The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “Is it too blustery for you, Miss Rowley?”

  “Not at all, Major. You’ll will find I quite relish winter weather.”

  Tillie led the way down the central path. In the middle of the garden, stood an enclosed summer house next to a pond that had not yet frozen over. Tillie and her family skated there when the ice was thick enough, and sought the warmth in the summer house until they were ready to return to the ice again.

  The major opened the door to the pretty structure and Tillie stepped inside. “This will keep us warm enough for a while. When we come here to skate, the staff builds a fire and the room is like an oven.”

  Tillie sat on one of the benches that lined the wall. The major didn’t sit, but walked to one of the large glass windows and stared out onto the still pond.

  He didn’t speak for several moments and Tillie didn’t break the silence. It struck her that he needed some time to himself. Finally, he turned to face her. “Is there anything about winter that you don’t like?” he asked.

  Tillie thought a moment. “Now that you mention it, I don’t believe there is. I like everything about winter. Especially Christmas.”

  “And how do you feel about life in general?”

  Tillie smiled. “Why, I suppose I would have to say the same. I find life in general most agreeable.”

  The major rested one hip against the window ledge. “Even when some worthless reprobate comes and ruins your Christmas?”

  “There’s no need to apologize, you know. It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable, and why shouldn’t you be?” Tillie smiled. “My family can be quite enthusiastic in our celebrating.”

  “It wasn’t that,” he said. “I’ve simply lost my appreciation for the holiday.”

  “May I ask why?”

  He shifted his gaze away from her and stared at something over her shoulder though she knew there was nothing there to see.

  She waited. Finally, he shook his head.

  “It was . . . something that happened. One Christmas. Something I have difficulty forgetting.”

  “Uncle John mentioned that you don’t have any family. Not any brothers or sisters?”

  He shook his head. “I was an only child. I was taken in by the local vicar and his wife when my parents died.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Tillie said.

  His slight smile was so fleeting she couldn’t be sure she’d really seen it.

  “Don’t be. I had a wonderful childhood. I think because the vicar and his wife weren’t young when they took me in, they doted on me terribly. They were strict and insisted I get a good education, but I never went without anything. Especially love.”

  “They sound like wonderful people.”

  “They were. They’re both gone now.”

  “No wonder Christmas is not a happy time.”

  “Yes,” she heard him whisper. “No wonder.”

  Tillie felt as though he mentally left her for a brief time, then returned and focused his attention on her. The haunted look in his eyes practically moved her to tears.

  “It seems as though there’s something else that saddens you about Christmas,” she said.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you are very astute?” he said before he turned back to look out the window.

  “Astute isn’t what my family calls it. They tell me I’m like a dog with a bone. I don’t give up until I discover everything they’re trying to keep from me.”

  He looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you trying to tell me that you have no intention of giving up until I reveal why I don’t enjoy Christmas?”

  “Perhaps. But only because I feel that you need to tell someone what troubles you.”

  Tillie waited, but the major didn’t speak for several long moments. When he did, his words tore her heart from her breast.

  “I lost my family at Christmas.”

  “Your parents?”

  “No,” he answered in a voice that sounded strangely hollow. “My wife. And my children.”

  Harsh fingers clamped painfully inside her chest, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “How . . . how did it happen?”

  “A fire.”

  “But you were unhurt?”

  “I wasn’t home to save them. I’d been sent on assignment by the army.”

  “You had children.” The grief she sensed in him filled those three words with torment.

  “Yes. Two. A son about your nephew’s age. And a daughter two years younger.”

  “Oh, Major,” Tillie said as she rose to her feet. She couldn’t stop them from carrying her to where the major stood. She couldn’t stop her arms from reaching out to him. She couldn’t stop her hands from grasping his hands and holding on to them. “No wonder you find it so dreadfully difficult.”

  His hand held on to hers with a strength that bound her to him. She desperately wanted to be able to do something to help him but she didn’t know what that might be.

  “Can I do something?” she whispered as she brought his arm close to her.

  She heard his agonizing breath. Saw in his reflection in the window a stray tear that spilled from his eye. Watched as his gaze lowered to meet hers.

  “Would you mind terribly if I held you?” he asked.

  “No. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  He turned and gathered her into his arms. He held her as if she were a lifeline to safety that he had despaired of finding.

  Tillie couldn’t explain the emotions that raged through her. She couldn’t understand the feelings that gripped her heart and refused to let go. It was his grief that drew her to him, but her own need that made her stay.

  She felt compassion for him, but it went beyond that. Far beyond. It was a tenderness that felt remarkably like affection.

  She’d never felt like this when she’d been held by anyone before. But now she understood that what her heart had hoped for was no fantasy.

  The major’s hold lessened and Tillie lifted her head to look at him.

  Their gazes locked. Then his focus lowered to her mouth.

  He was going to kiss her. She knew he was. Just as she knew she would die if he didn’t.

  His lips lowered to hers and he kissed her.

