At that point, all I wanted to do was crumble into a chair and weep.
But Ian and the children were on the move. We had one more patient to visit. Her name was Molly. When she saw Julia, the two recognized each other.
“What happened to you, Molly?” Julia asked.
“I had my index taken out two days ago. Do you want to see the bandage?” Molly pulled back the covers and revealed a large gauze patch on her side where her appendix apparently had been removed.
“Did it hurt?” Julia asked.
Molly nodded.
“Do you feel better now?”
“A little.”
“Good because we brought Father Christmas to see you.” Julia pointed at Ian as if Molly hadn’t noticed the larger-than-life figure standing behind her. “And we brought you a present, too.”
Molly smiled at Ian. “I know who you are,” she said in a whisper.
He put his finger to his lips and indicated that she should keep her voice low. “You will keep our secret, won’t you?”
Molly nodded.
Mark pulled a gift from the sack for Molly. “Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas to you too. Thank you for the present.” She tore off the wrapping paper and gave a small “ohh!” of glee when she saw the picture on the outside of the box. “It’s the singing teapot! I wanted one of these very badly.”
By the expression on Julia’s face, it was clear that, just like her brother, she had given away the gift she had hoped for. With a quavering lower lip, she said, “I always wanted one too.” She looked to her mother, and Ellie gave her a pacifying expression.
I quelled a happy smile because I had purchased the exact same singing teapot for Julia in San Francisco. It was in my suitcase now and would be under the tree at Ellie and Edward’s by tomorrow. Julia would have her singing teapot after all.
Ian stepped over to the bed and placed his hand on Molly to give her the final Christmas blessing in the children’s ward. Ellie snapped the picture and then our entourage made its way back to the lobby. A chorus of “Thank you,” “Happy Christmas,” and “Good-bye, Father Christmas” followed us to the door. The night staff added their expressions of appreciation with smiles and tears.
“Well, we best be on our way,” Ellie said. “What a night, for all of us!”
A bit dazed, we all filed into our cars. Ian had put the top up on his, and when I climbed into the passenger’s seat, I pulled the plaid blanket over me. “I’m going to close my eyes for just a minute,” I announced as I felt the jet lag settle into my bones.
The next thing I remembered was the back of Ian’s rough hand tenderly stroking my cheek and his deep voice saying, “Miranda, we’re here.”
Chapter Fifteen
I barely remember Ian ushering me into the Whitcombe manor late that night and carrying my luggage up to the guest room. I do remember Ian’s warm kiss good night, his whisper in my ear and how it was filled with promise. He said he would see me in the morning. That in itself was a dream. We were together on the same side of the globe and would be only a hop and a skip away from each other. Not an ocean away.
My dreams that night in the comfy guest bed Ellie had made ready for me must have been the sort of dreams I had rehearsed many times over during the past year. I floated from one happiness to another and sank deeply into the kind of rest that restores and renews.
I found out later that poor little Julia was beside herself by ten thirty the next morning. She had waited so patiently for me to wake up, and I was fast asleep every time she checked.
When I finally awoke, I went to the thick-paned window and looked out at a gray, dark world that made it seem much earlier in the morning than it was. Grumpy old clouds bundled in their heavy winter coats bumped into each other and crowded the sky, stubbornly refusing to let the sun peek through.
I stretched and felt luxuriously rested but chilled.
Dashing back to bed, I heard a tap on my door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Ju-lee-ah,” my favorite niece sang out. She must have heard me rustling about. When I told her she could come in, she peeked around the door with a hopeful grin. I held out my arms and smiled. She jumped up on the bed while I admired her freshly combed hair, pulled back with a red ribbon on the side. Her sweater was also red with a row of little Christmas trees around the cuffs and collar.
“Don’t you look cute this morning?”
“This is my Christmas Eve Day sweater. I have a different one for Christmas Day to wear with my new Christmas skirt. What are you wearing for today and for Christmas?”
