Scully’s gaze was still fastened to Evangeline, and slightly more serious than before. “I don’t believe I ever have,” he answered.

“There are things in my stocking, too,” Abigail went on. “There’s a penny, and a piece of peppermint candy, and a little top for spinning.”

Evangeline laid a hand on her daughter’s hand, partly to calm her, but she couldn’t look away from Scully any more than he, it seemed, could look away from her. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

He shrugged, somewhat shyly, and pushed himself away from the door frame. “I’ll get the chores done,” he said. Then he put on his coat and left the house without further hesitation.

Evangeline dressed hastily, brushed and bound her hair, and stared into the mirror, pinching her cheeks to brighten their color. Then she got Scully’s packages, and Abigail’s wrapped scarf, and tucked them in among the fragrant branches of the tree.

When Scully returned, they had breakfast, Abigail chattering the whole while and looking very much like her old self, Evangeline concluding that she had received an especially grand gift that Christmas. She’d gotten her faith back. She believed in goodness and generosity, love and magic again, maybe as much as Abigail did, at least for that day.

Scully seemed touched to receive the gifts Evangeline gave him, after the table was cleared, and said he’d save the shirt for important occasions. As for the socks, well, he told her, eyes sparkling, he’d been needing those, since his toes were coming through the last two pair he owned. He took off his boots and put the new stockings on before taking the turkey outside, to dunk it in the kettle of boiling water Evangeline had prepared for the purpose, and pluck the feathers.

By midmorning, the bird was roasting in the oven, rivaling the splendid tree for fragrance, and Abigail had tuckered herself out playing with her top and trying out different colors of ribbons in her hair. She was asleep, her loot scattered around her on the bed, when Scully went into the lean-to and returned with a box, tied up with thin blue ribbon.

Evangeline’s hands may have trembled a little as she accepted it, she couldn’t exactly be certain. Charles had given her an apron for Christmas once, and a set of dishtowels on another occasion. He hadn’t completely approved of the exchange of gifts, believing that they detracted from the gravity of the occasion, though he had always allowed Abigail to have a few modest presents.

She sat down in the nearest chair, not trusting herself to stand, and slowly, carefully removed the ribbon. She lifted the lid of the box and found an elegant silver-backed hair brush inside, along with a matching hand mirror and a comb. She was absolutely dumb-stricken.

“When you use those things,” Scully said, very gently, “maybe you’ll think of me.”

She met his gaze. “As if I’ll ever forget you, Scully Wainwright, for as much as a day.” She looked down at the vanity set, the finest and most unexpected gift she had ever received. “How—where—?”