ONE SNOWY NIGHT IN
JEANNIE MARIE
Snow fell outside the train windows, muffling the outside world as Jim and Artie were feeling snug and cozy in their private world. The scent of fresh evergreen filled the parlor car as Artie poured water into the tub that held their tree. He smiled over at Jim, who was searching through a collection of boxes on the large table they used for dining.
“Ready to start decorating?”
Jim held up a spun glass ornament. “Ready.”
Artie set aside the watering can and walked over to the table. The boxes held an assortment of tissue-wrapped ornaments purchased during their many travels as Secret Service agents through the years. German ornaments were the most popular, their delicate glass-blown beauty exquisite and made to hang from fragrant branches. The ornaments were in the shape of fruits, berries, Santas, angels, and other holiday themes.
Artie fished around in one box. “Ah ha!” He triumphantly held up a package of wire hooks. “Can’t hang ornaments without wire, m’boy.”
Jim smiled. Artie was always so enthusiastic at Christmas.
In agreeable harmony they set about wrapping strings of cranberries they had laboriously fashioned around the tree, then started hanging ornaments from the branches. Heavier ceramic baubles were placed on lower branches.
When they were finished, Artie said, “I’ll get the candles.” He returned with a box of newly-purchased candles, and they affixed each one to the tree. Standing back to admire their handiwork, Artie said, “Perfect.”
Jim stood beside him. “Too bad we can’t light them tonight.”
“Well, we can light them for a few hours on Christmas Eve, and the same for Christmas Night. Any more and we’d burn the tree down.”
Artie glanced over at his partner, his heart fluttering at the sight of the glittering ornaments reflected in Jim’s emerald eyes. When he had first partnered with Jim, the younger man had not even considered decorating for the holidays, much less put up a tree. Artie had insisted, declaring that if he was going to be on a train and away from home for Christmas, he was damned well going to make it look like home. His childhood Yules had been wonderful times of singing, feasting, and gift-giving. His parents observed the English custom of putting up a large tree (Germans used tabletop size) and using the handcrafted ornaments to decorate it. Artie had always loved Christmas and had made sure to celebrate it, even in the darkest days of the War.
Jim’s childhood experiences had been different, and especially after the War, he had seen little reason to celebrate a season of peace and good will. It had been his experience that mankind was not very interested in either condition.
That changed with the coming of Artemus Gordon into his life. Artie had deliberately let his love of the holidays come out, and eventually won Jim over. Of course, it didn’t hurt that they had become lovers and Jim could be surprisingly sentimental (‘sappy’, he called it) during certain times of the year now. Artie smiled. It was all about knowing Jim West and how to handle him. Not very difficult, really, once you got into the habit.
Artie glanced out the windows. “Looks like the snow isn’t too heavy. Want to go to dinner?”
“Sounds good to me.”
They gathered their long coats and gloves. Artie was wearing his wine-red suit and Jim his dark-green. As Artie put his hat on his head, he smiled. They already looked like Christmas.
Outside the air was cold but not unduly uncomfortable. Artie rather liked walking in
snowfall. It was light, not heavy,
and since it had just started an hour ago there had been little time to
accumulate slush and mud and other displeasing aesthetics. Besides, they were not in some cow town
out West, but in
People seemed in a holiday mood as they strolled the streets, women dressed in velvet and warming their hands in large muffs, the men in top hats and long scarves and warm topcoats. Children scampered about, eagerly pointing to window displays and delighting in the snow. Mischievous boys sneaked around the alleys and on the Common, yelping in pitched snowball battles.
Artie realized the irony of all the merrymaking, as in much of the
country, Christmas was not an official holiday. In fact, many people worked as if it was
a regular day, but many others celebrated and gift-giving was a time-honored
tradition. The Puritan heritage of
They passed a toy store, stopping to look in the window. Rocking horses, dolls, dollhouses, a wooden train, and a plethora of other toys attracted their attention. Artie said, “My niece would like that china doll.”
“Let’s go inside, then,” Jim said agreeably.
The store smelled of peppermint and lemon, courtesy of jars of candy drops on the counter. An elderly gentleman was carving a wooden soldier and greeted his customers with a smile. He took the pipe out of his mouth, smoke wreathing his head as his eyes twinkled. “May I help you, sirs?”
“Yes, I’m interested in the china doll in the window,” Artie said.
The shopkeeper went to get it and Jim noticed the other toys around the store: sleds, balls, a set of jacks, hoops, puzzles and board games. One corner held a set of exquisite dolls dressed in velvet and satin, some with sparkling tiaras on their heads.
“She’s a fine choice, sir,” said the old man, smoothing the doll’s satin dress folds. “For a deserving little girl, I’m sure.”
“She is.
The shopkeeper lovingly placed the doll in a long box on a bed of tissue paper, Artie paying him extra to wrap the box in gold paper and a red bow. Artie arranged to pick up the box the next day, as the store would be closed by the time they finished dinner. He and Jim left the store and went back out into the snowy evening.
It was dusk, the lamplighters already out and kindling the streetlights. Some of the streets had the newfangled electric lights, but Artie still liked the romance of a lit lamp. Admittedly, however, he would probably get electric lights one of these days to put on their tree. They were just too intriguing.
He liked the muffled sounds of a snowy world. Everyone’s boots crunched on the snow, quieting their footsteps, and even the occasional word or shout seemed far away. Somewhere in the distance, carolers sang their festive songs.
“Elegant or rowdy?”
“Hmm?” Artie looked at Jim.
