A Season for Miracles

by Jean Little

  No Room for Christmas

  11 December 1813

  Dear Constance,

  My hand shakes as I record the worst disaster of this terrible year: The Americans have burnt Niagara completely to the ground! That awful General McClure decided to pull his troops back to the United States, but before they left he gave the order to torch Niagara. The townspeople had only half an hour to leave their houses. All four hundred of them had to stand in the bitter cold in the middle of the night, watching their homes be consumed in flames.

  One was old Hannah. She stood in front of Papa’s Niagara house, guarding the few possessions she was able to get outside by herself. Papa took a sleigh from the British headquarters at Burlington Heights and brought Hannah back here. Then he had to leave for Burlington again.

  Hannah has been sitting with us in the parlour all afternoon. She is not hurt from the fire. I have never been fond of her (as you well know, Constance), but she has been a loyal housekeeper to Papa for many years. She told us she made a spirited protest to the Americans when they put the first torch to Papa’s house, shouting at them that they would pay for their wickedness. “They might have harmed you!” said Maria, but I admire Hannah’s courage.

  Hannah will now live with us and help Tabitha with the cooking and housework. She will have to share Tabitha’s small room off the kitchen. Tabitha is not happy about that, but where else are we to put a second servant?

  This house is already too full. How many more people can it hold until it bursts?

  12 December 1813

  Dear Constance,

  Hamilton was here for supper. He told me how all of Niagara, that beloved place that gave us so much pleasure, has been reduced to heaps of smouldering coals. Then he said something shocking, that he is glad that Niagara was burnt, for it means the Americans are losing.

  “How can you say that, when so much harm was done?” I asked him. Hamilton said he was sorry that the town was destroyed, but such things happen in war. “McClure is a coward,” he said angrily. “We must do something to retaliate.”

  I am so sad that my brother feels this way. At the beginning of this war he did not want to fight, and now his whole life is fighting. I know he goes on dangerous raids, but he does not talk about them.

  The house is full of ill feelings. Hannah told Mama that she cannot share a bed with Tabitha because Tabitha snores. She wants Tabitha’s room to herself. Mama does not dare cross her — Hannah is so fierce, she frightens all of us. So my poor Tabitha has to sleep on a mattress in a corner of the kitchen. I tried to make it as comfortable as possible for her, and offered her Mouse as a companion. She thanked me, but muttered angrily about “that interloper.” There are no kind words between the two of them, and the atmosphere in the kitchen is so icy I hate to go in there.

  Little Adelaide is cutting a new tooth. All afternoon I had to mind her while Caroline and the others were plucking the ducks Hamilton shot. When Adelaide was an infant I greatly enjoyed looking after her. Now she is — I cannot help saying — a most unpleasant, whiny child.

  Adelaide screamed for her mother and would not be soothed. Finally Tabitha dipped a cloth in brandy and gave it to her to suck. She fell asleep in my arms and I put her on her cot.

  The others are all chatting downstairs but I am in my room. Adelaide is breathing peacefully. I am afraid to go to bed until Maria and Caroline come up. Last night I had terrible nightmares about Niagara burning. The flames have been in my head all day. I keep remembering all the rooms of Papa’s beautiful house, especially the bedroom where Maria and I slept when we were in town. I kept an old doll there, one Mama made for me on my fifth birthday. Her name was Rebecca. I am far too old for dolls now, of course, but it breaks my heart to think of Rebecca being consumed by fire.

  I am so lonesome. Even though the Americans have left the fort, there are still numerous raids. It is too dangerous to leave the farm, so I am not allowed to visit Abbie or Elias. How I long to speak to someone my own age!

  Soon Christmas will be here, but no one has said a word about it. Last year we were gathering evergreen boughs and Tabitha was making plum pudding. Maria and I were hiding our presents from each other.

  But last year there was a lull in the fighting. This year the war permeates every corner of our lives. There is no room for Christmas.

