Believe

"Who was that on the phone?" Elsie asked as she emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a pretty dish towel she'd purchased from the village only last week.

Charles turned and smiled, kissing her cheek as she neared his side. "That was Tom Branson. Sybbie is coming over this afternoon."

She wrapped her arms around his middle and nuzzled her nose against his more prominent one. "Suppose there goes our plans for the afternoon nap," she said with a little pat to his bottom. "I was so looking forward to it, too."

He laughed, his voice low and seductive. "There will be plenty of time for that so called nap later, Mrs. Carson. Remember, we are no longer bound by bells and schedules. Our time … and our activities … are dictated by nothing but ourselves."

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds ever so romantic and irresistible," she said with more than a little sarcasm laced through her words. "But, I suppose if a girl cannot have an afternoon nap with her husband, there are worse things to be doing than spending it with a child at Christmastime."

Charles took her hand in his and kissed it softly. "I'm not so sure this is going to be one of those fun afternoons. Tom said Sybbie needed to speak to me about something very important, not you … but me. That has me more than a little concerned. You know I'm not very good with answering her probing questions quickly and easily. She has a way of catching me off guard, and I'm afraid I'll let something slip."

She reached up and caressed his cheek lovingly. "You'll do just fine if she asks a question. Just take a breath and answer her as honestly as you can, depending on the question. I'll bet a batch of gingerbread that she's using that as an excuse to get out of the nursery for some time with us. She can be quite the plotter when she wants to be," she said with a little laugh.

"A skill you taught her, I'm assuming? Nanny certainly wouldn't be schooling her on such practices."

"More like your Lady Mary, if I had to venture a guess." She held up both hands in surrender before he even had a chance to challenge her comment. "I've told you before, love, that all women learn this skill at some point in their lives. She's just starting a little earlier than some."

"Yes, well, I'll take your word for it. And, if I were you, I'd check the pantry to make sure you have all of the ingredients for that gingerbread. I think I'd like my cookies cut into shapes … trees, stars, snowmen … maybe even a little gingerbread man and woman."

"You daft man," she laughed, shaking her head. "I hope you can make a decent gingerbread. Otherwise, you'll have to beg Mrs. Patmore for some assistance."

He waggled his eyebrows then gave her a lingering kiss to the lips. "If I'd known marriage and retirement could be this enjoyable, I would have handed in my notice years ago and swept you off your feet."

"I'd have let you do the sweeping, too. But, let's not go down that rabbit hole of "what ifs" and "should haves." We are here now and that's all that matters to me. We got there in the end, didn't we?"

He brushed a stray curl behind her ear and looked deeply into her sparkling blue eyes. "That we did, my girl. I'm ever so glad you waited on me to catch up. When I think of all the times I could have lost you to someone else …"

"But, you didn't and you never will. Surely, you know that by now. And if not, then maybe I'm doing something wrong during these little afternoon naps we keep having." She pretended to give it some serious thought. "Maybe you really do like to sleep and I'm keeping you awake. Oh dear …"

"Get away with you before we get so carried away that we don't hear the knock on the door." He kissed the tip of her nose and gave her waist a squeeze. "And don't you dare threaten me with sleeping during the afternoons again. That's just mean of you, Elsie Carson."

She gave him one last promising kiss before retreating back to the kitchen, a little extra sway to her hips, to prepare a plate of biscuits and put the kettle on for some tea while Charles went upstairs to freshen up before their guests arrived.

In less than a half hour, Sybbie Branson knocked on the Carson's cottage door and waited, rather impatiently, for someone to answer while her father tried one last time to get her to open up to him about the reason for their visit.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me or ask me whatever it is that's on your mind? I'm a good listener, too, you know."

"I know that, Papa, but some things a girl just needs to talk over with Mr. Carson. He'll know what to do, and I'll feel much better. You did tell them we were coming to visit, didn't you?" she asked, preparing to knock on the door once more.

"I did and he seemed excited to see you. I'm sure they're either upstairs or perhaps in the back garden. Want me to go check?" Tom was just about to head around the side of the house when the door opened and a smiling Charles greeted the pair.

"Come in and get out of this cold. I'm sorry I kept you waiting. I was helping Elsie in the kitchen," he said, his cheeks still a little flushed.

"Is that my little helper I hear out there," Elsie asked, smiling brightly from the doorway. "Always happy to see you here, petal, and it's nice to see you, too, Tom. To what do we owe the unexpected visit?"

