Joy to the World
It was their first Christmas without Elizabeth Woodhouse.
Two-year-old Emma was too young to really understand the significance of her loss. But there were times when the precocious child would gaze around the room and ask, "Where's Mummy?" in an innocent tone that broke Blythe Knightley's heart.
Today was one of those times.
"Mummy's not here, sweetheart," she soothed gently, fighting back the stinging tears which threatened to overspill. "But Daddy and Isabella are still here and we're all here and we love you very, very much."
...
However, Henry Woodhouse was not able to offer his daughter the solace and comfort that she needed – at least not right now. Stunned by the sudden loss of his bubbly young wife, he had withdrawn greatly into his shell and rarely ventured out socially.
Blythe suspected that Henry Woodhouse had suffered a far greater shock than he would let on to others.
He was an overcautious man by nature and had delighted in fussing over his wife and young children, ensuring that they always wore enough layers to prevent them from catching chills and making sure that they had all their vaccinations on time. But the loss of his wife had hit him especially hard, essentially because it had been something that he could not prevent and had no control over.
A drunk driver had run a red light one evening and ploughed into Elizabeth's car. She had died instantaneously, while the other driver had escaped with relatively minor injuries.
Later on, people would callously remark that it had been fortunate that Isabella and Emma had not been in the car, not realising that this offered little comfort to the grieving widower.
He loved his daughters. Of course he did. But he had never really spent much time with them. It was Elizabeth who had looked after them from day to day.
Suddenly he was left with the responsibility of being their guardian and the thought terrified him. He couldn't take care of them. He didn't know how to!
He sought advice from the local physician, Dr Perry, who provided him with suggestions and pamphlets on how to rear his children. Many of these were ridiculously old-fashioned but Mr Woodhouse meticulously followed the advice to the letter, afraid that if he did not, he would be a failure as a father and that he would have let his deceased wife down.
It was fortunate that Blythe Knightley was there to help guide him, offer her own suggestions and occasionally take the girls off his hands. Elizabeth Woodhouse had been a good friend to her and a good neighbour. Looking after the bereaved family she had left behind was the least Blythe could do.
"What are your plans for Christmas, Henry?" she asked gently when the man came to pick up his daughters that evening.
He frowned, and it was obvious from the perturbed expression on his face that he hadn't even given Christmas a thought.
"I don't know," he said dully, eyes on the floor. "I've never really thought about these things. It was always Elizabeth who organised the holidays."
"Why don't you come to our house for Christmas?" Blythe suggested hesitantly.
"Your house? Oh, no, I couldn't impose like that," Henry protested, looking uncomfortable.
"Don't be ridiculous. You wouldn't be imposing at all. My kids would be thrilled and I always cook far too much on Christmas, anyway."
She looked at Henry Woodhouse with a pleading expression. She understood that he probably wasn't up to being social, but he needed to understand that her invitation wasn't just for him, it was for his girls.
They were still young and they had lost so much. They deserved to have a truly special Christmas.
"Please," she added, noticing Henry's reticence.
He nodded reluctantly. "Alright. Thank you, Blythe," he muttered grudgingly as he called for his girls and they came running.
"Is everything okay, honey?" Peter Knightley said gently, putting his arm around his wife as she closed the front door.
"Yes," she replied softly. "I've invited the Woodhouses over for Christmas."
"Good idea," Peter said, nodding, and she knew that her husband understood. "We'll have to make sure they have a great Christmas."
...
"It's Christmas! Can you say 'Merry Christmas', Emma?" Jake asked as he lifted the toddler to his shoulders.
She frowned in concentration and you could practically see the wheels turning in her head.
"Mewwy Chwistmas," she finally pronounced triumphantly and was rewarded with a big cuddle.
"Very good, Emma!" Blythe praised as she bustled into the living room, carrying the Christmas turkey.
Pleased at her praise, Emma continued to say "Mewwy Chwistmas!" for the rest of the day whenever she wanted somebody's attention.