“I’m not sure yet. Something warm. It’s cold, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Cold and rainy. We’ve had our breakfast already, Auntie Miranda. You were the sleepyhead, weren’t you? Mummy said we may do whatever we wish because Uncle Ian called, and he’s not ready yet so you must stay with us until he’s ready.”
“Is that so?”
“Would you like to have your breakfast in bed? Because Mummy said if you want to eat in bed, Natasha can bring up a tray, and I can have tea with you.”
“Who is Natasha?”
“She’s our new helper. She has red shoes, and she wears them even when it isn’t Christmas. Have you seen our beautiful Christmas tree yet? It’s the biggest tree we’ve ever had. Daddy and Markie and I went to the forest, and we were supposed to cut down our Christmas tree last week, but when we got into the forest, I started to cry.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I didn’t want to cut any of the trees down, so we left without one. And do you know what Mummy did the next day?”
“Let me guess. Your mom went to the forest and cut down a tree all by herself and dragged it home to surprise all of you.”
“No, silly! My mummy couldn’t do all that.”
I wouldn’t it put it past Ellie.
“Mummy went to a store where they have pretend trees that look even more real than real trees. She bought the very biggest one they had, and now every year we get to have the same very big tree for Christmas. And I put the star on the top. Do you want to come see it now? It’s the most beautiful tree in the whole world.”
“The most beautiful tree in the whole world?”
“Yes.” Julia giggled and gave a resolute nod of her head. “It is the most beautiful tree in the whole world. Do you want to come see it?”
“First, I have something very important to do.”
“What?”
“I must give you your morning tickle. Come here.” I wrapped my arms around my favorite little chatter bug, and before I commenced with the tickling, I said, “I love you, Julia-Bean. I love you, love you, love you.”
“I’m not a bean.”
“Yes you are. You’re my little Julia-Bean. Whenever one of your little Julia-Bean giggles gets planted in my heart, it grows and grows and grows until it’s so big that everywhere I look all I see is happiness!”
She seemed surprised at my silliness and expressions of affection, but she received them by glibly offering her soft cheek to me so that I might plant the expected kiss on her smooth, pink skin. Instead of one kiss, I tickle-kissed her with a dozen kisses all over her head, cheek, and neck, and so the morning tickle fest began.
Julia squealed gleefully and tried to tickle me back under my chin. Her pudgy little fingers moved like a harpist and made me laugh even though it didn’t really tickle.
We called a truce, and she gave me a kiss right on the end of my nose to seal our peace pact. I thought of how Ian had kissed the tip of my nose last night in the Tea Cosy’s kitchen, and I realized I had received more kisses, hugs, and snuggles in the past year than I had since my mother died.
I thought of how much my mother would have loved all this. This house, this bed, the sight and sounds of me tickling my niece on Christmas Eve morn. But these riches of Sir James’s had not come to her. All she received from her brief love affair with him was me. And now I had managed to slide in and enjoy
so much of the goodness of this family.
But for how long?
With our tickle fest over, Julia asked, “What about the tree? When will you come see the tree?”
“How about if get cleaned up first? You can go tell your mom and Natasha that Princess Miranda and Princess Julia would indeed like to take their tea in bed this morning, and Princess Miranda would also like some toast with marmalade.”
“Oh yes, I want toast too. With marmalade.” Julia slid off the bed. “I’ll go tell them. Do you want an egg? We have new Christmas eggcups.”
“Well yes, if you have new eggcups, of course I want an egg for breakfast.”
“And baked beans and bacon? That’s what I had for breakfast.”
“Why not?” I said.
Julia was on her way to order what I had come to learn was a typical English breakfast. The first time I saw the baked beans and grilled tomato slices on the breakfast plate next to my over easy eggs and wide strips of lean bacon, I thought it was a joke. Who eats baked beans for breakfast? Well, now I do. Every time I come to Carlton Heath.
