23rd of December
The cottage is quiet on this cold December morning. It's early; the sun isn't even up yet. Charles had gotten up to use the loo, one of the aspects of getting older that he and Elsie laugh about, passing one another in the small corridor once or twice a night most nights. But now he's standing by the bedroom window, lifting the curtain away to peek outside. He feels a faint draft upon removing the cloth and thinks it is time to hang the heavier draperies, for the worst part of winter is only a couple of short weeks away. Elsie did that job by herself last year and he would prefer to do it together this year because his heart gives a tiny lurch every time he comes into a room and she's standing at the top of a stepladder on her tiptoes, leaning forward and balancing precariously. Once, he startled her and she nearly fell because of him, and ever since then all he can think of is how he never wants her doing anything because it's 'a wife's job' if he can keep her from harm by helping her a bit.
He can't bear the thought of losing her.
They live long days apart when she's working and he isn't needed at the Abbey, and somehow the days she has off, days when they're free to spend together doing whatever they please, go by in a few blinks of an eye.
He turns and looks at the bed, and he's startled by the flicker of what he knows are her beautiful blue eyes staring up at him from her pillow, the moonlight catching them just so.
"I didn't mean to wake you." His voice is very soft, almost husky. It makes her smile, and he returns to bed.
They're silent for quite a while, the only sounds being their steady breathing and the low crackle of the fire in the bedroom hearth.
Charles clears his throat and leans forward, his lips brushing Elsie's ear.
"I love you so much, Mrs. Carson," he whispers, "that sometimes I'm not even sure how to show you or tell you. It's as if there are no words that would be sufficient."
She turns in his arms, looks into his eyes, and sees how overcome he is with his emotions. "Oh, Charlie. What's brought this on?"
But he just shakes his head and gives her a half-shrug.
She shoves her pillow up against the headboard and sits up a bit further. "Come here," she beckons, and he is happy to comply, laying his head over her heart. "Tell me your favorite Christmas memory from when you were a wee lad."
It's an attempt to distract him, and he appreciates it.
"That was a very long time ago."
"It was," she agrees.
He thinks about it for a while, her heart beating in his ear and giving him a sense of peace.
"When I was very young, my granddad lived with us for about a year. That was my favorite Christmas." He lifts his head and looks at her. "Until I met you, that is."
"Really? We were so busy last Christmas that I feel as if I barely remember it."
"That's not the one I meant."
"Oh? And which one did you mean?"
"Ahh, that's a story for another time. But regarding the one you asked about, it was the year I was eight. Granddad had the same palsy I have, but his had gotten to a point where he couldn't care for himself at all anymore. His trembling would be just as bad throughout the day as it was in the morning, and he needed help with things like washing and feeding himself."
"How old were you?"
"I was nine when he died, so maybe seven when he came to live with us? It was such a long time ago."
"That's awfully young to be a primary caretaker," she observes.
"Well, you know how it was back then." He reaches for her hand, and she tucks it inside of his. "And it was mostly my parents doing things for him. But having him there for Christmas changed the tone of everything. I think Ma knew it might be his last, and so everything she did just exuded a bit more joy than before. Looking back, I can see the flaws in that thinking. But for a lad of eight ..."
He places a kiss over her heart. "You must have been a caretaker of sorts at eight years old, too, I imagine, with Becky not being far from you in age."
Elsie thinks back to her own childhood, to the farm, tries to recall when she was that age. "I had school, so Mam still took care of Becky in those days. But I think I was in charge of the sheep in the morning," she says quietly.* "It was such a big responsibility and I remember being very proud."
Charles lifts his head and sees her faraway look. "I'm sure your parents were proud as well. Elsie Hughes, already in charge at the tender age of eight."
"It was a hard life," she remembers. "All hands on deck."
"Exactly. Granddad's mind was very sharp, but physically he couldn't manage much. I would come home from the schoolhouse and get him his luncheon, which was normally a sandwich Ma had left in the icebox." He sighed. "I'd have to feed it to him most days, because of the shaking."
His head is back on her chest and she can't see his face, but she doesn't need to.
"You're not your Granddad, Charlie," she says softly, carding her fingers through his hair, still thick despite his age.
"I'm not seventy-two yet," he replies. It comes out as a whisper.
Elsie lifts his chin so that he's facing her again, and she thumbs a tear off of his cheek. "None of that, Mr. Carson. For better or worse, remember?"
"I know." He sits up in the bed, looking over at the window and remembering the quiet beyond. "I'm afraid of that sometimes, though."
Elsie sits beside him and reaches out, takes his face in her hands and kisses him gently.
"In some ways I am, too. But let's not borrow trouble, hm? One day at a time. And I must say, Charlie, that these days we have together ... Well, they're the best days most of the time, aren't they?"
"Now that we're finally here together, you mean."
"Yes, and better at being married," she teases. "Tighter corners on the bed sheets and donated meals are a large part of that."
He chuckles and leans forward to touch his head to hers.
"Christmas is meant to be a happy time, but this year ... I don't know. Sometimes it's harder to see the magic." He sounds defeated, but she thinks she knows why now.
"You haven't known a Christmas away from the Abbey in forty years. They've been your family for all that time. But Charlie, they're still your family even though you don't live there." She pauses. "And we both know there's a great sadness on the horizon, and nothing that can be done about it."
"You're right," he says. "But it's not the same, not for me. Now that I'm not there anymore - not needed."
"I need you. But I know what you mean, Charlie. It isn't the same as it was, that's true. We'll be there for Christmas Eve, though. We'll see the children and imagine Christmas through their eyes as I know you like to do. We'll go to midnight mass, and then we'll come home together."
"And have a quiet Christmas morning, alone," he adds, and she lifts her face to place a kiss to his forehead.
"I can't imagine anything better," she tells him. "Now come on. We should get some rest."
Charlie lies down and Elsie tucks herself under his arm, smiling when he squeezes her tightly to him.
"It's not that you aren't enough," he says suddenly, and she nearly rolls her eyes at him. Of course he'd still be worrying.
"I know that, you old booby. I didn't take it that way."
"You know I love you." When he says it, it seems so simple and straightforward; he's not afraid of the words like she has been at times.
"I do. And we're making our way well enough."
He smiles, remembering. "It really has been a new life."
Elsie thinks back to Miss Baxter, to the stockings hanging over the mantle downstairs, and of their visit to Becky not long ago. She thinks of Joseph Molesley, of Anna and Mr. Bates, and of Thomas, so eagerly looking forward to his own Christmas plans.
"I have a feeling that it's got a great deal more in store for us." She yawns, and he squeezes her briefly, tightly, dropping a kiss to her head.
"Good night, Elsie."
"Good night, Charlie."
Outside, in the quiet of the early winter morning, soft snow begins to fall.
*waves to meetmeinstlouie*
I hope you all liked this. My thanks for the wonderful reviews for the last chapter. This website still will not let me reply to them, but please know how very much I appreciate them all. xxx