It turned out to be a lovely day filled with great food, crackers, jokes and silly games. Even Henry couldn't help cracking a smile amidst all the frivolity and he actually chuckled when Isabella accidentally sent her piece of plum pudding flying into John's lap.
"Good aim!" Jake commented with a wink, noticing that the young girl was blushing at her faux pas.
She smiled sheepishly and decided not to be embarrassed about it. John was being awfully nice and acting as though it had never happened and Jake was pretending she'd done it deliberately. She wasn't going to let a little spilled pudding ruin her Christmas.
"You've outdone yourself, Blythe!" Peter exclaimed, patting his stomach. "Is there anything else? Honestly, I'm not sure I could eat another bite!"
"There's the Christmas trifle," Blythe mused, "but that can wait until later. I'll give you time to digest everything else first."
The two families ended up in the Knightley's living room, watching one of their favourite Christmas movies A Christmas Carol.
"Sure you're not going to be too scared, Izzy?" Jake said teasingly.
The young girl stuck her tongue out at him in response. "I'm not a baby! It's not going to scare me!"
"Alright," Jake grinned, holding up his hands in surrender. And if he noticed Isabella shivering a little and shifting towards John when the first ghost appeared on the screen, he didn't say a word.
"I think I've got enough room for some trifle now," Peter declared about halfway through the film. "How about the rest of you?"
He was met with a chorus of 'yeses' and he grinned as he got up and walked to the kitchen.
Everyone was busy staring at the screen, completely absorbed in the movie. So they were startled, when a few minutes later, they heard a roar of laughter coming from the kitchen.
"Is everything alright, Peter?" Blythe called anxiously, already getting to her feet.
"Oh, that depends on your definition of alright!" Peter chuckled. "Henry, come into the kitchen and see what your scamp of a daughter has done!"
Well, a comment like that could only arouse everybody's interest.
The movie forgotten, they all leapt to their feet and quickly trooped towards the kitchen, wanting to see what was making Peter laugh so hard.
They were met with a comical sight, indeed.
Two-year-old Emma had obviously decided that she was ready for trifle before everyone else had.
Somehow – and Blythe wasn't quite sure how – she had climbed onto the kitchen counter and happily started helping herself to the trifle.
She smiled at them all charmingly, jelly smeared around her mouth, her hands still sticky from digging into the jam sponge cake.
"Emma!" her father exclaimed, horrified. "You shouldn't be eating that, young lady! All that sugar's not good for you!"
Clearly sensing that she had done something naughty, Emma lowered her head in apparent shame. Then as though she had realised what she needed to do to make everyone smile again, she grinned, showing off her baby teeth and declared "Mewwy Chwistmas!"
No comedian could have done it better.
Everyone began to laugh, even Mr Woodhouse, although he was secretly concerned about the effect of so much sugar on a two-year-old. He was determined to call Dr Perry and get his opinion as soon as they left.
"You're priceless, Emma," Blythe laughed as she picked up the two-year-old and gave her a hug.
"Hey, it's funny but we shouldn't be laughing at her. She's going to grow up thinking she can get away with being naughty just as long as she says cute things!" Jake protested, the amusement fading from his eyes.
Blythe privately wondered if her boy had been reading some of Dr Perry's pamphlets.
"Oh, lighten up, Jake," she said cheerily. "This little one will turn out just fine. How can she not, when she has all of us to guide her?"
This was said mainly for the benefit of Henry Woodhouse, who let a small smile curve his lips.
He greatly appreciated all that the Knightleys had done that evening. He'd felt alone when Elizabeth had died unexpectedly, but thanks to his neighbours, he now knew that he would always have their support and encouragement.
And he especially felt very thankful to have his two girls.
No matter how dark and foreboding his future looked at times, his daughters were two sparks of bright light that would always bring joy to his world.
Author's Note: Thanks to iambbq, moonlight08, Lady Dudley, AnGeL-oF-aWeSoMeNeSs and Emaelin for your lovely reviews of the last chapter.
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