  16 December 1813

  Dear Constance,

  Caroline told Mama that I have been cruel to Adelaide. I have not! All I did was shake her a little when she was demanding to have another piece of duck pie. I am so tired of Adelaide. I am tired of humouring her, of changing her smelly diaper, of wiping her runny nose.

  Mama took me into her room and asked me to pray with her to be more generous toward Adelaide. I tried to pray, but I know God was not listening. He is too busy with the war. Mama also asked me to try to understand that it is hard for Caroline to be crammed into our house rather than being at her own, with James there to make them all a family.

  Tabitha and Hannah are still at odds. Tabitha told me that Hannah is lazy. She spends most of her time crocheting in front of the fire. I tried to tell Tabitha that Hannah is old, and reminded her that Hannah has served our family for many years, but Tabitha retorted that she is healthy and strong and should be helping more.

  It is bitterly cold. This morning the water in the washstand basin was frozen, and I had to shroud my face in my shawl when I collected the eggs. Every night I heat up a stone and wrap it in a blanket to warm our bed. It does not help much. I squeeze against plump Maria to try to get warm and she pushes me away, saying I am poking her.

  17 December 1813

  Dear Constance,

  It is still very cold. This morning I helped Mama bring in the frozen clothes, which had been outside to dry. I asked her if we were going to celebrate Christmas this year. She looked at me wearily. “I am sorry, my dear child, but I cannot promise you much for Christmas. We have no time to spare for it and we do not even know if your father and brother will be here.” She smiled, and told me that we would try to say some special prayers and sing some carols. My heart grew heavy and I did not dare to mention greenery or baking or presents.

  Last year, as in all the other years of my life, we went to church on Christmas morning. The bells rang and we sang lustily and all the people greeted each other so warmly afterwards. But we have not had any church services at all this year, and we never see our neighbours. I fear that Abbie will hardly know me by the time we’re allowed to visit again.

  Tonight I asked Maria if she would play some carols on the piano. She said she was too busy sewing Charles a shirt. I tried to pick out the tune to “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night,” but it sounded like a dirge.

  22 December 1813

  Dear Constance,

  Once more the war suffocates us. There has been another battle, and the house is full of strangers.

  Here is what happened: on December 18, Fort Niagara was taken by our Colonel Murray in retaliation for the Americans’ burning of Niagara. Then Lewiston was attacked. And then every house on the American side of the river, from Fort Niagara to Tonawanda Creek, was burned! Although this was a great gain for our side, I find it horrifying that so much destruction was necessary.

  Here is the reason for the strangers: Papa arrived with an American family! They are the Leonards, the wife and children of Captain Leonard, who is now in prison. They were stationed with him at Fort Niagara. Mama was overjoyed to see them — she knew the Leonards years ago in South Carolina.

  Their arrival causes me once more to reflect on how absurd this war is. The Leonards are officially our enemy. Yet Mama and Papa themselves used to be Americans! I am glad that Papa had the generosity to rescue Mama’s old friend, in spite of the fact that he is fighting against her husband.

  There are two girls, Miss Leonard and her younger sister, Miss Phoebe Leonard. Miss Leonard is reserved and haughty. Phoebe is a year younger than me. She is plain looking, with a scrawny neck and thin l
ight hair.

  Mrs. Leonard and Miss Leonard are sleeping in Mama’s room. Phoebe is on a cot in ours. So there are now five of us crammed in here.

  Mama has told me I must be especially hospitable to Phoebe. I have tried to talk to her, but she puts down her head and does not answer. It is difficult to communicate with someone who does not wish to be friends.

  Poor Phoebe must be worrying about her father constantly, so I cannot blame her for not responding. How distraught I would be if Papa or Hamilton or James or Charles were imprisoned!

  Later

  I invited Phoebe to come to the barn with me to feed the pigs, and she followed me silently. But then she finally spoke! She told me that she had had her own pig on her farm in New York. “When the war started we had to live in the fort,” she said sadly.

  I asked her if she had liked living there, and she said it was very tedious. “How I miss school and my friends!” she added.