  A barrage of bewildering emotions exploded within her. His lips were firm and warm and carried lingering hints of spiced cider and a recent cigar. The sweet bitterness tantalized her, sealed within her the taste of him.

  His mouth covered hers as if he needed to possess her. As if he needed to own her. Then he deepened his kiss and his passion became overpowering.

  Tillie’s arms skimmed up his chest over his dinner coat and wrapped around his neck. She held him with a desperation that shocked her. Her fingers raked through his hair, pressing at the back of his head to hold him securely to her. And she continued to kiss him.

  Their breathing turned harsh and ragged. A moan echoed in the silence and Tillie knew it had come from her.

  He kissed her once more, then lifted his head and separated his mouth from hers.

  He didn’t release her for several moments and Tillie was glad. She wasn’t sure she could have stood on her legs that seemed to have abandoned their life’s mission to hold her upright.

  “I should apologize,” he started to say, but she interrupted his words.

  “There is no need. I am not offended. In fact, I’m honored.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her forehead, then held out his arm. “But we should return. I’m causing you to miss out on your Christmas and your family will be concerned.”

  “They’ll not worry. They’re probably so occupied with singing Christmas carols that they haven’t noticed we’re missing.”

  “I doubt that,” he said, then led her to the door of the little summerhouse and down the steps.

  They walked back to the house in silence.

  The tracks they’d made earlier had vanished, swept away by a growing wind that brought heavier snowfall. The path lay perfect before them. A clean, white expanse awaiting th
eir silent footfalls. And beyond it, a house ringing with pure, simple Christmas joy.

  Chapter Four

  Frank kept himself in the corner of the room while the staff entered with presents that they placed beneath the tree. Miss Rowley’s brother handed them out with the help of his five-year-old nephew.

  When George handed Frank a present, he stared in disbelief at it for several seconds. “Surely not,” he said. “I have not come with gifts.”

  “Your presence is your gift, Major,” George answered.

  Frank took the package and looked at Miss Rowley. He knew by the expression on her face that the gift was her doing.

  “Thank you,” he said aloud to George, but his eyes remained on Miss Rowley. They both nodded their acknowledgments.

  Frank opened the gift. It was a pouch of the same tobacco Lord Beckett smoked in his pipe. Frank looked up to find Miss Rowley standing near him.

  “You’ll have to forgive me if you have no need for tobacco,” she said. “I assumed since you were a friend of Uncle John’s that you were of the same age, and that you had the same habits. I know how he enjoys his pipe and brandy each night, and assumed you did, too.”

  Frank smiled. “Actually I do. It’s our habit to sit down when your uncle and I have the time and talk over the day’s events with a snifter of brandy and our pipes.”

  She smiled, a coy look that spoke of her delight in choosing the right gift.

  Frank returned her smile, then watched as the children gathered in front of Uncle John’s chair and the adults settled in their seats with refills of warm cider, or wine, or brandy.

  “Please, join us. I’m sure you’ll find Uncle John’s reading familiar.”

  Frank shifted his shoulders. In the space of a few moments, nothing seemed ordinary any longer. Whatever it was that had transpired this evening seemed to have dislodged the unease in which he’d wrapped himself for years. He reached for it, wanting to draw his blanket of grief about him. But there seemed to be a chink in it. A chink that was mending itself with new and strange sensations.

  He followed Miss Rowley to a small sofa and sat beside her. With a glass of brandy in his hand he listened to Lord Beckett read.

  “And it came to pass that in those days ….”

  A lump formed in Frank’s throat as he listened to the familiar reading from the Bible. Words he hadn’t heard for more than eight years echoed in his mind and wanted to spill from his lips. He mentally recited the familiar story with Lord Beckett, words he’d read to his own sweet children as their eyes reflected the warmth of the hearth and the magic of the story and his wife sat on the arm of the chair with her sweet head tilted to rest atop his own.

  His heart twisted in knots, tensing with the poignant memory of Christmases past, and expanding with the tenderness of the moment. A veil of agony seemed to lift from his eyes and he saw the dear people around him with a long-forgotten warmth.

  When the reading was over, the children’s nurse came in to take them to bed and the adults were left to relive the evening. The clock struck the midnight hour and Lord Dunstan rose to fill everyone’s glass.

  “A toast,” he said, lifting his glass. The men stood and turned to face Miss Rowley.

  “A very happy birthday to you, my Christmas angel,” Lord Dunstan said. “May this Christmas be the most special ever.”

  Glasses lifted and a toast was made. It was her birthday. Miss Rowley was born on Christmas Day.

  Frank turned to face her. “Now I see why Christmas is your favorite time. My best wishes to you always.”

  Her cheeks turned a warm shade. “Thank you, Major.”

  “Please, call me Frank.”

  “If you will call me Tillie, as my family does.”

  “It suits you.”

  The words came out so easily now. He didn’t even have to think what to say. For the first time in nearly a decade he felt a sense of belonging.

