The Christmas Present: The Pocket Watch Chronicles

by Ceci Giltenan

  “Evan, Granny and I have some things to take care of. I’ll send Freya up with Malina, then perhaps the three of ye can keep Granny company?”

  He nodded vigorously.

  Anita spent the rest of the afternoon being entertained by Agnes’s two oldest great-grandchildren. And just as Gertrude had said, the experience reminded her poignantly of the last Christmas with her own grandfather. They talked and played and she just soaked it in. After several hours she felt herself begin to doze and Freya stepped in. “Now, Evan, Malina, run find yer mama and tell her I’ll stay with yer great granny while she takes a wee rest.”

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday, December 23, 2081

  Castle Carr

  Maggie and Davina spent the rest of the afternoon, overseeing the creation of a comfortable litter. It had short legs on it to hold it about a foot and a half off the ground. They had it fitted with a small, wool-filled mattress and pillows so that Anita could be propped into a sitting position.

  “What is all this for?” asked Logan when he saw the finished product.

  “It’s so Agnes can be easily carried to Mass and attend the upcoming feasts.”

  Logan frowned. “Maggie, I’m surprised at ye. She’s just suffered and apoplexy, she needs rest.”

  Maggie looked at Logan for a moment, trying to decide what to tell him. The truth was usually the best option, but in this case she could be truthful without giving all the details. “Logan, do ye agree that sometimes certain needs outweigh others?”

  “Certainly, but given her condition, I wouldn’t think getting her to Mass was overly important.”

  She took his hands in hers. “My love, the apoplexy was very bad. And yer grandmother has been declining over the last few months to the point that she was already frail.”

  “All the more reason to insist she rest.”

  Maggie shook her head. “The truth is, no amount of rest is going to make the quality of her life better. No matter what I do, she will not live long. This is most surely her last Christmas and our last Christmas with her.”

  “But—”

  “No Logan. Yer grandmother is one of the most vital, energetic people I’ve ever known and she was already in her seventies when I met her. Even if staying in bed and being tended would keep her with us another year—which it will not—it would be at the expense of her comfort, happiness and dignity. And, without the ability to treat the stroke or the underlying conditions which may have caused it, it is only a matter of time before she has another one. She will not be with us long. I know this and so does she. She wants to celebrate Christmas as best she can. I will not deny her that.”

  Logan looked away for a moment. “Ye’re certain?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s make a few last wonderful memories with her. Maretta is too young but the other children aren’t. Let’s not have them remember her sick and in bed. That is not who she is and it’s the last thing she’d want.”

  Logan nodded. The sadness in his eyes tore at Maggie’s heart and tears filled her eyes. Letting go of his hands, she wrapped her arms around him. “I couldn’t love her more if she were my own grandmother. If there were anything at all I could do to change this, ye know I would. This is what she wants.”

  ~ * ~

  Anita dozed off and on into the evening. Each time she woke feeling the pain in Agnes’s body and being unable to move easily, she experienced a moment of panic. But one glance around the room reminded her of the decision she’d made to accept the watch. Although she thought she’d known what to expect, she could never have imagined the reality of it. Even without the miracles of modern medicine, the normal discomfort of an elderly body might have been tolerable if she’d had full mobility. She had never fully appreciated how much simply being able to move easily and slightly readjust her position helped lessen one pain or another. With effort she could move her left arm some, but her left leg was useless. If she wanted to turn on her side, or bend her left knee, or even just move her foot slightly, she needed someone to help her. The fact that she couldn’t communicate exactly what she needed unless she was alone with Maggie made things infinitely worse. Anita’s solace in all of this was that it was Christmas Eve and she wouldn’t have to endure it long. She could say the word in a couple of days.

  Another positive that she hadn’t expected was the ability to feel Agnes’s love for her family. That evening, Maggie and Logan came to take her downstairs. As they entered the room she felt a surge of affection as strong as if it had been Katy or Jack.

  Logan crossed the room and took Anita’s hand. “Grandmother, Maggie tells me ye want to come down to the great hall this evening and then maybe go to Mass with us.”

