by Catharine L.

Rated: PG

"It is here, between the darkness
And the light,
That we wait, uncertain,
Seeking the moment
That challenges us to believe
In a freshly minted miracle
Born every Christmas Day."
John Matthews

December, 1971

Christmas, the annual ritual of festivities that many take for granted, had not been celebrated in Barnabas Collins’ youth. The settlers of New England -- Puritans and reformers -- considered the tradition of Yuletide a pagan holiday, harboring darkness and evil. In their harsh righteousness, they had no use to observe it.

But Julia Hoffman’s own immigrant heritage, deeply rooted in Pennsylvanian-German soil, merrily indulged in the holiday season -- celebrating the hope of light and warmth to return from the winter’s darkness. The ancient legacy to celebrate the continuation of life and the cycle of seasons was carried from each generation to the next.

On Christmas Eve, at the head of the table -- its five leaves extending beyond its confines -- would sit her grandmother at the most honored position. Her hair was faded of the deep red that once gleamed; its length braided and bound up, wrapped in a crown on top of her head. The same pointed chin, like her mother’s, held firm with her characteristic steadiness and constancy that kept the family together. She was a woman that remained a breed apart from most others with the gift of her inner strength handed down.

"Mutti" (Mu-tee), both her children and their children affectionately called her. Each year, on this special occasion with the young ones surrounding her, she would relate the tale of the first Christmas tree, the Paradise Tree, in the Alsatian town of Strasbourg near her homeland. It was not a story full of grandeur, just that of old beginnings of spiritual history and of pride deep within one’s soul. But the children held tight to her words of its ancient symbolism to the Tree of Life and of the Creation and Fall of the "first parents". Their eyes and ears were transfixed to the richness of her storytelling and to the mysteries that hid behind her accent that came from a foreign land.

Time keeps moving. The years passed quickly as swift as the flowing rivers drifting to the sea and the memories, once cherished, were left to remain dusty in the attic of her mind as Julia traveled over life’s bumpy roads. But time comes around in circles and each, in the span of one’s life, feels the need to touch base with their beginnings...to retain the delight of their youth.

And so, Julia -- no children of her own to hand down the culture into the care of their extended hands -- decided to reawaken her treasured traditions, sharing them with the man she loved. She was keenly aware it was not her house. Every nook and cranny spoke of belonging to its stately master. Yet, if you considered the house whose roof you slept under as your chosen hearth, then yes -- the Old House was her home.

There was no symbolic band of gold around her finger, no license laying quietly within a bureau drawer testifying to wedlock. All that was needed and of importance to her was the unity bound by their hearts. Julia was not foolish. Why should she toss aside for propriety’s sake what she and Barnabas shared? The quick glances and whispers from others had been noticed, but simply shrugged off. Any concerns she may have had were hidden in places only for herself to see. She loved him regardless and it was a small price to pay for having his love.

It had been gradual -- the tedious transition from their stalemate relationship to the passion they shared between the sheets. There was no dramatic announcement, no tragedy threatening the other’s life leaving a void neither could ever accept. Only what claimed them was their common wellspring that joined them from the beginning....loneliness. They had been apart too long. Simply put, each night proved harder to part than the night before; each morning harder to face awakening alone. Until one late hour with his customary habit, Barnabas placed her coat loosely over her shoulders before retracing her steps back to Collinwood. Back to her own empty bed. With a lonely sigh, Julia heartbreakingly reached for the doorknob once more, only to feel his masculine hands smother her slim shoulders....his grasp squeezing his silent plea. The wanting was there. And -- in the deepest of tone his rich voice could lower -- the simplest of words emerged.

"Please...don’t leave, Julia...".

* * *

Julia Hoffman stayed. The nights passed without declaration of intent. No invitation was voiced or needed -- only Barnabas’ welcoming hand each night, their footsteps fading away as he lead her upstairs....taking what their hearts wanted.

It followed the pattern so characteristic of their relationship -- always so much more needed to be said, but left unspoken in their wordless compromise.