“I was asking, where would you like to go to dinner? Someplace elegant, or rowdy?”
Artie considered. Saloons
were usually called taverns here in
“Elegant.” He winked. “Tomorrow rowdy.”
Jim laughed. “Okay.”
They decided on the Omni Parker House, the famous hotel with the famous Parker House dinner rolls, and entered the luxurious lobby. They were escorted to the dining room, their footsteps silent on wine-red carpet, and the dining room exuded understated elegance. Nothing nouveau riche here.
The maitre d’ was probably a hundred years old but he knew his job. He snapped his fingers after setting the menus down and a young waiter scurried over. There was a flurry of pouring water, reciting special entrees, and an inquiry into beverages, then an apology as of course the gentlemen would need to know what food they were ordering first before ordering wine. Artie held up a hand and smiled. He looked over at Jim, who nodded.
“We’ll have the scrod.” He named a proper wine to go with the dish, and the young waiter nodded and then went through side order choices. He finally took the menus and hurried off.
“New man,” chuckled Jim.
Artie agreed. He sighed rapturously. “Nothing like ordering the house specialty, my boy. The Parker House invented the rolls, the scrod, and Boston Cream Pie.”
“Which we’ll have for dessert, of course.”
“Of course.”
The waiter returned with a basket of Parker House rolls, a dish of butter with a silver knife, and retreated. Artie looked out the window at falling snow.
“Really beautiful.”
“Yes.”
Artie looked at Jim, who was looking at him. He smiled. It was nice to be so loved.
The dining room was quiet, a few diners occupying tables, but most people had decided to stay home on a night like this. Artie couldn’t blame them. He would enjoy going back to the train later and getting all cozy. He nearly laughed at the thought of Jim West ‘getting cozy’ but Jim continued to surprise him every day. Just the fact that Jim had said, “I love you”, kissed him, and was now his exciting lover as well as partner were wonderful surprises that never ceased to thrill him.
“Mmm, good scrod,” Jim commented, the candlelight and moonlight combining to silver his soft hair and the planes of his face.
“Excellent.” Artie sipped his wine. He enjoyed gazing at Jim in such light. The man was a sculptor’s dream.
Jim looked up with a smile on his face. “Ready for dessert?”
Artie choked and put his wineglass down. “Um, certainly.” He shot Jim a daggered look. Evil beautiful bastard.
The Boston Cream Pie was quite good. It was a specialty of the city as well as this hotel and he missed some of the more civilized amenities when they were out West.
Jim licked a dollop of cream off his lip, and Artie’s blood burned.
“Ready to go back to the train, James?”
“Ready.”
Once more out in the cold air, Artie felt refreshed. He was considerably calmer, enjoying their leisurely pace as they crossed the Common. Carolers were singing ‘God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen’. It was a distinctly English carol, and Artie had always enjoyed it. Jim’s hand slipped inside his for a moment, then just as inconspicuously slipped away.
Snow dusted their coats and hats as they walked, neither one speaking, but the silence was a comfortable one.
Their boots crunched on the snow as they walked by a rowdy group of boys in the midst of a snowball fight. Skaters of all ages were enjoying themselves on the pond, the women somehow navigating through long skirts as they serenely glided on the ice as their top-hatted gentlemen escorts hovered beside them.
An apple-cheeked little girl with blond ringlets was busy making a snowman, her sister helping her roll the snow. Laughter and shouts echoed in the muffled air.
Artie looked at Jim. Wordless communication passed between them, and they turned toward the railyard, keeping their leisurely pace but with their destination firmly in mind.
They reached the train, a lamp glowing in the window, courtesy of their engineer. Artie followed Jim up to the caboose door, admiring Jim’s caboose.
Once inside they hung up their hats and coats, an old blanket under the coatrack to catch the melting snow.
After starting a fire, Artie walked toward the kitchen. “Sit down, James.”
Jim smiled, taking a seat on the gold couch. The fire warmed him as he waited.
Artie came out of the kitchen with a crystal bowl and two cups.
“Eggnog!” Jim smiled. “Perfect on a cold winter’s night.”
“Thought so myself.” Artie set the bowl and cups down on the coffee table. He used the bowl’s ladle to fill the cups.
“Plenty here. Drink up, James my boy.”
Sitting by the roaring fire, Artie watched as the firelight played over Jim and the nearby tree.
Nature’s beauty in both.
Jim’s eyes were two jewels, their emerald glow enhanced by the green suit he wore. Artie had always liked the green suit.
“
“What?”
Artie smiled into shining eyes. “Nothing, m’dear.” His own eyes sparkled tiny pinpoints of light. He set aside his cup, took Jim’s and put it on the table, cupping Jim’s perfect face in his hands. He leaned forward for a kiss.
Tender kisses, loving caresses, the removal of elegant clothing as they tumbled to the rug, whispering and laughing. The fire crackled and hissed, reflecting in the glass ornaments. Tiny Jims and Arties romped and loved, multiple pairs in unison, like facets in a jewel. Snow continued falling outside the windows, a sweet caroling chorus drifting in from a distance.
Moans increased as breathing quickened, sleek bodies moving together in rhythm.
Sculpted in gold.
Rational thought fled Artie, his cock rubbing against Jim’s, the friction hot and wonderful. Blood pounded in his body as orgasm began to build up until it washed over him like an avalanche, Jim tumbling right after him.
Sticky, sated and happy, Jim and Artie hugged each other as snow sprinkled the windows, the glorious choral voices swelling with joy as the two lovers celebrated their love.