VISIONS OF SUGAR PLUMS

by JoAnn Baca

“Catherine, what’s a sugar plum?”

She had just started reading Clement Moore’s A Visit from St. Nicholas to the children when Samantha interrupted with a question she wasn’t able to answer. But before she could open her mouth to ask him, Father – who had been trying to hide his disappointment that the children had begged her to read the annual favorite, something he traditionally did – stood up.

“Ah, well now, it’s an interesting answer, children, and one that depends entirely on knowing what the term would mean to those reading this poem for the first time in 1823, when it was written. You see, back then, it was an expensive process to…”

Catherine had given up her seat to let Father take the floor, moving to stand beside Vincent at the far end of the chamber. “Will we ever get back to the poem?” she murmured, smiling at how Father was settling into his history lesson, seemingly unaware that the children had begun to squirm and yawn.

“He can get a bit carried away at times,” was all Vincent would concede, but the twinkle in his eye suggested wry amusement at how quickly Father had taken back control of story time when, finally finishing his explanation…and seeming to forget that Catherine was to return to the chair…he continued the reading himself.

Catherine and Vincent slipped out of the chamber.

“Consider it your Christmas gift to him,” Vincent suggested. “He was a bit miffed at being pushed aside for you.”

She nodded. “It’s tradition, after all. And it means so much to him.”

“And we know he has trouble letting go of things,” Vincent said.

“Truer words…” she murmured, almost under her breath. But his hearing was excellent.

“Ah, well…he will soon be required to let go of something much more important that he’s been clinging to too tightly.”

“You.” She stole a sidelong glance at his face, catching him smiling.

“Yes.”

Vincet took her hand, his long, claw-tipped thumb caressing the ring he had placed on her finger a scant hour before.

“I’m surprised nobody’s noticed it.” She squeezed his hand, then lifted it to her lips, pressing a kiss to his fingers. “It’s the most wonderful present I’ve ever gotten. Not to mention the promise it represents.” She looked up at him with all the love in her heart.

His own gaze was filled with love…and heat. “And you will be mine, both present and promise, on Christmas morning when Dr. Wong comes Below.”

She probed for second thoughts. His, not hers. “You’re sure you want to spring our wedding on the whole community without a word beforehand?”

He nodded. “There’s already a big meal planned, and decorations abound. It’s the perfect opportunity to have our joining ceremony without any further fuss…or argument.”

An idea hit her, and she smiled. “I know one thing I’ll be bringing Below that morning that I hadn’t planned to before.” His blue eyes reflected his curiosity. “Sugar plums! I’m sure I can find them somewhere in New York…made the way they might have been in 1823. Won’t Father be pleased?”

As they leaned together to share a kiss full of anticipation and happiness, from the chamber behind them they heard the children join in for the last line of the poem.

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!