Chapter 11
Freya rolled out of the way, a moment before her sister stumbled through the portal and landed on her hands and knees. An owl hooted.
Devon must have seen the edge that tripped them both up, because he stepped over it carefully, still holding Esther.
“Did we make it? Back to our own time and place, I mean…” he asked.
Freya shone the flashlight on her grinning face. “I’m pretty sure we did. Hey, where’s the angle grinder?”
Devon glanced behind him. “Probably somewhere in the seventeenth century. I couldn’t carry it and your grandmother at the same time.”
“Of course. No problem there. I’m just wondering what the good people of Olde Ipswich are going to make of it.”
Brianna bristled. “You are not going back for it. Those people are ignorant and heartless.”
“I wasn’t implying that we should. I just… Oh, never mind. Let’s get Grandma to the hospital.”
“Agreed,” Devon said. “I can drive my rental if you give me directions to the hospital.”
“I’ll drive,” Freya said. “She’ll be more comfortable in our van.”
“Then run ahead and get it. I’m strong, but my arms are tiring.”
“Oh! Please don’t carry me another moment, young man. I don’t even know you, but I have you to thank for my freedom.” She coughed again.
“I’ll be right back,” Freya yelled as she took off for their cottage and the keys to their van.
“Um—I’m Brianna, Freya’s sister, by the way. And I guess you know you’re carrying our grandmother, Esther.”
“Pleased to meet you both. I’m Eric Devonshire, but everyone calls me Devon.”
“I guess in all the excitement, my dear sister forgot to introduce us. How do you know Freya?”
“Oh, I’m her patient. Or, rather, I was. I think she has completely cured my leg.”
“You ran, carrying me, with an injured leg?” Esther exclaimed.
“You’re very light.” Devon lifted her a couple of times to demonstrate.
“Starvation will do that to you,” Esther started to laugh, then gave in to another coughing jag.
“The fact that you’re cracking jokes is a good sign, Grandma,” Brianna said.
The van roared up to the nearest paved spot, and before Freya could get out, Devon and Brianna climbed the slight hill. She slid open the back door, and Devon carefully arranged Esther on the wide bench seat, then fastened her seatbelt.
Brianna climbed in to sit next to her grandmother, and Devon jogged around to sit next to Freya in front. As soon as he’d shut his door, she pulled out onto the main road and floored it.
Later that evening, Freya sat at her kitchen table with Devon.
Both her sister and grandmother were badly dehydrated and had to stay overnight to receive IV fluids.
Esther would spend a few more days there to get her COPD under control and make sure she put on some weight.
She might have to spend Yule in the hospital, but as long as she was able to have visitors, she and Brianna would be there for her.
“I can’t believe we found them,” Devon said.
“I can’t believe you risked your life to save them,” Freya added. “Why did you?”
“Because family is precious. All I have is a ghost. The woman I love has two resilient relatives whose bond is impossible to miss.”
“The woman you love? Who might that be?” She raised one eyebrow and gave him a coquettish smirk.
He grinned. “I’m looking at her.”
She walked around the table and settled onto his lap. “I know it’s fast, but I love you too.”
They shared a long, tender kiss.
When Freya leaned back, she said, “I wish you could stay. When do you have to go back to England?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Perhaps I’ll go back after Yule, pack up my stuff, and return as soon as I’ve tied up loose ends.”
Freya’s jaw dropped. “Do you mean, you’d move here? Permanently?”
He shrugged. “If you’ll have me. I can work from anywhere. I can even study the U.S. laws and work as a financial consultant here.”
“You’ll need a green card.”
“Ah, yes. I understand it’s easier to get one if a foreigner marries a citizen.”
“I’ve heard that too.”
“All right, I’ll look into that.” Devon kissed her on the nose.
“Is there something you might be forgetting to ask?”
“I know it’s awfully soon for marriage, but would you consider working toward that goal?”
Freya rose. “I’ll get my computer. We should get all the facts.”
“Actually, I can do that while I’m sitting on a plane for a few hours. Right now, there’s something else I’d rather do.” He winked.
“I’ll race you to the bedroom.”
A few days later...
The fluorescent lights of Mercy General had never exactly screamed festive, but Freya had done her best. Battery-operated candles flickered on the windowsills, casting gentle shadows over bowls of cinnamon-scented potpourri.
Devon had printed a banner that read BLESSED YULE in metallic gold, which they’d tacked above the headboard of Esther’s hospital bed.