"Mr. Carson, I need to talk to you about something very important …and private, please." Sybbie took his much larger hand in hers and began to tug him towards the sitting room.

Charles shot Elsie a pleading look before allowing himself to be pulled in the direction of the sofa. "Wouldn't you like some milk and biscuits or maybe a slice of cinnamon bread with icing sugar? We made it this morning, and it's very appropriate for private conversations, if I do say so myself, milady."

Her sweet tooth got the better of her, just as Charles knew it would. "Well, if you and Mrs. Carson made it, then it would be rude of me to refuse. I'd love to try some and maybe have a biscuit, too, if it's no bother."

He helped her up on the sofa and softly pinched her cheek. "You stay right here, and I'll go get us a plate of goodies from the kitchen. Then, when I return, we can nibble on treats and discuss whatever it is that's important and private."

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Charles looked from Elsie to Tom and back to Elsie. "Well? Any idea what it is that's so secretive that it can only be shared with me, of all people?"

"No idea, Mr. Carson. She came to me at the house today and announced that she needed to see you as soon as possible and that it was incredibly important. I reminded her that she was supposed to see you both on Friday but that wasn't soon enough for her liking. I'm sorry if we've bothered you or interrupted your afternoon plans. I can just explain to her that now is not a good time."

"Nonsense! She's clearly interested in talking about something, and I won't have her worrying over something another day if I can help it." He placed two large glasses of milk on the tea tray and returned to the sitting room, feeling more anxious than before about the upcoming conversation. Meanwhile, there were two adults in the kitchen just as concerned, bewildered, and curious as the man in the other room.

Charles offered Sybbie the first selection of their treats then chose one for himself before settling down on the sofa beside her. He watched her nibble at her biscuit as he took a rather large bit of his own. "All in your own good time, love. I'm sure whatever it is, we can work out a solution."

A frown formed on the little girl's face and she looked up at Charles, someone she considered to be a second grandfather … more approachable and fun than Donk and loved just as much. Tears formed in her eyes and her lip began to quiver. "I know he's not real. I know it's all just a big lie for children." Her heart broke as she finally gave voice to what had been plaguing her mind all afternoon.

Charles felt his heart skip a beat before it dropped to the pit of his stomach. Of all the things Sybbie could have confessed to him, this was not even on his top ten list. He had never been more upset to have won a bet with Elsie as he was at this moment. But, her voice rang in his mind. Take a deep breath before you speak, Charlie, and all will be well. "Who isn't real, lass? And who has been telling you lies?"

As tears streamed down her cheeks, she abandoned her biscuits back to the plate and climbed into his lap, wrapping her little arms around his neck. "Father Christmas. He's not real. He doesn't come to our house on Christmas Eve or leave presents under the tree or treats in our stockings. He doesn't exist."

Charles hugged her tightly to him and used the pad of his thumb to wipe away her tears. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head before speaking. "And, pray tell, how did you come by this information? Did someone at the schoolhouse tell you this? Was it one of the Loudon boys or the little MacDonald lass?"

She shook her head and leaned back a little to see his face. "It was Aunt Mary."

"I have a hard time believing your Aunt Mary would say something such as this. Are you sure you heard her correctly? I know for a fact that she believes in Father Christmas and the magic of it all."

"No, she doesn't. Not anymore at least. I overheard her telling nanny that someone from the village or Thirsk was supposed to be bringing the gifts from Father Christmas to Mr. Barrow downstairs, and he was supposed to bring them to the nursery for us when she called."

Charles made a mental note to have a strong word with Lady Mary about her slip of the tongue and the careless nature of the discussion with the nanny. For now, though, his main focus was the heartbroken little girl in his lap whose entire outlook on the whole Christmas season had been tossed into disarray and just at the start of the holiday season. "Don't you think that, just perhaps, Father Christmas needed to send his gifts early and asked for some help from your aunt, nanny, and Mr. Barrow to make sure you, George, and Marigold received them in time? He's a very busy man, you know, and as more children are born in the world, he has a longer list of stops to make each Christmas Eve. Goodness, I'm tired just thinking about all the children in the village not to mention all of Great Britain and the world."