Autumn days had passed with their glorious colors falling to the ground, a white sheet of fallen snow resting on the treetops in their place. Now, with the Christmas season fast approaching, Julia had a reason to add her personal touch, to give a sampling of her own history that made her uniquely what she was. So as herself, she believed the simplest of decorations to be the most effective; keeping the mood simple yet friendly, harmonizing with Barnabas’ elegance and the character of the centuries old manor.

The evergreen wreath trimmed with fruits and berries rested against the grain of the front door for the first time, its decorative French horn heralding in the holidays. A stem of holly was inserted for its prized folklore, its prickliness believed to ward off the evil spirits from entering into a household.

Inside, the wing chairs were pulled in close to the hearth for warmth, complementing the evergreen garlands adorning the mantle. Clustered among the green needles were native pine cones and apples, their scarlet red adding seasonal color. And -- hanging high above -- the formality of Barnabas’ portrait had been lessened somewhat, now a sprig of pine topped above its frame.

Two tiny wreaths, intertwining as a sphere, hung from the chandelier. Homemade from dried mistletoe and flowers, it was tightly weaved with a small switch of evergreen resting on its bottom. It held no beauty other than the value of its folklore. Certain greens, especially ones that bore fruit in the winter, claimed to have magical properties. Mistletoe, its novelty giving reason to steal a kiss from an intended, was believed to be an "all healer" to cure infertility. And evergreen, as tradition holds, is a natural symbol of rebirth and life. The kissing ball -- as it was called -- was not just for decoration.

Barnabas gave no words of displeasure from her winter solstice. He saw the joy to be found in the annual decorating, but more importantly to him was the joy emanating from her caught up in the seasonal spirit.

He stood silently, his stance relaxed. The clock ticked the minutes passing lightly, so softly it could barely be heard. The grey winter light of December lingered in the foyer as he admired the only brightness the room possessed; relishing her striking appearance, her slender vision. The change had been noticed -- her femininity confidently revealing its desiring essence. There was now nothing to hide from him he had not discovered beneath her once professional attire.

Julia stood before the table, her back towards him. Her suede boots of brown leather had been slipped from her feet and tossed aside, making her look so very small. The ribbed sweater of October gold colors clung to the outline of her figure while the russet midi skirt she wore flowed softly from her trim waist; a gold chain wrapped around, focusing on her shapely hips. It suited her. It pleased him.

Julia heard his quiet steps approach behind her, suddenly turning to look back at him. He had a wonderful way of walking and she never missed the opportunity to once more admire his graceful stride, his dashing romantic figure. A man’s body had never intoxicated her as his had....never left her feeling so weak in resistance.

Barnabas raised a brow, shifting his eyes to her with a mildly annoyed glance. "Julia! What in heavens is that?" The reputation of the tea table, representing workmanship at its best, had been tarnished from its presence perched upright upon its rich maple sheen.

Julia’s head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes brightening with long ago memories filled with ancestral pride. "Barnabas! It’s a Christmas tree! Like the ones we saw at the department store in Bangor. Remember?"

Barnabas, his dignity steady, continued to look down upon the wooden dowel no more than three feet tall. Each of its sparse branches jutted out in straight 90 degree angles, a candleholder made of tin at the tip of each branch. There was no comparison to the towering bushy Scotch pines and elegant blue spruce with their evocative scent.

Julia continued to finish hanging the last of the simple red berry ornaments....continuing the German tradition.

"Julia! Certainly you cannot be serious!"

His face held the expression that warmed her heart the most. With his eyes puzzled and his mouth opened in a small "o", it mirrored what he seemed as a young boy, perplexed in wonderment. Julia’s smile was quick as she affectionately rested her hands on her lover’s broad shoulders. She had anticipated his reaction; knew he could not, at first, understand the beauty her own eyes saw in the artificial antique. The tabletop tree had been overlooked by others until Julia found it lost in a corner away from the desirable items of folklore waiting to be purchased -- to be treasured for their holiday beauty. But for her, the quaint little tree surpassed the most beautiful of pines.

"Barnabas! This is an old feather tree, made from dyed goose and turkey feathers. It’s just the same as the one I grew up with."

With a light hand, her fingers brushed fondly across the blend of green feathers wired to the wooden dowel. His keen eyes quickly caught sight of the artificial needles falling in a light shower as the tree sadly gave up more of what little it had to give.