  “So do I!” I told her, and went on to talk about Abbie and Elias and how much I miss visiting them. Because it was so cold, we could not linger in the barn. Phoebe helped me carry the eggs to the pantry and we continued our conversation there.

  Our words tumbled over each other’s. We have so much in common! We are both fond of animals, reading and writing. Phoebe keeps a diary, as well!

  Phoebe said shyly, “I do not know how long we will be staying here, Susanna, but I would be honoured to be your friend.”

  I smiled so hugely that I thought my face might crack.

  23 December 1813

  Dear Constance,

  Last night Maria generously gave up her half of the bed to Phoebe and slept on Phoebe’s cot. This enabled us to whisper and giggle for a long time, until my sisters insisted that we be quiet.

  This morning I woke up with such a light heart I had trouble remembering what has changed: I have a new friend! Phoebe and I did all my chores together, which greatly speeded them up. She is much more patient with Adelaide than I.

  After dinner we sat in a corner of the parlour with our sewing, while our mothers chattered about people they used to know. That was when we made our plan.

  When Papa was here he shot us a brace of geese, so at least we will have a Christmas feast. We do not know if the men can be here for it, but they will try to be. Mama says that is all we will have: a good dinner, some prayers, and some carols in the parlour.

  There is no time to make presents, but Phoebe’s and my idea will be a present for everyone.

  24 December 1813

  Dear Constance,

  This morning Mama let me take Phoebe for a ride around the farm in the cutter. The air was cold, but we were well bundled in furs and I wore my new rabbit-skin mittens. The sky was an intense blue, and the bare trees looked black against it. The snow sparkled like jewels. I was proud of how beautiful Queen looked, tossing her head and prancing.

  Phoebe was overjoyed to be in a sleigh again. We went over every detail of our surprise for tomorrow, then sang “The Boar’s Head” at the top of our voices.

  When we got home, Phoebe and I gathered spruce boughs and wintergreen to decorate the house. We hung them all over the parlour and dining room and they look so festive. The prettiest is the kissing-bough we made out of twigs, greenery and apples, which we hung from the ceiling in the parlour. It is as if the house is saying, “I do not care if there is a war, I am going to celebrate Christmas anyway.”

  I am so excited about tomorrow that I doubt I will sleep. I did not think that Maria or Phoebe’s sister would be interested in our plan, but they caught us preparing for it in our room, so we told them. Now they are going to take part! I cannot believe that Miss Leonard would want to help, but she is the most avid of us all. She even said that I could call her Jemima.

  Tomorrow is the birth date of the Saviour. The night is clear and cold, and there are many stars gleaming in the black sky. Everyone else is asleep, but I am sitting by the window with my small flame. It strikes me that people have celebrated this birth for centuries and that you, Constance, will still be celebrating it in the future. This is a hopeful thought, a light in the darkness of this year of war. I have not felt so uplifted for a long, long time. And now I will try to sleep.

  25 December 1813

  Dear Constance,

  This has been the best Christmas I have ever had. A few months ago I would never have believed that. All the Christmases I remember have been joyful, but they have also been much the same. This one was special because I — and Phoebe and Maria and Jemima and even little Adelaide — made it happen.

  Even though it is now very late, I have to write down every detail before I blow out my candle. I woke up early, to a bright, sparkly morning. I gathered the eggs and helped Tabitha put the bread into the oven. Hannah slept late, but when she came out she was in a good mood for once, and wished me a happy Christmas.

  I did not think there would be any presents this year, but how wrong I was! The first was from Tabitha, an ivory needle case that used to belong to her mother. I will always treasure it. Then Hannah presented me with a shawl! She had also made one for Tabitha. “I am sorry I have not been very friendly, Miss Holland,” she said gruffly. “Shall we try to get on better next year? I would be glad if you would move back into your room again.” Tabitha smiled and said that the two of them could share it. I stood gaping at this first miracle of the day.

