He didn't exactly know what to think when the tall and imposing older gentleman appeared before him alongside Katie. Though his hair was white, the man's dark eyes were sharp and as keen as they had probably been when he was twenty years of age.
He stood well over six-feet-tall with barely any perceptible stoop at all. He was broad-shouldered and still physically fit but for a slight paunch in his midsection. He seemed almost a giant to Johnny who stood a slender six-feet-tall himself.
Though this man's size and stature were imposing to poor Johnny, what intimidated him the most were his ever-piercing blue-black eyes. They were very obviously scrutinizing every inch of Johnny from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes. Johnny knew that there was no possible way for him to measure to whatever this man's ideals were, and there was a very perceptible look of fear as he glanced up at them from the chair where he had been reading.
"Johnny, I would like for you to meet my Grandfather, Mr. Henry Darcy," Katie enthusiastically introduced.
Realizing just whom the imposing man was, Johnny jumped from his chair to greet Mr. Darcy. "Mr. Darcy, your granddaughter has told me a great deal about you. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said rather quickly, trying not to miss saying something important as he extended his hand.
"All good I hope?" the gentleman quipped.
"Of course it was good. What else could Katie say," he innocently asked.
The old man bent to whisper in Johnny's ear, "You've not seen this granddaughter of mine when she's angry yet, have you?" As Mr. Darcy pulled back, he saw absolute confusion in Johnny's eyes and laughed heartily.
"Mr. Darcy, I can't say that I know your granddaughter better than you, but I've never known her to say anything other than the truth. No matter how someone wrongs her. She holds malice toward no one."
"A veritable paragon of virtue, then?" Mr. Darcy asked, thumbing around in his pockets for his trusty pipe.
Unsure whether or not Mr. Darcy was asking a trick question, Johnny gave the only honest answer that he knew. "She is the best person that I've ever met, sir."
"Since you awoke, that is?" he asked.
"To be honest sir, yes. However, I must say that it is very unlikely that before my injury I ever met anyone so caring, courageous, and just generally good." There was a very perceptible definitive note in Johnny's response that rather surprised Mr. Darcy. To him, it was almost as if this young man was daring him to say that his words were untrue, and that his own granddaughter's personality was deficient of some if no all of the qualities he had stated.
Mr. Darcy was wise enough to speak the truth himself, "You are right, Mr. Doe. Katherine is one of the best people I've ever known. She is actually a very good judge of character, which is why I am here, son. Come, walk with me," he gestured to Johnny with one hand while placing the other on the young man's back. "I have a bit of a proposition for you."
Johnny looked tremendously lost to Katie as he had little choice but to go along with Mr. Darcy. His face grew incredibly pale, and several creases seemed to form on his forehead. Katie let out one small chuckle, mercilessly waved goodbye to the two men, then went on to begin her evening's work. Though she would miss his being near as she worked, her mind kept running away, thinking of how wonderful it would be to come home to him.
So it was, that just a day later, John Doe, the man with no name or family, left the Royal Hospital and became one of the occupants of what was possibly the grandest house in all of Derbyshire. He was to become the personal assistant of Mr. Henry Darcy, and from that moment on, he was to be treated as any other member of the reputable Darcy family.
This is not saying that Mr. Doe didn't feel unqualified, inferior, and generally in awe of his great fortune. However the hospitality of not only Miss Katherine Darcy and Mr. Henry Darcy, and that of young Jane Darcy soon made John Doe feel quite at home and quite like part of the family.
The truth be told, the three lone Darcy's of the grand house needed him as much as he needed them. The older man's heir, William and Jane's father, died in a shipwreck with his wife in 1912. The second son, Charles, was a captain in the Royal Navy. His family resided in Portsmouth. They rarely ever returned to the familial lands of Derbyshire. Charles's eldest son, Harry, was killed in action when his ship was torpedoed by a U-Boat. Both of Mr. Darcy's daughters lived with their own families. Eleanor's family lived in London. Maria's family resided in Ottawa, Canada. Her husband, Richard Fitzwilliam, was on the staff of the new Governor General of Canada, The Duke of Devonshire.