"I found it in a divine little shop in town!" Her chuckle, full and rich, charmingly reacted to her remembrances filled with laughter of past Christmases....of innocent memories untarnished with the last few years of darkness.

"As kids, we called them tannenbaums because they resembled the sparse silver fir of Germany."

Barnabas, his face beginning to frown from his disappointment over her poor choice, had envisioned a ceiling high tree decorated with hand blown ornaments glittering in amethyst and gold, topped with a spun glass angel. The lavishly decorated trees he had admired during their Christmas shopping had left their striking images imprinted in his mind. Expectations of their extravagant splendor were, he thought, to be emulated.

"Oh, Barnabas....you’re disappointed! You were expecting something grander. Weren’t you?"

Her own disappointment erased his own. He caught himself before allowing his dark brows to meet together in a total frown. She loved the little tree, unappealing as it was. And sadly, a special understanding dawned. It was the first time in their life together had Barnabas ever noticed Julia feel an attachment to something other than the people she loved....the family she strived to protect. Unlike the vanity of the women that surrounded him in his era, she had no need for fancy baubles. Value laid inside her, not outside.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her and if it meant putting up with this pitiful excuse of a silver fir, he would -- simply to see the pleasure that came from her. Straightening his proud carriage, he quickly lifted the corners of his mouth into an approving smile, turning his full attention to her.

"Of course not, my love. I adore anything that is a part of you!"

Desire slipped into her eyes. Julia’s lips pleasantly brushed against his, her arms tightly giving his neck a hug of assurance. For years, her life with him had presented many hardships. To love this man now brought her only joy and she pushed aside those years of misery. Her breath whispered intimately her promise close to his ears.

"Thank you, Barnabas! You’ll see. This will be a marvelous Christmas!"

* * * * * * *

Contentment stirred sweetly in the coziness of the elegant four poster. The heavy tapestry fabric, blended of rich colors, draped over its wooden frame to ward off the nighttime chill. The bedroom bloomed of the past with the flickering of firelight. Its gold flames, leaping in their hearth, stretched their reflections across the dark pine paneling, enhancing the intimacy shared between the couple the room claimed in its glow.

The Christmas spirit had been extended to their bedroom. A figure of Belsnickel had found a place on the mantelpiece among the poinsettias in full bloom resting beside him. Fur clad, resembling Saint Nicholas, he stood in his hooded cloak carrying packages in one arm, but a switch in the other -- giving out one or the other as to who he saw fit.

It was quiet in the deepest part of the night. Peaceably quiet. Here, in his bedroom, was their comfortable haven that the solitude of the night granted, where secrets held back for too many years no longer hid behind the forgotten sorrow of their eyes. The tense moments that had gripped them had long vanished.

Barnabas Collins settled under the blankets layered on top of him. The cool touch of Julia’s feet slid closer between the calves of his legs, seeking his warmth. She kissed him softly once between his shoulder blades, her lips lingering in a lover’s touch, grateful for his acceptance of their cold intrusive.

A deep, thick moan rose from his throat as her own movement warmed him. A moan of contentment that came from her rehabilitating constancy she brought to him. It was a time of serenity -- a sense of well-being, that all was safe and secure.

"I love you," she whispered with a drowsy smile as she snuggled closer. The words came easily now, hovering a fraction of an inch from his skin. No longer was there a fear of her heart shattering from the revelation of her hidden words.

Julia’s personality shone through her voice, claiming a distinctive flavor of its own while reflecting her many qualities. It was raspy, almost straining, when she was upset as though she couldn’t reach the high notes of a low soprano. When she was firm it would change to a razor edge arrow, the sharp point flared with determination, ready to pierce. But now, during intimate moments shared between them, it was whispery--yet husky--alluring even to his sleepy senses.

As they laid together under the covers, her breath was steady against his back in harmony with his own. A harmony to last a lifetime. He desperately loved her, had told her more times than he could remember....offering her his heart, but not yet his name. Men had taken mistresses in his polite society. But Barnabas Collins was a man of honor and Julia was not a class beneath him. He admired and respected her -- she was no less than any man’s equal -- yet he still shared his bed with her unwedded. So why, a product of his upbringing, was he punishing himself... and worse yet, allowing her to be in his own punishment?