Half an hour later, even though Julia and I were both dressed and ready for the day, we slipped back under the puffy comforter in our stockinged feet and stacked up the pillows behind us so we would be nice and comfy. We waited like two little princesses with our hands folded on top of the comforter as timid Natasha entered the room with a heavy tray laden with our breakfast delights.
Once she saw that Julia and I were in the silliest of moods, she smiled and helped me balance the tray on my lap before quietly exiting and leaving Julia and me to our feast. We had a stack of well-toasted bread that required marmalading. We had a steaming teapot wrapped in a quilted tea cozy and ready to be tipped over and poured into our waiting china cups.
Marvelously and perhaps miraculously, we managed all the finer details of our feast without a single spill or drip of orange marmalade on the bed.
Our voices were low as we talked, tucked away in the warm bed in that spacious bedroom in the Whitcombe manor. Mostly Julia talked, and I listened. She had much to tell me about the Christmas gifts she had helped wrap, the vase she and Daddy bought for Ellie, and how she knew where Mummy had hidden the Christmas crackers this year.
Memories of my sparse Christmas mornings with my mother came to mind. She and I also cuddled up in bed and talked softly. I suppose I thought I was a princess then too. My mother and I certainly had no maid to bring us toast on a silver tray. We mostly lived in budget motels during my formative years. The blankets were thin, and the sheets were cold and rough and smelled of bleach.
I remembered how I would find ways to wrap up the tiny soaps and shampoos allotted to us in the nicer budget motels. Those were my gifts to my mother on Christmas morning as we curled up together in bed. She always responded with such surprise and pleasure when she opened the soaps and shampoo as if I had given her something of great worth that she actually wanted or needed.
My mother always had a box of chocolates for us at Christmas. I don’t know if the chocolates were given to her or if she bought them, but that’s what we ate for breakfast. As many decadent bonbons as our stomachs could hold.
Being with Julia, I realized the delight of such a moment was the same whether we were dining on second-rate chocolates or full English breakfasts. These two moments carried the same weight in value because of the gift of being close to someone I loved. I would give anything to have one more Christmas morning with my mother and our little soaps and box of chocolate. Oh how I would love to hear her ethereal, lilting laughter one more time.
Since that wasn’t possible, I felt as if God were giving me a special gift on this Christmas Eve morning. He gave me breakfast in bed with my niece.
I finished the last sip of cooled tea in my china teacup and whispered a secret thank-you to Gracious God, who always seemed close whenever I was in this room.
Julia watched me drain the last drop. “Good. Now may we pleeeease go downstairs and see the beautiful tree?”
I laughed at her tenacity. “Yes, let’s go see the most beautiful tree in the whole, wide world.”
I took her hand as we headed down the ornate staircase. I hoped Margaret was staying in the rooms she occupied in the east wing of the manor. I knew from previous visits that she didn’t usually wander far from her quarters.
What bothered me was that this was Margaret’s home, and in that respect, I was her guest. The last thing I wanted to do was cause this glad time of celebrating to be strained or tense for anyone under this roof. Unfortunately, from past experience I knew that tension was the unnamed ambiance whenever Margaret and I were present in the same room.
Chapter Sixteen
For a day that began so leisurely, everything stepped up its pace as soon as Julia and I went downstairs. Ellie was busy in the kitchen alongside Natasha preparing all sorts of wonderful Christmas feast goodies. She had presents yet to wrap, as did I, and she wanted to pull together a meal for Katharine, who had gone back to the hospital to be with Andrew for the day.
I took in all the details, prepared to help out any way I could, and felt a slight sort of guilt for playing the princess for so long that morning. Ellie didn’t mind. She was floating along on her usual river of grace.
“Julia said you heard from Ian. Is that right?” I reached for one of the grapes in a beautiful glass bowl on the marble countertop in Ellie’s renovated kitchen.
“Yes! Oh, did you not get that message? We’re to keep you occupied today until he’s ready.”