The Duke of Devonshire was an old Darcy family friend. He had even been mayor of nearby Chesterfield before being appointed Governor General of Canada. Richard, Maria, and their four children; Ernst, Andrew, Bethany, and Sarah had lived in a home on the Darcy estate proper to their moving to Canada, so their absence was greatly noticed by Mr. Darcy and young Jane. Until Katie had recently returned from the front, the elderly man and girl occasionally found days when the wide, spacious hallways seemed almost cavernous – a state that had not occurred since Mr. Darcy's grandparents had married a century before.
Mr. Darcy was the eldest child of a very boisterous immediate family. Why, his brother, Albert and he had been able to make the most horrendous war whoops. They were ever so much louder than those of his numerous relations that were always visiting the ancestral home. Their sister, Elizabeth and Georgiana were far smarter and prettier than any of the other girls of their acquaintance; until he made the acquaintance of one Miss Cassandra Knightley.
Henry Darcy, father, grandfather, and owner of one of the most prestigious estates in all of Derbyshire, nay England, felt a pang in his heart every time he thought of her, and that was nearly all the time. He would often leave his granddaughters' company in the evenings in order to spend some time alone in her drawing room, staring at her portrait, lost in the vast ocean of emotions that he would dare not show in company.
She had had remarkable eyes. They were neither green nor blue entirely. Depending on the color of her dress they either matched the sky above or the freshly maintained grass below. Her hair was little more than flaxen silk; her skin ivory velvet; her voice and laugh was Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring played by Halle's orchestra. To him, she was perfection incarnate, and when she passed from this life in order to bring George into the world, he was left quite desolate. Only the tremendous love he felt for his, her, their children prevented him from joining her forever.
Little by little, he noticed her in each of them and in different ways. Maria had her smile, Eleanor had her grace and her laugh. Edward had her eyes. Charles was graced with her sense of humor. George, George had her life.
He was very much his mother's son not to have ever known her. He thought in the same manner as she did, and he carried himself in much the same way. He even inherited her propensity for dreaming unheard of dreams and wanting what others might consider unconventional. Henry had wanted everything for the boy that as so like his Cassandra, and those desires pushed the favored boy far, far away.
Pride, arrogance, and absolute stubborn refusal to actually listen to what George wanted rather than lecture continuously about what he should have wanted forced George to elope with Abigail Marten, and run away to America. Only after years of separation and the birth of Albert and Katherine did the elder Darcy the errors of his judgment, and that was after an olive branch was offered by George and Abigail.
Mr. Darcy finally did two things that he had never done before: he admitted that he was completely wrong in his opinions of Abigail and the future she would give George, and he voyaged across the Atlantic to visit his dear boy and his family at their own Dovedale. With his very own eyes he saw how tremendously happy, settled, and comfortable George and his family were. Also, from the first moment he set eyes upon her, he believed that Katie was Cassandra reborn. To him, she was the very image of her grandmother – a feat that none of his other grandchildren had accomplished nearly as completely. From the first time she smiled her happy, baby smile at him, she was – though not officially - his favorite and most treasured grandchild.
When she appeared suddenly on his doorstep that autumn, requesting a home while she worked at the Chesterfield hospital, his heart almost leapt for joy. Making sure that Katherine was happy had suddenly become his top priority.
Finding civilian men for work was extremely difficult then. Mr. Darcy did need a new assistant. Maria's Richard left the position vacant when he took the Duke's offer to go to Canada. He asked Johnny to take the job because of Katie's intense interest in him more than for any other reason.
It had been quite a shock to the old man when he realized that Katie didn't return to England completely alone. It seemed that every other word from her mouth was "Johnny" this or that. She was home two full days before her grandfather realized that he needed to get to know this young man as well as possible. Within a day of working with this remarkable young man, Henry Darcy loved John Doe almost as much as his own grandsons.
It was pleasing to have the young man in the house with what was left of the family. Somehow, despite still not receiving word from either William or Bertie, the four managed to enjoy the Christmas season.
Together, they caroled at the hospital in Chesterfield. They decorated the entire house together; once a Darcy family tradition. Mr. Darcy looked at each hand-made ornament with warm memories and told all of the stories that went with each one. Johnny heard so many of these wonderful family anecdotes, he felt he had always been part of the Darcy family.