Brianna had made a miniature altar on the rolling tray table, complete with tiny holly branches, a quartz point, and the world’s smallest Yule log—complete with glitter, of course, because—Brianna.
Esther, propped up with pillows and a festive red blanket, surveyed the room with misty eyes. “This is the nicest damn hospital room I’ve ever seen,” she rasped.
“Well, we aim to please,” Freya said, placing a hand on her grandmother’s frail shoulder. “And we brought wassail. Don’t tell the nurses.”
“I already bribed one of them with sugar cookies,” Brianna added.
Devon handed around mismatched mugs, and for a moment, everyone stood in a loose circle—Freya, Devon, Brianna, Esther—holding steaming cups of spiced cider, the smell of cloves and orange peel cutting through the antiseptic tang in the air.
Freya led the blessing. “To the returning light, to love found, to family—chosen and blood—and to the resilience that got us here. Blessed Yule.”
They echoed her. “Blessed Yule.”
And for the first time in a long time, Freya felt the quiet click of wholeness settle into place. Her roots. Her people. Her strange, hilarious, half-chaotic coven of a family.
Later, while Esther dozed and the nurses pretended not to notice Brianna enchanting the heart rate monitors with “a spell for better rhythm,” Devon slipped his hand into Freya’s.
“I never thought a hospital room could feel like home,” he said quietly.
Freya looked at her sister curled up on the bedside chair, Esther snoring softly, and the twinkle lights Devon had insisted on hanging around the IV pole.
“It’s not the place,” she whispered back. “It’s the people.”
“I can’t think of any better people to spend a holiday with. Maybe next year we’ll all get together at our new house.”
“What new house?”
“The one we’ll buy with the proceeds from my condo in Glastonbury.”
She slipped her arm around his waist and lay her head on his shoulder. “I’d love that.” She tipped up her face to catch his eye. “And I love you.”
He smiled and kissed her temple. “I love you too.”
Yule. One year later.
Snow blanketed the coastal town in a quiet hush, the kind that made every sound seem sacred.
Freya stood at the cottage window, watching the sun reach its apex, dancing across the snowdrifts while the scent of cinnamon and turkey drifted from the kitchen.
For the first Yule in two years, the house didn’t feel empty.
Brianna was back—alive, laughing, and currently trying to wrestle a garland of evergreen away from their grandmother, who was insisting it needed to hang symmetrically.
Devon was by the hearth, coaxing the fire to life while pretending not to eavesdrop on the family’s good-natured squabble.
His cane leaned forgotten against the wall. He hadn’t needed it in months.
“Grandma, if you keep fussing with that thing, it’s going to look like a hedge attack,” Brianna said, hands on her hips.
Esther sniffed, unimpressed. “If you want chaos, go hang your decorations in your own room. The Yule garland represents renewal and harmony, not teenage rebellion.”
“I’m thirty,” Brianna muttered.
Freya just smiled and added another log to the fire. “Enough, you two. The Yule Gods are going to revoke our invite if we keep bickering.”
That earned her a laugh from Devon, who rose to his feet. “Are we finally ready for this official Wiccan ceremony, or should I make more tea?”
“Both,” Freya said. “Always both.” She gestured toward the table, where the Yule log cake sat beside a pile of plates, napkins, cider, and side dishes that Esther had been strategically repositioning all morning.
They gathered around the hearth, as tradition demanded. Esther lit the kindling first, then a candle, her voice steady and rich as she spoke the old blessing. “Light returns. May warmth and joy return with it.”
Freya followed, her candle catching the flame from Esther’s. “The longest night is over. Let hope grow with the sun.”
Devon took the next candle, his accent adding a lilting music to the words. “May love guide us through any dark season.”
Finally, Brianna raised hers, eyes bright with mischief. “And may we never again time-travel ourselves out of twenty-first-century conveniences.”
That got a round of laughter—loud, messy, and perfect. Even Esther cracked a smile.
They feasted, they sang (badly), and when the last dish was cleared, they took their candles outside.
The river babbled beyond the snow, reminding her of her family’s seemingly harmless walk the year before.
Together, they placed their candles in the snowbank along the driveway.
The flames reflected off the frozen drifts like tiny diamonds.
Freya leaned into Devon’s shoulder, and his arm slipped around her. “You know,” she murmured, “last year I thought I’d be celebrating Yule alone forever.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Never again, love.”
Freya closed her eyes and gave silent thanks to the Goddess. Whatever darkness came next, she would never face it alone. She felt the light inside her chest, full to bursting with warmth.