Emilie's Christmas Love Read Online Free
wonderful job that she loved. She was a Ferrier.
If that house was empty and lonely sometimes, and the money and the name kept her isolated from the rest of the town, well, no one ever said that life was perfect.
"Pouting again?" Joda was like a shadow, there beside her before Emilie had seen her.
The old woman sat easily in the chair beside the tub, tsking over the wet clothes on the tiled bathroom floor.
"What is it this time, child?"
Joda Ferrier was the last of three siblings. One had died at birth, the other, Emilie's father, ten years before that night. They were a proud, if not hardy, line.
Emilie soaped a sponge and ran it across her neck and shoulders. It wasn't unusual for Joda to visit her in the tub. Or late at night while she was sleeping. Or any other place that was unexpected. Her aunt lived for the unexpected.
"It was a little cold for the rites of the full moon, wasn't it?" Emilie asked her aunt.
Joda shrugged then took the sponge from her niece and soaped her back and shoulders. "The rites must be maintained. The temperature doesn't matter."
Emilie smiled at her aunt, looking at the snowflakes still trapped in the long white strands of her hair. Her green eyes burned fiercely in a timeless face.
No one knew exactly how old Joda was. Her father had told her that she had refused to celebrate birthdays, even as a small child.
"You didn't bring a child home with you," Joda said bluntly. "You must be going about it the wrong way."
Emilie sighed. "The little girl's guardian wants two parents."
"Easy enough," Joda answered practically. "Get married. That lawyer of yours has eyes for you."
"I'm only part of the Ferrier money to Alain," she explained to her aunt. "I wanted—"
"Didn't you want more that other time?" Joda pressed. "Look what a fiasco that was! The child is what's important here, Emilie! The family must continue, even if it's with blood other than our own!"
Emilie looked down at the rapidly cooling water in the tub. "What about love? Don't I have the right to be in love, being a precious Ferrier or not?"
Joda looked into her niece's eyes, so like her own, and shook her head. "Only you know the answer to that, ma petite belle . Love is one of the great mysteries. It comes when we least expect it."
She turned away to leave her niece to her bath, her flowing blue and green robe spreading out around her like a peacock's tail.
"Have you ever loved someone, Aunt Joda?" Emilie asked.
"Once," Joda replied quietly. "He died fighting in a war that wasn't his own. We were never together, but we have never been apart."
Emilie caught her breath at the pain in her aunt's honeyed voice. "I'm sorry, Aunt Joda. I love you."
"I know, child. Get out of that water and get into bed. You look as though a good breeze would knock you down."
Emilie finished her bath when her aunt had closed the door behind her then she poured herself a large glass of peach brandy that had been bottled while her father had still been alive. She climbed into her oversized canopy bed hung with white lace and turned off the light.
#
The next day, Emilie got up late and dressed hurriedly in warm clothing. The storm had cleared, but the temperatures had plunged during the night.
She looked for her aunt. There was no sign of her. The mansion had eighteen bedrooms, though, and she didn't have time to check them all. She was probably asleep somewhere in the house. She’d be awake by the time Emilie returned home that afternoon.
That was the way their relationship worked. Joda did what she pleased and Emilie knew she was all right because no one called and told her that they'd found her body on the road.
Her own parents hadn't been much different. From the time she could remember, they were always flying here and there. They’d climbed Mount Everest—her father losing two toes and her mother's nose frostbitten for the rest of her life. They’d raced cars and horses. They’d treated their daughter as if she were a doll
If that house was empty and lonely sometimes, and the money and the name kept her isolated from the rest of the town, well, no one ever said that life was perfect.
"Pouting again?" Joda was like a shadow, there beside her before Emilie had seen her.
The old woman sat easily in the chair beside the tub, tsking over the wet clothes on the tiled bathroom floor.
"What is it this time, child?"
Joda Ferrier was the last of three siblings. One had died at birth, the other, Emilie's father, ten years before that night. They were a proud, if not hardy, line.
Emilie soaped a sponge and ran it across her neck and shoulders. It wasn't unusual for Joda to visit her in the tub. Or late at night while she was sleeping. Or any other place that was unexpected. Her aunt lived for the unexpected.
"It was a little cold for the rites of the full moon, wasn't it?" Emilie asked her aunt.
Joda shrugged then took the sponge from her niece and soaped her back and shoulders. "The rites must be maintained. The temperature doesn't matter."
Emilie smiled at her aunt, looking at the snowflakes still trapped in the long white strands of her hair. Her green eyes burned fiercely in a timeless face.
No one knew exactly how old Joda was. Her father had told her that she had refused to celebrate birthdays, even as a small child.
"You didn't bring a child home with you," Joda said bluntly. "You must be going about it the wrong way."
Emilie sighed. "The little girl's guardian wants two parents."
"Easy enough," Joda answered practically. "Get married. That lawyer of yours has eyes for you."
"I'm only part of the Ferrier money to Alain," she explained to her aunt. "I wanted—"
"Didn't you want more that other time?" Joda pressed. "Look what a fiasco that was! The child is what's important here, Emilie! The family must continue, even if it's with blood other than our own!"
Emilie looked down at the rapidly cooling water in the tub. "What about love? Don't I have the right to be in love, being a precious Ferrier or not?"
Joda looked into her niece's eyes, so like her own, and shook her head. "Only you know the answer to that, ma petite belle . Love is one of the great mysteries. It comes when we least expect it."
She turned away to leave her niece to her bath, her flowing blue and green robe spreading out around her like a peacock's tail.
"Have you ever loved someone, Aunt Joda?" Emilie asked.
"Once," Joda replied quietly. "He died fighting in a war that wasn't his own. We were never together, but we have never been apart."
Emilie caught her breath at the pain in her aunt's honeyed voice. "I'm sorry, Aunt Joda. I love you."
"I know, child. Get out of that water and get into bed. You look as though a good breeze would knock you down."
Emilie finished her bath when her aunt had closed the door behind her then she poured herself a large glass of peach brandy that had been bottled while her father had still been alive. She climbed into her oversized canopy bed hung with white lace and turned off the light.
#
The next day, Emilie got up late and dressed hurriedly in warm clothing. The storm had cleared, but the temperatures had plunged during the night.
She looked for her aunt. There was no sign of her. The mansion had eighteen bedrooms, though, and she didn't have time to check them all. She was probably asleep somewhere in the house. She’d be awake by the time Emilie returned home that afternoon.
That was the way their relationship worked. Joda did what she pleased and Emilie knew she was all right because no one called and told her that they'd found her body on the road.
Her own parents hadn't been much different. From the time she could remember, they were always flying here and there. They’d climbed Mount Everest—her father losing two toes and her mother's nose frostbitten for the rest of her life. They’d raced cars and horses. They’d treated their daughter as if she were a doll
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