Her love for him had always been unconditional. He knew that. She never placed any demands on him for herself -- only that of his own self. She claimed herself a modern woman, a nonconformist, never one to follow the rules of the game. What felt so magically comfortable at this moment, the voice of conscience was telling him it was not. Barnabas knew she was settling for less. But deep within his subconscious, the uncertainty he constantly had to bear over life laid tortured by its burdens. His memories were strong, holding him prisoner to his past, mystifying himself as he tried to grasp what he couldn’t understand. There was something he could not yet ask her.

The bite of winter with its slap of icy winds reminded him of the demands of the weakening fire. Barnabas begrudgingly slipped out from under the weight of his blankets...away from her warm embrace. His efforts were quiet for as not to disturb her. Only two small pieces of the soft pine wood remained by the hearth as he grumbled to himself. Refilling the wood box had been the least important thought on his mind tonight and now he would need to go downstairs for the necessary chore.

He placed the remaining splits of wood across the L-shaped andirons, designed to hold the logs off the floor of the fireplace for more efficient burning. Their brass legs curved as elegant as any that might be found on a Chippendale chair. Rubbing his hands together, he brushed off the sticky chips of the pine left clinging to his palms.

The chill of the room fell on his bare body as he stepped towards the armoire, snatching his robe, made of the finest blend of cashmere. Then, sliding his feet into his slippers, he opened the bedroom door quietly, not to awaken her. But the quick click of its closing brought her auburn head to rise. She was the lightest of sleepers.

"Barnabas?" Julia whispered lightly, hearing the creak of the floorboards his feet made with each step taken down the hallway .

**********

The ever-present scent of a smoky fire now intermingled with the freshness of Christmas greenery, overpowering the damp mustiness seeping through the old plaster on chilly nights. It was a house that spoke of the years it had withstood as much as the man who called it his home.

Barnabas lit only a few of the candles on the stand-in for a live tree sitting near the fireplace; enough light to enable him to choose the logs stacked against the bricks of the hearth. The darkness of the night offered a glimmer of hope from its ugliness that the bright sunlight of the day could not hide. Its twinkling flicker of candlelight lent a sense of time gone by. He tried to envision Julia as a child, so sure of what life would be even at a young age. Steadiness of her caliper did not reveal itself from just maturity, but from a solid beginning.

His back bent, forward from his waist, he returned in his efforts to collect the splits of chosen firewood into his arms. At first, he thought it his imagination -- a whisper of the wind -- until it reached his ears a second time.

"Barnabas?"

A child’s sweet voice, familiar from his past, caught his breath as he turned around. She stood before him, just as he had remembered her. Her fawn colored hair cascaded in a straight flow down her back, the muslin bleached cap snug around her head. Sprinkled across her nose remained the childhood freckles, adding to all her innocence....a child’s innocence.

"Sarah! My sweet little Sarah!"

* * * * * * * * * * ** ** * *

Barnabas felt a warm sensation embrace his heart at the sight of the small figure in front of him. It had been over four years since her last appearance before him -- a memory what should have been of joy, except for her anger at him...his own anger within himself. Sarah had scolded him for his evil deeds of harming others and reminded him of the childhood verse he had taught her.

The memory was not a pleasant one, held only in his mind perhaps for its importance -- a crucial turning point in his life’s direction. It was a moment of enlightening, forcing himself to reclaim a conscience he had lost. But, Barnabas owed her more. Sarah had been the one to stop him...the one to save Julia from certain death by his own enraged hands.

"I promised you I would come back, Barnabas," she said in her priceless voice -- a child’s voice, containing all its marvel of life’s speculations and questions.

"Yes, you did Sarah. But it’s been so long." He reflected back on his first sight of the little unexpected bundle of hope pressed close to his mother’s bosom. It was the last baby her childbearing womb would bear. He and Sarah both had taken their first breath of life in a small borning room tucked away at the back of this very house, its location chosen for the seclusion. It was a room seldom used for its reason and, at times, had seen death instead of the arrival of a new life.

