O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales

by Kathryn Le Veque

  But he did have a voice. “Watch,” he said.

  Josiah blinked and gazed up at the façade of Highfield Hall, its ancient walls unchanged by time, the slate roof lit by watery sunshine. The air smelled of damp earth and the breeze, though gentle, had a chill to it. The gardens looked bare, though the trees and shrubs were heavy with buds. Spring, then.

  “I don’t know how you’re doing this,” Josiah murmured. “But I know it isn’t real.”

  “Ah, but it was,” his companion replied. “The date is the second of March, 1828. Your fifth birthday. Do you remember it?”

  Josiah clenched his fists. “How are you doing this?”

  “Do you remember it?”

  “Yes. Well, at least partly. It was the day I got Alfred. But I don’t think I want to—”

  “Watch.”

  Of Lessons Learned

  “Happy birthday, Josiah.” Aldous plopped Josiah into the saddle. “Do you like him?”

  “I like him very much, Papa.” Josiah gathered up the pony’s reins. “I’ve decided to call him Alfred.”

  “An excellent choice.” Aldous adjusted the stirrups and then stood back to regard his son. “Hands and heels down. And sit back a little. Spine in line, remember?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s it. Chin up and lead with your eyes. Perfect. Are you ready?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Off you go, then. A couple of times around the paddock. Walk and trot only.”

  Josiah pressed his knees to the pony’s ribs and the animal responded instantly, moving forward at a jaunty walk. Josiah grinned in sheer delight. He’d previously been riding Sammy, Julian’s old pony, but now, at last, he had his own. A Welsh pony, dapple-gray. The best color for a horse, according to his mother.

  “Trot on,” he said, clucking his tongue and squeezing his knees again. The pony responded without hesitation, and Josiah posted as he’d been taught. Seeking acclaim, he glanced over at his father, who was standing in the middle of the paddock, hands on hips.

  “Good form, young man,” his father called. “Well done.”

  Encouraged by the praise, Josiah decided to try the canter. He gripped the reins a little tighter and pressed his heels to Alfred’s stomach. The pony snorted, took a little leap, and surged ahead. The sudden movement took Josiah by surprise, throwing him backwards, out of the saddle, over Alfred’s rump, and onto the ground. He landed hard on his back and felt the air rush from his lungs.

  “Josiah!” his father shouted.

  But Josiah couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even breathe.

  “Josiah.” His father dropped to his knees beside him. “Oh, dear God! Are you all right, son? Can you move?”

  He gaped up at his father in panic. I can’t breathe. I can’t…

  “Speak to me,” his father said. “Try to move your legs.”

  He managed to lift his knees, arms flailing he at last pulled in a great gulp of air. “Papa!”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “I… I couldn’t breathe.”

  “I know, I know. It’s all right.” His father gathered him up and held him close. “You were winded, that’s all.”

  Josiah wondered why his father was shaking. Was it because he was angry?

  “I’m truly sorry, Papa,” he said, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck. “Please don’t be cross.”

  “I’m not cross, Josiah.” He smiled and brushed the hair back from Josiah’s face. “Though I certainly should be. Look at the dent you put in the ground!”

  Josiah chuckled and wiped a tear from his father’s cheek. “Why are you crying, Papa?”

  “I’m not,” his father replied, sniffing. “I have something in my eye.”

  “Oh.” He glanced about. “Where’s Alfred?”

  “He’s over there, looking rather sorry for himself.”

  “I don’t want to ride him anymore, Papa.”

  “Why not?”

  “I might fall off again.”

  “Why did you fall off this time, Josiah?”

  “Because…” He pondered. “Because Alfred went too fast for me.”

  “And was that Alfred’s fault?”

  “Um, no.”

  “No. You asked him to do something and he did it. But you weren’t ready, were you? That’s why I told you only to walk and trot. You mustn’t do anything you’re not ready to do, in case you get hurt. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now, I want you to get back into the saddle and show me again how you make Alfred walk and trot.”

  “Must I?”