On Christmas Eve, as they sat along the enormous, ancient fireplace, Grandfather read the story of the Nativity from the Holy Bible, and then regaled his audience with a tale his dear Grandmamma used to tell him: The Christmas Thorn of Glastonbury
"THERE is a golden Christmas legend and it relates how Joseph of Arimathea—that good man and just, who laid our Lord in his own sepulcher, was persecuted by Pontius Pilate, and how he fled from Jerusalem carrying with him the Holy Grail hidden beneath a cloth of samite, mystical and white.
For many moons he wandered, leaning on his staff cut from a white-thorn bush. He passed over raging seas and dreary wastes, he wandered through trackless forests, climbed rugged mountains, and forded many floods. At last he came to Gaul where the Apostle Philip was preaching the glad tidings to the heathen. And there Joseph abode for a little space.
Now, upon a night while Joseph lay asleep in his hut, he was wakened by a radiant light. And as he gazed with wondering eyes he saw an angel standing by his couch, wrapped in a cloud of incense.
"Joseph of Arimathea," said the angel, "cross thou over into Britain and preach the glad tidings to King Arvigarus. And there, where a Christmas miracle shall come to pass, do thou build the first Christian church in that land."
And while Joseph lay perplexed and wondering in his heart what answer he should make, the angel vanished from his sight.
Then Joseph left his hut and calling the Apostle Philip, gave him the angel's message. And, when morning dawned, Philip sent him on his way, 353 accompanied by eleven chosen followers. To the water's side they went, and embarking in a little ship, they came unto the coasts of Britain.
And they were met there by the heathen who carried them before Arvigarus their king. To him and to his people did Joseph of Arimathea preach the glad tidings; but the king's heart, though moved, was not convinced. Nevertheless he gave to Joseph and his followers Avalon, the happy isle, the isle of the blessed, and he bade them depart straightway and build there an altar to their God.
And a wonderful gift was this same Avalon, sometimes called the Island of Apples, and also known to the people of the land as Ynis-witren, the Isle of Glassy Waters. Beautiful and peaceful was it. Deep it lay in the midst of a green valley, and the balmy breezes fanned its apple orchards, and scattered afar the sweet fragrance of rosy blossoms or ripened fruit. Soft grew the green grass beneath the feet. The smooth waves gently lapped the shore, and water-lilies floated on the surface of the tide; while in the blue sky above sailed the fleecy clouds.
And it was on the holy Christmas Eve that Joseph and his companions reached the Isle of Avalon. With them they carried the Holy Grail hidden beneath its cloth of snow-white samite. Heavily they toiled up the steep ascent of the 354 hill called Weary-All. And when they reached the top Joseph thrust his thorn-staff into the ground.
And, lo! a miracle! the thorn-staff put forth roots, sprouted and budded, and burst into a mass of white and fragrant flowers! And on the spot where the thorn had bloomed, there Joseph built the first Christian church in Britain. And he made it "wattled all round" of osiers gathered from the water's edge. And in the chapel they placed the Holy Grail.
And so, it is said, ever since at Glastonbury Abbey—the name by which that Avalon is known to-day—on Christmas Eve the white thorn buds and blooms."
His audience listened on as he began to tell Charles Dicken's The Child's Story. Johnny sat listening to the old stories watching Katie in the firelight, softly stroking Jane's raven curls, and found himself very blessed and content. She smiled across the room at him, her eyes dancing in the firelight, and he was very content indeed. It was the first time he had felt so since his accident.
Suddenly, this quiet, humble family moment was interrupted by violent rapping at the manor door, overtaking the serene sublimity of the moment and striking each heart with anxiety. What news from the outside world dared to break its way past the bitter, blowing winds and intrude upon their serenity?
THE CHRISTMAS THORN OF GLASTONBURY
(A Legend Of Ancient Britain)
Adapted From William Of Malmesbury And Other Sources
So is it worth the wait? Do you want to know what's behind the door? The more you review, the faster I'll work on the next chapter.