Barnabas’ arms ached to place them around the little sister whom he had raised, only to release her tragically to an early grave, mourning her precious memory instilled forever within him.

"Do you remember the verse I told you?" she asked as she looked up his towering frame, forcing him to remind himself.

"Yes...yes I do," he replied. His voice altered to a more gentle tone reserved only for her.

"I’ve come back for you like I promised. You have been forgiven, Barnabas, for you have found the goodness still within you. Now you can come home."

"Home?" Barnabas repeated, shaking his head perplexed. "Sarah, I do not understand! You must tell me more!" His unexpected reluctance at her invitation surprised him, for at one time he would have considered it a blessing.

"Come, Barnabas!" She held out her small hand, waiting for his.

"Barnabas?"

The sudden interruption of Julia’s voice from the second floor landing distracted him as he looked past Sarah. Her bare feet descended the worn stairs, as she drew the sash tighter to her robe wrapped around her. She called for him once more in a hush tone, a sleepy look across her face. Her eyes squinted, narrowing in an effort to see as she adjusted to the candlelight. Julia’s gasp stopped her on the third step before she found her way down to the bottom of the stairway. Her heart pounded thickly in her chest as her eyes widened, focusing on the recognizable apparition standing before Barnabas. She turned to him, waiting for an explanation, noticing his face reflecting both joy and yet confusion.

"She’s come back to me, Julia! Sarah wants me to go home with her!"

His words stung her with a special sharpness. He smiled....but his eyes expressed fear.

Terror struck in her own heart at his words as if a warningbell had just sounded. She felt her emotions grip her, alert to the danger for him and the heartbreak for herself. Only the sheer willpower of her own resistance kept her weakening legs from crumbling beneath her. She leaned onto the wobbly banister for its support, a steadiness it did not really have to offer.

Barnabas’ eyes caught Julia’s for the trace second given to them...the panic expressed in their brief exchange. A second’shesitation seemed an eternity.

Sarah saw their eyes meet and hold. Sensing that this woman held the strong capacity to prevent her brother from leaving, made a quick move forward, grabbing Barnabas’ hand.

"Come, Barnabas!" she urged with a tug, waiting for his fingers to grasp her own, to accede to her invitation. His eyes shifted down to what was nothing more than a translucent shape and a voice.

The opportunity was there, given to him by one that he held so dear. This was what he had wanted, had strived to seek, since released from his chains in his unnatural slumber. His past was being granted back to him that Angelique had so unmercifully taken away, her curse giving him the deepest punishment of

life...loneliness. Now, perhaps, he could answer those voices occasionally calling for him; be among his loved ones he had achingly lost...be reunited with Josette.

Josette. The sweetness of Josette had consumed him. The portrait of her beauty still hung in her bedroom, a room filled with lovely French pieces exquisite in their Empire style. Oils of jasmine -- their delightful fragrance contained in crystal -- rested timelessly upon the vanity for her return.

Unbending had been his persistence in his efforts to recapture the love he had lost -- only to have made mistakes from his heart. Their love for each other was to be eternal....everlasting. But then, Barnabas realized it was the first time in almost a year that her name had rested in his thoughts. A part of his life had been forgotten without his ever having noticed. And now, when he heard Julia’s voice as she softly spoke his name, he knew why as his thoughts leapt forward.

"Barnabas?"

His glance shifted to Julia as she leaned on the banister, standing on the stairway. Her hands clasped the slick cherry wood worn smooth from time.

The expression on her face was different than before. He noticed her face was now surprisingly calm in the soft light of the foyer. There was now a warm glow in her eyes that spoke of understanding of the other’s world, reflecting the unselfishness that enveloped her love. Her expression was giving it away.

Julia was willing to let go...to let him go.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * ** * **

Sarah’s hand was icy cold in her touch, just as his had been once...but was no longer. Only death brought such defervesce. Sarah had passed away almost two centuries before, never to have the opportunity as a young woman to rival her mother with her own beauty. But Barnabas was alive -- his own blood warm, flowing freely through his veins -- and Sarah’s life was over.