  “Yes, you must, and right away, or the fear you’re feeling right now will stay with you. It’s very important to challenge that fear and defeat it. And I know you’ll defeat it, Josiah, because you’re a Northcott, and Northcott men never give up. Remember that.”

  Josiah blinked and stared at his distorted reflection in the mirror where, just a moment before, he’d been a five-year-old boy gazing into his father’s face. He stood silent for a moment, unable to speak over the lump in his throat.

  “There’s only one thing I want you to take from that experience,” the man said. “Do you know what it is?”

  Josiah thought a moment. “That Northcott men don’t give up?”

  “No.”

  “What, then?”

  “That your father lied about having something in his eye.”

  Josiah’s stomach clenched. “Is this your agenda for the night? Trial by guilt?”

  “Not at all,” his companion replied. “We’re going forward almost ten years, now. Christmas Eve, 1837. Do you remember that?”

  Of Memories Made

  “Come on. It’ll be fun,” Josiah said, regarding his older brother. “But count slowly. No cheating.”

  Julian huffed. “You’re the one who cheats, Joe. Why don’t you do the counting for a change? I’m getting too old for these childish games.”

  “No, you’re not,” Josiah countered. “Besides, it’s tradition. We hide. You seek.

  Julian shook his head. “It’s stupid.”

  Louisa tugged at his sleeve. “Please, Julian.”

  “Please, Julian,” Elena and Clara echoed, in perfect unison. The twins were identical in more than looks.

  Little Arthur, looking somewhat bewildered, sniffed. “Please, Julian.”

  “I’ll wager a shilling you’ll not find me,” Josiah said.

  Julian’s brow lifted. “A wager, eh? Well, in that case, I’ll play. But on the condition that you hide somewhere in the house. Not outside, like you did last time. That was cheating.”

  Josiah grinned. “It was ingenious.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Julian’s mouth. “All right. Are you all ready? Go!” He turned toward the wall and covered his eyes. “One, two, three…”

  They all scattered.

  Josiah sped off down the hall toward the back stairs, and started up them two at a time. He reached the third floor in minutes, panting hard as he paused to listen.

  From somewhere downstairs came identical squeals of laughter from Elena and Clara. Josiah grinned and opened the small door in front of him, revealing another flight of stairs. With a quick reassuring glance about, he entered, closed the door quietly behind him, and made his way up to the attic.

  The stairs came out by the t-shaped window at the front of the gable, its glass rendered opaque with dust and cobwebs. On this cloudy Christmas Eve afternoon, the subdued light made little headway into the gloomy space. Highfield Hall’s ancient roof trusses, like a massive, oak ribcage, stretched off into the darkness.

  Not generally nervous, Josiah nevertheless regarded the deeper shadows with some apprehension. The attic was far from empty. Items of furniture, boxes, chests, rolled up rugs, covered portraits – all manner of things had been stored in the space over the years. It all added an additional dimension of creepiness, but also dozens of hiding places.

  The thought of losing a bet to his older bro
ther was enough to quell Josiah’s fears. He crossed the threshold between light and dark, squatted down behind an old armchair, and waited in silence.

  As time passed, he began to fidget. First, the attic was bitter cold, something he hadn’t prepared for. Second, he had pins-and-needles in his legs and feet from squatting. Wincing, he pushed the old armchair forward to give himself a bit more room. Then he sat back, letting out a yelp as his spine collided with something metallic. The clasp on an old chest, he realized, and shifted his bottom forward a little.

  Then a thought came to him. He twisted slightly and felt for the latch, which jiggled in his hand. Unlocked!

  A smile drifted across his face. His hiding place had just become even more clandestine. Julian had surely lost the bet. He knelt, fumbled with the latch, and lifted the lid, his nostrils flaring at the musty smell. Disappointment followed, for although he couldn’t make out any detail, he could tell the chest wasn’t empty. Somewhat gingerly, he reached inside and felt around, jerking his fingers back when they touched something that felt like hair.

