The Mighty Quinns: Devin. Kate Hoffmann

she reminded him.

      “I’m not a child,” he muttered. Hell, he was nearly thirteen years old and he’d been making this same walk to the Winchesters every Christmas since he could remember. But his attitude about the party at the end of the walk had changed.

      Used to be that the prospect of getting an expensive gift was all he could think about. There had never been much money for Santa, so the Winchester gift always made up for it. On top of that, there was food—all sorts of treats that he’d never tasted. And he got to gaze at the beautiful Christmas tree that soared to the ceiling in the front parlor, and indulge in cups of punch that tasted like fizzy sherbet.

      The Winchesters were different...special. Everyone knew they were rich, but with all that money came respect and undeniable power. One did not speak badly of the Winchesters. In fact, everyone in town was beholden to them.

      Frederick Winchester owned the town—he owned the huge textile mill that sat on the river, most of the businesses in the quaint downtown, many of the smaller homes that lined the quiet streets. If the family didn’t like someone, it became impossible for him to live in Winchester.

      Without her job in the Winchester mansion, Dev’s mother had nothing. They paid rent on their little house directly to Frederick Winchester, they bought things on credit at the grocers—also owned by Winchester—and when someone was sick, they went to the Winchester Clinic.

      Dev stood behind his mother as she rapped sharply on the ornately carved front door. A few moments later, one of the Winchester children opened the front door. There were no servants on duty that night. For one night a year, the family would wait on their staff.

      It was a Christmas tradition, but even with the forced gaiety, it made for an uncomfortable evening. At no other time were the stark differences between the “haves” and the “have-nots” clearer.

      “Good evening,” the young girl said.

      “Good evening, Miss Elodie,” his mother replied. “You look lovely tonight.”

      “Thank you, Mary. So do you.” She stepped aside, and Dev and his mother walked into the wide entry hall. Elodie turned to Dev and held out her hand. “Hello, Devin. It’s nice to see you again. May I take your coats?”

      Dev stared at her hand for a long moment, then gave it a quick shake. “Thanks,” he muttered. He slipped out of his jacket and waited as his mother handed the girl her coat, as well. Elodie disappeared for a moment, then returned without the coats.

      “Let me take you in,” she said, leading them toward the huge parlor to the right of the sweeping stairway. Dev kept his eyes fixed on Elodie. He remembered her from Christmases past, but she’d grown up over the past year. She wasn’t a little girl anymore but a confident young lady, tall and graceful and—pretty.

      “Mama, Papa, look who’s here. Mary and her son, Devin.”

      The entire family surrounded them, offering Mary their holiday greetings. Dev did as was expected of him. He shook their hands and made his greetings. When the family pointed to the tables loaded with food, Dev politely chose some treats, then found a quiet place to sit near the butler’s pantry. There were other children at the party, but they’d also been warned to mind their manners and they were sitting quietly, enjoying the cakes and candies near the Christmas tree.

      The grand finale of the party would be the gift-giving, the part that Dev hated most of all. Frederick Winchester would present each of the children with an extravagant gift and then would wait for each of his employees to express their deepest gratitude to Winchester for giving them the job that fed their families and put a roof over their heads.

      Of course, there were tears and long descriptions of the kindness that the Winchesters showed their inferiors. Dev had to wonder how his mother did it, year after year, never questioning her place in their world, never quibbling over her meager pay or her long work hours.

      Dev wondered how much longer he’d be able to pretend that this was all right with him. Last year, he’d refused to open the gift he’d been given—a brand-new PlayStation, he’d discovered when he’d opened it later that night. He didn’t have the money to buy the games, but then, Frederick Winchester wouldn’t have considered that.

      He’d taken the gift out to the garage the day after Christmas and smashed it to pieces with a hammer. And when his mother had asked where it was, he’d told her that he’d donated it to the toy drive at school.

      Dev hated having to bow and scrape to the Winchesters just because they were rich. But this job was important to his mother, and for her, Dev would do anything. It was the only thing that stood between them and poverty. Someday, he’d have an important job that paid well and they’d be able to walk away from Winchesters and their money.

      “Psst.”

      Dev looked up from his plate and noticed a small opening in the door to the butler’s pantry. The door opened a bit farther and he recognized Elodie’s face.

      “What?” Dev asked.

      “You want to see something?” she asked.

      He glanced around, but no one was paying any attention to him sitting alone in the corner of the room. “What?”

      The door opened a little farther. “Come, I’ll show you,” she said.

      Dev set his plate down on a nearby table, then quietly slipped from the room. When he got inside the dark butler’s pantry, her hand gripped his, and he followed after her as they ran through the kitchen to the servants’ stairway. He’d been in the house a number of times over the years with his mother, but he’d never ventured upstairs.

      “Are you sure we should be up here?” he asked.

      “Of course, silly. This is my house. I can go anywhere I want.”

      They seemed to climb stairs forever, the last flight narrow and twisting. Finally, Elodie threw open a door and turned on the lights.

      “Where are we?” he asked.

      “A secret room,” she said. “In the attic.”

      “What’s up here?”

      “Come and see,” she said, drawing him inside.

      The wide room was dominated by a huge table, but it was impossible to distinguish what was on top, as the contents were covered with a sheet. And then, suddenly, Elodie ripped off the sheet and flipped a switch. The table lit up and toy trains began to circle a series of winding tracks.

      Dev stepped closer, fascinated by the sight. There had to be at least ten trains, all winding their way through a number of trestles and tunnels and passing through towns with tiny houses all lit up from the inside. Miniature cars sat at the crossings, waiting for the gates to rise when the trains passed.

      “Holy shit,” Dev muttered.

      “Yeah. Holy shit,” Elodie repeated.

      He glanced over at her and laughed. “Is this yours?”

      She shook her head. “No, it belonged to my grandfather. When he was alive, he used to let us play with it every Christmas, but now my father keeps the door locked.”

      “How did you get in?”

      “I know where the key is,” she said. “I sneak up here all the time. I just have to remember exactly where the trains were when I started and I put them back before I leave.”

      “Why won’t your father let you play with it?”

      “He hates these trains. He and my grandfather never really got along. I miss him.”

      “Where is he?”

      “He died when I was seven,” she said. “He was living in California with my aunt Charlotte.”

      “I’m sorry,” Dev said, surprised to see tears in her eyes. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze.

      “Me,