"I know what you're trying to do, Mr. Carson, but it won't work. I know he isn't real, and that all those presents we get on Christmas morning are really just presents bought by our parents. I didn't want to tell Papa that I know, or even Mrs. Carson. They get so excited about Christmas, and I didn't want to ruin it for them. I mean, I am pretty sure they know he doesn't exist, but they still believe I do so …"

"I see," was all Charles could say as he looked into the blue eyes of the little girl sitting on his lap. "You do know that no one has told you a lie to hurt you or to make you distrust them, don't you?" She nodded her head as the last shred of hope she had vanished with his question. He had, in that one single question, confirmed all of her suspicions. "Good. Then, allow me to tell you another story, one which I think might help you understand and bring back a little of the magic for you. Will you allow me to do that for you?"

"I trust you, Mr. Carson. That's why I came straight to you. I knew you'd tell me the truth, even though it might hurt at first. Thank you for not treating me like a baby."

He chuckled. "You're much too bright for that, little girl. You and Mrs. Carson are very much alike in that respect. You see things others often miss … and hear things, too, apparently. And while we're on the subject … were you eavesdropping on the conversation between your aunt and the nanny?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No. I was supposed to be going out with Papa for a walk in the woods, and I forgot my gloves. I had to run back upstairs to get them and that's when I heard them talking. I didn't go back in for my gloves, but went downstairs and asked Papa to call you to see if I could visit."

Charles leaned forward and picked up the plate of sweets for them, encouraging Sybbie to join him in a little snack. "I'm glad to hear that, but I'm sorry you had to overhear it at all. However, I will tell you something that might shock you. Saint Nicholas was a real person."

Sybbie gasped and a biscuit crumb got stuck in her throat causing her to have a coughing fit. After a large drink of milk and some gentle pats on the back from Charles, she recovered enough to ask if he was certain and to plead for more information.

"Indeed, he was real, though he lived a very long time ago. He wasn't called Father Christmas back then. His name was Nicholas, though he did not live at the North Pole. He came from a small town in Turkey, and because of his kindness and generosity, his popularity and the legend around him grew. Do you know that we hang stockings to be filled because of something he supposedly did all those years ago? You see, he saw a family in need so he tried to secretly help them, so as not to embarrass the family but genuinely offer assistance because he cared. He dropped a sack full of coins down the chimney and they happened to land inside the stocking. The next morning, the family found the welcomed surprise in the stocking. It was quite by accident, but that's why we fill stockings for loved ones on Christmas Eve." He leaned in and whispered into her ear. "Even Mrs. Carson and I hang stockings by the chimney each Christmas and do you know … every year we wake up and there's something inside."

"So, this Nicholas man … he was real and he did a very nice thing. I don't see how that makes him Father Christmas or why everyone lies to little children about it. If he was such a good man, shouldn't they just tell the story about him and do a kindness for others?"

Charles took a deep breath and ran his hand nervously through his hair. The conversation wasn't going the way he had hoped but it wasn't time to call for Elsie just yet. His mind briefly flashed to the wager they had made and how he was going to thoroughly enjoy that gingerbread.

"Isn't that what we do every time we tell the story of Father Christmas visiting on Christmas Eve, leaving presents for us even though we may not always be deserving of everything we receive? We recite the story of him visiting because it brings back the magic and wonder of helping someone else with a little surprise to make them happy … a kindness because we love them very much … a kindness born of love and not out of necessity."

Sybbie took a slice of the cinnamon bread, deciding that she wasn't going to risk choking on another biscuit crumb, and popped a large bite into her mouth, licking the bits of icing sugar from her fingers, as she thought through what Mr. Carson was saying.

"Even though I'm sorry you had to find out this way, I believe you're ready to become a Father Christmas, too. You know, it takes someone extra special to play Saint Nick, but if anyone can do it, I know you will be able to do a brilliant job. Do you think you'd like to try?"

"I would, but I'm so small, I don't think I can. I can't drive. I can't buy presents at the store without help. I'm not very talented at making things, aside from drawing pictures or doing crafts with Mrs. Carson when I visit here. How could I be Father Christmas?"

And that was when Charles knew he had her full attention and the conversation was going in his favor. "Simple really. Now that you're old enough to understand about the real Saint Nicholas and his willingness to secretly do kind things for someone else, you can choose someone and do a small thing for them. Maybe you'd like to do something nice for Mrs. Patmore for making you all those sweets you love so much. Or, there's nanny, who takes such good care of you and tucks you in every night. There's your Granny, Donk, Granny Violet …"

"You and Mrs. Carson! I could be Father Christmas to you, couldn't I? I mean, in secret, of course, but I could do that. And I'd get to fill your stockings with goodies? Isn't that how it works?"

