[February 17th] [Perry Mason] Candles and the Snow, 17

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Candles and the Snow, scene 17
Day/Theme: February 17th - It is not light we need, but fire
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Hamilton Burger, Mignon Germaine, Jack Garson (OC)
Rating: G

Time Period: The past, before Mignon and Jack are married.


By Lucky_Ladybug

It figured that something would go wrong eventually with their little jaunts. On one of their daytrips to the ski lodge, Hamilton managed to get himself all turned around on the slope when a sudden blizzard hit. He wandered around for a while, only succeeding in traveling to the next slope over instead of to the bottom. When his mistake was realized, he grumbled to himself in frustration.

The ski trips would be a lot more interesting if the three of them did not go their separate ways upon arriving. But Jack always wanted the expert slopes, which Hamilton knew he was not ready for, and Mignon, who had never particularly warmed up to skiing, preferred walking through the snow or staying in the lodge. Occasionally they met on a simpler slope and Jack and Hamilton skied down while Mignon watched and descended from a nearby snowshoe trail. But Jack was too restless to do that for long, so eventually they would end up parting ways again.

Jack would probably get lost on this slope himself, Hamilton decided, since it was not the type he usually catered to. Not that determining that really made Hamilton feel any better. By now he was just exasperated and wanted to get down.

It wasn’t any less confusing, but definitely more pleasant, when he met up with a lost but equally confused Mignon towards nightfall.

“Mignon?” he called, recognizing her dark clothing. “What are you doing over here?”

“Where is ‘here’?” Mignon returned as she started towards him.

Hamilton was embarrassed. “That’s . . . a good question,” he said lamely. “I don’t know.”

“And I thought you were an excellent skier,” Mignon commented.

“Jack’s the expert,” Hamilton said. “I’m usually just along for the ride.”

“Heading downhill should help, I would think,” Mignon said.

“It would, in general,” Hamilton agreed. “But there’s a steep drop-off around here somewhere. What with all the snow flying around, I can’t see far ahead enough to figure out where it is.”

“Are you sure the drop-off is nearby?” Mignon said with a quirked eyebrow. “If you’re so turned around, you might have left it some time back.”

“I realize that,” Hamilton said. “And maybe I did. I’ll admit I’m not sure about it.

“I don’t suppose you have any better idea where we are?”

“No,” Mignon confessed. “Have you seen Jack?”

“He always takes the daredevil slopes,” Hamilton said. “I’m not brave enough for that. I haven’t seen him since we started out.”

Mignon nodded slowly. “He might have realized we’re not back,” she said. “It’s getting dark. The ski patrol might come looking for us soon.”

“If we had some kind of a light, we could signal to them,” Hamilton mused.

“We won’t be able to keep warm with a simple light,” Mignon said. “If we had something to burn we could start a fire.”

“We could burn the skis and snowshoes,” Hamilton said, only half-sarcastic. “Only then we wouldn’t be able to travel if we needed to.”

Mignon nodded. “And I don’t see any fallen branches on trees.”

Hamilton sighed. “We’ll have to stay in the open as much as possible and keep moving to be warm,” he said.

“What about the mysterious drop-off?” Mignon wondered.

“Well . . . we’ll have to be careful,” Hamilton said.

“If we discover it without warning it will be too late to be careful,” Mignon said.

“You’re right,” Hamilton conceded.

He moved slowly over the snow, using his poles to shuffle along instead of skiing. Mignon kept pace beside him, looking out towards the darkening sky through the falling snow.

“Jack might be inside the lodge toasting his success, not even aware that we’re missing,” she commented.

“He might think we’re still coming,” Hamilton said. “But I think he’ll get worried soon enough, if he isn’t already.”

“I suppose,” Mignon said.

After a moment of silence Hamilton said, “You really never saw snow until you came out here?”

“Snow is very rare in New Orleans,” Mignon said. “The residents could probably list the times it’s snowed on one hand. I was never around to catch it in the act.”

“And you didn’t take a vacation or a trip to someplace that had snow?”

“My family was very poor,” Mignon said. “We didn’t take trips.”

“You said ‘was’,” Hamilton noted. “Are they . . .”

“They’re alive,” Mignon said. “And still poor, to be honest. Once I started work I provided for them to have a more comfortable existence, but when I moved out they told me not to do that for them any longer, that they could manage and I needed the money for myself. When I began living on my own I saw that it was true.”

“You must have started working awfully young,” Hamilton said.

“I lied about my age and took my first job after school when I was twelve,” Mignon said.

“Is that how you ended up so serious? Growing up too soon?” Hamilton was undeniably surprised by these glimpses into Mignon’s past. She was an enigma, scarcely speaking of the life she had led before arriving in Los Angeles. And Hamilton had wondered, many a time.

“I wouldn’t think so. Not entirely anyway,” Mignon replied. “I always had to do a lot to support my family to keep us off the streets. We were almost foreclosed on several times. By the time I took the first job I’d chosen for myself, I considered myself quite an adult. Of course I wasn’t. I see now how childish and arrogant I was back then.”

It was hard for Hamilton to imagine Mignon like that. “When did you take that other job?” he wondered. “The one where they called you The Ice Queen?”