His eyes remained steadfast upon Julia. He had just seen his life without her. Just felt the pain knotting in his heart without her by his side. One look of the love she offered told him his future, without doubt, that she was his fate. And suddenly, he understood it all on a much deeper level.

His jaw did its eminent clench. His mind that had rebelled against his heart now reconciled into a peaceable union of acceptance. His clouded conscience saw it clearly now -- sharp and clear -- the classic truth. But it was not for the first time.

The scene of its first emergence years ago, the unwelcome realization, had been tucked away from its unsuitable time of arrival. Old and frail was his body, his flesh ancient; time was now claiming the years owed. Julia had warned him of the impending risks, cautious as she was, but her heeds were met with resistance from his intolerance. He had enough of her boldness, her domineering nature interfering with his dark purposes, derailing his plans. The serum he had demanded too much of, too quickly, was withering him away. Her promise of life without a curse had vanished from his own stubborn impatience. And now, with a deep sense of misery, he would need to seek another victim who’s blood would refurbish his eternal youth.

<"You need blood. Take mine!">

There was no fear in her eyes. The disgust was not there. Julia was offering herself willingly, knowing what he was...accepting him...loving him.

That moment of discovery -- the hint of his destiny -- had exhausted him. The knowledge stunned him as much as her offering as he collapsed his tired body against the back of the chair. Julia had the power, not a strength emanating from a dark side of evil, but from her love. She had the capability within her to take him away from what he did not want to give up -- the hope of his past rightfully claiming him.

<"You will always be Dr. Hoffman to me. You must!">

His constraint had confused her. His rejection was painful to her heart. In defense, his shield had risen -- keeping her at a distance. Walling himself up inside with his obsession of his past, his response was to deny to himself what he tempted destiny to change.

Even now, he opened himself to the vulnerability of loving her, soothing his wounds, yet holding back of himself. He was not giving her the ultimate commitment shared between a man and a woman. But their fate had been sealed long ago, a fact that could no longer be ignored. His time was the present time. Here with Julia.

Barnabas slowly shook his head, releasing Sarah’s hand -- releasing his grasp from his past and of death.

"I can’t, Sarah. I can’t go with you."

He kneeled down closer to Sarah....closer for her understanding. The look in his face already was saying goodbye.

"Sarah....remember how sad it made you feel because it seemed Mother and Father did not love each other...that they were not happy?"

Sarah nodded her head in response, but with sadness marked on her face. Both she and Barnabas had watched in sorrow what only an offspring can absorb through suffering eyes. Over time, their quiet glances would observe their parents gradually erode the love that had once flourished enough to conceive them. In helplessness they watched as Joshua Collins turned away from their mother and the love she had to offer. His distraction had sent her into the grasp of another who’s comfort she would seek and would not escape. The warmth that touched her lips from the contents of a decanter was the only substitute she sought.

"Then you must understand, Sarah. I have found with Julia what I have sought all my life. I love her Sarah. She makes me happy, the way it should be between a husband and a wife. I can’t give up what is so precious for many to find."

He hesitated as his handsome head elegantly turned towards Julia once more. He looked at her, then was silent for a moment before he spoke.

"I belong here, now in this time, with you as my wife. There is no one and nothing I have wanted more than you."

Julia drew in a steadying breath, her chin quivering as the rush of her heartbeat danced in her chest. She was desperate to believe his acknowledgment, but would not yet allow her mind to accept his decision. The words of courage and genuine love trembled from her lips.

"Barnabas...please. Consider what you may be giving up to stay here with me."

"I am," he replied promptly. He gave her a slow, widening smile filled with assurance. He seemed remarkably confident about things now. The burden of his uncertainty had been released from its deepest confines.

"Nothing I have done has felt as right as this!"

His words warmed the lingering night air that chilled her. There was a silence between them, though their hearts were speaking loudly. Eyes of hazel and brown softness gazed back with an equal intensity that only love can share -- eyes capable of penetrating within one’s secret confines, capturing one’s soul in its taking. There was nothing to hold back of himself now....no secrets left hidden in despair.

Clutching together the sides of her robe across her chest with a tightness, Julia smiled through her tears at the realization that he had finally freed himself from the last of his binding chains.