"Well, yes and no. You could certainly do kind things for all of those people in the spirit of Father Christmas, but you don't have to give material things. Sometimes, the best gifts are those given from the heart … the gift of time, for example, or the gift of your help with something. Making your bed on occasion would help nanny and the maids. Picking up your toys without being told would be a nice surprise. Those are all things that can be done all year long."

"But if I'm going to be helping by being Saint Nicholas, I'd like to start with Mrs. Carson and you. I know it won't be a secret for you, but maybe you could help me this year and then next year, I'll know what to do and can think of things on my own for you? Would you help me with that, please? I know you said you fill her stocking, but do you think I could help this year?"

Seeing the smile on her face was enough to lighten his heart and brighten his smile. "It would be an honor to help you, Father Christmas," he teased as he tickled her until she was giggling loudly. "We can each think of something for you to do and make a list. Then, you can choose what you'd like to do, or craft, and go from there. You might even include something for your Papa since he was kind enough to bring you here without knowing why."

"Good idea, though I don't think I want to be Father Christmas for Aunt Mary. I don't even want her to know I overheard her talking. I haven't told Papa, either. I don't think he would be too happy with her, and it might ruin his Christmas. We can tell him after the New Year, maybe around Valentine's Day or May Day. For now, we can make this our little secret, can't we?"

"And what should I tell Mrs. Carson when she asks about our conversation? She's very worried about you, you know? We both were, and I'm sure she will want to know if everything is okay with you. She loves you very much and only wants to see you happy."

She thought for a minute and then giggled. "You can tell her it's a secret, and we can tuck a little note in the bottom of her stocking that tells her I was her Father Christmas this year. But, if you're filling her stocking, I could wrap a little something and put it under your tree with a tag from him, instead. Yes, I think I like that idea better. So, will you help me?"

"With pleasure. As I said, we can each give it some thought and come up with something appropriate. I'm sure she will be really surprised on Christmas morning. Now, is there anything else you'd like to ask me about all of this before we go see what your Papa and Mrs. Carson are up to in the kitchen?"

Sybbie thought for a moment, giving his question some serious consideration. "How old were you when you stopped believing?"

"Who says I ever stopped? I still hang a stocking and expect it to have a little something in it on Christmas morning, even if it's just an orange, some nuts, and maybe a stick of peppermint. The thing about the magic of Christmas, Sybbie, is that it only goes away if we stop believing and stop really enjoying the excitement of it all. We get so much joy from watching you discover your presents on Christmas morning, hearing the excitement in your voice as you shout 'He's been! He's been!' seeing the wonder in your eyes. Now that you know all about it, you can start to experience it from a different point of view. You'll see … it's not bad or good, just different."

"I love you, Mr. Carson, and I'm very glad we had this talk. Do you think that maybe after Christmas, we can go to the library at the house and see if there are any books about the real Saint Nicholas? I'd like to hear more about him and not just about the one in the books we've been reading."

"We will most certainly look for something, and if we don't find them, we can see if Mr. Bodkins at the bookshop might have some recommendations for us. Now, let's go give Mrs. Carson a hug and thank her for the biscuits. Oh, and I have it on very good authority that she's going to be baking me a batch of gingerbread. I'm sure she'd be happy to save you a biscuit or two if you ask nicely."

"Maybe she'll let me come over and help her bake them. What's the occasion or is it just because it's Christmastime and she loves you?"

Charles guided the little girl into the kitchen where an anxious father and curious grandmother figure were waiting. "I'll let her tell you the details of the gingerbread," he said with a wink at Elsie. "Though, I do believe that when you come over to help her bake, it will have to be after her nap time."

Elsie felt her cheeks warm with the innuendo and was ever so grateful that Sybbie didn't ask why the older couple felt the need to take an afternoon nap or why her cheeks were so pink. Instead, she crawled into Elsie's lap and thanked her for the sweets with a hug and a kiss to her cheek, then promised that this was going to be the best Christmas she'd ever had.

The End.

A/N: Whoa! Has this ever been a challenging year for myself and all of you, I'm sure. But, we made it and I'm sure we've all grown in unexpected ways. Thanks for sticking with me this year and for always being so encouraging about my little Chelsie stories. Hope you enjoyed this one. I'd love to hear your thoughts … if you're in the giving mood like Father Christmas & Sybbie!

xx Hogwarts Duo/Chelsie Carson