  Everyone came down for breakfast and exchanged Christmas kisses. Tabitha had made flapjacks — I had three and Phoebe five! We kept glancing at each other, almost bursting with our secret.

  Then all the men arrived! Papa and Hamilton and James and Charles. James tossed Adelaide into the air until she shrieked with joy. All day she has been good; perhaps she was naughty before because she missed her father.

  Maria was beside herself with bliss — she had thought that Charles would spend Christmas with his sister. She took him off to the parlour and Mama forgot to send me in as a chaperone. Perhaps they were sitting under the kissing-bough!

  Papa and Hamilton hugged me and I sat on Papa’s knee, even though I am far too big to do so. He slipped an English shilling into my pocket as my Christmas present.

  Then I noticed how sad Phoebe looked — she and Jemima were missing their father terribly, of course. Papa assured them that he would be well taken care of. “Perhaps the war will over next year and he will be released,” he said. Mrs. Leonard wept a little and Mama comforted her.

  We went into the parlour, where we caught Maria and Charles with very red faces! In a stuttering voice Charles asked Papa for Maria’s hand in marriage. Papa laughed and gave his permission, saying that he was not at all surprised. Mama hugged Maria and wept.

  Then Papa read us the Christmas lesson from the prayer book. He prayed for our safety and the end of this terrible war. I fervently added my own silent prayers. Today I felt for certain that God was listening.

  We spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon preparing for our large Christmas feast. While I was shelling walnuts, Hamilton came into the kitchen and gave me the same present he gives me every year, a brand-new journal! I was amazed he had been able to find me one, but he said he got it in York months ago.

  During the morning it transpired that everyone had been secretly planning presents for each other! I received a comb from Mama, a thimble from Caroline and a beautiful red ribbon from Maria. Phoebe and I announced that our present was for everyone and would come later in the day.

  What a delicious dinner we had! Roast goose stuffed with apples, smoked ham, pickled onions, warm bread and honey, and preserved peaches. Tabitha’s present was a plum pudding she had made in secret. She doused it in brandy and carried it in flaming, while we all cheered.

  After dinner I informed the adults that they had to stay in the kitchen for half an hour, while we prepared a surprise. Then we left for the parlour, taking Adelaide with us.

  Finally, after much laughter and confusion, we were ready. I stepped into the kitchen, took a deep breath
, and announced in my loudest voice that everyone was invited to come into the parlour to receive their present: a performance of the Christmas story.

  They all cried with delight in a most gratifying way! Then they crowded into the parlour and stayed near one end to give us room.

  At the other end we had curtained off a portion of the room for costume changes. I sat on a stool in front of the curtain with my script and began to read: “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.”

  So began our play. First Phoebe and Jemima appeared, Phoebe draped in blue muslin and Jemima wearing Hamilton’s coat. We had stuffed a pillow under Phoebe’s dress. I hoped Caroline would not say that this was improper, but she seemed to join in the appreciation that everyone in the room was expressing.

  Mary and Joseph travelled down the middle of the room and back, then sat in the corner we had lined with straw to be the stable. I had put Mouse there to be a stable cat and, miraculously, she stayed and curled up in the straw.

  When I read that Jesus was born, Phoebe pulled out the pillow (the audience chuckled), Maria handed Adelaide out from behind the curtain, and Phoebe took her in her lap. This was my biggest worry: would Adelaide cry for her parents and leave the play? She began to whimper, but Phoebe gave her some comfits and Adelaide snuggled in Phoebe’s lap, happily chewing. She looked as sweet and innocent as the real baby Jesus. I felt sorry that I have not been kinder to Adelaide and vowed to keep her happy for the rest of the war.

  Jemima slipped behind the curtain and changed into tattered shepherd clothes. Maria appeared as the angel. How beautiful she looked in her white ball gown, with the wings we had fashioned of branches and goose feathers! Charles’s face was radiant when he saw her. Maria’s voice was so full of passion as she cried, “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.” All of us shouted, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” Tears came to my eyes as Hamilton’s deep voice joined in.