*Finding Frost* (one shot short)

My name is Jeanelle… No not like that, curl your tongue up and over the “J”.  That’s right!- it should sound more like the “s” in Persian that the “j” in pajamas. Ok, let me start over.  My name is Jeanelle Adessa Cholette Frost.  You can call me Jac though, everyone else does.  I know what your thinking, ‘this girl’s family has a really weird sense of humor naming their daughter Jac Frost’.  That’s what I’m sitting here to write to you about.  You see, there is no Jack Frost.  I mean, how could there be, right? –WRONG.  The thing about Jack Frost, is that he was never actually a he.  And SHE wasn’t even named Frost. 

Actually that is really a great story.  Would you mind if I expounded a little on it? I’d really love to share it with you.

Ok, here goes…

Jacqueline was a normal child… ok, so maybe not so normal.  She did all the things that young children love to do, but through it all, she did a lot of things the other young children couldn’t understand.  She was different.  Not in severe ways that stood out like a red leaf in the snow.  But all the same, little by little all the other children migrated toward more normal pursuits, instinctively leaving Jacqueline to hers.

No really, it wasn’t anything bad, it’s just that Jacqueline liked the cold.  She would inspect each snowflake that fell to her hand.  She would test each icicle for clarity of tone.  One day she asked her father for a rather unremarkable looking gift.  What she wanted was for her father to create a long, thin trough with 14 small holes in it and mount it to just above her head on 2 poles outside their home.

Knowing that his daughter’s designs would make themselves apparent and not really seeing any harm in the contraption, he obliged his only daughter creating just what she asked for.  Jacqueline brought a step stool out to the contraption and then ran back inside for something else.  She returned a moment later with a bucket of hot water she’d asked her mother to boil for her.  Stepping up onto the stool she carefully poured the hot water into the trough. 

Out through the holes the hot water dribbled, cooling quickly in the frigid winter air.  -From each of the holes formed a perfect icicle.  Jacqueline groomed her frosty creation for days, treating it to more water on occasion and painstakingly carving the hard ice on other occasions. 

Finally, it was done.  Looking at her creation Jacqueline was, at last, satisfied.  The last part would take no time at all to do, and it didn’t.  Quickly she carved delicate little mallets from a fragrant pine bough that had fallen from the weight of the snow.  Soon, all was in readiness.

When Jacqueline touched the mallets to the icicles, alas, the most beautiful music could be heard throughout the surrounding forest.  For hours she played, composing each strain to be unique among the others, like a snowflake carved from the frost.  As she played, Winter was walking through the woods.  He followed the sound to the edge of the forest and stood in the shadow of a large pine as Jacqueline perfected each note from her icicles.  Such a delicate sound, hushed like falling snow but magically alluring.

               Winter could not resist such a sound.  At last he could contain himself no more.  He had to know who this remarkable young lady was!  Clearing his throat so as to not startle her he sought her attention.  The music came to a stop as Jacqueline took in the handsome man before her.  It was obvious that he was no ordinary man from the look of him.  Tall, with hair so pale it was nearly white, eyes the color of blue ice, and in his outstretched hand a perfect shimmering snowflake.

“I do not believe we have met, miss, but you have gifted me with the most beautiful music I have ever heard.  I wish for you to have this in return,” he said and then placed the precious snowflake into her hand, but when he looked up, she was crying.  Each tear drop freezing before it fell.  “My dear, why do you cry?” he asked.

Looking down, Jacqueline blushed so scarlet that her frozen tears melted and fell to the snow.  Everyone thought she was strange for her love of snowflakes.  “Sir, I cannot keep this gift.  It will melt.  See, already it molds to the warmth of my hand.”

Winter found himself moved as much by the young woman as he had been by her music.  His heart beat heavily as it raced in his chest.  The same heart he thought must be a cold and frozen as the world he creates.  No one else had ever touched him the way she had.  “My name is Winter.” And as he said that he gently touched the snowflake in her hand refreezing it. 

“My name is Jacqueline,” she said as she stared in awe at the newly frozen snowflake in her hand.  “I wish I could keep this, sir, but alas, I cannot do such wonders as you have just shown me.”

               Gesturing toward her wintery instrument, Winter made a once in a lifetime offer.  “Would you like to be able to do such things? Would you like to come away with me and be my bride?”

               Equal parts pleasure and terror crashed through Jacqueline as she considered the young man, and his unexpected offer.  “You are really Winter?  You make all of the beautiful snow and the glistening icicles?  You freeze the streams and ponds?”  Awe won over her other emotions as Winter nodded his head and blew out a gentle stream of air that crystallized in the air swirling into a pantomime of a winter palace.  “A snow globe!” Jacqueline exclaimed in amazement, unable to believe what she’d just seen. When she blinked the scene in the snow changed and she saw a young couple walking through the forest.  The young woman would blow a kiss and a glittering frost would crystallize on the needles of the pines. 

               “She’s you,” Winter whispered as he leaned toward her.  “I must leave soon will you say you’ll be mine, Jacqueline?”

               Instead of answering right away, Jacqueline reached out for his hand with her free one and pulled him into her home.  A cold chill spread through the front room causing her parents to look toward the door.  Both of her parents, unbeknownst to her, recognized Winter and their jaws dropped as they took in the sight of their daughter’s hand clasped within his.  “Mother, Father, this is Winter,” Jacqueline said by way of introduction, “Winter, my mother Jennette, and my father Gilliam.” 

               ‘How do you do’s’ were politely exchanged as etiquette demanded.  Jacqueline turned to Winter and smiled.  “Sir, you asked me a question a moment ago, and I would answer that now, but before I do, I wish for you to tell my family what it would mean.”

               Suddenly shy for the first time in as long as time, Winter coughed quietly then cleared his throat.  “Sir, ma’am, your lovely daughter has captured my heart and I have asked for her hand in marriage.  I feared greatly that she would find love elsewhere and I would never enjoy her pure heart again.  I am Winter, as my love has said.  I am THE Winter, and I wish to make your daughter the bride of winter.  As my wife, she would of course be removed of this world much of the year as the seasons change.  It occurs to me that in my besotten state, I neglected to entreat you for her hand first.”  And holding his breath he waited for his love’s family to take her away from him.  His heart hammered hard and his pulse roared in his ears as he left the fate of his whole world in the hands of a single mortal couple and their beautiful daughter.

               Coming out of his state of shock, Jacqueline’s father looked to her.  “Is this what you want Jac?”

               Jacqueline looked from Winter, to the snowflake in her palm, to her father, and then back again to Winter.  Nodding her head she whispered, “Yes, I believe it is.”  Gilliam accepted that as it was and offered his hand to Winter.

               “Welcome to the family, son,” Gilliam said as Winter let out the breath he was holding and scooped Jacqueline up into his arms.

               “Jacqueline, be sure that this is what you want.  You will not see your family through 3 seasons.” When Jacqueline uttered her understanding and her desire Winter smiled.  “Then, I take you now, in front of your family, as my wife.  You shall from this moment on be known as Frost.  With this kiss you shall become as I am.”

               And in that moment, with that magical first kiss, my great great grandmother became the first Jac Frost.  -Queen of Winter.  See, I told you it was a good story. 

               Anyway, again, my name is Jeanelle Adessa Colette Frost.  But you can call me Jac.  -My great-great-gramma does.