Christmas Card #2
Last night’s snowfall collected on the path. The snow merely frosted where the leaves were scattered, but the path was a luminescent ribbon in the predawn light.
The woods was misted with a fog that hung in the air; though I had no problem seeing ahead as far as the trees would allow.
The effect of snow and fog brought to mind an account of the faery folk written by an ancient king named Simon in his youth. I imagined that this place contained some of their magic from long ago, and I was transported to that time and place.
Darkness retreated from the path and every hill and hollow promised a possible site for a faery cottage or garden if it weren’t for the snow, leaves, and fallen trees.
My faithful dog who led the way, turned back to check on my progress from time to time, but I didn’t try to keep her pace. After receiving my pleasant assurances, she loped ahead again toward home.
The enticing aroma of wood burning in the fireplace of the cottage floated on the breeze. One of the children must have put more wood on the fire in my absence.
As I approached, I saw a candle burning in the window, thought it wouldn’t be necessary as soon as the rising sun peeked over the treetops. The glow was all the more inviting because my son and his family had set it there to welcome me back from my morning walk.
I hung my somewhat pine-scented woolen cloak and hat on the peg and saw that my son had filled the wood box. The kettle on the fire was beginning to hiss, and I knew that my lovely, petite daughter-in-law had put the water on for tea. My slippers were waiting by my favorite chair. I sniffed at the idea of being treated like a doddering old man. The children knew better than to call me old, but actions can speak louder than words.
My son and his wife appeared together, and I embraced them both at once. “I am so glad you came to stay with me for Christmas.”
“Papa,” scolded my daughter-in-law. “I thought we were to accompany you on your walk.”
“We’ll have a lovely Christmas Eve walk on the way home from church this evening,” I replied. “You and Thomas go now, and I’ll stay here with the baby.”
“Oh, but your tea,” she objected.
“Emily, I have poured my own tea in the field and at my hearth long before you came along. I can manage,” I declared, waving her toward the door.
When the couple had closed the door behind them, I went to my room across from the guestroom and lifted the chest lid at the foot of my bed. There were the three packages wrapped in paper just as I had left them. I stacked them on my bed to be handy after the tree trimming tonight.
Before the fire, I poured my tea, switched my boots for the slippers, and sat in my favorite chair to gaze into the embers.
Black fur scampered into view pursued by my tousled-hair; newly awakened granddaughter who appeared convinced that a tail was the proper grip to take to walk the dog. Her large blue eyes were alight with the smile on her face.
I stretched out my arms and said, “Come see your Grandfather!”
She climbed up into my lap and snuggled for a moment into my chest. Her little fingers ruffled my mustache and explored my nose a little too thoroughly. She giggled as she pulled my lip down to see my teeth.
After she had wiggled off my lap to search for the dog again, I gazed into the fire and remembered another Christmas Eve.
I had been a young officer in Her Majesty’s army, and after being recognized for remaining on some God-forsaken hill in the heat of an obscure battle, I had found myself among Queen Dora’s favorites at the court. I remembered Sir Antonio, who was thought to be the Queen’s first choice for a consort; Sir James, a scholar and historian; and Ladies Pearl and Ruby, affectionately named so by Her Majesty.
The Queen was young and not yet wearied from matters of state. Her moments of high spirits were never undignified, but were often frowned upon by the elder statesmen and her advisors. She had come of age to rule in her own right, and little could be said as all her younger subjects adored her.
Sir Antonio was allowed an unheard of liberty by Her Majesty. He would utter barely audible suggestions that Her Majesty should slip away alone with him. He never seemed to mind when those of us among her favorites overheard, but never allowed the Queen’s advisors or guardians to suspect his words.
Poor Sir James was in love with Her Majesty for the longest time. No one would have ever known, if it hadn’t been for me urging him to match me goblet for goblet from a cask of wine that was given to me as a present from one of the best sergeants to ever serve under me.
It had been the New Year’s Eve party the year before. Sir James tried to kiss the Queen when he was flush with all he had drunk. His opportune moment was witnessed by only Lady Pearl and was sworn and threatened to secrecy by Her Majesty. That was why Sir James chose not to unmask that New Year’s Eve.
The only reason I knew about it, was Lady Pearl had confided it to me to lure me into a partitioned room where I had the devil of a time extracting myself with honor intact.
On this particular Christmas Eve, Ladies Pearl and Ruby had insisted I ask Her Majesty to dance. After realizing the Queen had put them up to it, I overcame my shyness and asked her to dance.
We took up positions to dance one of the beautiful dances recently taught the court by a highly reputable theater company. As we circled with hands barely touching in the air, I was totally enchanted by her and couldn’t help wishing I were qualified to be considered a possible consort. But a slip of a girl named Abigail was soon to capture my heart and become my wife.
* * *
This evening we had a lovely walk home from the church in the falling snow. Emily put the baby to bed, while Thomas and I cut down the Christmas tree I had picked out this morning. I surprised the children with decorations made by Abigail the Christmas before she passed away. They were so touched; I thought I saw a tear in Thomas’ eye.
The tree was lit with the all the remaining pieces of candle carefully waxed onto each branch. I sat in my chair and gazed into the blazing glory of the decorated pine. The scene seemed to shift somewhat and I beheld the night sky ablaze with more stars than I remember seeing before.
Music became audible. There appeared a heavenly choir and among them my Abigail as young and alive as the day I fell in love with her. She seemed to hold her hand out to me, beckoning.
The sky became as bright as day as I seemed to rise to meet a white-robed figure shining brighter than the sun. My arms were raised as I beheld my Lord and my God!
