Chelsie Christmas

A – Advent

December 1st, 1926

Elsie liked the snow. No, that was far too simplistic. She loved snow, it brought the child out in her, reminded her of youthful vitality. Her heart would beat that little faster when the first flakes fell. She was reminded of home, snow so cold it froze the inside of her nose and left behind a raw bitter smell in the air.

Ice, however, was the bane of her life.

Ice seemed to hang around in Yorkshire. It set the gardens and left her slipping home. Snow would bed down, compact and was passable. Ice was a disaster waiting to happen. Maids would complain of twisted ankles and aching backs, deliveries would be delayed, the driveway was a hazard.

It caused, if not hastened, her headache.

It was dark by the time four o'clock came, and, though she had her half day, she was late leaving. The walk into the village was a necessary detour that only added to her aching feet. She needed new boots and she truly hoped Charles would take the hint and suggest they buy some for her Christmas gift this year.

There was a pie in her basket, carrots, cabbage; she just needed to prepare the vegetables as the pie warmed. She loved her husband dearly but it did rather irk her these days when she'd been working all day and he had been fancy free and yet still she prepared their evening meal. Sometimes he would come to the house to eat with her and the staff, but that was rare now, he still found it jarring, to be out of the mix, not commanding, not taking the helm.

"She's still missing," Charles said, as Elsie pushed in through the kitchen door, bundled up with red cheeks and a redder nose.

"What? Who is?"

"Christie."

"Oh goodness, Charles," she started to unbutton her coat and turned as he took it from her shoulders and went to hang it.

"I fetched the newspaper this morning after you'd left, and still no sign of her. It's like she's featuring in her very own mystery."

"You have far too much time on your hands these days, you never used to be interested in such things."

"I might have been. You don't know."

She smiled at his crestfallen expression and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Good evening dear."

"Good evening."

"I know you like her books."

"This year's publication was particularly good."

"I thought so too," she filled the kettle and lit the stove for it to warm on. "I'll prepare dinner soon, I just need to change first."

Charles took a seat at the small dining table, watching as she tugged off her boots and rubbed her ankles. It still made him blush to see her carry out private, intimate tasks, and yet he felt honoured too, to be part of it.

"No rush," he said.

"You haven't been eating cake again, have you?"

He shook his head, "No, I followed your rules, no sweets, no cake, not until Christmas." He briefly rested his hand on his burgeoning belly. The days of keeping trim from hard work were gone and Elsie had finally broached the subject of cutting back but two weeks earlier. It hadn't been comfortable but he accepted her points.

"I felt a little bad," she said, warming the pot for tea.

"About?"

"The ban on your sweet tooth."

He chuckled, "He and I are trying to make peace with it."

"You're in a good mood."

"What's not to be in a good mood about? I've had a good day, it's a beautiful December afternoon, and my wonderful wife just came home."

"That was the very thing."

"What was?"

"December. The 1st of December."

"And?"

"The start of advent."

"I have the candle ready for us to light later, I thought when we settle down to read by the fire with a little tipple of something."

"Sounds divine. And peaceful. But not that. Although in a way I suppose it works on the same principle." She carried his tea to the table, loosening a few of the buttons on the neck of her dress in preparation for changing. "I bought you a gift."

His eyes widened, "Elsie! Really –,"

"What? Oh goodness, no, really Charlie. I got you something in the village."

"You went to the village?"

"On my way home," she fussed in her basket. "Here. Just for you."

He took the brown paper bag from her and peeled down the sides to peer inside. "But aren't these banned?"

"All at once they are. But I thought one a day, for advent, I asked Mrs. Harp to measure them out exactly."

He lifted a pink and black one from the bag and held it between his thumb and forefinger. "Liquorice Allsorts are my favourite."

"I know. Because I'm your wife and I pay attention. That's your advent treat."

"And you, of course."

She smiled slowly, "Of course."

He reached a free hand out to her, "Our second Christmas together."

"Yes." She stepped closer to him. "How do you feel about that?"

"Like things are perfect."

She cocked her head to one side, "Even after a year as advisor?"

"Yes," he briefly touched her hip and then broke the sweet in half. "Here."

Her eyebrows rose, "Really?"

"No one I'd rather share it with."

She took it from his fingers and placed it her mouth, watching as he did the same. They held each other's gaze as they ate. As the instant sweetness coated their tongues.

"It'll rot your teeth," she said softly.

"Happy first of December, Mrs. Carson."

"Happy first of December, my darling."