Christmas in the Garden
Mary skipped up the walk, full knowing that young ladies of good breeding did not skip anywhere. Mary laughed at the thought of how horrified her London schoolmistresses would be by the spectacle. Unfortunately for Mary, London and its schoolmistresses were bound to have the last laugh, for at that moment, she slipped and landed in the snow. Rolling onto her back, Mary stared up into the cloudy sky. As she lay there, struggling to catch her breath, she was struck by a rather childish whim. Spreading her legs and arms, Mary began to make a snow angel.
So this was the sight that greeted Dickon as he dragged a large fir up to the manor house. "Tha'rt a regular holiday vision, Miss Mary!" he called. Mary scrambled to her feet, laughing self-conciously. Her dress was wet from the snow, and her dark hair clung to her face in sodden tendrils. Some picture she made.
"Is that our Christmas tree?" She asked brightly, trying to hide her embarassment.
"Of course. Ben Weatherstaff picked it out himself. 'Dickon, he told me, we must 'ave that un. Nowt but the finest for Mistress Mary's tree!'"
Mary laughed, "Can I help you bring it up to the house?"
They had only gone but a little way when Mary realized that though her fine shoes might be all the rage in London, they were not at all practical for a Yorkshire winter. She slipped often, adding to the sense of ridiculousness which Mary felt practically surrounded by. It did not help that she was painfully aware of how sure Dickon's steps were. Since she had returned from school, she found herself staring at Dickon more often than she liked to admit. Always before she had scoffed at the way some girls pined after "Lord Something-or-other", but now, she found herself feeling much the same way. And about Dickon!
They had been friends since she was ten years old. She had thought he was an angel then. Funny, but she felt much the same way now.
Dickon was looking at her quizzically. "What art tha' thinkin'?", he asked. Mary, for the life of her, could not come up with an answer.
They walked on in silence till they reached the great front door. Mary pushed the heavy door, and held it open as Dickon dragged the tree into the hall.
The hall was empty, so Dickon left the tree for the house servants to put up. In a few moments, he rejoined Mary on the doorstep.
Mary was looking up at the great stone arch above her head. "What is that?" she asked, gesturing to a sprig of green somehow fastened there.
Dickon looked up and flushed. Then he met Mary's gaze, a smile in his eyes. "That would be Mistletoe.", he explained. "There's a bit o' tradition regardin' Mistletoe..." His voice trailed off.
Mary raised one eyebrow, smiling up a Dickon. "It would be a shame not to keep the tradition, it being Christmas and all."
As she strolled back down the path, Mary pondered how much easier it was to stay upright when she had Dickon's arm around her. After successfully delivering the Christmas tree, the pair had decided that they ought to go and say "Merry Christmas" to the garden.
Mary smiled to herself. With any luck, there would be some Mistletoe growing there, too.