  Their conversation was interrupted when Lord Beckett rose to retire. The elderly Earl and Countess of Dennison followed, as did Tillie’s parents. Frank rose, too.

  “I believe I shall retire, as well. The hour grows late.”

  Tillie stood. “Thank you for making this Christmas a very special one.”

  “I’m the one who owes you my gratitude. Because of you, I survived what is usually an unbearable time.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “But I must warn you. Tomorrow will be nothing like today. We will be on our own. Father always gives the staff the day off to celebrate with their families. He presents them with their Christmas bonuses, then those who live close enough leave to spend the day with their families. Those who live too far to travel stay here and celebrate in the servants’ quarters.”

  “Not to worry,” Frank said with a smile on his face. “I’m sure we’ll manage.” He stepped away from her then stopped. Her eyes had followed him, and he found himself loath to take his eyes from her.

  “Good night, Tillie.”

  “Good night, Frank.”

  For the first time in eight years, Frank thought he might survive Christmas and he had Tillie to thank for it. It was her birthday, and even though the staff had been given the day off, her family stepped in to see that there was food on the table. In the afternoon, Tillie’s brother George hitched a team to a sleigh and took everyone on sleigh rides.

  Frank couldn’t help but laugh at Tillie. Everyone took one round with George, then got off to go inside the summerhouse to warm up before riding again. But not Tillie. Even though her cheeks were a rosy red with a nose that matched, she continued to go round after round.

  Frank stayed with her. Not because he was so partial to the sleigh ride, but because he didn’t want to give up one minute of the time he could be with her. The smile on her face never faded, and her eyes glimmered with excitement as the horses pulled the sleigh through the fresh dusting of snow.

  When everyone had several turns in the sleigh, George exclaimed it was time to take the horses back to the stable. Frank helped Tillie jump down, then took her arm.

  “Are you having a good birthday?” he asked.

  “The best. Everything is perfect.”

  “I’m glad. You deserve it.”

  She turned to focus on him. “Everyone deserves their day to be special. It’s just one day out of the year.” She stopped when they entered the house and he helped her remove her wrap. Since there were no servants, everyone was responsible for their own cloaks. When he’d hung their wraps in the vestibule closet, Frank accompanied Tillie to the main room where hot chocolate and leftover pastries from the night before awaited them.

  “When is your birthday?” she asked after they finished their hot chocolate and a pastry.

  “The twenty-eighth of August.”

  “Ah, a summer babe.”

  “Yes.”

  Frank and Tillie visited with her mother, sister, and her family. The only members not present were Tillie’s father, brother, and Lord Beckett. It wasn’t until George entered the room that Frank realized something might be amiss. The serious expression on George’s face confirmed Frank’s suspicion.

  “George,” Tillie greeted with a broad grin on her face.

  “Are you enjoying your day, sister dear?”

  “Very much,” she answered.

  “Then would you mind terribly if I took the major away for a while? We won’t be long.”

  “Of course not. Is something wrong?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong. Uncle John simply wants to speak with the major for a moment.”

  Frank rose, then turned. “I’ll return shortly.”

  The smile Tillie gave him warmed the blood flowing through him.

  “You and Tillie seem to get along quite well,” George said as they exited the room.

  “She’s a remarkable woman,” Frank answered.

  “Yes, she is. We love her very much, and. . .” Tillie’s brother stopped his progress and turned. “. . . and we wouldn’t want to see her hurt.”


  Frank stopped alongside George. “You think I will hurt her?”

  George shrugged his shoulders. “I’m simply warning you not to let Tillie become too fond of you if you have no intention of furthering your relationship.”

  “Warning noted,” Frank answered with a raised eyebrow as they continued down the hall. “I appreciate your concern for your sister. Be assured I have no intention of hurting her.”

  Frank followed George, and when they reached Lord Dunstan’s study, a footman opened the door for them.

  Frank hesitated. Lord Dunstan and Lord Beckett were seated in two of the four chairs clustered before the fire. From the expressions on their faces, it was obvious something was wrong.

  “Pour the major a drink, George,” Lord Dunstan said.

  Frank noticed the two men had drinks in their hands, and a third glass sat on the table where George had no doubt been sitting before he came to get Frank.

  George did as his father asked, then brought a glass of brandy to Frank.

  “Thank you for joining us,” Lord Dunstan said when he and George were seated. “I didn’t intend to bring up this subject for several days yet, but something happened to prompt me to act sooner than anticipated.”

  Lord Dunstan paused to take a drink from his glass. “Lord Beckett tells me my wife is concerned for me.” A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I’m not sure how to feel about Mary realizing something’s bothering me when I’ve tried so hard to keep it from her. But there is something . . . something very troubling going on. So I’m glad you’ve joined us, Major. John tells me one of the reasons he asked you to join us was because of your knowledge of the inner workings of the government, as well as your experience during the war.”

  Frank listened to what Lord Dunstan was saying. He confirmed what Lord Beckett had indicated on their trip here: that the problem at hand had something to do with a vote that was coming up in the House.