Barnabas stood between his past and his future, as he turned his attention back to his little sister for the last time. It was a feeling that all seamen carried with them. A sensation, perhaps a premonition, that one day each would stand upon the cliffs overlooking the blue waters of the ocean as the seagulls swooped down among the white caps in their endless search to feed. Watch -- as the sails of their vessel flash in the sunlight until it was only a tiny white speck against the horizon -- stranding them as it headed home without them. But in an overwhelming sense of composure, Barnabas knew he was not being left alone and, by his own choice, was staying in a better place to call home.

The soft brush of cashmere rubbed against his legs as he raised himself up. His soulful eyes that held more pain than most looked down upon the child’s disappointment, a sigh escaping before he spoke. He tried to explain in a way that was appropriate for a child’s ears. She was too young to understand the intensity shared between a man and a woman. In her short life, she had only seen the misery it produced. In its irony, this was her own curse to carry.

"Sarah....I have always thought of you as my daughter....a daughter that I will never have. Please understand that I have changed. My life belongs now, in this time. I need Julia...love her more than you can understand." Shaking his head with the newfound knowledge he held, he continued with a certainty. "I can’t give that up, Sarah...my future depends on it."

Sarah drew back, standing a little distance away, feeling once more an outsider cast aside. Her little voice was frightened, cracking in his rejection.

"But, Barnabas! You promised me we would never be apart. My only happiness has always been with you, Barnabas. I am lonely without you!"

He was so much more than just an older sibling. Sarah relied on him, needed him, to give her the love that had been absent from their own father. Barnabas was more of a loving paternal figure than a brother and Sarah would often wish he had been.

"I know, Sarah. You and I have both shared the punishment of loneliness. Yet time has cruelly separated us...but it will never separate what we feel in our hearts for each other."

Her brother had been given a second opportunity to live his life the way it should be, but why couldn’t she, in her innocence, be given the same? Sarah looked up at the kissing ball hanging above them. Of the blend of mistletoe and evergreen holding the spirits of children awaiting their birth in its sphere.

"There is a way, Barnabas!"

"What do you mean, Sarah?"

Her small figure was fading in a smoky mist, but with a smile -- an expression of hope -- on her face as she lifted her arm, pointing towards Julia.

"She has been your savior and she shall be mine. If you cannot come to me, Barnabas, then I will come back to you."

Barnabas blinked painfully the tears stinging his eyes as he watched the muted shadow dissolve into nonexistence.

"Sarah!"

She was gone, leaving only a promise weaved into a riddle he did not understand.

As he stood alone in the Drawing Room, Barnabas knew he had done the right thing. For once in his vast lifetime, his mind and his heart told him the same.

A touch of a comforting hand rested gently upon the slope of his shoulder. He recognized that touch -- the same she had offered the last time Sarah’s leaving had left him distraught in a painful sorrow. He had cruelly rejected her compassion then. But Julia’s strength and belief in him had been strong. She stayed...and he was grateful she had.

His arms gathered her quickly this time, clinging to his source of life and to the comfort that her steadiness could soothe. There had never been another he had felt so close to; a closeness built through their enormous trials and secrets shared together. The passion of his life was within his embrace.

"I couldn’t do it, Julia!" he whispered desperately. "I couldn’t leave because I realized you are my life!"

His arms were strong around her body, leaving her almost breathless from their strength. The soft fibers of cashmere tickled the tender skin of her neck, reminding her it was all real and not a dream.

"So long I needed to believe that I could capture what I had lost. But her hand was so cold, Julia...so remindful of death!"

"You don’t need to explain to me, Barnabas," she conceded, adding softly, "I understand....completely."

He leaned back slightly. Tilting his head down, he faced her in the candlelight searching first for the understanding she spoke of. Then, the lines of distress quickly erased, as tenderness melted those same lines wrinkled into his skin.

"But, I owe you so much more than I have given!" he pleaded. "You deserve more than what I’ve been able to give...what I didn’t feel I had in myself to give."

"We both have changed from each other, Barnabas. But it’s not a time for forgiveness. I gave you that and my love a long time ago. We are the lucky ones now...we still have the chance and each other."