“Ready for what?”
Julia giggled and covered her mouth. Ellie stopped chopping celery and froze as if she had forgotten something. Or maybe she was trying to remember something.
“We’re to keep you occupied until he’s ready for Christmas,” Ellie said brightly. “That’s it. You can imagine how his plans have been upset, what with the unexpected news of Andrew and the visits to hospital, not to mention the last-minute role he played as Father Christmas last night. He has a few things to do today.”
“Okay.”
I wasn’t worried about Ian’s readjusted schedule even though Ellie seemed flustered. I knew I would see Ian soon, and that was all that mattered.
Tugging on my hand, Julia said, “May we go now to see the Christmas tree, please?”
“Yes, let’s go. Then I’ll wrap gifts for your mom.”
The largest room in the Whitcombes’ beautiful home was referred to as the drawing room. Located at the front of the manor, it boasted the largest windows in the home, with a magnificent view of the tall, ancient trees that stood guard around the circular driveway.
Ellie loved to decorate and had gone all out again this year with her snowflake theme, incorporating touches of sparkly, dangling snowflakes hung from the ceiling on fishing wire. Swags of greenery were looped over the mantel of the enormous fireplace as well as across the doorframe and the front windows. Tiny white lights were woven into each garland. On this gray day, the lights twinkled cheerfully and made the room merry and bright.
The ceilings were high, so Julia’s eager voice echoed in the large, open area as she said, “Do you see it? Do you see how big it is? It’s the best Christmas tree ever, and we get to have it every year.”
“It is the best Christmas tree ever.” I drew close and stood beside her to admire the commanding beauty of the artificial wonder where it stood in front of the center window. “It’s the most wonderful Christmas tree in all the world!”
“I know. I told you it was.”
The tree reached at least ten feet, with the lit star at the top adding another foot of dazzle. The white lights that circled the tree were accompanied by a delightful assortment of every type of ornament and dangling prettiness Ellie had collected over the years. Around the base were a dozen or so gifts. More gifts for the children had been clustered around the tree the day before, but at least a dozen of those presents were now cheering up the children in the hospital. Even with those generously offered g
ifts gone, the Whitcombe children would have an abundant and merry Christmas.
I thought of all the times over the years when I had heard people say Christmas was too commercial and materialistic. They were right, of course. I couldn’t disagree. But if any one of those bah-humbug, Christmas Scrooges had lived my life, if they had come from where I came from, with motel soaps and shampoos and never a Christmas tree to fill a room with cheer and wonder, I think they would have softened their railings. If they could feel what I felt at this moment, gazing at the Christmas tree with wide-eyed Julia, they would say that tradition, decorations, and gifts were a beautiful way to celebrate Christ’s birth.
“We’d better get to work on those few things your mother asked me to do,” I said.
Julia was happy to help. She stayed close most of the day while Mark seemed to find things to do that didn’t fall into the chore category. The house hummed with merry-making activity. The kitchen exhaled a stream of wonderful fragrances. Christmas music floated through the house. The lineup of tunes included everything from “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” to a variety of boys’ choir canticles sung as Mark had sung them, in soul-stirring Latin.
Edward kept to his desk in the library most of the day, but his door remained open. I was aware that Mark and Julia regularly ran in and out to tell their dad this or that about the activities.
At one point in the late afternoon, as I walked past the library on my way to the drawing room with freshly wrapped presents in my arms, I paused by the open door and smiled at Edward. He smiled at me. I could picture my father seated be-hind that desk and wondered if this home was filled with the same warmth and happiness when Sir James was the head of the household.
I found my opinion of Edward elevating. He was available to his children. They had free access to come into his presence at any time.
Gazing past the library down the long hall that led to Margaret’s quarters, I wondered what it would take for Margaret to open her door to me. If that door ever did open, would it remain open?
Engaging Father Christmas: A Novella Page 8