InsaneJournal

Gideon had wedge himself into the space between the door and the big cabinet in the kitchen. It was the best place he'd found yet to be out of the way when the house was so full. Faith's young man was visiting, so Mama and Papa were busy clucking over him, while his other sisters gossiped. Gideon saw nothing worth fussing over when it came to Brant. The only view the little boy had of him was as a pair of knees, as his sister's suitor was very tall and had yet to say a word directly to him. And the twins were napping with their new bears. Gideon had sneaked up to the crib for a while to watch them sleep. They were so itty-bitty even after about half a year that he found them fascinating. And he couldn't help envying the fluffy, bright-eyed new teddies they'd been lucky enough to get. Everyone got a bear their first Christmas, and it was fair, but Gideon's was looking a bit ragged after five years. They cried if he tried to just borrow theirs for a hug, though, and then he got a really awful scolding. Everyone said the same things, how he shouldn't be jealous of his little brothers and that just because he wasn't the baby anymore didn't mean he was loved any less. Grown-ups really, really didn't get it. And that, as much as the fascination his sister's swain seemed to hold, was why he was behind the door.

The only trouble with his refuge was that he didn't quite have space for his train tracks. His Christmas gift this year was all kinds of splendid. The train engine was bright red and shiny, with a black smokestack and cow catcher. It pulled two yellow cars with painted-on windows with tiny people's faces inside, all of them smiling. A tiny black caboose hung off the back. Best of all, the sides of each opened like a door, to be filled with important secret possessions (in the case of the engine) and his last year's Christmas gift, in the cars and caboose. The little carved circus animals looked very handsome riding along in the carts. But his circle of track didn't fit back here. He compensated by making little "chugga chugga" noises, scooting the train on his hands and knees with white-blond hair in his eyes, grinning widely.

"My, my, now I do declare there's a little mouse back here." Gideon looked up, wide-eyed, to see who'd discover him. His pout turned into a grin when he saw.

"Gramma! ...Hi." He sat up straight, knocking a tiger and an elephant over in the process. "Um, my train's goin' to the circus."

"I don't think that train's got down since you got your present, Mouse." She leaned over as much as her back would let her and Gideon scrambled up for a hug. "Did everyone go'n fergit all 'bout you?"

"I like gittin' fergotted." He bent down to pick up his toys. Not just from natural fastidiousness. Any of his wooden toys could easily have been broken by being stepped on, and the kitchen saw a lot of foot traffic. "Then I getta play allllll by m'self."

"Funny li'l kid." She pinched his cheek. "How's about helpin' Gramma out with King Cake?"

He nodded so fast his head hurt. King Cake was really yummy, but even better was Little Christmas. Le Petit Noël. Gideon had never heard the French pronounced right, but it still slid off his tongue like a magic spell whispered from a dream. Everyone had regular Christmas, and he liked that, and there was the song about the twelve days and lots of pear trees, but no one else he knew did anything else about it. But one of Gramma's sisters had met a man from Louisiana and gone off and married him, and Gramma had spent two years living in New Orleans when she was a girl. She'd brought back a whole lot of stories, but the extra bit of Christmas that no one else in Harlan had was his favorite.

Gideon pulled his accustomed milk crate from under the table and clambered up to assist. Gramma winked at him as she set him to watching the yeast bubble and bloom. "Now who here recalls what tomorrow's all about?"

He grinned. He recalled! Really well! "It's the day that the kings found baby Jesus in the stable! An', um, they were Balthazar an' Melchior an' Gaspar." Gideon rolled each beautiful name around in his mouth before slowly, methodically speaking each syllable. "An' one was from Africa, an' one was from China, an' one was from India, except I don't 'member which ones..." He bent his head a little and glanced up with his shoulders hunched, but no scolding was forthcoming. "An' they brought him gold an' frank... frankincense, an' myrrh." He said the last one a few extra times under his breath. Myrrh. Neat.

"An' if I don't miss my guess, there's a little mousy who's gone an' learned the song even better'n last year?"

Grammas were really good about not making you feel bad. He'd forgotten almost half the words last year and he'd ended up crying. But he'd do better this year. "I know the whole thing! Whole song!" And just to prove it he launched into it, his tinny little voice struggling desperately with the slow dirge, making faces over the less savory verses he hadn't given much thought. What kind of Christmas song had a part that went "sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying, sealed in a stone cold tomb," anyway? Gideon figured that one must be Gaspar, on account of it sounded like Caspar, so maybe the third king was a ghost. He didn't ask Gramma, though. She might not get it. People thought his questions were funny sometimes.

She gave him a raisin to eat when he was done. "Very good. Gotta do that for everyone come tomorrow mornin'."

Gideon wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he nodded dumbly. There were five verses in "We Three Kings" and he was a little thirsty after all that. He hopped down and dragged his crate over to the sink for water, then dragged it back. "Cain I put my shoe out t'night?"

"Course y'cain. Been a pretty good boy, from what I saw. Even if y'do keep tryin'a snatch the babies' toys."

"I wasn't stealin'. I just..." Even Gramma didn't get it. He just wanted to get a really good teddy bear hug. "I like the babies! They're nice!"

"I know y'do. An' it's awful hard." She leaned down and kissed him. Gideon sighed a little but didn't argue. It wasn't hard at all. He liked being a big brother. Feeding and helping with the twins' baths and playing peek-a-boo was all really fun. But every time he did something a little wrong, people thought he was out to get them.

"Cain I put out their booties?" Maybe if he took extra-special care of them his parents would stop thinking he was being naughty.

"I dunno what the kings could leave for 'em, Mouse. They's too, too little fer candy."

"I gave'm each a lick from my candy cane." That was serious. Gideon was a hoarder. He could make a candy cane last into march, taking just a few licks a day, stowing the treat under his pillow until it was just a tiny, white twig. "If the Kings bring me somethin' I cain lick from, cain I share?"

"I guess there's no reason why not. Why doncha help me knead this now, huh?" She tousled his hair and he grinned. Kneading dough was the second best part. Punching it down after it had risen was undoubtedly the highlight of baking bread. King Cake, he'd noticed, was actually bread with icing on top. But it was bread full of every delicious thing there was, butter and eggs and milk, cinnamon because they had no nutmeg and raisins because they had no citrons, and the colors of the icing were bright and sticky and delicious. How a color could be delicious he didn't know, but Gideon could tell with his eyes closed whether he was biting from yellow, green, or purple parts of the cake.

He heard someone laugh in the next room. Stupid as this whole thing with Faith's boy was, no one was scolding or fretting, and a warm, yeasty smell filled his nose while his fingers poked through sticky dough. "Gramma?"

"Yeah?"

"I wish it was always Christmas."

"Oh, Mousy, don't we all? But the thing is, Christmas cain't come again if y'don't let it go away. Nothin' nice stays forever, hun, but it always goes 'round an' comes back."