m going to make sure she has them. If she chooses to sell the contents of the house, fine. I want her to be able to live in comfort and health for the rest of her life. Our family should have been caring for her all along, and from this day forward, that’s what I’m going to do.”
    “Why, Claire? Are you doing this out of guilt? Because you don’t owe—”
    “No!” Claire protested vigorously. “That’s not it at all. I love my aunt. I love the adventurous girl she used to be. I mourn what she could have been. And I care about who she is now. In some strange way, I see myself in her.” She looked away from him. “Rob, if I keep going the way I am—refusing to share myself with people, hiding in my safe little world—I’m afraid I could become bitter and hateful just like Aunt Flossie.”
    “You would never—”
    “You might, too, Rob.” Cutting off his denial, she met his blue eyes. “I know things didn’t turn out right in your marriage. I’m not sure if that’s why you’ve changed, but I’ve known you long enough to see a big difference. Younever used to keep people at bay. You always spoke your mind. You weren’t afraid to talk about your feelings.”
    “I talked to you about how I felt. Not to