  He blew a lock of his own hair out of his eyes and felt around again, becoming more intrigued by the second. Books. A wooden box. Something made of glass. A bottle? Curiosity stirred and demanded answers. Josiah sat back on his heels and regarded the window, lured by the temptation of daylight. No, it wasn’t worth risking a shilling for. He could always investigate the mystery of the contents after the wager had been won.

  I’ll wait.

  Several minutes later, the dusty plank floor displayed the tracks of a wooden chest that had been dragged out of its hiding place. It sat, now, in the pale light beneath the window, pinpricked with woodworm, the banding rusted. The epitome of a treasure chest. Josiah’s hand hovered over the latch as he savored the anticipation.

  Hopefully, it would be worth losing a shilling for. He lifted the lid and let out a soft gasp of wonder.

  The objects appeared to have belonged to a child. A boy child, seemingly. Josiah lifted out a fragile copy of Gulliver’s Travels. Beneath that, a copy of Aesop’s Fables. The hair belonged to a wooden doll dressed in a red military uniform. A wooden box, when opened, proved to contain a set of dominoes. But it was the glass object that drew another gasp from Josiah. It belonged to a bottle, and within the bottle, a ship. A galleon, no less, three-masted.

  Who did these belong to?

  He barely heard the door open, and was only vaguely aware of the sound of someone climbing the stairs.

  “You owe me a shilling, Joe,” Julian said, and squatted down by the chest. “Good lord. What is all this stuff?”

  “Toys. Books.” Still clasping the bottle, Josiah got to his feet. “I think they might have belonged to Mama’s brother. Uncle Julian. The man you’re named for.”

  “The ship in the bottle was Julian’s favorite,” Grace, Josiah’s mother, said, a little later. Everyone had gathered in the front parlor, where a coal fire burned brightly, to examine some of the items from the chest. “The dominoes, too. As soon as I was old enough, he taught me the game and we’d play for hours.”

  “May I see those dominoes?” Aldous held out a hand, a wistful expression on his face. “They’re probably the ones we played with the day I met him.”

  Grace handed them over. “Which was also the same day my mother died.”

  “That’s right.” Aldous sighed. “And the day after that was when the misunderstanding began.”

  “What misunderstanding, Papa?” Josiah asked. “I don’t believe I know this story. I didn’t even know you’d met Uncle Julian. I thought he died before you and Mama were married.”

  “He did, but we’d met years before. As children.”

  “Tell them the story, Aldous,” Grace said, settling into her armchair. “Christmas Eve is the perfect day for telling stories.”

  Aldous grunted. “I’m not sure they’d want to hear it, my dear.”

  “I do!” Louisa cried. “Tell us, Papa. Please.”

  “I’d like to hear about it, Papa,” Julian said. “I’m named for him, after all.”

  “Very well, then.” Aldous, still holding the box of dominoes, also settled back in his chair. “I was eight years old, the month was September, and I was staying with my Godfather at Northcott Manor. I had two days’ holiday left before I had to return to London, so I decided to go for a ride. I ended up here, at Highfield, where I met your Uncle Julian by the watchtower. Actually, he was sitting up in the oak tree, much as you children used to. Anyway, we became friends, and he invited me to see his pony. So, I went along.”

  Aldous paused and glanced about the room. “I remember thinking how fortunate he was to live in a house like this. Never thought I’d be living in it one day. Anyway, I digress. While we were in the stables, it started to rain, so we went indoors to play dominoes. Now, I have to admit, I was not in a very good mood by this time. All I could think about was the miserable ride home in the rain. Your mother,” he gave her a fond smile, “had not long been born. I could hear her crying as we played dominoes and, to my shame, the noise irritated me.”

  “Papa!” Louisa, seated on a footstool by the hearth, scowled. “Mama was just a baby.”

  “Indeed,” Aldous replied. “But nonetheless the sound annoyed me and I silently wished it would stop. Then Julian explained that she’d been born early, that she was sickly, and that she might not live. Well, let me tell you, I felt terrible when I heard that.”

  “I should think so!”

  “Louisa, that’s enough.” Grace gave her a reproving look. “Let your father finish his story.”