“Ah, that one. When I was eighteen,” Mignon said. “I kept it until I came to Los Angeles a couple of years later.”

“Do you ever regret coming out here?”

“Should I?” Mignon returned. “I had my doubts when I first arrived, but I settled in before long. And once I did there was plenty to keep me occupied.”

“You weren’t homesick?” Hamilton paused, turning to look at her.

“Yes, I was,” Mignon admitted. “Sometimes I still am. I had too much pride to call my family and tell them.”

“Maybe you just didn’t want them to worry about you,” Hamilton suggested.

“Maybe,” Mignon said. “Oh, I’m sure that was part of it too. But I don’t have illusions about myself; I know I’m a proud person.”

She stopped, a grim smirk tugging at her features. “How odd,” she remarked. “I’ve never told anyone about this before.”

“Not even Jack?” Hamilton was surprised again.

“No. You’re the first. Not that it’s necessarily something to take pride in.” She shivered. She had gone on for some time now without feeling it and then ignoring it, but the cold was catching up with her at last.

Hamilton stepped as close to her as he could between the skis and snowshoes, drawing an arm around her black-clad shoulders. Grateful for any bit of added warmth, Mignon leaned into his partial embrace.

“What about you?” she said.

“I told you about me,” Hamilton said.

“More than I’ve told, it’s true,” Mignon conceded. “I’ve known for a long time that you are from Detroit, but you consider yourself a Californian and have no desire to leave the state. I’m aware that you’re going to inherit the family house here in Los Angeles and that the bedrooms have old floral wallpaper. I know that you’re studying hard in college but you still like to have a good time. I know about your old paper route, lemonade stand, and other various snapshots of your childhood.”

“So what it is you want to know now?” Hamilton asked, honestly curious.

A smile tugged on Mignon’s lips. “Actually, I’m not sure,” she said. “Most other things I know about you have come from observing you and what you’re interested in talking about and doing. Which is perhaps more revealing than assorted facts from the past.”

“I think all of it’s important, if you’re trying to figure out what someone’s like,” Hamilton said.

“I suppose,” Mignon said.

She glanced out at the swirling white. “We’d better keep moving,” she said. “That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Hamilton hurried to keep up with her as she started off again. Mignon was often unpredictable. Was she uncomfortable with the conversation?

As it turned out, she was the next one to speak. “It’s strange not only for me to reveal my secrets but that I’m alright with doing so,” she remarked. “Normally I don’t like telling about myself.”

“It must be the cold,” Hamilton said. “Maybe hypothermia is starting to set in.”

She smirked at him. “It must be,” she said. “Or I’m under a black magic spell.”

“Say, how did you get into all of that anyway?” Hamilton wondered. “White and black magic and voodoo. Was everyone in your family a believer?”

“Actually, no,” Mignon said. “Only my grandmother. She followed the vodun religion since converting in her youth. My father and mother didn’t believe and considered it all nonsense. They were never happy with the interest I showed in it when I visited my grandmother.”

“Did they ever try to stop you?”

“They asked for my grandmother not to tell me about it until I was old enough to make my own decisions,” Mignon said. With a smile playing on her lips she added, “And as soon as I and they felt I was ready, I went to her and had her teach me everything. It sounded right to me. I realized I had been converted for a long time before that. I had just never been allowed to practice.”

Hamilton shook his head. “It’s never sounded right to me,” he said. “And I don’t understand; I’ve heard about some people who practice both voodoo and Christianity. How do they mix?”

“It’s really an individual matter,” Mignon said. “You see, when the missionaries arrived in places such as Haiti, where vodun was heavily practiced, many of the natives did not want to give up their customs and beliefs when they converted to Christianity. They often felt they didn’t need to. Instead, they blended all the teachings. Some parallels already existed, which is interesting when you start studying them.”

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. “How do you explain that?”

“I can’t,” Mignon said. “Except that perhaps in the beginning, all religious teachings originated from one sole source. Then, as various peoples went their own ways throughout time, they took their own interpretations of those teachings with them. And gradually, new cultures and religions and ideas began to form.”

“Huh. Interesting,” Hamilton said.

“Vodun isn’t right for everyone,” Mignon said, “but I’ve always felt it’s right for me.”

“Well,” Hamilton shrugged, “to each their own.”

They wandered for a bit more, thinking a lot and talking some. Then at last the ski patrol, with an insistent Jack tagging along, found them. Jack let out a whoop of triumph and relief as he went to them.

“So here you are!” he declared. “I was wondering what kind of mischief you two had gotten yourselves in.”

“The worst kind,” Mignon said.

Hamilton gave a sage nod. “The cold’s really been getting the better of us,” he said.

“Then that will have to be remedied,” Jack said. “Some hot chocolate should do the trick!”

“That sounds fine,” Hamilton said.

“Back at the lodge,” Mignon interjected.

“Of course,” Jack said.

Hamilton often thought about that time through the next years. It was the first occasion whereupon Mignon had really started to open up to him. In the past when he had asked, she had usually brushed it off or changed the subject. That night she had not only answered his questions, she had willingly pursued the topic on her own.

Although he still did not know what she had wanted him to say when she had turned it around and inquired about him. Mignon still kept many of her secrets.