  Anita squeezed his hand and nodded.

  “Ye’re sure ye wouldn’t rather stay here and rest?”

  Anita glanced past him to Maggie who smiled indulgently at her husband’s back. Anita smiled. She understood. She suspected Logan hadn’t wanted Agnes to overextend herself and perhaps had argued with his wife over this. Anita looked him directly in the eye, squeezed his hand tighter and nodded again. “Ahhyyyye.” The word came out as more of a groan, but he understood.

  He glanced backwards towards Maggie.

  Anita nearly laughed aloud at the expression on the young woman’s face. She couldn’t have said I told you so more clearly if she’d shouted it at the top of her lungs. She turned towards the wardrobe. “I’ll find ye something appropriate to wear.”

  Logan sighed, turning back to Anita. “Then if that is what ye truly wish, I shall carry ye down. Maggie’s prepared quite a throne for ye.”

  Maggie removed a garment from the wardrobe, helped Anita to a sitting position and helped her don a dark green woolen gown that opened in the front. Laces held it together from neck to waist. The white garment Maggie called a léine was visible at the neck, wrists and in front from waist to floor. Then Maggie wrapped a beautiful, soft wool blanket around her shoulders.

  Once Anita was dressed, Logan slipped his arms under her knees and behind her shoulders, lifting her in one smooth motion as if she weighed no more than a child. He carried her out of the room and down the spiral staircase into the great hall.

  When Anita had arrived, in the middle of Agnes’s stroke, she had barely taken in her surroundings. Now she could look at leisure. It was everything she’d imagined a medieval great hall at Christmas would be. There were two large hearths, fires ablaze, at either end of the room. A large wooden table stood near one of them. Trestle tables, consisting of long boards supported on either end by something that resembled saw-horses, were being assembled in the center of the hall and benches placed on either side. A flurry of other activity suggested that they were preparing to serve a meal. The walls were hung with tapestries. Boughs of evergreen and holly adorned doors, windows, mantles and pillars. Torches set in brackets on the walls suffused the room with equal parts light and shadow.

  However, Anita couldn’t possibly have imagined the cacophony of smells she encountered. The pleasant scent of wood smoke and fir boughs blended with the sharper aromas of burning tallow, wet fur and sweat, unmasked by deodorant.

  She also hadn’t imagined how cold it would be. Even with the fires lit, it was frigid. She was thankful when Logan carried her to what looked a bit like a wide lounge chair, placed close enough to a hearth for her to be warmer than the rest of the room.

  Maggie helped settle her on the cushions, covering her with another blanket. “Grandmother, are ye warm enough?”

  Anita nodded.

  Maggie smiled. “There are plenty of blankets. If ye need more, let me know. Ye mustn’t let a chill sink in.”

  A lovely little girl came running towards them. “Can I sit on that nice chair with Great Granny? She can tell me a story.”

  “Me too, me too,” shouted a little boy who looked to be about the same age who was right on her heels.

  Logan frowned. “Edward, ye needn’t shout and Ella, Great Granny isn’t feeling well. It’s hard for he
r to talk. She cannot tell ye stories.”

  Anita reached towards the little girl. She’d love to give her a cuddle even if she couldn’t tell any stories.

  Maggie squatted beside Ella. “It looks like Great Granny would like for ye to sit with her. And maybe ye and Edward can tell her a story.”

  Edward frowned. “I don’t know any stories.”

  “Of course ye do.” Maggie helped Ella onto the chair beside Anita. “Ye know all the stories Great Granny has told ye over the years.”

  “But she already knows all of them,” said Edward, continuing to pout.

  “Aye, she does,” said Maggie. “But even though ye know all of them too, ye still like hearing them.”

  The boy nodded.

  “Well, I suspect Great Granny does too.”

  “Really?” Edward cast Anita a questioning look.

  She smiled and nodded.

  “Yer smile’s crooked, Great Granny,” said Ella.