  “To make things worse,” Aldous continued, “she actually did stop crying soon after. But the silence terrified me after what Julian had said about her dying. I thought the worst, which was unbearable to me, especially given what I’d been thinking. Anyway, she began to cry again shortly afterward, so I excused myself and returned to Northcott.”

  Josiah leaned forward. “Was that it?”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Aldous cleared his throat. “I resolved to go back the next day. To make restitution for what I saw as my poor behavior. I needed to appease my conscience. So off I went. Looking back, I knew something was wrong as soon as I rode into Highfield’s courtyard. It felt different, somehow. But, being eight years old, I suppose I didn’t pay it too much mind. I was simply intent on making amends for my mood the day before. I knocked on the door and a footman answered. When I asked to see Julian, the man told me to wait and closed the door in my face. Again, I thought it odd. Then Julian appeared a minute or two later, opening the door just a crack. I could tell he’d been crying, so I asked him what was wrong. She’s dead, Aldous, he said. She died last night.”

  Silence descended for a few moments.

  Josiah fidgeted. “And you thought it was Mama who died.”

  “Yes. And I felt utterly sick, more so because I believed I’d lost the chance to make amends for my unkind thoughts the day before. I lived with the guilt of that day for years, and I never saw Julian again.”

  “Oh, Papa,” Louise whispered. “How awful.”

  Josiah wrinkled his nose. “This actually isn’t a very nice Christmas story.”

  Grace smiled. “Oh, but there’s a happy ending. A very happy ending.”

  “There is indeed,” Aldous replied.

  “Because, of course, you found out later that Mama hadn’t died at all,” Louisa said.

  “Correct. Years later, I was on my way to Northcott Manor for Christmas, when I got caught in a snowstorm on the moor. Luckily for me, I found shelter at Highfield, and that is when I learned that the baby, your mother, was very much alive. That it had been her mother who had died. Your grandmother. The sad part was that I also learned your Uncle Julian had been lost at Waterloo.”

  “But you and Mama fell in love,” Louisa said, heaving a sigh. “How romantic.”

  Arthur made a choking sound and rolled his eyes.

  Aldous smiled. “Fell in love, got married, and had all you won
derful children. We consider ourselves to be very blessed. Is that a happy enough ending for you, Josiah?”

  “Is that a happy enough ending for you, Josiah?” the gentleman repeated, as the image faded away.

  “Yes, of course it is,” Josiah said, his chest tight with emotion. “I remember that Christmas well. Mama let me keep the ship-in-the-bottle. But that was then. Things changed after that. Papa and I began to fight all the time. He was glad to see me go, I guarantee it.”

  “Well, let’s see how Christmas has been since you left, shall we?”

  Christmas Eve, 1843

  (Of Christmas Past)

  Aldous sat by the fire in the parlor, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, his gaze fixed on the glowing coals in the hearth. He stirred as the grand clock in the hall chimed the half-hour, lifting his head to squint at the clock on the mantel.

  Half-past eleven.

  “Thirty minutes,” he muttered. “Just thirty minutes more.”

  Behind him, the door creaked open and then closed again, followed by a soft footfall on the carpet. Aldous closed his eyes as a hand settled on his shoulder.

  Grace moved around and settled herself at his feet. “You did very well at dinner, Aldous.”

  “His empty chair at the table is always difficult to see,” he said, “but it’s far more difficult on this particular day. I just try not to let it show.”

  “Our children know how you feel, my love.” She took his hand. “They feel it too.”

  “Yes, I know they do.” He heaved a sigh. “It certainly doesn’t get any easier, does it? I remember it like it was yesterday. And it’s been four years, Grace. Four years! He’ll be twenty-one in two months.”

  “He’ll come home one day.” A tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away. “I’m sure he will.”

  “Come the New Year, I’ll hire another agent to search for him,” Aldous said, shifting in the chair. “We’ll try Paris again. London as well. I’ll speak to some of the officers when next I’m in the city. See if they know of anyone who might help.”