There was an undertone of firmness, an undeniable ring of truth in her voice. Barnabas released her slowly from his embrace, standing back to look her full in the face as his head tilted down once more with a smile her eyes caught. They were so rare -- his smiles. She had captured each one, copying them in her mind with every detail of their softness...of the smoothness that stretched across his thin lips. The slightest tinge of blue clung to their color.

"My dear love...I believe there is a request I must officially ask of you."

Julia shook her head as they stood under the magic of the kissing ball, surrounded in the amber light that softened their images in the room. The invisible promise of a new heartbeat, soon to start beating, was hopeful from the desire filling their eyes. It was the moment of a new beginning for another.

She took a breath with a small laugh, her chin held high, as if marriage would make a difference to her. "It’s not necessary to ask, Barnabas. My heart has been yours all along."

His lips softly kissed her eyes that held more wisdom than any he had ever known. Reaching out for his hand as he accepted hers with a gentle squeeze, they took that final step closer together.

* * * * * * * * * * * **

Five Years Later

Spicy scents of the season -- of orange peels and cloves -- blended with the colorful details in the Old House. It’s period pieces of old-fashioned charm had now mixed graciously with today’s conveniences. The brightening of life had brought a new special meaning to the Old House.

Christmas is meant for families. It had been years since the tender thought of being a family man had entered Barnabas Collins’ mind. Yet now, in the same vintage house as his own beginning two centuries before, he had made a new family -- flourishing with the love shared among them. The years of waiting and wanting were gone.

Her auburn hair, like her mother’s, was pushed back by a band of green velvet, a stray lock dangling beside the corner of her eye with a mind of its own. Eyes of brown softness, resembling her father’s, were filled with the sparkle of Christmas. She was a gift that love brings -- a sharing of each other.

"Papa! Papa! Hurry! Belsnickel has come!"

Barnabas laughed delightedly with obvious pride at his offspring. He looked into his daughter’s eyes as he thought of another in a life so far away that it was now more a mist of a dream than reality. But the bright yellow images of a certain big bird she wore on her fleece sleeper reminded him it was not. She was a child of this time, a product of a man that had now claimed the same time as his own.

The same little feather tree stood on top of the maple table, their beloved ritual now accepting their union each year with pride. Well-dressed packages, wrapped in colored papers, smothered the tabletop until overflowing to the floor.

The white rubber soles of her footed sleeper scooted a pathway through the presents waiting to be opened. A moment more to wait was too long to endure.

"Sarah! You must wait for Mutti!"

"Where is she, Papa? I can’t wait!" She wrinkled her nose with impatience at her father’s insistence as she jumped onto his lap. There was a special bond between them that went beyond father and child.

The fragrance of talcum and aloe swept past him with a breathless charm. It was the sweetest of tender scents that only a young child carries. The soft gentle soap and powder that her mother used to bathe her the night before clung with a pleasant sensation to his senses. For a parent, it is a fleeting moment worth capturing. The memory of the fresh innocence and joy the youngest years of a child can fulfill remains forever.

A flash of brightness would soon be the anxious child’s answer as Julia Collins snapped the first photo of Christmas morning with her daughter.

"Now, Sarah. Now, you can open your presents. Let’s see what Belsnickel brought you this year!"

Julia smiled warmly at her four year old as she recalled her own excitement over the most special of gifts given to her. The prospect of parenthood had been a surprise to both, but a blessing to each worth the taking. It was a continuation of life and the expression of love between Barnabas and herself.

As her loving parents watched the youngest of Collins unwrap her surprises with giggles of delight, the same clock on the mantle looked down onto the family as it had for 200 years...tired, but now contented.

A savior had been born on this day to forgive all of mankind their sins. As Barnabas Collins looked over at his wife, overcome with emotion, he knew that he had captured the enchantment of the Yuletide magic. Christmas is a season of giving, yet the spirit of giving was Julia’s all year round.

A certain little riddle echoed pleasantly its mystic tune in his mind. He understood it now. Yes...it was true. Julia was both Sarah’s and his salvation. The unbroken tradition of the ancient legacy would continue -- light and warmth had indeed returned from the darkness.

The End - Happy Holidays!