  Maggie laid a hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “Ella, ye know how Da said Great Granny isn’t feeling well?”

  Ella nodded.

  “Well she is very, very weak, especially on the left side of her body. Which is yer left side?”

  Ella raised her right hand, frowned and then raised her left hand.

  “That’s correct. Her left leg is weak and her left hand is weak. Even the left side of her face is weak.”

  “So she can only smile with her right side?” asked Edward.

  Maggie smiled, obviously pleased that they had understood so well. “Aye, Edward.”

  The boy scrunched up his face, as if trying to smile with only half of it.

  Anita chuckled, causing both children to grin.

  Edward launched into story after story. They were soon joined by Evan and Malina, all four children jumping in to provide details they felt were important.

  As the children talked and laughed, once again Anita felt a sense of overwhelming love for them, which must surely be her link with Agnes.

  As the evening grew late, first Ella, then Edward nodded off—Ella in Anita’s lap and Edward curled up next to Anita’s legs. At one point, Anita herself might have dozed, but she woke as the children were lifted away from her.

  Maggie knelt beside her. “Grandmother, are ye certain ye wish to go to Mass? Perhaps it would be better if ye returned to bed and rested.”

  Anita shook her head. Part of her wished that she could be experiencing this in a stronger, healthier body, but she didn’t want to miss anything. “Maasss.”

  Maggie gave her a warm smile, “If that’s what ye wish. I’m just going to add a few furs to yer covers. It’s a bitter night and the chapel will be cold.”

  When Maggie had finished, the only uncovered skin was Anita’s face.

  Logan, Maggie and Lady Davina walked beside her as two men carried the litter out of the great hall and down the steps. Everyone else fell in behind them.

  Maggie hadn’t exaggerated. When the first gust of icy wind hit Anita’s face, it nearly took her breath away. She smiled to herself. As a native of south Florida, it was a cold day if she had to wear socks. But thanks to Maggie, Anita was cozy in her cocoon of blankets and fur.

  Snow was thick on the ground, muting the sounds of footsteps. Although the snow still fell lightly, the sky was clearing and the moon’s pale light was reflected on the glistening white blanket. The members of the clan began to sing a beautiful carol about the Blessed Virgin as they walked. Although Anita had never heard these words, she recognized the haunting melody as Creator of the Stars of Night. She knew it was an ancient melody and it had always been one of her favorites.

  In this moment, everything was so very beautiful Anita couldn’t stop a tear that trickled down her cheek, blending with the melting snowflakes.

  Logan’s brows drew together. “Is something wrong, Grandmother? Maggie, are ye sure this was a good idea?”

  Anita shook her head. She wanted to say that this was the most peaceful, beautiful Christmas Eve she’d ever experienced. But the only word she managed to form was, “Prreetty.”

  The laird of Clan Carr gave her a tender smile and gently brushed the tear from her cheek. “Aye, Grandmother. It’s very pretty.”

  Mass—the Mass of the Angels they called it—was equally as beautiful. It reminded her of the Latin Masses she remembered from childhood. When it had ended, she allowed Maggie to put her to bed.

  Once alone, Maggie spoke to her in English. “Did you enjoy the Mass? It’s so different to what I was used to, but I do love it.”

  “It was lovely. I’m old enough to remember the Tridentine Mass and it brought back memories. Do you miss it much? The twenty-first century, I mean?”

  “Most of the time I don’t. On Christmas Eve I miss Silent Night and Joy to the World. I miss books. I really miss books. You know, curling up on a rainy day with an old friend like one of the Harry Potter series.”

  “I love the Harry Potter books too. And I’m a big fan of the movies. I can hardly wait until the next one comes out this summer. But I guess you wouldn’t have seen them.”

  Maggie frowned, “But—” a knock at the door interrupted her. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” she whispered before calling, “come in,” in Gaelic.

  Logan and Freya entered the room.

  Logan walked to the bed and kissed Anita’s cheek. “I just wanted to wish ye a good night, Grandmother.”

  Anita touched his cheek with her right hand. “Niiiiiight.”