* * *
She gently placed his hand back on the arm of the chair and turned to her husband. “Oh, Thomas! He’s gone!”
The woods was misted with a fog that hung in the air; though I had no problem seeing ahead as far as the trees would allow.
The effect of snow and fog brought to mind an account of the faery folk written by an ancient king named Simon in his youth. I imagined that this place contained some of their magic from long ago, and I was transported to that time and place.
Darkness retreated from the path and every hill and hollow promised a possible site for a faery cottage or garden if it weren’t for the snow, leaves, and fallen trees.
My faithful dog who led the way, turned back to check on my progress from time to time, but I didn’t try to keep her pace. After receiving my pleasant assurances, she loped ahead again toward home.
The enticing aroma of wood burning in the fireplace of the cottage floated on the breeze. One of the children must have put more wood on the fire in my absence.
As I approached, I saw a candle burning in the window, thought it wouldn’t be necessary as soon as the rising sun peeked over the treetops. The glow was all the more inviting because my son and his family had set it there to welcome me back from my morning walk.
I hung my somewhat pine-scented woolen cloak and hat on the peg and saw that my son had filled the wood box. The kettle on the fire was beginning to hiss, and I knew that my lovely, petite daughter-in-law had put the water on for tea. My slippers were waiting by my favorite chair. I sniffed at the idea of being treated like a doddering old man. The children knew better than to call me old, but actions can speak louder than words.
My son and his wife appeared together, and I embraced them both at once. “I am so glad you came to stay with me for Christmas.”
“Papa,” scolded my daughter-in-law. “I thought we were to accompany you on your walk.”
“We’ll have a lovely Christmas Eve walk on the way home from church this evening,” I replied. “You and Thomas go now, and I’ll stay here with the baby.”
“Oh, but your tea,” she objected.
“Emily, I have poured my own tea in the field and at my hearth long before you came along. I can manage,” I declared, waving her toward the door.
When the couple had closed the door behind them, I went to my room across from the guestroom and lifted the chest lid at the foot of my bed. There were the three packages wrapped in paper just as I had left them. I stacked them on my bed to be handy after the tree trimming tonight.
Before the fire, I poured my tea, switched my boots for the slippers, and sat in my favorite chair to gaze into the embers.
Black fur scampered into view pursued by my tousled-hair; newly awakened granddaughter who appeared convinced that a tail was the proper grip to take to walk the dog. Her large blue eyes were alight with the smile on her face.
I stretched out my arms and said, “Come see your Grandfather!”
She climbed up into my lap and snuggled for a moment into my chest. Her little fingers ruffled my mustache and explored my nose a little too thoroughly. She giggled as she pulled my lip down to see my teeth.
After she had wiggled off my lap to search for the dog again, I gazed into the fire and remembered another Christmas Eve.
I had been a young officer in Her Majesty’s army, and after being recognized for remaining on some God-forsaken hill in the heat of an obscure battle, I had found myself among Queen Dora’s favorites at the court. I remembered Sir Antonio, who was thought to be the Queen’s first choice for a consort; Sir James, a scholar and historian; and Ladies Pearl and Ruby, affectionately named so by Her Majesty.
The Queen was young and not yet wearied from matters of state. Her moments of high spirits were never undignified, but were often frowned upon by the elder statesmen and her advisors. She had come of age to rule in her own right, and little could be said as all her younger subjects adored her.
Sir Antonio was allowed an unheard of liberty by Her Majesty. He would utter barely audible suggestions that Her Majesty should slip away alone with him. He never seemed to mind when those of us among her favorites overheard, but never allowed the Queen’s advisors or guardians to suspect his words.
Poor Sir James was in love with Her Majesty for the longest time. No one would have ever known, if it hadn’t been for me urging him to match me goblet for goblet from a cask of wine that was given to me as a present from one of the best sergeants to ever serve under me.
It had been the New Year’s Eve party the year before. Sir James tried to kiss the Queen when he was flush with all he had drunk. His opportune moment was witnessed by only Lady Pearl and was sworn and threatened to secrecy by Her Majesty. That was why Sir James chose not to unmask that New Year’s Eve.
The only reason I knew about it, was Lady Pearl had confided it to me to lure me into a partitioned room where I had the devil of a time extracting myself with honor intact.
On this particular Christmas Eve, Ladies Pearl and Ruby had insisted I ask Her Majesty to dance. After realizing the Queen had put them up to it, I overcame my shyness and asked her to dance.
We took up positions to dance one of the beautiful dances recently taught the court by a highly reputable theater company. As we circled with hands barely touching in the air, I was totally enchanted by her and couldn’t help wishing I were qualified to be considered a possible consort. But a slip of a girl named Abigail was soon to capture my heart and become my wife.
* * *
This evening we had a lovely walk home from the church in the falling snow. Emily put the baby to bed, while Thomas and I cut down the Christmas tree I had picked out this morning. I surprised the children with decorations made by Abigail the Christmas before she passed away. They were so touched; I thought I saw a tear in Thomas’ eye.
The tree was lit with the all the remaining pieces of candle carefully waxed onto each branch. I sat in my chair and gazed into the blazing glory of the decorated pine. The scene seemed to shift somewhat and I beheld the night sky ablaze with more stars than I remember seeing before.
Music became audible. There appeared a heavenly choir and among them my Abigail as young and alive as the day I fell in love with her. She seemed to hold her hand out to me, beckoning.
The sky became as bright as day as I seemed to rise to meet a white-robed figure shining brighter than the sun. My arms were raised as I beheld my Lord and my God!
* * *
She gently placed his hand back on the arm of the chair and turned to her husband. “Oh, Thomas! He’s gone!”
posted by praiseage at 2:56 PM
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