  “’Tis very late. I’ll say good night too, Grandmother.” Maggie kissed her cheek. “Freya will stay with ye in case ye need anything.”

  Anita nodded.

  “And Freya, call me if ye need me.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  When Maggie and Logan left, Freya settled into the chair next to the bed and took Anita’s hand in hers. “I’ll be right here. Ye need only squeeze my hand if ye need anything at all, my lady.”

  Anita nodded and squeezed the young woman’s hand before closing her eyes. Truthfully, she was exhausted.

  As she relaxed into sleep, images of Christmases when she was a girl flitted through her mind. Her parents had always made things so wonderful. She was an only child—not by design, simply by sad chance. Her parents were married the year after her dad returned from serving in Europe in World War II and her mother became pregnant almost immediately. They wanted a big family but it wasn’t to be. As far as she knew, her mother never conceived again. It was possible that she had miscarriages, but that wasn’t the sort of thing her mother ever spoke about. But because of this, they considered Anita their miracle and lavished their attention on her. Christmases were particularly magical.

  They became the Three Musketeers. She remained close to them their whole lives. It wasn’t that long ago that she had lost them. Oh, Agnes, if you can, tell them how much I miss them. With that thought she drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Thursday, December 25, 1281

  Castle Carr

  When Anita woke the next morning it had once again been to the realization that she was helpless. She had lost control of her bladder in the night and was wet and chilled. She had to be washed and dressed like a child. This was harder than she’d imagined. But then Logan carried her down to the great hall where Maggie helped make her comfortable on her litter, and as the day progressed, she knew everything she suffered was absolutely worth it.

  She hadn’t awakened for the early morning Mass of the Shepherds, but went with the family and clan to the Mass of the Divine Word later in the morning. The morning was clear and the sun made the deep blanket of snow glitter. She had her first look at the castle in daylight and was awed. It looked like something from a fairytale. She tried to burn the image into her memory because she was certain she’d never see anything like it again.

  When they returned to the great hall after Mass, the celebration started with a huge, lavish feast. Her family surrounded her, seeing to her slightest need. Logan was at he
r side much of the day as were Davina, Maggie and the children. There had also been a constant stream of Agnes’s friends who entertained her and reminisced with her.

  When the feast was cleared, minstrels entertained and the dancing started. They moved Anita’s litter so she could see everything. Even though she couldn’t speak—in fact she could barely move—it didn’t matter. She was simply present, soaking it all in, making memories. The laughter, the singing, the crackling of the fire, the flickering candlelight. The aromas of roasted boar, hot spiced wine and fresh bread. The feel of a friendly hand holding hers or a sleeping child curled close. It was a glorious Christmas celebration, unlike any Anita had ever experienced.

  Nor will I ever have this again. A lump rose in her throat at that thought.

  As she pondered this, she realized it wasn’t precisely true. Yes, she’d never be here, in this castle, with these people again. But perhaps the joy she felt came from being fully present, being immersed in the experience. She smiled to herself. She had no choice. Nothing kept one in the present quite as much as immobility.

  She stroked the little head in her lap. She loved holding a sleeping child almost more than anything else. But try as she might, she couldn’t remember a time last Christmas when she simply sat and held one of her grandchildren. Her focus had been elsewhere.

  A tear slipped down her cheek. So this wasn’t all for Agnes, was it, Gertrude?

  ~ * ~

  The hour grew late and Maggie had chivied her children off to bed. When they were all kissed and tucked, she returned to the hall. Anita had been dozing off and on for the last hour. Maggie knew she needed to go to bed too.

  She crossed the hall to the fire near which the litter had been placed. Anita was awake, but weariness was overtaking her. Maggie sat next to her. “Did ye enjoy the feast?”

  Anita nodded, her eyes bright and filled with happiness.

  “I’m so glad. It has been a wonderful day—one I’ll never forget.”

  “Meee…too,” Anita answered with great effort.

  “Good. Now, I think it’s time to help ye to bed.”